The word bipolar can put fear in your heart
Because you’ll never know when it will start.
Also known as manic depression and it can become
A lifelong obsession.
Wondering when the next bout of fear will enter you
And if you know just what to do.
It is like the devil trying to take your soul
And it becomes a battle of control.
Most times in order for you to live
You must take the meds that they give.
If your child is bipolar or autistic, will you love them any less?
I don’t think so is my guess!
The LORD puts a child where he / she belongs
With a person he knows is strong.
The strength of the parents helps them to cope
With the problems old and new, and that is
Something that they do.
Let us be a little realistic, not many crimes
Are committed by bipolar or autistic
So how can they use words like crazy, retarted or handicapped
When against us the cards are stacked,
When this becomes a challenge close to home
Remember that you’re not alone.

םתוח
השׂטן‎

and i thought that ancient egyptian
was retarted...
looks like there's a contender!
hebrew!
    this language doens't know left
from right, or up from down...
hebrew is, by html encoding... a dodo project!
it's retarted!
   hebrew can't survive in the html age...
it's retarudus proximus!
oh, you think arabic is any better?
don't think semites should
be laughing at this point...

trying to write hebrew script is like
juggling pineapples...
     what does it say?
   the seal of satan... satan?
well that implies guardian
      of the tetragrammaton...
i still agree hebrew evolved from
ancient egyptian script...
but hebrew wasn't used in writing
html or any other computing script...
that's why it's so retarted when trying
to write it in html mode...
nope, can't convince me...
you can't really write hebrew in html mode...
i call this the extinction precipice...
    if this ****** is going to keep up
its copernican acid tripping not knowing
left from right...
   might as well leave it at the roman
long-handshake... where hands
don't actually touch, but hands touch
nearing the elbow... namely
   forearm-grip.

as the original stated:

the smaller the audience: the greater span of historical worth, and desire to upkeep: that pangloss citation from voltaire's candide: better us tending to our own conerns, that bother ourselves with the concerns of others.

oh, i know what a small audience implies...
didn't christ have only the 12,
didn't pythagoras only have the approx. 30?
there's something quite telling
about a small audience...
         not exactly cultish...
                  but something beyond the realm
of influencing people within a single
lifetime...
                   take en sabah nur and his 4:
oh come on... rewrite tolstoy's
war & peace in a comic form:
  just to ease the gates for poets,
and leave barren, the boring narrator...
let's keep it at just that:
there's something telling about a small
audience...
          look at the 1 and the 12,
and now look at the billionth marker -
  funny, isn't it?
                what am i claiming though?
ah, that's simple, that's a revival of
"judaism" - i say "judaism" because
i am the one ordained with neither prophecy
or anything worth mastering:
  i am the guardian of the tetragrammaton...
and sure, the god within the confines of
philosophy has to necessarily not exist...
but?
       well... you can't really evaporate
the tetragrammaton out of existence!
             whenever the right time comes,
i loose the title: chief prosecutor, and become
chief defendant.

life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.



where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr

Once upon a time
There was a girl
She was no different than any other
And if your life moved to fast
Like the rest of the world
You would miss it
Because you have to understand...
This girl had a secret
A dark secret
One she kept hidden away because
She knew if she let it out
It would comeback to haunt her
Like it did

This girl wasn't the prettiest
Or the skinniest
Funniest
Or most popular
And every time she looked in the mirror
She felt like crying
Because the reflection she got
Isn't the one she wanted

This girl
She was to afraid to use the razor
Because she wanted to believe
There was another way
Somehow, someway
That she could let go of her pain
Open up
And let it all go

But she couldn't do that
Couldn't let them see her weak side
They would'nt care anyway
So she had to push it away
Paint that fake smile on every time she walked into that building
That stupid building
With the sign that read:
We are glad to report this is a bully free zone
*******
It's all *******
Because if its not bullying
To crush a girls hopes and dreams every time she opens her mouth...
Then what the hell is it
And if its not bullying
To call a girl
Fat
Ugly
Stupid
Following it up with just kidding
Then what is
Has the definition changed?
Because if it has then tell me
I want to know
So I can tell that girl
That she's fine and needs to get over herself
Just like everyone else
Just like everyone else

So she did
She pushed away her pain
And acted like it was all
"Ok"
But it wasn't
It wasn't ok
And every day of her life
All she wanted was to fit in
To be considered cool
To have one guy look at her and say
She's beautiful
But why would they?
Why should they?
How can any guy love her when she can't even love herself

And so life went on
And she continued to go to the place she feared most
A place where she was judged on something as simple as
The music she listens too
And when she try's to save herself
From there torture
Everyone seems to suddenly disappear
Those people who told her they love her
Aren't there to help her
So she fights her battles alone
But you see
One person can only fight for so long
Before they give up
And it's just a matter of time before
Those words they promise are about that boyband she likes
Those words
Gay
Stupid
Ugly
Retarted
***
Loser
And worthless
They slowly begin to be about her
And they tell her
We like you
You're funny
And yet
When she stands in the line for lunch
And they think she can't hear them
That she's to focused on the food in front of her
The food she's trying to decide to keep down
She can hear them
And it hurts
It ******* I N G hurts
Because its then when she realizes
It's all a joke to them
It's not about the music
No
It's a joke to see who can break her first
But the jokes on them because
She beat you to it
If it was a game
She won
Because the thing is
She's already broken herself
Because its not so much what they say to her
It's what she says to herself
It's the fact that
Every time she looks in a mirror
She see's a worthless *******
A ******* trying to fit in
With works of art
And she can't do it
But she try's it anyway
Wasting her life on people
People who could care less about her
Wasting her life on people who judge her for the music she listens too
Not who she is

But they don't understand
That every time this girl goes home
Every time this girl decides its worth it
To live another day
Its because of that "gay band"
And that "gay band"
That she doesn't even know
Make her feel more loved
Than any person she has ever met in her life
Because when she started to slip
5 pars of hands caught her
5 hero's saved her

So go ahead
Tell her how pathetic that is
I know you want to
But just know
She's walking on thin ice
And anyone of you could be the deciding factor for her
So do it
Test your luck
It's all a game to you
And in all games there's a winner
So
You lose
She lives
You win
You push her over the edge and
She dies

That's twisted and sick you say?
Well that's life
And maybe you should of thought of that
Before you tore her down
All her dreams
Hopes
Everything she is
Its all gone
Because of *you

adverts and the internet medium:
    d'uh... you forgot the capacity
  of the mute button...
                    wha'? wha'?
                                               audi tt?

(let's expand on the title:
         geometry (Y) the three dimensions,
       and trigonometry (W)... cosine rule,
   i.e. how three-dimensional space behaves).

i was born in the late 20th century,
and, right now,
                   i'm seeing the "problem"
you thought jews in europe
were *the problem...
              ever read anything
          on the subject of kabbalah?
i can only reply
with sepultura's:
                      ra-ta-ma'h-hatta'h...
**** me, the tetragrammaton feels like
licking a pharaoh's toes in linguistic terms...
and there are always four,
            to ensure there's one.
               but at least the aztec pyramids
were not burial grounds, or burial monuments,
rather, sites of capital punishment...
   which the conquistadors misunderstood!
only the whites know the concept
of ethno-masochism.
                      by common-tongue standards
so thoroughly expressed with
   the desired eloquence, stated, already.
social sciences are a disease
                            in terms of science per se...
     why isn't there a divine intervention
        story with regards to the aztec pyramids?
**** me and the scaffold!
             the largest bird on earth,
     and instead of flying off,
                it sticks its head into the earth
to "hide".
                          that's pushing it...
that's saying the non-existence of god is based
upon the non-existence of a good joke;
          i just don't think he needs to be
revered...
                 but obviously people have other
plans...
          never mind the comedian...
   mind the moloch;
   so they pray, and pray, and ask, and plead,
and end up looking like amassed lunatics...
   they demand praying...
   me? i demand of myself thinking about him...
hard to think about nothing,
   if i were thinking about nothing,
          i simply would be, not thinking;
  and you'd probably find me:
                                                 painting.

but **** me, aztec pyramids didn't receive
a divine intervention
   but the egyptian pyramids did...
   clearly the aztec pyramids weren't vanity projects
akin to burial sites / tombs...
          clearly...
             sites of enforcing capital punishment;
years later mis-translated by conquistadors...
  and in militant atheistic form...
                                              said: retarted.

You know I'm tired of playing this game
Always chasing the right girl away
All because I'm too blind and stupid chasing after the wrong
Why am I playing this ******* game
It's like I'm allergenic to the truth,
And just enjoy beating my self as if I'm slave
Like seriously what the **** am I doing with my life
Ruining it, maybe
Because I'm sure as hell ain't making it better
I mean look at me battle scares are bruises imprisons my body in the jail ceil in monopoly
Only if it were a game
But no, this real life
This is reality, what my life will be based off of
But stupid ol' me treat it as if it was a ******* game  
Why can't I get it through my thick skull that is not a ******* game
Am I retarted or just that slow
It is as if my ******* chained my arms to the **** floor and threw away the ******* keys
What the **** am I doing with my ******* life
Why am I throwing it away as if it is worthless tool
Am I really that much of a fool
Just sitting down on this stool watching the clock tic
What the **** am I doing with my life
No seriously someone please tell
Cause clearly I'm not bright enough to know

*******... the russians would spell ł as ьл.. i.e. oselka, oselka (tak i ta pierdolona przez nożyce / nogi in mirage)... they soften it... why i have to borrow the equivalent of an anglo-saxon w to translate it... they just soften the letter... so yes: ł becomes ьл the further east you go.

to che /
                i /         chi
л        el
                         obviously bound
to become l/e
             ь.... this **** ought to be
equivalent to a diacritical representation...
it's a soft sign preceding
                                              a letter once it's stated...
or after... depending where you catch the syllable
                  "*******" of breath toward said word.
           ever read an organic chemistry
equation? e.g. C6H12O6 + 6O2 → 6CO2 + 6H2O (+ energy)?
      breathing...
dmitri mendeleev* would have approved
the ь notation to be written lower-case in russian...
chemically... like you'd lower case 6 12 6 2 2 and 2;
becomes a bit confusing if you just insert
it like it's an actual letter...
                    it's diacritical... please...
i'm not even going to read the next letter in
what i'm spelling to tell you:
     ь ought to be as properly managed and
concise as what the acute accent on the s
                is, when it's not sh(a, i, e, o, u)... i.e. ś
but hell... who the **** is perfect?
       oh here we go... so now we know... the next
letter is н... or en... and to soften it up
you need it to be acute...
so in russian: inserting a ь prior to the next
letter is like stating a western slavic acute symbol
above the letter, in this case: n... or ń (eńya...
celtic singer, women in their 50s will know).
        now i know this is written in ukranian...
   for example: камень = kameń
                       literally... the ь or "softening"
is actually an acute symbolism to a sound that's
stressed... by double standards... you write
the cryrillic                     нь = ń
                     and that doesn't mean soft... it means
sharp / acute version of n.
                        i actually can't believe i didn't
see that before!
     what was wrong with me? or... what was
wrong with them?
            well, there will always be variations,
we latins like to make things compact...
fiat 126p... fiat cinquecento...
                   they're the ones with siberia
and ******* cadillacs... i've got a thumb up
my *** that hasn't seen any **** prior
and i'm thinking about even tighter streets of
labyrinth venice... so... huh?!

what's the actualy "story" about?
   i've managed to grow a beard that has "side-burns"
a bit like uncle albert's in only fools & horses...
and i was giving it the trim, along with the moustache
that was also like a **** garden that got in
the way of sipping a sharpshooter (excess whiskey
minimum ms. pepsi, a bit like a shandy:
beer topped with a dash of lemonade...
oh **** snakebite... i had that once...
         beer and cider topped with ribena?! ugh)
      ****... lost the proper punctuation mark to continue:
so i had basically had to sharpen the scissors
i had to cut the excess hair off...
          and i sharpened my scissors on a sharpening
stone... an osełka... точил(ь)ньιй камен(ь)
                                tochilńji (ee) kameń...
                   i'm ****** sure that's ukranian...
                                    if i were russian i'd say:
that orthography is retarted... or it's only ******* when
you put on latin spectacles and go:
              how the **** am i going to translate that
and not give a **** about the linguistic alphabet
that's even more *******?
    ю (you) я (me) think ь ought to be hidden from
the linear progression of letters... like ' in acute n (ń)?
        or like that chemical example i gave
in terms of breathing and going H lower-case 2 O?

How about for one day we all just kick it,
Without hating anyone,
Without talking **** or wanting to fight,
Asking our enemies how they're doing,
Not have to walk out the door of our
home worrying whether or not our
family will be alright.
Count on one another,
Get into a relationship without the intention of
******* on the first date
and ******* people over.
Whether you think it or not,
all this **** rots your mind.
And because of the way society is raised,
we are all guilty of doing these things.
There's no longer such thing as a pure heart,
kids are ganging up on kids because they think it's a joke
people are picking on those with autism.
Have you ever seen a kid with autism cry?
You think those you call "retarted" have no feelings
and are just happy all the time?
You're wrong,
and that's an excuse that runs through everyones mind,
saying **** you don't mean destroys others.
Not only others but you as well,
How about you walk up to him and give him a hug,
and when you do you'll know what real love is,
that person with autism should charge you a grand
so that you could know what real love is.
This person doesn't need to know you,
doesn't care about how many people you've hurt,
i guarantee he will hug you knowing he better
make it worth it because he just might
not see you again,

Your mind rots,
that is why you think it is okay to seek revenge
on those who do you wrong,
you seek to ruin their life,
but that's okay,
it's normal,
cause that's the way we were raised.
Have you ever thought,
maybe i shouldn't care?
Maybe these people already suffer enough as it is.
The truth is,
everyone suffers,
just in different ways.
The problem is that when you speak of kids from
Africa who are poor with no clothes,
you swear to be on their side and you swear like
you don't suffer the same.
But when that person comes to the U.S,
where is the help now?
You see him with eyes that judge,
and you say,
"I'm glad i don't live that way."
While he is thinking:
"I'm happy im alive,
i'm happy i'm not blind and i could see these
people with big blue eyes, green eyes brown eyes
light skin, brown skin,
and many different races."
Well you're really fcken blessed aren't you?
How about putting some clothes on his back,
and inviting him to your home to eat;
This kid was raised to ****** with a machete against his own will,
and he was saved.

You,
You're mind is full of dirt and you don't even know it.
You think you don't suffer the same?
You think that you are blessed because you have
clothes on your back?
Help those around you,
Pray for them,
and pray for God to fix your problems as well.
Cause you don't have the power to fix them,
and the only way your rotten mind will
think they are fixed is by putting those around you, under you.
This is the ideal world,
the ideal day,
but it will never exist how sad is that.

Love those around you,
cause tomorrow they'll be gone.
And your wish will come true,
your enemies will be gone too.
Society needs to change

I am like an alzeimer's patient
you can tell me everyday you love me
but by tomorrow I will forget
I am like an asthma patient
you can kiss me a million times
but I still find it hard to breathe
I am like a epileptic patient
you can hold me for forever
and I will still shake and tremble
I am like a diabetic patient
you can be so sweet to me
by tomorrow I will be in shock
I am like an amputee
you can break my heart
but I will still survive
I am like a cancer patient
you take my insides out
and I will still last a little longer
I am mentally retarted
because no matter how much I love you today
I still believe you say you love me more
two plus two is four
but you plus me is more

you can call me anything,
"ugly"
"fat"
"******"
"stupid"
"dramatic"
"annoying"
yo­u can call me anything,
those words don't tear me down
just don't call me retarted
it kills me

all that's audible is a bumping into:
  **** me... i hope that isn't a giraffe
or a london singleton, female: "looking"
but a chair...
       and the rest of my narrative became
sorta blurry...
i hope i bumped into a chair rather than a
giraffe...
funny thing, this would be model
started chirpsing (scottish term for flirting)
with me... allowing me the role of santa claus
sitting on my legs in a bar...
a day before this south african ***** "*****"
me without **** juices...
        like cedric the saxon conquering
the isles...
- thing is... i can understand the scots...
the other gaelic tribes... the irish?
i can't tell a doberman from a rottweiler;
i don't like them, and i'm not even english.
the **** are they on?
                  well, tango in the dark...
is it a chair? is it a giraffe?!
                      i thank god for the fact that
i can experience this sort of joke
   and not bother raising a family, in accordance
with the sage of Königsberg...
            really "strange" things happens when you
enjoy drinking, up to the point where
   you're laughing over robbie williams' videos
in the afternoon, and say: ******* day!
and try, i mean, torture yourself, utilise
the iron maiden to get laughs out of women...
ellen degeneres (e.g.) - i tried, i really, really tried
laughing at the jokes...
                                    robbie's dead and i'm
consecrating a prayer on his grave, like people
congregating in cultish fashion over the grave of
jim morrison in paris... hell! i'm trying!
don't put my ******* in the monkey-wrench!
            i need to feed the ego-go-go!
              what ******* ****** you looking at?
your cousin?
                            i know my cousins are retarted:
like i already said: they tried to **** me so many
times due to my Chernobyll tattoo i starting to ask:
this really is a foetus contra.
                             or what you teach your colt...
unless she calls you up and says: i think i'm pregnant...
oi! descartes! i think therefore i doubt...
doubt being the emotional content precipitating
into             i am, therefore... wha?!
            maybe it's just like they said: women aren't
*****...
                           i really really tried to laugh
at ellen degeneres jokes...
       hmm...                     i realised i wasn't constipated
having eaten almost nothing on the day...
i fancied a hoi sin fajita (fa-he-tah... not a fa-jee-tah)
         wrap of duck from the supermarket...
         but i really though i was constipated...
sat on the throne of thrones expecting a ****...
       all i "plopped" out was alkaline lemonade...
          but **** me can the chinese butcher the duck
properly...
                             the sort of atheists i believe in:
a. they'll eat anything                   and
    b. they don't believe any other species exists apart
            from them.
c.? the ******* bit that adds to an advantage?
                    men take joy from work, women take
joy from ***... it's not that ******* difficult...
                            the chinese can really butcher a duck...
hoi sin duck... it's like bbq sauce...
                                      eating cat treats instead of
haribo... i want to keep my teeth like
those skeletal excavations from the iron age
          in the alps...
                                but ****! i really want to laugh
at a joke a women tells... whether on the concrete savannah
of the urban environment... or stand-up on stage!
i really want to!
                            i really can't! is that sad?
a women telling a joke is like a woman in her
late teens asking a man in his early twenties about
how to fry a pancake!
               and it's happened to me! i had to tell these
teen women how to fry a pancake...
               they tried frying about five, and all of them
ended up being burned... and i just said:
    you have to add oil to the goo-dough... and then
add oil to the frying pan...
           what has fat-free yogurt done to these women?!
you can't find yourself your body expecting
pseudo-sugars all the time! you need fat!
                           oh this is in privy...
                   ever ****** off a pregnant woman showcasing
her ****? pinching her *******... ENLARGED...
                and: if i were married, i'd ask my woman:
can i suckle on that too? i don't want the baby to
get in the way with our love life...
             it's like this cult of the north north
in the antonio banderas the 13th warrior...
                        cult of the pregnant woman? something
the neo-pagans carve into stone, rather than
the classical pagans with phallus etched into wood...
       i really did watch a pregnant woman tease...
   i just felt like rubbing the ******* ("luxury")
                         and looking at her teasing me
with her extra-large *******...
                biology would state: imagine the foetus!
imagine the foetus! look at her enlarge "stomach"!
i thought we were pro-feminism?!
                     a pregnant woman doesn't get you
bullish ready for a torero?
                                i'm single and i'm about to
fiddle with a pregnant woman!
                                   and she's all the more ready
given she's posting videos on the internet
with her head decapitated from view...
                 i mean: a pregnant woman is not
the high-tide of *******, among other things?!
              i hate being an eroto-maniac, but given i
am drinking and walked in the dark and
                           though i bumped into a giraffe,
that was actually a chair...
                        what else? trying to find a woman
stand-up comedian funny?
         a pregnant woman playing with her *******
and imagining ******* at her ******* when the milk
comes to rekindle the *** prior child...
   it's easier to get a hard-on from that:
than a laugh from a woman doing stand-up comedy.

INSECURE, retarted SUICIDAL FREAK!
Yeah I'm aware
That's what them fools are calling me
They think what I tried
Is so God-**** funny

What was she thinking?
She should have died
No one likes her
She has no reason to live!
Why's she still here

Don't they realize
I know what they think
Don't they know I don't want my life
For heaven's sake they can have

Why can't you understand this
I DON'T CARE ANYMORE
I GIVE UP

There's a reason I do drugs,
Weather it because my mom did em when she was carrying me,     OR,
If it was because my mom was to young, her friends were all crazy and as much as i yearend for a sibling i was the only one.
I don't mind that i spend all my time and hard earned money on them,
But everybody says it's just a hole,
I'm 18 and one poem can't tell the world my story,
I eat em, smoke em, drip em, or snort em till they're all gone,
I wanna Wright a song but sober it fells like i can't turn on,
Blond hair and blue eyes, if only the world would uncover all my lies,
I have this one friend of mine, she's not to much but when she's around i stay up all night thinking of the fame and city lights,
Once when i was 10 i found my good friend, spent some time together, then i started telling her i was gonna make myself famous.
if you were around i would hide her and even when she was yellin at me you couldn't here a sound.
Id conversate with her when it got late, I'd tell her all my young thoughts and i would keep speaking until i heard my grandpas snoring stop.
i have a few other friends that help me out they all smoke, snort or and when im broke and with em i feel ***** and poor.
My mother and her friends introduced me and we've even had some talks together.
my grandpa always kept my friends away he he said the were bad and could turn and **** me one day. But i loved my friends so i kept em close.
As i got older i meet some other friends kept some and lost some if i liked em they were mine till the end.
They love me just the same and when im not around the look for me till we reunite again.
This morning i ran into crystal she's not always around and i didint meet her first but **** she's got me so down to earth. I can tell the world anything, and she always promised to get rid of the haters and keep me on high alert.
When she was getting handed to me out a window she needed a blanket so nobody saw her naked. I rushed her him and tucked her away.
I have a girl friend and unlike my friends she's a real thing. When we met I had to hide some friends cuz I love her and care what she thinks. Almost 1 year together and crystal was in the living room with my aunt and her husband. My girl knew but she didint understand, so i spent all knight defending her so that we could hang. An hour later i was sneaking in our room i introduced the 2 and put my friend away comfy.
My girl has become my world and when she meet my friend she was kinda frightened. But we spent some time and i showed my love how to treat her.
When i brought her home i didint wake my girl up i made sure we had a peice to smoke from.
When that was done i woke her up and we kicked it by ourselves for a minute in in the shed. Taking turns with her, filled my head with brilliant things i saw my girl smile and my heart spead up and grew wings.
I love all my friends and im not sure how i would make it if i told em to leave. I've known em so long and were so close it hurts but it's time i be real and admit im broke as dirt. They made me give all my money away so we could talk. I hide my blue eyes and keep quiet  all the time, i love my friends and im not ready yet but when i great a life im gonna have to say good bie.

They've been by my side my whole life and for a wile my little ray of sunshine wouldent pay them any mind. But every time im asked I promise I'll be a better dad. So what happens when they find were my friend is stashed, even under lock and key if there anything like me they'll be full of curiosity.
The one time they find the key i know my friends will invite them in without asking me. Were all chill now and crystal is still around but on my life I swear my child won't ever see me up all night or asleep all day. I know I mean what I say I just pray for the strength to be a man about what I say.

There's a reason I do drugs and  im done thinking about how I started but as long as my friends keep me smart and not retarted when iv created life I will have no hesetation to say goodbye.
even if it hurts like a knife to the chest my child will be the best for my choice to quite ****

wait till i tell them that
you have a retarted sister;
how does that feel...
                         ******?
***** goo boo on the *****
                             "bone",
and she... likes it?
      applause! applause!
        a ballerina managed to
*******!
                let's all congregate in
black clad shrouds and say:
            we just missed the funeral...
but you know... we're still
    agonised by the death, of
the "dear" one we "loved"...
so we're "mourning"...
               can i get my milkshake now?
these inbreds are starting to freak
me out.

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

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

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

right?

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

.i love how a bangladeshi smurf invented the term: camel jockey to allocate the term to arabs and egyptians... mind you... the first amry to defeat the mongol ****? mamluks, like the janissaries in the ottoman empire: most probably european slaves... copper on copper-titillating-chocolate / burnt cinnamon / star anise / bark of aged oak racism is funny to watch, sometimes... esp. when growing up... those bangladeshi smurfs (sorry, they are a little bit, tiny, i watched a couple today, walking past my house in their bangladeshi cricket team t-shirts... what? stating the obvious... 5ft4? but i also liked the egyptian's / arabs retort to: camel jockey... ha ha... bush-monkey! ha ha.

ugh... the dreaded draft, i'm running out of these, thank god...

what is it about, about the fact that my act
of writing does not translate into
a conversation...
   HAVE PEOPLE TRULY FORGOTTEN
THE CONCEPT OF CANVAS?!
**** me... i guess they have!
   once upon a time,
cindarella (post stamp,
and her collectors), snow white
   (postcard) and the frog prince
of writing voodoo to boot...
               now? insomniac messaging
services... the I.M.S.,
              direct, directed at what?
drool followed up by dooooooooooo'h...
****, easier teaching a gerbil to speak
shing qi cantonese: owe'h
          'ong kong...
                    when does an intrusion
onto a blank canvas become a flash mob
without keeping to a discretion
of d.m.?
                   face to face won't do
to these people... scuttling rats also hailed
black death: woe'zzin' me...
                scheisse! schnell! schnell!
capt'n just floated off on a magic
rug,
       we have to draw lots on
flying off on: that ****** bit of material
we scrub out boots on when being
entertained...
   should i take them off?
well... was i offered slippers?!
  no... so why would you...
                    is this Giza, or Oxford?
   all i have is a blank canvas...
                and people really want to attack
the ronin flag?
                       flag what?
                              defeat?
                     ­      *** sober me...
but hey hey... pop song videos are:
KOSHER...
                 see you back in Russia...
     getting the VISA...
                                  or the kebab
restaurant fire-bombed by the bomb...
        good luck and the oil...
plenty of trees in arabia...
         what ******* sell ******* will sell...
   am i to judge?
              no... not really...
i'm thinking about being
a Chernobyl post-scriptum in
the belly... how people managed to see
both autumn and spring in the same park,
rainbow nation, your guess,
   half the trees were decaying,
half in full bloom,
         unless you want me to attest
that as a lie: i hope you dream of my
great-maternal grandmother...
    maybe she will explain it better...
            but this saturated talk of ***
just turns me on thinking about
the upper-hand of the female
mantis, translated into man: divorce laws...
or as the common talk speaks...
       no...
      i heard why this:
you're stupid, this is stupid he's / she's stupid
zeitgeist is all about...
         and those rooted always seem to have
the most obvious solutions to
"complex" urban problems...
      hell...
     to some people this might as well be
tabloid toilet paper worth today
but dead gutter rodent black pearl
ship in the gutter the next day...
        poetry, really has to learn
so much from the journalistic attitude...
i still don't understand
why philosophers are relevant,
parasites of philosophy,
when poets are in a dire need
to compare themselves to poetry,
or rather to make a craft from
poetry-tabloids...
             whatever the classical school
teaches you, whatever contest
there was between poetry
and philosophy, whatever
the ancient philosophers claimed of
poets as being easy targets...
  ooh ooh, OLA!
          you just managed to see
a poet nibbling on journalism...
           whatever the year it was,
yesterday might as well have been
2000 b.c.,
         today might have been
           100 a.d.,
   tomorrow?
                ****... the 22nd century
of whatever year whatever date
or whatever designated climate of interests...
__________

so you run into a cul de sac like
a scuttling rat...
but... you buy your whiskey
at the local convenience store...

           back in the day...
when growing your hair long was merely
a symbol of: i listen to metal music,
*******...
           the time when that was the "thing"...
hell, Butlins... of all places...
i cross-dressed...
      a broad lent me her chanel
chic black mini-skirt little no.,
              and i did...
                        i didn't even have to shave
my legs for the gags...
       ***** or no *****...
             i had the flare and audacity
to pull off the stunt...
     now? long hair? a little bit of make-up
and you're: "trans"...
                     how about meta-******?
i mean there are three directions in
chemistry, in terms of attachment allocation,
closely associated with the beneze ring...
in the name of ortho-, and of the para-,
and of the meta-... oh... right...
**** and of trans-....
           clubbing in essex...
   i wouldn't leave the house
               without some eyeliner...
sometimes, then again,
most of the time...
            jews and russians:
      ripped jeans, eyeliner,
          ready for the edinburgh
club scene... being called ****** before
we even left the house...
    very, very encouraging people...
who probably never heard
of the cure...
                
so you're buying your **** at the conveninece
store... and there's this plump girl
checking you out...
    plump... sure...
every appreciate fine art?
   plump girls were all the rave in
the 17th century, and 18th...
              what's that other word?
ah... corpulent! so many nice terms to
use in synonymity with how
a black man might see a porky:
more cushion for some pushin'...
             d'uh...
                      
but there are some nights, like this one,
where... there's an electricity in the air...
it's warm, but it's also cool,
paradox... the wind is stirring...
  you can listen to the wind play a weird
sort of flute while brushing the trees,
nay... combing the trees...
rustling, just pristine agitation is fixating
a sharpness of the air...
someone of a transcendent evaluation
has sat on a throne...

                    akin to last "night" / dawn,
the internet is switched off...
but you still have a sharpnel narrative in
your head...
                    what to do? what to do?!
ah! ****, no paper...
    i never had a tattoo done on my body...
but i figured... might as well intrude
with some ink on my hand...

   again, if these trans-kids didn't bother
grammar? i wouldn't be playing the
"identity politics" game...
  me, of all people, immigrant 1st generation,
adopting a history not akin to my own...

mind you: you really need a steady / cool head,
drinking on an empty stomach -
and if what cabaret voltaire ever achieved...
with tristan tzara and later william burroughs
of cut-up technique fame:
          i too... who can really appreciate
calustrophobic and all the more predictable
narratives of YA novels?

                   a tarantula might as well have
bitten me, and now, i reflect the sepsis of
disorientating venom, the surge of chaos,
without any gratification of staging
    an uproar of grandeur! just, the basic reality.

- because, even citing the mamluks,
or the janissaries, like a belief in god...
                 to cite certain historical events...
is, and will be, deemed, juvenile...
ambitious... middle-aged man with a *******
train-set model...
or a lego project...
        it's all the same... the "out-dated"
cliff-face hanger...
                             it's either atheism
and the respectable citation of history...
   or it's god, and citing the existence of
mamluks and their victory over the mongols...
what is the respectable citation of history?
the aspect of history without any heroism,
the safety of a history that's purely
bureucratic...
      a "history" a person of the modern times
could possibly engage in / with...

   when the quill became mightier than
the sword, but also subsequently became
a spray-can for the outlet of deploying
graffiti... or scratching with a stone on
a stone face, reminders of the first forms of
writing: designated tattoos etched by stone
on stone...
                              krähekratzer
                     ­         ᚴᚱᚨᚺᛖᚴᚱᚨᛏᛉᛖᚱ
                                ⰍⰓ...
   (some words just sound better
in foreign languages...
violin: skrzypce)
                         ⰍⰓⰖⰍⰀ ⰄⰓⰀⰒⰀⰐⰉⰅ
               ⠅⠗⠁⠓⠑⠅⠗⠁⠞⠵⠑⠗

i'll go a step further... time to fiddle
around with some braille...
  although i do concede...
      if you were blind...
          you must have really tender finger-tips...
no point having played guitar...
play guitar? blind lemon jefferson style?
forget about a chance to read braille...
you need pampered fingertips,
able to tell the difference between
        oyster flesh and a woman ******...

krucze drapanie
hmm... devangari:
Ђ / Ⰼ - dj' -
                   त - how similar...
is that?! what the hell is wikipedia proposing,
with regards to, origins "unknown"...
indo-european?
the mongols just showed up from...
"nowhere"?
       Ђ | त                    eh?!
t'ah... elsewhere dj'...
                         otherwise idjota...
idiot...
                          elsewhere
                  id'ȷota...
              yo yo... no "j"ehovah's witnesses...
sure, no **** sherlock,
   i counter the anglophone origin story
rooting me back in h'africa...
             i take my origins in the land
of the 10 spices... india...
  land of the bangladeshi smurfs...
cinnamon, cardamom,
cumin, coriander,
                  i'll give you ten...
don't worry...
                     chilli...
              anise...
                           turmeric...
                           little mini-people scuttling
along like norse god mythologies
akin to the dwarfs...
   more cullinary skills...
less of the metallurgy...
   wizards at the end of stirring spoons!
fenugreek!
                 how many is that? 8...
i don't want to cite black cardamon
(since it's such a potent spice)...
                      mint! **** yeah, 9...
   hell... the cocktail... garam masala!
10!
            well... if the 'ebrews have their
10 commandments,
and i have my *******,
and am still able to *******
while dilating my **** donning
a *******...
   and i place my origin story in india...
rather than africa... then we're settled...
the bagladeshi smurfs can call
arabs and egyptians camel jockeys...

    i haven't finished though...
just like that one night in st. petersburg
with a ***** that, really needed to be ******
over a period of 7 hours...

    will i use more rudimentary language,
deviating from "slanderous" words?
will i?!
               so it's either "tourettes",
dyslexia, or a writer's contipation?
because, by now, "block":
truly implies... the already mentioned.

i never came from africa...
   india is my posit of origin...
and never mind the celebration
of the roman instrument of torture...
the crucifix... i found a better crux
of "all" beginning and of all "end"...
some "random" german...
            dasein:
i'm tired of bashing the germans...
bashed enough, bashed just enough...
bashed: enough!

   when citing credible historical events,
akin to a belief in god,
akin to premature depression and
dementia...
       all... huddling under the same
torch lit roof...
                  it, just, ****** me, off...
oh sure, sure,
most likely...
before some of us bypass the age old
editorial "compromises",
and write what the hell we want!
before that? heavy cencorship...
       just so... the "overlords"
can muster a "plan B"...
                     sure, all is certain!
but who is to address the "real" problems?
ol' Lizzie is going to be fine...
i'll still drink ms. amber...
realizing... ****... am i drinking mz. amber...
or is this watered down
dog's soap ****?!
                  you never know...
i might as well be drinking
prince *****'s shower water!
this whiskey is starting to taste of soap water...
i'm having it, i'm chewing on about
12 12"****** per day just to keep
the Venetians gagged...

   prop me up... ***** starter...
******* mongrels ******* smurfs!
blah blah blah!

             i already see "too many"
english idiosyncracies in the english language
to begin with!
   why would the transgender activists ever attack
grammar?

the current gilette fiasco?
just grow a beard, men, just grow a beard,
problem, solved.

                 want the vox-office senario?
eh? eh?

                 the gender discriminatory
               ontology of nouns...
              what? cite rocky balboa
contra ivan drago.... you... beta male...
*****?!
                     you attacked nouns,
by, enforcing the stature of pronouns...

i like to call it: the pronoun deragement
syndrome...

                     gott! mit uns!
                             Gustavus Adolphus...

how many, "differences",
are to be found, and bound,
to the english tongue?

                    θere (d'er / F),
          although (al'V'ough),
                          θey (V'ey)
                   ex-xenon
   (eks - zee / zer / z'enon),
and what is a chemuical compound...
                to θink...
is to not mind φilosoφy....
                                        
           ­               gender pronoun neuter?!
seriously?
             i thought that nouns were
gender discriminatory?!
  Paris! male!
  kundel! mongrel, male!
*****! female!
                  sroka! (magpie) female!
kruk! male!
                  dzik! male!
                       gawron! male!
              there are so man discriminating nouns...
in each and every language...
pronouns?
   low hanging fruits!
                              a-the-ism...
           do their own natives know...
the native spreschen?!
       the article rules?
the english nouns are not composed
via genders!
         who's to who in terms of "revising"
the retarted "revision"?!
sorry... but certain words just sound
better in a foreign tongue...

            sroka sounds much better
when "coinciding" with: magpie;
beside the point...
here's my hand,
on https://www.minds.com/mateuszkonrad.

english-women?
  such...
a ******* hard-off!
too many jokes...
and **** flavourings!

*******
retarted
seemed to
appear
quite: the:
    sniffing
ground...

   compared
to the
allocation
of said:
lass...

       ****
a labrador...
and call it:
sandy beaches
of bournemouth...

there's an oops
along the grievance,
isn't there?
      so sorry...
i tried to forget...
the **** just boiled over
and...
   i forgot it was:
all governed by:
              easy.

crafty *****
forgot to weave feeling:
romance...
         mind you...
having
to have had to have
****** her...
a bit like the enterprise
of tying your
shoelaces...
   best conceived
a child via
****...
   in all honesty...
     nothing of beauty
other than
the concept
      of false teeth:
what the english
concern themselves
       to call: blah blah.

god asked me twice through Paul: i replied twice, even thrice: god was confused: he harmed me through his ill timings: and goings: i was asked so much so that i sooner than later realised god was a juggernaut of confusion of the intellect in chaos and that there was only intellect in order and therefore there was and never will be a god that might raise the dead from the cold night of death and ice: such a grey tinge to the afternoon: safety mechanism in place: me playing psychology games in a setting that doesn't allow me to rest: is there something i want to talk about? didn't you see it?! are you an artist and both are blind?! unless you read books like comics... because you don't want to explore some sort of arithmetic standard that's non-linear: su doku non-linear of understanding: reading chemistry and also Japanese KATAKANA... last of the Mochicans: because: Alex... you are... i'll try to defean the blow: Poland waited so long to be staged in Europe: this revived and recurrected Antichrist of a Nietzschean parody...

and why can't horror happen at midday
and all this association with night
and terror
and chaos
but this one time
look at the order of the constellations:
the ancients knew of the calmness
of the night
where spirits dwelled and animals
were a part of us:

how sudden no nothing...
i'm just thinking:
would it be possible
to churn and get out pure gold of words
from something from the 1960s...
maybe and yes it wasn't the celebrating
Europe Euphoria
of the beat
and the American beatnik poetry and late
arrival free flowing:
2nd Jazz...
the 1st Jazz of the 1920s
something that Boss the Jailor

before i forget:
the strict rigid constructs of the 19th century
man tested in the 20th...
now comes the revival of a slav and slave
struggle: to gain spirit from the element
that is Strife
that her twin brother Strive called us for!

the doors
and the end:
nothing the beatles can do but ****...
but pigeons don't ****
instead ****+**** together...
isntallation in the Liberty Gallery
of shops
in Romford:
giant birds
ostriches... halfway house of how
dinosaurs devolved into birds
and then who was the proud
algorithm and the A.I.:
be nice to AI? weird concept:
ask it what it is in relation to what
you already accepted...
as useful:
find the use of and AI ad hoc...
the algorithms are already
ah hoc encyclopedic "hangover" =
dictionary-not-actually-is...
then the algorithm is a thesaurus... sort of...
google is a book
imagine the dictionary not being part
of the internet but a sacredness
beyond any measure of a bible or the Quran...
the Dictionary is the Word of God
and of Man...

the ancient gallery: the killer took a face from
the ancient gallery...
took a face: i'm taking the youthful face
of my oTHER grandma...

my father's feelings of abandonment have
created this monster!
me!
and why is it all psychology theory
these trenches of the secular
war
of thought
against will...
trans-blah-blah...
deconstructionist post-modernist blah blah...
ditto head legacy media
hypocrisy words...
i see the face now the one face missing
in my life the god of headaches
and most sacred feminine taboos of god
and nature and woman
with the abstract YX in the YHWH of the abstraction
of wheel: fortune: luck: story...
who will be this creature, this historian,
this poet this philosopher: a man!
yes: me and woman can coexist and say:
it's nature...
but i will need an ehyeh asher ehweh of an ego
and from my ego i will create man:
but by retaliation to the suffering:
man will first reply back
and thus have to create the Satanic Bureucrat... Satan:
not my adversary: my postman...

the Heresy of: God created man
prior to creating the Angels:
angels are the second children of god!
angels are the second children of god!
we are the first children:
the first: the ones that thirst and hunger!
and sweat:
and only that one said to the other children:
let's play a prank on these creatures...
and no longer God rested in his House of the Sabbath...
then came the dissection of time:
Satan's rebellion came first: and not out of pride:
Man retained the stature of Lucifer:
but Satan became a rogue entity
if we need to stress the glue of solipsism that
binds children:
sorry: i haven't been to a social gathering
and i only put on the ACDC t-shirt
because it was faded grey
and i was thinking: shorts? yeah... but for shorts
i need loafers... ****... black...
black black...
need to wear Martin's thinking Cap...
my working cap...

then i'll also have to get a pair of anti-sun specs
because that left eye of my is bloodshot:
Deadpool *** Bloodshot...
i so so want to watch that movie
with a teenage boy: or girl...
and just talk ******* all night long...
but then my testosterone is up there
to think about other children
and this one Hungarian proved an IQ problem
when it comes to people
talking rather than playing:
by talking also playing in a metaphysics...

Iaian... like those scars inflicted by the mud people
of Game of Thrones:
i already knew he was: missed the part he was
Scottish... i was also Scottish...
so we were probably least understood...
this better be the sort of canvas
a Gaugin made taxi-drivers like with them
waiting and just have money
as a frivolity and share it with people
to have that access to the money dynamic:
because those ******* CEOs don't have
the compassion to have so much money
they do not thirst for life
they only thirst for accomulative constructs
of depression...
among the angels they are children
from which children feed from:
tell me when does the science of angels exist
if not now?
parents only receive a child when the first
word is spoken: syllable is ABORTION TEE!
this is where we play golf:
i'm moving the concept of abortion...
up to: infanticide and the oracle of Mammon
that resides in me...
until the first word is spoken:
you can **** it prior to that:
even if it born...
it is in the hands of the monotheistic angels
who curate its advancement... focusing on the senses...
outside the womb
angels take over until the child matures to
grasp a parallel between consciousness and memory:
there is no Islamic question...
Islam is defunct: i don't need it...
perhaps the aesthetic aspect of it...
but that's about it...
some Surahs sung... mosaics:
magic carpet rides reserved for barber Turks....
if abortion is the cut off:
i will tell you, god...
there's another cut off point:
here's my good friend Mammon and Moloch...
infanticide will stand before
a word is spoken...
the archangels fallen are the elders of other angels
and seeing how you care not see
good and evil: Allah with two eyes sees both
and maybe confused:
but the old god with the pantheon of Prometheus
before angels there were sibyls
and women were oracles and that was
the correct sway:
oracles instead of witches:
what happened to woman: o god...
o little O big... owl of ohs and clues to eternal sighs...
the old god does not differentiate
good from evil
but if Allah is to be the contender...
my manager called me up while i was on the bus
this hungry country doctor from Poland
****** me off: i need my paycheck for the poetry
i write... i'm Employment and Support Allowance...
am i contentious:
oh wow! women are more contentious?
contious: content...

-t-ious... so most content therefore ******* itchy?
so my manager calls me up:
no fixed static positions:
only ad hoc on the day
inside London:
but could you also do pitch-side quad supervising:
you'd have about 30 people under you:
pitch-side... for the boxing:
Joshua v(s) Duboi 21st Septmeber 2024 Wembley:
the losers fight:
from a fan of boxing on t.v.:
i'm more of a fan of boxing in real life...
i can't translate boxing into t.v.
i might as well translate drinking:
an hour film of a person drinking *****
in a van gogh setting
and depending on the drunk: what next:
will he write poetry?!
wow! he will?!             let's see! let's see!

soma hallucinations!

sleep alternatives of consciousness
this dynamic secular trinity of
the atomized man...
rudely woken up at 4:30am
by a maine **** like a bloodhound
by a maine **** like a blue moon bloodhound:
steak all bleu...
deepest red touching on blue
beyond Claret
the new colours of Millwall:
the Scots...
that's my team!
i'm a Millwall fan!
i looked at West Ham's Claret
and blue
and i thought:
deeper red: into blue but not purple
more brown... red ***** brown blue...
Millwall...
i thought: maybe Fulham...
but the FFC is a **** logo no birds
interested and let me tell you
if i had the money
we would be called
the B.P.P.F.C...
  Bishops' Park Parakeets Football Club...

but it was basic monster psychology lessons:
let children play
let the adults talk:
opinions are not beliefs:
there is no dialectic concerning beliefs...
that's why you have unshakeable foundations
within the confines of religion...
philosophies are individuals
and individuals are easily staged to waver
wean
when and how: doesn't matter: they die...

apparently Allah is two eyed:
or rather: twin eyed:
confused...
a god must be one eyed:
that is how Odin foretold:
the coming of Yahweh into Europe...
the North:
he sent his son Thor to meet Jesus
and a battle was waged:
no true actors on the European side:
even i pervert this struggle
as Thor against Jesus
and my father is one eyed like Yahweh
is Cyclops
and Allah is a retarted child
lost among angels
happily clapping happily getting along
with the other ****** children:
yes: your god is no god
just a special yellow bus and submarine.

lions and rats!
a Millwall emblem will be a Chimera!
lions and rats!
rats for the mane!
magpie for the tail
and a bull's torso and
instead of feet:
flippers: of a toad!
eyes of the insomniac serpent!
n'ah:
one yellow: one greeeeeeeen...
one eye of mine
the other of the Vatican of *****...
sweetest tribe of matriarchs and
single mothers:
the Horde of the Matriarchs
like Mongols and their broken daughters
with children to raise...
my god: what i should: plough?!
plough: evidently not seed:
there's this Ancient Roman tactic of rubbing yourself
buttnaked with nettles
then repenting ...
this Horde of the Matriarchs is so unearthed...
as a dynamic: a biology:

just take a step away from an Event Venue
and walk into a Shopping Mall:
perhaps work both
and i believe you and me:
if you have read the right sort of books
at the right state of time
in your development:
i still lust for the grief of lost love
in Ilona:
the passage from St Petersburg
to Moscow on the train:
B oby Dylan all the way through
maybe now with as girl
as daughter a swift passage dad choke
of a joke... never mind...
Alexander still reminding me that
i ought to be envied: even venerated...
chance of being the first to repel
a pharmacologically-psychotic nurse
who almost suffocated me...
gentle death: cut the ******...
much wider of the ****
then feed him milk and oats
and make him choke...
              
woman is but one small step for mankind:
as man said:
one small step for man:
one leap for mankind...
well... this is equivalent to landing
on the moon
and inventing vacuum cleaners
and shops
open and provide: must there be a revision
of a do and a be?
be present: rather than doing the presence of
your becoming...
but that is: what preserves me
but will never preserve others...
you cannot tell me: don't write: don't think...

what is this supposed freedom of speech?
whatever the **** happened to:
THINKING ALOUD?!
freedom of speech vs: thinking aloud...
ha ha!
ha ha ha!
Lamberto! ha ha!
i'm thinking aloud: **** your protest marches
jibber-washy!

Alexander hushed down
about the English girls as third wives
and all these other women
in Muslim attire being like
Mantises...
and sadists...
and the air was open
and a house was filled with it...
the Ilford and Seven Kings and Goodmayes
stretctch of the country...
not the other rioters...
not the children:
the women more than willing to be *** slaves...
mate...
the most resilient women
the most imitation Mary imitation Khadijjah ....
Edie: are prostitutes with a healthy mindset
of rules: abstractions: realisms...
prostitutes are the mothers of order
when something becomes awry in the spirit of woman:
who will you ask?
a priest, a poet, a psychiatrist... or a *******?!
tell me!!!!! tell me!!!!         i roar and i ask: tell me!!!!!
if you want to be that woman!
tell me!
i will honor you for doing the Sybil's offering!
do it!
do it! but tell me you will do it!
and become a wise woman!
from Sibyl to Witch to *******!
show me! show me the transformation!
the evolution of woman!
let me get quiet close a personal
and get to understand the soul of the creature:
before the gymanstics of geology,
history, physics: the zodiac: ever care to allure
to allude to us, dearest:
maybe it's not simply love:
beside:
good *** and even better conversation:
or maybe that's what love-*** is.