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*****, *****, *****, *****, ***** and moan
about us drinking all the milk
that you didn't help pay for
and then drink each last beer
that you didn't help pay for
while the guy who bought them and got to drink none
is busting *** at work
making him able
to buy yet more things
for you to take for granted.

With friends like these..

By the way,
where's the last few months' rent?
You know, for all the months sense your parents stopped payin' it?
Oh, I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to assume
that you would assume some responsibility
like the rest of us
to whom you ceaselessly complain
about how un-*******-fair
your spoiled ******* brat lifestyle is.

You can't even keep a plant
you want for personal reasons,
so how is it even fair to assume
you could get and keep a job?

How foolish of me!

At least you can roll a good joint
with **** you didn't acquire
and papers you didn't buy.
A ******* professional, you are.

By the way,
that soldering iron
you neglected to leave the house to pick up
would be ******* fantastic to have,
but even a walk half a mile to the post office
is too ******* strenuous
for you.

By the way,
do you want ants?
Because your heap of cans, bottles and dishes
is a great way to get ants,
but you get all vindictive and indignant
if anyone tries to clean "your space"
in my ******* house
you haven't even paid to live in
for many months.

While Money is far from everything,
and I wish it was a non-issue,
kindness and good intentions
will not even begin to pay
the bills, the mortgage
or these exorbitant Californian property taxes;
and, even if they did,
I fear you'd still fall
rather short.

Perhaps-
no, not even perhaps:

I've been far too nice far too long
to people who couldn't be ******
to show some ******* respect.
"You're ***** deep in muddy waters, ******' hypocrite."
-The *** by Tool
Last week, Cortney moved into a four story apartment
with seven twenty-something year old roomates, all boys.
The men share the first three floors.
while Cortney has the enire top floor to herself.
I spent the night there saturday night.
And around 10:00pm
a twenty-three year old boy
Blonde, baby faced, named Kevin Smith
stumbled drunk into Cortneys penthouse room.
Kevin smith removed his pants, and crawled into bed with us.
Kevin Smith nuzzled into my face, pulled me close, and rested his hand,
firmly on my ***.
Kevin Smiths breath smelled of ***, coffee, (and a man who regularly brushes his teeth.
Good Job Kevin Smith.)
At first, Cortney and I assumed Kevin Smith was each other.
after further, mostly-unconcious, inventory of our limbs,
we gathered this was neither the case, nor a hallucination.
Cortney flopped dryly for her cellphone and shined it's light at Kevin Smith.
"What the ****" Shouted Cortney.
No response from Kevin Smith.
"What the ****!!"
We got out of bed and put clothes on,
laughed at how ridiculous it was
that a drunk stranger just grabbed my ***,
while an unconcious Kevin Smith laid in Cortneys bed.
Kevin Smith sat up
"This is really telling. I uh..."
Cortney cut him off
"Get out."
As she turned on the light.
"Can you guys call my phone?" Asked Kevin Smith,
"No." Said Cortney
Get out of my room."
physically pushing Kevin Smith out of her room.
Cortney held up Kevin Smiths drunk zanax filled body on the stairs.
preventing Kevin Smith from otherwise falling down said stairs and dying.
Kevin Smith showed his appreciation by saying,
"High fives all around"
I watched Cortney strattle drunk Kevin Smith awkwardly, yet also motherly
down the stairs.
I leaned over the railing and high fived Kevin Smith.
"I just want you to know," mumbled Kevin Smith
you guys are my friends.
You don't need to.. I got this".
"No, you really don't" said Cortney,
"if you fall down or throw up on me
you owe me $20"
Cortney delivered Kevin Smith to his bed.
Kevin Smith mumbled something, and Cortney returned upstairs.
"What the ****?" Laughed Cortney.
"What the ****." I replied.
A true story...
What just happened.
untrue May 2015
"No. Don't. Just stay inside."
As you say. I don't dare ask why.
"It is nice this way. And I can hear your heart."

"It sounds so loud."
(You treacherous heart)

But that wasn't the deal.
And how can I handle that?

...

What was the deal?
"This is just ***."
No kisses or romance or...

"Let's just forget."

...

I tried. Wished to. But I wonder you see...
"Just leave me alone. I won't talk about that."
...you censored the things that troubled you still.

"That is hilarious. And you are sad."

And your schadenfreude is not humane.
"I don't know what that is. I also don't care."
But I knew your humanity all too well.

"Stop talking about it. And thinking too."

I have still the right to ******* care about you!
"Look. Cut it now. All my friends know."
I feel betrayed and now the end appears close.

...

"Oh, well, you know. I may have possibly found you love-able. Once."

You mean ****-able, right? Can't mean anything else.
"Why are you talking like that? I don't like it. It is not you."
(So-over-you attitude) (Couldn't-care-less eyes) -I won't budge.

She's tearful, now, and then she smiles.

Just when I was giving in.
"This is such a funny thing!"
Almost impossible. Anger me, please!

I once couldn't stand one bit, you looking sad.

Faking is not me. You did deserve it.
"Well, night now. My boyfriend has come."
You'll have *** till dawn and boring chat. You told me so.

I walk to my room, and insanely alone,
I shatter my mind with one simple truth:
I loved you too much. You couldn't say you loved me back.

"It was just ***** back then. Didn't think that much."
And I was just a friendly mistake.
Mea culpa and it's gone.
Something about being 151 miles from home
walking around barefoot all day
in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, California
wearing a vest and some black cotton pants,
drinking good Cabernet and lots of water,
eating homemade pasta salad and chicken sandwiches,
in the early-Autumn Summer-esque temperatures,
the third day of the 2013 Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival,
witnessing Gogol Bordello and The Devil Makes Three,
with my great Friends, and also Roomates, Abdul and his Wife,
and their friend and her 20 month old Son
makes me feel sort of ... *****.

Funny how that works;
Unprotected feet on very Public grounds
Unprotected feet on verily treded grounds;
Going barefoot is nice, though.

(Except the ******* sidewalks, incidentally.
Even the streets are nicer to walk on barefoot. Even pineneedles!
I am disappointed, San Francisco! I thought you were on the side of the hippies!)

If anything was learned from the Sixties,
it's that unprotected anything
in San Francisco
is easily a hazard.
-
Now, that was a ******* amazing day.
Now; to the shower and then directly the **** to bed!
Away!
The Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival ******* rocked.
We left at 8 am and just got back at about 11:30pm;
I didn't sleep even last night after dishwashing for 7 hours! Wooo!

It was sorta cute:
someone even tried to sell us ****
and we basically had to tell him: "*****, please.
We comin' out Nevada County; that **** grows like Grass in them yonder hills."

I usually advocate barefootedness when I am on psyches, but I am not on psyches and I am doing so. Just to clear up any confusion. This totally could be a thing I would write on acid or the like.

Parenthetical bit is true but the last part is meant to be facetious, but it probably doesn't even matter that I specify. Read it as you will! I cannot change anything but myself, anyway. Have at it!
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
Chaste lovers wonder  .  .  .
How bodies weather the cold,                                                                            
  .  .  .  Never knowing touch.
P Chartier Jul 2013
I am the bobby pins and hair clips you find in corners of your room, on your dresser, or behind your bed.

I am the pictures on your wall that I made when I was once manic.

I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once my “three or four nights a week bed” which I used as a table.

I am the cafe where we met, and kept meeting.

I am day drives to no where.

I am the Middletown train station before the movies.

I am the mint lotion that keeps the bugs away.

I am the notes I would leave you, that found their way on your wall.

I am the bandaids.

I am that strand of medium length brown hair you will find in your shower

I am that guy, from trivia at that other cafe, that I wanted us to be friends with.

I am the hands that would unlock your locked pointer finger.

I am that key on your key chain.

I am the leftover tea that is always too hot for me to drink, and is left near your bed.

I am ice cream with CHERRIES, and edamame.

I am the sheets on your bed.

I am the downing film theater when you needed to feel better.

I am New Jersey.

I am the reason Netflix recommends Independent dramas with strong female lead. I am the netflix.

I am the stain on your mattress.

I am the drool on your pillow.

I am the sugar in your cabinet above your roomates whiskey.

I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for.

I am all those pictures of me on your phone which made their way to your computer.

I am the light wash boyfriend jeans.

I am that bottle of wine that sits with all other bottles, that you see when you walk out of your room and into the kitchen, and out the door.

I am the reason you once felt content.

I am the reason the corkscrew sits on that stool.

I am the reason why your toothbrush is wet, before you use it.

I am the two red sharpie marks left on those sheets that I got us.

I am mexico. The trip to mexico that could have almost seemed doable.

I am the sent of oils which remind you of hippies.

I am the shoes left at your door, or the teavana jug of tea in the kitchen right now.

I am the fourth of July. I am that pool we never swim in. I am the projected films on the fence.

I am the talker, the thought keeper, the fighter, the writer.

I am Sensual Amber

I am UBE

I am my legs on the wall when I dry them.

I am the tiny pills on your dresser.

I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than.

I am the bobby pins.
none Jul 2018
I had split in parts.
I lifted my hand but
it was not me
I spoke words but
it was not me
I existed but
it was not me

I split in parts and
there should be dialogue
between roomates
but I was so terribly frightened
to bother them again
Ben Mar 2016
Well,
You never thought you'd be here
Not at this age
Not knowing what you know
In fact,
Why isn't the whole world
Lining up to kiss your feet?

You know it all
You've been there
And if you haven't been
Someone
A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend
Has been

All your bad experiences
Those are the world's bad experiences
Disregard the child soldier
The **** victim
The mutated and deformed
These?
These are real problems
If they aren't on the surface
They fester below
Rotting away at whatever you could hide away
We all feel so bad for no one

Daddy is too rich
He loves his guns and his motorcycles
And mommy got remarried to some maniac
Who has a drawer specifically for tissues and a sports car

How is an upstanding young man
Expected to compete with that?
The neon kisses the sidewalk below embracing strangers as they pass
in all directions none seem towards home.
***** sidewalks and the slums splendor Im a gatekeeper of despair and hard
luck just living for the bells chime to echo from the counter.

Drunks and ****** gather within my confines the outcasts of the night my people
seldom will I ever know more than a signature upon the page.
Moths drawn together attaracted by neon light.
Tommorows not a promise so embrace feeling and grow numb in reflex for now.


Are we not twisted from exposher numb from the streets brutal truth?
I count the hours a television for companion a bottle a often short staying vistor
who's welcome till the hangover's regret.

Some pills to drive my thoughts and a fresh *** of coffee to fuel my engine
tIme kills even the most unfaded of us all.
And through the night they gather some to escape the cold others for a quick escape
or fast **** to forget as if in a Halloween costume soon they'll return to there true act
of a life.

Embrace as lover's when there nothing more than roomates hey kids were doing great
you coming home for Christmas this year?
And so they like well trained actors reprise there roles.

But i see there mess allnight I collect the rejects nothing more but fragments
glass that reflect what they wish could never be.
If only we could rewind.
But life's highway cant be retraced so on we roll.

I  collect there money and take down there names the keeper of memories
tattered wings fly none the less.
As for the women the far away stares are but shared thoughts of a misery
more bitter we drink from the same passed down glass.

Some things just don't have to be said to be understood.
The nights my watch my vices fuel me for yet another round.
the neon signs my beacon And the moths glide to flame with the turning of the switch.

Were all ****** up but seldom can some show the flaws .
I embrace them unspoken please sign here.
Tommorows walk we'll pretend to not see for we all need to feel
invisible sometIme.

The end of my shift bids farewell to my collected chaos tired we've become in constant
recollection the light is off for now.
Dorothy A Nov 2010
She married him just to get out of the house. He, in turn, was a great rescuer of helpless cases, and she was a damsel in distress. They were both so young. She was barely eighteen and he was almost twenty. It was the Spring of 1968, and none of her friends thought it would last. Those were the days of free love, and all her friends did not expect her to stay tied down for long. After all, she was young and did not experience that much in life.

At first, everything went smoothly. They both tried their best to be a good marriage partner, but their parents weren't good models. Their marriages seemed to be lifeless and void of love. So they  had to learn on their own, by their own, day-to-day experience.  

Soon she became bored with him, and he distanced himself away from her. He tinkered away at his workshop in the basement, bunkered down in his own domain while she found her haven in the kitchen. She quickly became love-starved, reading cheap romance novels to fill up the void.

She became relieved when she was pregnant with her first child, so she would not be alone anymore. Yet the birth of her son did not make life any easier, and it only added fricton to the distant couple. Another child, a daughter came only one year later. Instead of feeling closer to her husband, she only grew more weary of him, and he of her. All of her efforts was put into her children to attempt make her life happy. It did not work all that well for her, and she struggled with depression often. Yet she hid it, putting her best face forward in the midst of her desperation to convince her friends and family that she was fine.

They were both very surprised that the third child came around four years later, another girl, for he barely touched her. They had been existing like two roomates instead of a husband and wife.

It was nearly inevitable that he would stray from her. When she became more and more suspicious, she confronted him and he told her the truth. He did not love her anymore, and he was happier in the arms of another. She cried to her friends, and they all told her to divorce him. Even though she had few working skills, she was better off without him. She cried even harder, for she had to admit that she strayed, too, and she believed she may have been the first to do so.

She caught another man's eye, and she could not understand why a mother of three would be so appealing. Now she felt truly ugly, that her marriage was a lie, and there was no way back, but to be out of it. Most of all,  she felt that she wronged her children, and her illusion of a perfect family shattered before her eyes.

Her husband packed up his bags, but even he had tears in his eyes. He never meant it to be this way. What happened to the time when he could not keep his eyes off of her? He knew his children were counting on him, and he vowed he would always see they had what they needed--the basics like shelter, clothing and food. But they weren't going to have him, not like they once had. He felt like he let down everyone who counted on him, and it was a heavy load to bear.

So he went away, but neither of them could sleep at night. The other side of the bed seemed emptier than ever. The woman he thought he now loved was not going to make him any happier than he was before.

He now discoverd that he was just as much in his soon-to-be ex-wife's life as  he was while they were together, doing repairs on the house, paying bills, visiting the children. So why couldn't they give it another shot? They just didn't know how to revive the mess they were in, but both admitted they were willing to do do. She did not want him to rescue her, like she before, for it never worked in the first place.

They made several trips to their church pastor for counseling. Each one had to forgive the other, and not harbor any hard feelings, in order to begin the process of getting back together. It had been nine years since they first married, and they weren't that young, naive couple anymore. Life had matured them, often the hard way,and they were ready to try again.

Even though all her old friends thought she would never make it, she had learned to love her husband like she could never do before. He had learned to be there for her, and not distance himself. They could have stayed together for the children's sake, but nothing would have been any better unless they changed.  They both knew they did not want a marriage of convenience, or in name only.

Life was certainly never going to be without troubles, but they had remained together, weathering every trial. And they never regretted that they chose to stay together.
Anais Vionet Jan 13
I’m a tightrope walker, strung between
the hedonistic abyss of winter break and
the unforgiving canyon of organic chemistry.

The stack of spring syllabuses are a prophecy whispered
in Latin. The story they tell haunts my dreams - wherein
each biochemical is a monster lurking in the shadows.

“I’m not in a tailspin, that would be unfair,” I tell Lisa, “I’m in a lull.”
“It’s like that awkward time, between a hangover and drinking again.” she laughs.

Sure, I envisage late, week night study grinds, and sleepless
hours, but the price of serious things isn’t trivial - success and hard
work are, unfortunately, yoked together, like Shakespeare’s double shadow.

A tough spring curriculum won’t stop me from
taking 3 or 4 minutes to dance with roomates
when a head-banger like ‘Spiral City’ plays or
enjoying sudden, late night jelly bean melees.

And then there are the spring things that spark joy.
Walking to class on a brilliant spring morning,
with birdsong, a warm sun and fragrant breezes.

Laughs stolen in the back of classes,
gossip and secrets exchanged over
guilty coffee and croissant indulgences.

Skipping through crowded halls, drawing looks
‘cause we’re clapping aggressively to each other, singin’
“You got the swag sauce, she dripping swagu, ooh!”

“Ok,” I think to myself, putting my hair in a ponytail,
“I’m ready for spring semester - bring it on.”
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Envisage: picture something it in your mind

“You got the swag sauce, she dripping swagu, ooh”
Are lyrics from the song “Party” by André 3000 and Beyoncé
Sukanya Basu Nov 2023
The stale fish and the bedroom alabaster,
I quickly change into
My pajama bottoms and gills,
To slice my neck on the charcuterie board;

I glance at my watch as I turn in the grill,
This boy loves me;

Why else would he be smiling and putting truffle
On my pajamas with ruffles,
My roomates pretty baffled
About the boy in my kitchen

He was pretty with eyes that died
He asked me out on a friday night,
I chose to love instead of fight or flight,
He was the southern sea,
Oh what a glee!

Its a shame that it’s almost December,
The time I mourn my yarn
I knit a spider web for Christmas

And put my mouth to the barrel of a gun,


Maybe he could slice me kind
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2023
there is a very infamous instance of bez-osobowość
when you cross the Polish border at the airport
and get searched...
the celniks (guards) - provided you know the zunge:
will address you in a without-person(ality)
language / syntax...

how / i.e.? verb laden, verb exclusively,
averting pronoun usage...
i guess this is a counter to what....

oh i love Jordan Peterson aging and in full
schematic rearrangement of
post-modernistic mode "word salad"
buzzing... i'm buzzing too:

two nuggets of verbal beauty: a shine
on a sheen...
sheen being the already available glit of
a metal... shine being if a metal is exposed
to light and almost, "almost" reacts like
water or mirror...

- negotiating identity into adulthood...
- "terrible war in our culture"

     what war? what culture: to be exact...
cf. kołakowski's: culture and fetishes...
really? is there a culture "war" or simply...
this is not a war "war": this is a civilian fetishazation
of combat... this is passive-aggressiveness
of atomized-***-drive-derivatives
a cis-mutation parody regarding
a concept of: species...
this is one massive a-hole (forgot the bomb)
of an anti-Darwinism...
one might stretch it to the extent of calling
it liberal Darwinism...
or: on the basis of a humanistic whim
we can't harness the power of a lightning strike
nor can we harness the winds of a tornado...
but we'll sure as ****: make pretty boa-constrictive
grammar out of how we forget about trading,
capital...

identity "politics"?

- ideas of identity are narrow, hedonistic,
unsophisticated, self-serving...
- identity groups: whim-based, ****** identities,
race, ethnic...
- predicated on the notion of the immediacy
of...
- you're not a *** machine...
- anxiety hopelessness misery...
- subsidiary solution
- integrated self...

   hmm... so not the differentiating self of self?
to integrate a self "off" a self: toward the self?

consumer model?
integrating integers or integrating the collapse
of fractions?

a poem written while listening to a podcast
rather than music, which would be echo chamber
solipsism...

- play with someone else...
- invite someone else...
- there's you and now there's you that's a husband...
- responsibilities and opportunities...
- not gratifying your short term whims...

fair enough... go on herr doktor...

- immaturity vs. non-negotiation...
- learn to love someone...
- 20 years ago: self-consciousness and negative emotion
on par...
- flesh yourself out...           stretch...

huh? community? what community?
i have lived across from my neighbours for over 20
years and the closest i got to them
was when she and her daughters paraded
naked in the bedroom and later
moved on to getting another hubby...
married or "married"...
cohabitation... moved across the street
two doors down and still no ******* conversation
about: oh the weather is dreary and oh:
the garbage men forgot to take my garbage
or: oh the traffic is bad blah blah...

- definition definition definition:

the defining of the finite
the indefinitable infinite...
time is a flexibility of not counting / not measuring...

in out in out

- no action without the good...
ah... nugget! finally!

- consumerist capitalism
- idiocies of a degenerate protestant liberalism
driven by postmodernism...

well, given that when Moses spoke to unsaid X
said: ehyeh asher ehyeh...

i.e. i am: that         ↓
                        → i am ←
                                ↑

and not... i am what i am... since...
there's a clear distinction between the pronoun
'that' and 'what'...
conclusively...
by 'that' i'm implying vectors...
by 'what' i'm implying: questions...

what? well what?!

i am what:                 !
                             ?  i am  ?
                                     !

but Moses wasn't interrogated in a what whom
fashion, no: i am what i am spoke to him:
who spoke to Moses?
i am: that, i am...

  that... precisely that, i am that: who?
would god ask who of / off who of / off himself?

i still find it preposterous that this commandment
is so vague on the Islamic mind
as to not cherish the name Allah
but shout it while killing innocents:
and in his greatness the jinn swarm
to take the metaphysical procrastinators to
the hell of the 72 "virgins"...

la ilaha illa allah -

    mind you: the Maltese word for god is
borrowed from the Saracens
and is also blahllah... no: allah...
all? ah!
a relief it would seem...
how easily you could censor that word out
of a person's vocabulary and not take it in vain...
it's a Hebrew game i very much like playing
since i make-oaths of ****'s ******* ****
like a cobbler...

i still can't figure out whether to think of
culture wars as civilian fetishes of warfare or not..
culture war is a fetishised term...
war is a fetish term for poets who
are living out a rigor mortis of intellect...

now for the gates...

א                                                      ­               ע
    
i might be behind the literature,
what i know is: kametz (a)
     tzeré (e)
                  chirek (i)
cholem (o)
                       shurek (u) - pentagram...

hmm... Greek Satanism... which is not very much like
WASP Satanism that mingled neo-******
with a sour-**** vibrancy of proto-*** chimps
of the North American "sentiment"...

the revised niqqud from the niqqud
i learnt outside the realms of the internet is as above
(cf. aryeh kaplan meditation and kabbalah
samuel weiser inc. box 612
york beach, maine 03910
isbn 0-87728-616-?)

chirek became hiriq (בִ - i.e. BI - ב, bet hiriq) - i
kametz became patach kamatz gadol (בַ בָ - b'ah) - a
tzeré became segol zeire (בֶ בֵ - i.e. b'eh) - e
cholem became holam (בֹ - b'oh) - o
and...
shurek became kubutz shuruk (בֻ וּ - BAV) - u

a story of the gate:
א                                                          ­           ע
(ayin)                                                     (alef)

through which: הה Heh and Heh walked through
to find the husbands י (yod)
  and ו (vav)... oh sure: bot sisters...
Heh and Heh walked through these gate(s)...
and so became coupled into a name best associated
with "jehowa": i.e. he who hides them (vowels)
like the niqqud and the niqab...
some sort of conspiracy theory against
a society built upon monogamy...

so i met this pretty little 5ft2 36D Puerto Rican
all the way in Hawaii, or to be more specific: Kauai...
on the internet...
and since any mention of formality and inception
i'm on the phone to her every Sunday
(and i'll probably call her today:
Monday's and Tuesday's are her days off)
and we talk for an hour and i feel: ****...
only 10 minutes have passed...

but i'm still engaged with the current trend of anti-cinema...
culture war my ***...
a bit like revising that vision of St. John's...
believe you me when i say:
four horsemen... and one donkey-rider...
so that's 5 riders... the donkey rider
being obviously slower than death
since he'd be the one riding last giggling his ***
off... maybe him and the donkey would
be laughing... maybe even a talking donkey...
the vision is grotesque:
hyper-parody of Islam stealing the "saviour"...

now i know why i didn't drop any acid or ingest
any magic mushrooms...
this one time in Amsterdam me and this
Egyptian were mesmerised or rather fearful
having drank some ***** and smoked some marijuana
watching these two roomates of ours in a hostel
ingest magic mushrooms and waste the experience
on watching American Dad on t.v. in a darkened room...
Germans: so go figure... p.t.s.d. of history
or whatever you want to call it...
you'd think that ingesting psychadelics
you'd want to be in the sunshine in a forest
for some transcendental speech impediment onset...
not some dingy hostel room watching t.v., right?

case? the opposite, ingest some alcohol, fast,
then think about the hebrew alphabet...

yes, the great advent of anti-cinema...
a cultural shift...
when actors became producers...
notably? true detective... starring matthew mcconaughey
and woody harrelson...
when actors became executive producers...
perfect hell-storm to **** of cinema franchises
for the children...
from the days of: parents go out for a date
and employ a babysitter to...
kids go out and shoot up laughing gas
and eat fast food and fast **** in an alley
while the parents sit indoors and watch decent content...
maybe because actors have more time
therefore more freedom to feel into their roles
maybe because to write something good
you need to waffle for more than the space
of ~3h or like a pop song becomes prog-rock
after the 3min mark?!

in a way modern Polish "behaves", or rather:
is structured like ancient Latin
in the pronouns can be omitted to give meaning
to sentences:

ja myśle (i think) can simply be expressed
as myśle (pronoun-verb) compound of (i) think:
thinking... myśl (thought) myślenie (thinking)...

i.e. cogito ergo sum is a summary of
current Polish...
since there's no need for:
ego cogito ergo ego sum...
there's no need for i think therefore i am:
there's an anti-pronoun imperative
in sentence structure...
this without-personhood dynamic
perfectly compliments...
the anglo-protestant queer fetish for
exemplifying the plurality of it
via they...

       also...
borrowing from Greek Satanism the pan-Slavic
distinctiveness of
the following:

     щ: šč          ?: ść

deszcz: dešč: H hiding, or how the hebrew god
lingers in European psyche...
funny... that the **** Germans thought
themselves as Aryans...
given that the Polacks from the 15th century
onward compassed the arrival of an Iranian
tribe of... no... not Samaritans...
but the Sarmatians...

deszcz: rain
    dość: enough...

szczerość: ščerość: truthfulness...

i never thought the fetishes would spill out
and over into my reaching out with my tentacles
and start to... squeeze... out all the fetishes
into apple pulp sort of goo of glue sort
of averting the nasal thrill...

for a people who made ***-identity into politics
like Darwin and the lesbian faction of
existence running its course: cul de sac
existentialism of ******-identity politics
"politics": these days you have to say
"red" red... "blue" blue...
"train" train...

  mein englischleash: nein nein: niet ein leine!

what culture war?
perhaps a cultural lethargy, a cultural exhaustion?
i can see it as that... but a war?
for what? a quibble?
a ******* carrot on a stick?
a war for a donkey?
no one spotted the unearthing of the Nag Hammadi
library coinciding with the Dead Sea Scrolls,
how Isaiah died (being mutilated
at the torso, cut in half)
and how "suddenly" Christianity quivered its
last to estrange the European ontology
from the European will borrowing
from the nurture of winter in the Hyperborean
realm of melancholic rejuvenation of intellect...

the Slavs would sooner wage war against
themselves than allow
the Germanic self-flagellation of importing
cheap labour from former colonies...
these "good Christian" vessels of soullessness:
vacated by the riches from Arabia
eat ******* camel jockey types and typos
in H'arabic...

there is no culture war... there's only a cultural vacuum:
a lethargy: a great stink about this whole
myopic miasma...
with the established state of Israel and what
remains of the jewry in Europe
the fascinating dynamic of the arrival of a muslim
cohort of: sensibly minded idle citizens
that uber uber uber uber...
kamikazee delivery drivers from the mouths
of Bengal... hey presto: cheap as chips analogies...

so there's no problem with calling they it not i?
after all: it is a pronoun...
it's coming, they are?
          hmm... fetishes to the fore...
*** first: but the worst kind of ***:
non-procreative ***...
that's the worst kind of ***...
me and my old lady... i sort of told her:
it's an ancient practice borrowing from Roman times...
surrogacy of males...
i don't mind that you have a daughter
and she's not biologically mine...
guess what? that means i'll be less hung-up
if she "fails" morally...

     i clearly don't mind leaving a fractional imprint
of mine, hereditary on a passing fleece of a feeling
with an offspring...
i'm here to play a game of her throwing
three pebbles into a pool and both of us diving into
it to find them... mystique harry potter esque
the philosopher and the two women in his life:
life rediscovered... lazily tripping up over
sunlight and the predictability of daylight hours
on the tropic of cancer...

the rest of me is unpredictable like the weather
in northern europe: esp. England...

but these fetishists could have chosen a different
angle than latching onto grammar...
by the looks of it i'll gnash at bone
and grit by iron teeth (eisenzähne) with a "debilitating"
glee of: welcome, welcome, all are welcome
to the knochenernteausgraben (bone harvest
unearthing)...

even in sub-culture pops... hormones?
am i that bothered about testosterone levels in
males (like i might have some control over it)
when it comes to how stubble i can deal with
like i might sniff ******* or who's not living with grandma
like this woman is fertile, no, this woman is not fertile:
she's renting her womb to two homosexuals
vying for a proto-baby
    and this ***-first dynamic is going to go on forever
before Russia joins forces with China and India
and leaves the atomised man in
shrapnel still clinging to the crucifix-*****?
as if 2000 years of the rabbis warning us against
the advent of the self-sacrificial saviour were not
a lesson in diabolical narcissism...
it's plain as day to date...

          even with the structures intact...
christianity is unlike hinduism...
this makeshift monotheism with
polytheistic tendencies for schisms
is unlike any original European polytheism...
there's a U.B.D. / B.B.D. (use by date,
best before date) attached to it... like food...
given... well... christianity is food if you think twice
about the metaphor of the bread and the wine...
**** me... phoo! the wine has become a rancid
balsamic vinegar and the bread is mouldy!

islam on the other hand is only bound to the strength
of the dino juice... black gold...
it's strength is only temporary given
no longer needing to burn wood and instead
using gas and the mechanisms of oil propellers...
temporary ibn Saud paradise...

hardly a critique of capitalism: which is a force for
good... should the capitalist be the one
building railroads and autobahns...
giving wages, providing stable work,
pensions...
but the current capitalist is a capitalist in name alone:
chances of an honest wage for honest labour?
chances of a pension?
gig economy, the underclass of workers i'm in
already dictate the failsafe dynamic of
"contract" with: an "optional opt out"
regarding a pension scheme...
there is none...

                            some daydream akin to the ****
project circa 1950s with a home a stability
without the frenzy of hustling...
one generation old one generation bound...
some eugenics variation
and oh how the women love to call out
the men who didn't reproduce
but seeing some of the women that have
i do wonder what sort of pristine genetics are
being pressed and passed on
since i'm in an intellectual-zombie-land
from time to time... or pretty much all the time...
so i drink: to numb the pain...
so i drink: to numb the pain...
hmm... maybe that's why i drink:
to numb the intellectual dead-weight i have
surrounding me...

it's a good excuse... there is no other...
jeez... coming back to that without-persona language
the Polish border guards sometimes you:
the verb-exclusive pronoun-de-clusive
pronoun-non-inclusive of:

zdjąć - take off.. achtung achtung!
i.e. not
            zdejmij - czy czy: could you?
czy mógłbyś zdjąć twoje buty?
could you take off your shoes?

               so much for some vagary of an upheaval
in the queers for grammar in English...
it's almost very funny: but it's only just slightly
funny coming from a people not used
to how depersonalisation happens in language
when spoken off: rather than of or to...

like that saying from true detective...
am i a good person?
no... i'm not a good person...
i'm a bad bad man...
the sort of bad man that keeps the other bad men
away from knocking on your door...
i'm that sort of bad man...
the sort of bad man that keeps your
idiosyncratic selves in check
before they are no more than a statistic
in a serial killer's tally 正

                but even i have rules and sensibilities
that question when experiencing questionalibities
of: basic structures, like in language:
grammar...
       that sort of **** just makes me hit the monster
button within me...
and my ego becomes less a unit
of identity... and more akin to...
      a mouth that chews, grunts, burps...
bites... my ego is currently in the form of:

mundnichts... mouth-nothing....
        pupilleessenauge...
pupil eating eye...
                   in mich: ein legion von
alle der schrecklich gedanken!
         ha ha! wie ein teuflisch zirkus!
skaldspiller Dec 2016
I come in
standard white girl voice....
but no mine is to deep

"Im sooooo drunk"
Like tell everyone everthing drunk
Too much tequila drunk
Ill talk about my exes and my boyfriend drunk
Glad my roomates are good guys drunk ,
Want to see you drunk
Miss you drunk
Knowing how to pick my poison drunk
Head hung and bleary eyed
Probably have a problem
But im quitting on the new year....
Until st patties day
Im a writer and i need a new bottle of gin drunk.
LaNae Storm Jan 2019
My best friend- or rather, the person to whom i am their best friend,
Only decides to visit me at night.
You see her name's Insomnia.
I know. She's not real,
But tell that to my headaches from not sleeping well
Tell that my general tiredness throughout the day.
Tell that to the sheeps i count each night (that still doesnt put me to sleep)
She feels obligated to visit me after she found out that depression and I are roomates.

Note to self
Insomnia is not just in my head anymore. Its right outside my sleeping door.
Poetress2 Mar 2019
I don't have all the answers,
why we don't talk or touch;
I think that we, would both agree,
it's becoming just too much.
~
We never hold each other's hand,
the way we use to do;
We never kiss each other, "Bye,"
as if we have the Flu.
~
We rarely say, "I love you,"
nor give hugs anymore;
And we always seem so sad,
when we walk through the front door.
~
We both ignore the other,
this happens all day long;
We don't communicate because,
everything we'd say is wrong.
~
When we go to bed at night,
we never say, "Goodnight;"
We're nothing more then roomates,
who are living seperate lives.
~
We both keep our own distance,
as if we're miles apart;
It seems we're always, "Butting Heads,"
just like we **** our hearts.
~
The two of us aren't happy,
what are we going to do;
Perhaps it's time, to realize,
this relationship is through.
Nellie 55 Feb 2020
Last night i was laying in bed with tears running down my face
Locked myself down in this dark place
Sorry mama I miss you
Never meant to hurt you
So i texted my mom out of the blue
She asked if i was okay
I lied and yeah I had a fantastic day
Pretending I'm mentally safe
But nah man
I am not alright
Had night tares the other night
Didn't crash till 5 AM in the morning
Kitty nap
I wish this feeling wasn't overwhelming
No one can help thats the issue
Spazzing the **** out i want to cut through my scar tissue
Buried deep into a insecure level
Buried more issues grab me a shovel
Heres a response
ALCOHOL
I'm bout crawl
Let the ******* TEARS FALL
NOBODY LOVES ME
but yet they do
NO ONE GETS THE INSECURITY
but they have their own
I'M JUST ABOUT DONE
WHERES MY ROOMATES ***
but I've got a bottle of jack
Hitting my thoughts like i don't know how to react
I've been hiding in my own thoughts again
Losing confidence and that motivation
Who needs to improve when you're classified as a liar
Whos needs to improve when you're classified as a cheater or a beater or a addict
But to be honest I'm more of a alcoholic
Hold up
Wait a sec
Hey Nel
You're a ******* for beating
Now you're sad and all of the sudden not succeeding
the ****
Man up and handle your ****
Just ******* quit
Don't nobody wanna stick around with you
Look at the petty **** you put yourself through
Yeah you ugly
Bet your *** will burn and maybe you'll be pretty
You can cut and hopefully that deep vein
Will put your *** back to a level of sanity
Remember when mama slapped and punched you?
That was funny because you don't know what she went trhough
You got what you deserved
Now your *** will burn
Hopefully you'll one day learn

— The End —