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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
finding gravity on a bicycle...

surely... given that most people
don't write a ******* hemmingway...
and there's no william buckley jr.
doing the interview...
and there's no norman mailer...

and that: no one really bothers
with kierkegaard and that:
kant "famously" didn't marry starry crap...
why didn't i have kids
and start a family?
uh... dunno... mother's best lie...
or the best lie a neighbour brings
with her... whenever you're
being a 2nd witness without
the 1st witness being there...

and she says an "also" with regards
to her son having the same luck
with women...
when the comparison comes:
a koala bear versus a gorilla...
bonsai tiger!
like a koala is a ******* bear
to begin with...
cuddly soft-pouch toy-ah-thing!

but there's that great feat!
finding gravity on a bicycle...
my mother helped me with that...
and that famous fail of
a rotondo... well... more or less
a cricket ground egg shaped, oval...
or a rugby ball...
the shoulder on the salto bike
hard... rammed into a car....

as a child you were supposedly well
loved...
and this is modern poo'etry i hear about?
here's to: john sounding like johny...
will sounding like *****...
richard sounding like: **** and not richy...
it's cute... matthew... matti: finnish...
leonard is: leo oh leo...
why art we all not named: Li Lo Po!

of course everyone managed to spot
the tetragrammaton vowel catchers that's
hey'zeus! no... not the bloke strapped
to the mannequin of tailoring...
oh no... not the crucifix pendulum
"for us all"... by blood... by cross...
who is to exfoliate on the crucifix...
better than some well scouted for materials
on a mannequin canvas for tailoring
a suit?
the guilt?! oh the guilt!
well... thank god this metaphysician would
never address the material realm of
enjoying a... dabble with... wool...
when donning a suit...
or leather shoes... or any presence of suede...
beside the crucifix mannequin: replica
and pittance!

- but finding gravity on a bicycle is one thing...
finding gravity when swimming is another...
it's called gravity...
but some heretical circles call it:
balance...
after all... it is both gravity...
and balance... given that while riding
a bike... or swimming...
you're pretty much sure, assured:
to not be falling...

you can find gravity with newtonian hindsight...
of sure...
that's there... it involves the magicians orbs...
copernican mathematics and...
target practice when it comes to
propaganda spew...
and Steward... the lesser... Stew...
cousin of the house of Stuart...
not Steward... Stuart...
which is (again)...
a McKiteit and MacCoddlewit...
some Glaswegian *****-donor clinic
"miss-up" mix-it: tend to...
lounging busy... which is of course...
besides the "look"...

5 bazookas cleared for a salvo!
hip hip! burger-pound!
hip hip! boom shizzle shoom!
hip hip! hooray!
oh now we'z getz uz best
partay birth doy wishy-washy
"protagonists"!

but given the current Persian affair...
i couldn't help to notice...
love actually... the narrative...
the u.s.a. and england...
the Z-spezial re-la-tion-ship...

so... who's spastic... and who's fantastic?!
spaz: B-bristolian-esque joking...
never aside...
who's the spaz and who's the frizzy-fuss?!

spe-zial mother russia talks down
to dog Kiev: yes, it's in (the) Ukraine...
spezial iz not what iz?

h'america... kept a yorkshire terrier...
media leetches of england
firmly in its grasp...
cuz onez we woz: once -
the militia contra the crown...
of north virginia...

coz b'rah: a 79-year-old man
who lit himself on fire protesting
against russia's language policies
in the capital of the volga region
of udmurtia has died;
name? alberto raisin...
which sounds terrible in its
non-native spanish...

but there's something worth of gravity
without debating
the heliocentric model...
finding one's balance on a bicycle...
a posteriori events...
but... the same balance can be
translated into a swimming session...

my god my father tried to teach me...
if i was supposed to learn
to swim in the sea...
with the fear: of not seeing the depth?
isn't that like a thesaurus
congestion of: acrophobia?
isn't there a word in the borrowed
lexicon of the ancient greeks...
concerning... fearing to swim in a body
of water... where you can't see the bottom?
i could learn to swim in a swimming
pool... thankfuly all because and due to...
moi...

i also found gravity in water...
i could... lie in water and become...
the antithesis of: the body consists
of 90% of water...
yes sherlock watson & sons... ltd...
but in water i'm mostly fat...
if i find the right balance...
i float...
which is why swimming is a bit
like riding a bicycle...
you find: the center...
or gravity...

again... in this special "relationship"
of bruv-love...
between h'america and whittle brit-pop interlude...
oasis on the continent...
my my... blur, even...
breakfast at tiffany's back in the dough-dough-us...
who is the ******* SPASTIC?
in this "SPEZIAL" relationship?
i guess the english must be the SPEZIALS...

a bit like watching:
go-go-gonzales trip up on a spelling mistake...
which is all i care for...
like a comedia...
a deviation from the informal, later,
subject of language implementation...
and all this peacocking prior...

where else does gravity allow itself...
a presence of the multi-vector?
up and down... left and right...
it's not as easily explained as:
on a ledge... with an apple...
drop it... newton with a header!
a 1-all equalizer in stoppage time
an F.A. cup re-match!

gravity on a bicycle...
it's hardly a drop affair...
gravity in water...
it's hardly merely swimming...
there's that aspect of finding... buoyancy...
there's not need for you to swim...
to exhert so much effort...
that you might as well drown 10 meters
in after swimming the 'undred...

no buoyancy: no chinese fortune cookies...
i still don't know which is more grand...
beside the acrobatics of... olympic level
acrobatics...

it's not bound to youth via lifting weights...
or supreme mao tse tung's winter olympics
of: hunger strikes in Vinter...
the gravity bound to a bicycle...
or the gravity bound to swimming...
after all... the latter is a bit "funny"...

"levitation" and buoyancy...
the dracula soundtrack:
only because of gary oldman and the composer
wojciech kilar... and the given, current...
b.b.c. spin-off and how...
yes... it's that terrible...
i don't even know where those five-stars
came from!
the archetype of feminine romance novels?
the syphilitic lover? the "vampire"?

yes, no? two guesses as good as: nein - keiner...
and, quiet honestly...
nothing could make this exercise in:
not engaging in any of all the available
comments sections on any website...
any worse... than it already is...

it comes as no surprise that: i write this poo'ems
not because i don't write poetry...
but because i will neither write
a poem by standards reserved for
pedagogy or demagogy...
or write identifiable puzzle-bog-trots of...
language reserved for politicization:
and not for... counter-marxist...
"psychiatric" post-...
hardly modern or... "today's journalism"...
eh... pushing it toward a Beckett-clause...
concerning language that is not expected...
oh but i certainly do know
a difference between formal language
and... this... the informal language...
the cognitive extension that does not
require a "free speech" protection bias...

none of this was spoken...
it was seen...
weaved into "thinking"...
that's the difference... isn't it?
from my end of the tenniscourt "promenade"
i've heard nothing but clickick...
off this dead-end replica piano
of a qwer
asdf
zxcvbnm

unless my shadow spoke... or there was some
telepathic connection
with the schizoid "group-think" of me
sourcing my sometime odd...
cognitive-murmors of "thought"...
"hallucinations"...
so be it...

this defence of a freedom of speech...
how does that even extend into writing?
i will never know...
and to be honest? i don't want to know...
writing is an extension of thinking...
which is also an inversion of speaking...
but it's never speaking...
where's the audio on this piece?!

how about... plucking your eyes out,
after fating yourself with the
original curiosity to begin with?
sounds better: than... what still persists as...
not being, said!

this was written, it wasn't said...
this is not a transcript...
this is not a transcript...
if this is censored...
then my... "schizophrenia" is not even
my original thesis of: bogus
mono-lingual parody of bilingualism...
no need to cite **** sapiens
jurisprudence advocates...
lawyers... the thesaurus bargain barons etc.
this is... what's those words they use?
invasion of the tabernacle?
do my "auditory hallucinations" stem from...
these words...
a private investement in internet access...
again: nothing is being said!
because this is a "public arena"...
a "forum"...
and the eyes on the other side of this text...
are c.c.t.v. eyes?!
not private eyes?

what's the point of freedom of speech?
when the freedom to think:
and subsequently write... is bombarded
by being who: see via reading braille...
and read... comments likes dislikes and all
those other ratios?

writing is an extension of a freedom
to think... most people who speak freely
don't speak via a precursor script...
that's not free speech: that's scripted speech!
and just because it happens be placed
in a public "forum"...
that's the argument that this writing
is a freedom of "speech"?!
really?! i guess your average u.s. citizen
is more despotic than the *******
president... then...

again.. blah blah blah blah blah...
blah blah.... blah blah blah blah blah...
blah... blah blah... blah blah blah blah blah blah...

you'd sooner convince a parrot to sing
you a song in sparrow than call this "debate"...
evenly focused on one or neither side "winning".
Isaace Sep 1
Many laugh and many sing.
Many mouths sit agape with a cheek-to-cheek grin.
Fire swirls in the air as the acrobats swing—
Elephants weep, extravagently, with a tusk-to-tusk grin.

Amidst the cages, monkeys sit,
Faces pressed against the bars,
Rubbing their *******, dreaming of the trees
From which they would swing.

The freaks and the clowns sit amidst lurid lights—
Applying their faces with a cheek-to-cheek grin—
Constructing their masks, aided by the conjure of the magicians,
Those who draw salt from the air and harbour apparitions.

On stage now: Rotondo, the clown.
He dances, naked, with an ear-to-ear grin,
Rubbing his *******-belly, penetrating the mind of the Big-top ring,
Shrouded by the coiling laughter of an audience who yearn for the lights of deformed suffocation as Rotondo, the clown, paints a new face and ushers in a parade of freaks and deformed grins.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
**** darwinism...
i want my furr back!
i'm tired of being a bus
driver!
                 rotondo roulette
roundabout:
                 you
are but deaf in
making me be compassionate prone....
you are, of all i make a zulu of
a tongue to speak in,
neither Mc near close encounter with a Mac...
and not ye two nearer a reconpasse....
aye, tilting toward the might of the Picts,
learned tongue forbade the tongue to weave....
glassfar aeyer the glutton worth f bossom....
                   and into tha death bed healthily
cling to the roß: gørt!
                              you have no favours intact
bound to cleave to me...
you are arsenic bound... artefact of arson!
and no more be you clung!
                   forgive the one who was
bound the crux, and forgive no one else...
come to me bidding knee, and
         i'll show you where a hail mary
sends you: toward the Dantian drift,
and Milton's escapism worth a wish to have,
unto brother, done as Cain did, thrice toward Abel.
so led by Macbeth...
and unto no other, i wish to return,
having not prior been blessed...
  not until the seagulls of a king learned
to be king without a crown...
you will not weep for me, so why bother to give
etertainment to a grave?
             sooner a war, and sooner a marble statue...
than this...
  this pathetic gratification for a doubled concern
for the wordly bliss...
     there! rhyme St. Lancelot!
to your fate and... rhyme! rhyme! prance!
                            make one's due...
a baron of asking for la carte -
if that be the right case of seeking menu:
vampirism of the glut, that before
the tongue has tasted, the eye has ate!
eat! eat! may you eat enough,
to sing me an opera after! burp! long live
the inglorious cringe!
               so, rhyme St. Lancelot... prace and dance!
make one the ambiguity of pronouns! polo!
polo monsieur! dare the Pict, dressed in woad,
take to explaining tattoo?
   who the **** is ginger these days, monsieur?!
you are but a foul creature,
reigning from Edinburgh, not having read
Macbeth... toast to spitting into a champagne flute
as be your honour, and at least this:
      to where i find myself...
           in mist bound, and carcass sowing
a smile or signature bestowing...
             laid to rest, by the meadow's care for clue,
by witchy assemble, i have a tongue of a hyena
laughing at the epitaphs of the human desert
that's a marble etch... and i'll have you more!
   morose i am, bound to scoff the last of
the most concentrate words of worth whehter bound
to man, or beast!
   these times are not impeding a charity for a man
of my concern... they are are here as
counter to whatever served as balance...
  lo, last said, Macbeth,
             first with the nightingale and quake:
Macbeth... thus last with qualm and the highland
prone... to fall! to desist! then to a crow,
with croak and magpie salute.. Macbeth!
             i feel no romance for Hamlet...
       even though i should...
you are, but your own tamed lady, approaching your
first male couch victim... and that cheap eroticism
of a low-land scandinavian squire fir moor dukes...
  that thing: danish bound...
                     before i type out the dialect of picts...
i better type out the dialects of my own kind...
                                  but since i have no beginning,
i have only the immediate... and the end is a tad bit...
     unnecessary.
now that can only mean one thing:
i should have really have invested in adjoining with a woman...
why didn't i?
     was it because the civilisation i was living
in was not worth saving?
       why didn't i make matrimony with a woman?
ah feckle see and seer's boo tock!
                     tick-ah-lick-ah-lick-ah-true... saves saying: me
or you... ye 'ear?! rot's worth in Dundee, ya
clotting dodger... e don, it's called a Beethoven
sequence... one side wanted a joke anf ah friendly verse,
the other side wanted a statue of liberty...
                none of us seemed to walk
under the cottonwood trees of some imaginary
street akin to avenue des champs-élysées.
    i don't know, i'm no jew making money
from the holocaust. no wait, they're not?!
    god forbid it could happen!  why did i add that?
i felt ashamed not creating a collage
  of tabloid and worded mâché
to the trough akin...
well... the other reason i wrote that with such gravitas
is because my family was involved in
the second world war, and didn't
receive any deutsche marks, in compensation
money... it would be fun if they did...
but they didn't... so where's the ha ha?
    zu tun Spielberg? or is that
Spitzerbergen? don't look at me, i'm not
making money from it!
   i wish my great-grandmother made a bestseller novel
from her world war ii experiences...
              but she didn't...
i just get reminded about the jews
    the jews, the jews...
and am never told about the stupidity of warsaw, 1944.
oh wait, i was, and i still didn't make any
money from it!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
working "backwards" from something already
started in: collateral and the chicken scratching exercise...

how can you not have a hard-on
for mel gibson's beard...
in... the professor and the madman -
detailing the... etymological events
surrounding something more dear to me...
than the pslams of king david
or the: wisdoms of king solomon...
the wisdom: thus derived...
after a man becomes: ostensibly...
bored with a harem...
that would become the blueprint
of envy for future men of the world...

alexander the great...
muhammad...
           it's not a bible... it's a...
dic-tio-nary... stop the press...
pluck all the feathers from all the magpies
in the land... tell Xerxes to stop
whistling at the sea and...
can we just stop with the b.d.s.m.
of the waves?

        head: rotondo! spin ****** spin!
anything in the "pejorative"...
god... this moloch of grammar of a deity...
we need to ensure there's a scrutiny
of each and every, yes: every word...
we need to sieve them through
the categories!

i put to mind:
     it's a comparison of catchphrases...
the war hogs cite it as:
collateral damage...
the civilian will rummage and pluck out:
the... "rhetorical question"...
can... you... put... rhetoric: to a question?
can a rhetorical question:
actually exist... like a unicorn can?
oh wait... kangaroo yes...
a platypus... oh a double yes...

can you... can you... "rhetorical question"?
what the hell is a rhetorical question:
if not, something akin to a fashion statement...
of the calibre: a short-black-'un...
a coco chanel mini-skirt...

what is... a rhetorical question?
a question is, i hope...
something that manages to endorse
the dialectic...
and anyone who engages with a dialectic
will / or should know:
there's no rhetorical question...
when being asked:
one doesn't... "somehow"...
find a magic plot of a forest with smurfs...
and goes off on a tangent speaking...
persuasively...
a rhetoric question isn't a question
at all...

        collateral damage among the war hogs
is a rhetorical question among the civilians...

the story of professor james murray
and dr. william minor...
and to think... the alienists (psychiatrists)
at the time thought that...
enforced regurgitation...
could animate the body to conjure up
an already exhausted soul...
what ancient romans did for masochistic pleasure:
bulimia in the rudiment of:
a fork of fingers agitating the throat
and subsequently the oesophagus
to: bring back... what was already in fractions...

some call it soul, some call it x... y...
that... indispensable will: for animation...
to perform the 80 year old (in total) magic trick
of being: immune...
to the ills and forgivings of others...
a standard praise of solipsism...
as a thought-experiment... nothing more...
from which one can...
come and go as freely as one can vote
in a democracy...

come when summoned... leave when...
not made into any greater necessity other than:
to make fair of the count...

truly: a hard-on for mel gibson's beard...
some can claim ***** envy...
i have beard envy...
like to-hat envy when someone is 5'11"
and i'm still the same old 6'2"...

rhetorical question... i always found questions
to be... of a... dialectical nature...
i can hardly think of a rhetorical question
or rhetorical answer...
a rhetorical question implies:
the questioner has more to say...
than the person intended to answer...
i can hardly anyone burn through oration
when being posed a question...
a question: per se... is not something one
can be certain about: esp. when giving a reply...

a rhetorical question is a k.f.c. mouse urban
myth... a bit like collateral damage:
did we destroy a bullet making factory?
no... but we killed some civilians...
or some sort of entreating variation of worshipping
the drugging and bullet dodging machinery
of: cold the bullet bit...

how can you pose a rhetorical question?
is someone about to make a rhetorical answer?
robots would behave within rhetorical confines
of being asked an absolute:
error message - replying with an absolute yes / no...

a rhetorical question would beg
for a ore rotundo: with a voice filled with assurance...
the question is imposed...
with a curiosity... at best: with doubt...
uncertainty... at worst: with a negation:
waiting for the wrong answer...
but no dialectic is ever to be established
working from a rhetorical question...
a socrates would be:
the dialectical surgeon...
the affair of the question doesn't go beyond...
whoever is questioning:

oh!           oh!
a rhetorical question is... not for someone
to address the question...
but a pursuit of the questioner to continue asking
question...
a rhetorical question is... to further the lineage
of questions... to be therefore "rhetorical"
is to inquire more... rather than reply with
a rhetorical certainty...
a rhetorical question isn't a question...
it's a cascade of questions...

******* and the myth of the gateway...
after **** i did the next best thing...
i rediscovered bourbon as ms. amber...
that once you watch just a little bit of it...
you will turn toward finding out more graphic
content...
so... me looking out for the most *******
music: combichrist... :wumpscut,
vomito *****...
                  *****... graphic... *******?
or... gloryhole ***** *******...
               or pregnant women: so *****...
       or japanese gravure models...
"problem" with japanese models...
              *** bots? aren't they here already...
with these porcelain mannequins?
touch a hand it breaks or fizzles into...
ash...
  as happens when you've been at "it"...
puritanical victorian von krafft-ebbing...
i sometimes know what the ******* is for...
i hardly think it necessary to listen to what's
"moral" from circumcised... gentile...
north-h'americans...
                    jerking off since aged 8...
brain rot started way back... in 1994...
which is before the internet...
   gateway... my ***...
         japanese gravure and Agnolo Bronzino...

who needs "more"... when you have a mel gibson
beard-envy!

the chair can remain a chair...
but there's a termite colony wriggling in it...
i don't need to see it...
i just need to hear it...
combichrist: like to thank my buddies,
    today i woke to the rain of blood...
                   all pain is gone...
       cheap thrill seeing heaven:
better tamed - attempting to listen to the litanies
escaping hell...
a written word in hell is like...
     because the hands are being crushed
in monkey-wrenches and there's Spinoza
cackling...

   who needs more ******* and ride-me-timmy
the horses' laugh when music can
compensate... and otherwise find the better
kind of: the feeding outlet...

a rhetorical question: is that for the answer to
be tinged with rhetorical gravitas?
no... then every question socrates every posed
what a rhetorical question:
and the concern for dialectics is a dummy...
which is probably true: reading what sort
of answers those put under the scrutiny give:
is response...

i must be wrong: a rhetorical question:
is not simply a question...
a rhetorical question could perhaps give
the person answering a spark of rhetoric...
a rhetorical question should:
by default... provide you with a rhetorical
answer... but all it does is...
further a second question...
and a third... a fourth...
    so more for the "famous" dialectic...
when all that seems to happen...
one only becomes a rhetorician: via question...
rather than merely: talking...

the rhetorical question is therefore
the basis of "dialectics": which is no basis for
dialectics per se...
it's the persuaded question-prone antagonist:
who is hardly the narrator...
and the answer is always the same:
shut up! i'm talking over you...
i'll just disguise this whole affair in a question
and minor answer cited: a perfectly well
equipped yes: or no... will suffice:
or a nod of approval worded...
                  socrates the bane of sophists
and rhetoricians...
a subtle project... you are not interrupted...
when to stress an invocation
of fake curiosity: by asking a question...
the sort of question...
a rhetorical question... that will not usurp
your original: intent monologue of sophistry...

an echo is all the rave when it comes
to a rhetorical question...
a rhetorical question feeds of: yes / no answers...
and there i was thinking that a rhetorical
question implies:
whoever answers... will break into
a rhetorical answer... verbatim the quran
akin to a hafiz! nope...
a rhetorical question is a punctuation mark:
one hopes... of what a rhetorician would usually do...
when having a voice in the congregation
of docile elders...

socrates: the elder... found an audience
among the athenian young... because?
        he stressed that rhetoric had to have overtones
of questioning: without really questioning...
what sort of "dialectic" is there to be had:
what: dialogue...
when... the dialogue leaves one side with
a narrator and protagonist semblance?
and the characters: ergo? are nothing but nail-heads
for the hammer to plough through?!

oddly enough... Plato ****** off Socrates so
hard... that Socrates became...
the first non-hasidi...
to be circumcised... by pursed lips...
yep... Plato ****** off Socrates' *******:
right off... thinking the phallus...
was in the no-man's land of comparsion
to a chicken drum-stick!
antagonism: of how favourable the "dialogues"
are cited...
i've had a similar experience...
i really don't know what this... "e-prostitution"
is about...
before the internet... i am probably one of
the last few who blushed when buying a magazine
at the newsagent with all them *******...
and: curated ***** hairs:
less of a chin and more...
the pelvic "hubris" / canvas...

                 brothel: tick...
strip-club: tick...
              what's given everyone a hot-cross bun
shivers...
          "never paid"... but otherwise paid:
for the insinuation...
and the insinuation was: a date...
look at it as... no ******* dysfunction...
and no money for a date...
straight back into the salt mines
and trench digging... no time for honey:
oh boobie and frankly my dear:
i don't drown herrings...

       a rhetorical question is also a compound-misnomer...
yep... the idea of a rhetorical-question
is a compound-misnomer:

take me on a chain to the goblet...
pay the extra to rid the matter:
seven tongues instead of one...
gorging on the inquiry of Gomorrah...
to better couplet to the banquet of *****!
that ***** treat us Gomorrah civically dutied:
as worse than rats and shadows...
and the plebs just entertain...
       what would ever come from
the mouth of ***** as:
       prized bulls of drag-queen story-hour...
shame those without foreskins...
comparison...
a o.k. to be gay...
                what's date-night?
is that... something -esque having coupled
a mahjong with a niqab?!
why don't all the muslim women take
the best route... join the surgeon mask-equipped
crowds... and no... simple forget the hijab...
donning the full niqab?!
why?!

who needs seeking more depraved *****
beside... Bronzino and japanese gravure models...
and all that elasticity of:
electricity passing through an iron maiden
via... combichrist: sent to destroy...
hardly "destroy": cultivate...
recycle... call the parasites into hubris *******
haitus...

also "in response" to: the kinks and the...
"celibate" priesthood...
        because: you know, the kinks and all that:
******* music and fine detaiks of:
when the butcher will be cited...
looking at a slab of meat...
and calling a harem of pigs...
that floral... pinky tidbit "in the middle":
avert your eyes:
how god's finger touched adam's...
and via what...

it doesn't come more ******* than...
drinking lukewarm whiskey...
that i can stand...
but if anyone's drinking ***** not suberged
into gomme syrop consistency...
there's: should we say...
a... "spot of bother"...

              i wouldn't mind...
that bourbon as a quiet distinct perfume
associated with brothels...
and it's just that...
          but... e-prostitution: for the "tease"?
the wrath of adam:
sort of ******* in between:
when the ****** brigade comes along
and stops at thge madonna-***** complex?
i'm scratching my head:
either i'm thinking of a ? or my i.q.
one internet sight should be in existance...
dedicated... to the unabashed puritanism
of dogs licking their genitals...
because: a priori: who would have "known"...

and also to chronicle the sights and wonders
of... KMFDM stand-out tracks...
but a sight levereging "*****" of...
dogs teasing testicles with "prudence"
of a... the fastest waggle in all of: "arizona"...
chant!
chant! F.S.A. - which makes it more and less:
"united"
   the federal states of h'america...
     number 1 subscriber...
albert razin...
    is this... is this... what "integration" looks like?
like hell i'll give up what's
festering knee-deep at the rim...
i'll talk english just fine with
the natives... but when the natives:
tell me that:
true integration is a complete whitewash
of your "former" identity: you
integrate by "forgetting" your mother tongue...
i have... this juggernaut... craze-fit in
my eyes...
   then, why, don't, you, send, me,
a, postcard, from france: IN FWENCH!
this global mantra of: english solves everything...
not unless you're of a Dutch or
Scandinavian origin...
you have already learned this...
"lingua franca": this l'inglese...
lucky for the WELSH! who are you...
you anglo-saxon globalist mongrel?!
where is your anglo- counterfeit bypasser...
UND... wohin ist ihr Sachsen?
and where is your saxony: saxon?
have i an axe to better grind?
           jude-nomade-mischling!
you're no better than your claim!
ficken-jude-sächsisch-anglo-anlage-gehenvolk...
all this: for the insomnia parade?!
24 / 7 news reels?!
         alles diese... für was?!

if they only spoke two languages...
perhaps... less retards spreading the "crown":
licking ice-cream tubs...
open / the end... closed: also the end...
verzögernzüchtung...
          ******-breeding...
        ­                i have to admit... it sounds as crisp as:
gin
                                   &                        tonic...
and lapses into epilepsy...
because the "hierarchy" says: such words...
such words: no no: with a BIG no-no
when used...

                here too, i... will ****...
on every prematurely demented kin of moi...
because... the hierarchy of termites and of ants...
dictates so... while the congregation of:
man and ape... isn't sure... what animal is worth
borrowing a metaphor from!
to... "progress"...
like little **** and please staging all that
copernican ******* ever did...
the surgical masks...
shot dead in the Philippines
for not wearing one... "stigma" and the niqab...
at least the cherries on these cream-pies...
could at least turn proper ortho-and-doxing...
with a niqab...
pwetty pwease...  

all the airs and graces...
some nut would have made it this far...
Kierkegaard as proof...
"you don't think before you speak":
i rather, i much rather entertain
the freedom to think... and extend this freedom
into writing...
before i have to eat my own *****
when having to place editorial pressures
on having made video content...
i much prefer the ignoble citation:
and the devil has had these hands busy-bodied...
and all the blessings to the devil for that...
because...
is there such a concept as:
an idle tongue?

               i don't know:
i would like to, though...
live a month's worth of living...
on a salary of a... h'american...
             preacher...
under communism:
no brain-drain...
not best of the best will ever rise...
but at the same time...
so too will not the mediocre...
i thought it could be cited at:
the meek shall inherit the earth...
   talk about a disparity between
the meek and the mediocre...

if only i was the "correct" pronoun
to want: but i do...
have the capacity and enough excuses...
to start donning...
corsets and... high-heel shoes...
then again: if i joined the army...
nothing stand-out...
not uniforms to stand out within
a caste system... uniforms for
the napoleonic era... and that noting me as...
quick-off-the-mark...
suregon of the needle... and quiffs...
until the wehrmacht period...

  ha! the poles on horseback: "once upon a time"
looked bewildering...
the charge of the Krojanty...
well... horses do not seem that bad...
the poles on horses...
when back west...
you had the Dutch... on bicycles...
oh sure... the horse was somehow the "joke"...
but the bicycle was...
   like the pope appeasing the fuhrer...
and "they" would wonder:
        who's who....
the bicycle is gone...
who's who on the left-over peddlestool?!
postman pat proof:
  i think i oops... forgot to detail
the whole idea and economy with...
licking something... beside...
   that quick-and-made-essential:
              amnesia rubric count... which was?

yep... the poles on horseback look
and will forever look more ridiculous...
than... the dutch defence...
on... ha ha! bicycles!

read my proof: am i... "integrated"
is my: english not a word salad:
the scrutiny will come from someone sobering
up from an irish heritage...
is there a niqab or a bindi or a turban on me?
is my language still a word salad?
am i, integrated... "enough"...
not enough i dare say...

       well... about time these natives
learn some postcard and tourisms' worth
of second lingo... italian would be just fine...
since... they are still... hung up on being
so pround of being the afghanistan of the roman
empire...
          and... where is afghanistan when is comes
to... the house of saud and arabia?
i'd grovel... for that kind of goat herders...
and... pashtun poetics!
   queen of the floral: no **** mind to spare...
and if only this wasn't...
rummaging in essex...
more for the cause! new york!
n'aaaaaah...
                
                        i speak for the devil i speak
in about 12... with variations of invocation...
but this is not god speaking...
i am... not a monolingual pre-nomad arab taste...
sitting on a coal-**** turning liquid into
oil: "all of a sudden"...
Chapter XVIII
Parapsychological Plot

They were in the parapsychological hypnosis session all undaunted by everything that could happen. The journey of a life through the hidden spaces of past existence was a reality. It all begins in antiquity where Vernarth was hypno transported to meet his inmates and comrades. He proved to be a great defender of libertarian ideals and above all not to betray his formation of great leadership of the greatest empire, with his immeasurable feats of achievement, of this super experience of reunion for a world past to more reunions for having lived and relive them again.

The master director of this great feat, acknowledged never having attended something that is compared to him, it is an unprecedented fact that would mark a new milestone in his specialty and the study of parasychology. The doctor together with his assistants arranged to reevaluate a new systemic therapy policy, in exchange for their own way of life, generating the largest plan of the episode of intercommunicativeness to planes and dimensions of the ancestral memory of the entire created world and those that its beneficiaries have been able to verify.
In the immediate vicinity of the clinical consultation, hundreds of people, curious, journalists and the media gambled. To which one of them asks the doctor:

Journalist: Dear Sir, I would have a coffee ... just when I heard about this great news. We decided to come to his interview. I consult you. What has been the greatest content that has differentiated this from the rest of the procedures that you have carried out, and how will your future method be to reconvert your specialty?

Parapsychologist says:  there are undoubtedly innumerable connections in our life and beyond ...., But now I have found routes that I did not think I was capable of knowing at this point. And I think that now they will be more than I could count in my entire active professional life.

At that moment, his assistant called him urgently to tell him that an emergency had arisen. They both rush in and enter the cabin. And they manage to perceive that Vernarth was with the clothes on a sofa from the time of the exploits of 331 a. C. requested that they excuse him for his demands and needs, but he had a lot to propose and deliver to his comrades who were in Bumodos. Considering his beloved wife, Walekiria, who was as always preparing elixirs and essences for the restoration of the recipe for his chest and limbs. He had an urge to improve this whole process before the next Ekadashi, to enlist with new stages of his worksheet. Surely he should return to Patmos to take over the pantry and library of Saint John the Evangelist. He had to restore local buildings, house rooms, temples, regional development works, and regional art. Another elementary task was to take care of agriculture, and obey Hera's designs, for the next millennia to re-awaken from the cultures that survive on themselves. “Another of their great passionate obligations was to ride through Macedonia for the sunrises that run through the grasslands of grass and the swarm of hieratic insects, when the Oracle of Dodona made them polish their germinated seeds in the arms of dawn turned into Fireflies. He flew with his horse, appearing to be acclaimed from all over the world for his “Liturgical Conclave”. To surrender in its entirety to the pazos  of time on their Alikanto, beyond all the Eras and Millennia incapable of evading the disgraced ways by consolidating a new firmament. ”
Countless times Vernarth and Alikanto are seen crashing into the gleaming valleys and shores, encapsulated in the fields with the golden hooves of their steed, ushering in a new rebirth of their adventures, which are more than the same as God would entrust to a individual anxious to reissue Genesis or a new collaborative proposal with the Evangelist in Patmos.

Parapsychological Session resumes:
Vernarth, wake up. And she comments to those who accompanied her. ” I thought that as a child playing with weapons was only entertainment. Today I have realized that this never ends. Now I know that they are waiting for me in Patmos”. He quickly says goodbye to everyone and the rest remain undaunted by such a decision. Vernarth continues; I'm leaving with Raeder and his pelican Petrobus. Alikantus is also grazing for this long journey. Even every time he takes me away, he gets an allergy in his nose that makes him lose his nose. But my magic steed laughs at the ridicule and the decline of all doubts imposed on it. From Gaugamela who has had intermittences with his nose, but we will arrive at Patmos. The afternoon is darkening and is tinged with predominant whitish-white colors; Raeder arrived, entering through the large gentle window. They were preparing to begin the journey.

Vernarth greets him with a gesture of courtesy to Raeder, who offered to leave running from the new exile, it would be one more contingency. From that moment, he stood in front of Petrobus. Telling you; The Great Hour is undefeated in the face of the setback, it will be a great amenity to be with it.
Petrobus says: Greetings my lord! With my master Raeder we have been attentive to this moment, to overcome the best wishes of taking him to the Dodecanese and then from there to the Grotto of Patmos.  Where well known will be welcome in the house of the Evangelist. The time has come to leave ...!

“At that moment, Vernarth remembers an animal that was in a forest when he went to collect species as a child. He lunged at the animal; Vernarth looked at him squarely, then left. The animal followed him walking for several hours, until suddenly he looked to the side and was gone. He still misses this entire magical continuous event and with this cycled image of the animal kingdom. When he was preparing to arrive at his palace almost at night, he appears again before him, the animal showing him the desire to accompany him. Vernarth  looks at him and they start running, each time imposing more speed on the go. Vernarth screamed with contagious laughter and happiness. While his companion fired circulating cries that were confused with soft longings to address him by the middle ear and rule him. But beyond there, they both laughed almost turning and merging two into oneself, festively eager to laugh at the secretion that every man fills his soul, have another similar competing in a race without knowing where to go ... or why to leave? . "

React from that moment; Petrobus was blowing the room with strong and swirling winds. Raeder takes Petrobus by his golden feet and prepares for the journey.
Raeder says: Vernarth await us! We have to suspend ourselves at the dawn that glides through the winds of the wheat fields of the Dodecanseso. Petrobus will go near the iris of the great atmospheres, and will be supported by the great masses of winds that will take us to Greece. We intuit that Kanti, will then pass to escort us and join our events beyond the bend where the guidelines collide where the sea and the sky end, where Zeus will give us the good things.
  
Parasicological ellipsis in Piacenza:
Piacenza, Italy in 1887. It was right here where all the parapsychological regression was carried out. In the two-story house, he had two feline pets; Rannura and Catutto and three Tupac dogs, and three Canela and Bianca females, followed by Mara. These mysterious and resilient cats, at night they used to scare their inhabitants changing the tone of their meows by those of large beasts. But generally they were seen sleeping in their bedroom, one of them looked at them from the closet and pondered a compliment. The other was quiet near the feet of some of the two from Vernarth or Walekiria.

Its dwelling It is located in the padana plain at an altitude of 61 meters above sea level, on the south bank of the Po when the bushes change in autumn to the average of adult trees and the Trebia river meets in the west and the Nure torrent in the east from the city. She was always going to trek a few kilometers south, close to the slopes of the Piacenza hills, the first propagations of the Ligurian Apennines. Here they all passed through together, in such a way that there was no time to clean up or calm down in trifles. It was all playful diplomacy. Even when they rested, the pets teased him to continue with the ritual of running and running in circles through the groves, some flowery for ***, yellow lantanas, ornamental citrus etc. And why not name Pyramid Cypress or cemeteries...

Here his brother Etréstles always came in the spring with Drestnia from Messolonghi, Greece. Lía, the Muse who loved them both when they attended the Tuscan festival, usually came to visit him. Where he met Maddalena Tressi,  her greatest fortune teller of her regressive ancestral journeys, great inspirer of her artistic, religious and secular works at a great spring carnival. Whose name derives from the one used by Greeks and Latins to designate the lands occupied by the Etruscans, a territory of fertile plains surrounded by the main mountain ranges. The Tuscan landscape is characterized by the undulations that form the hills invaded by vineyards, olive trees and cypresses, especially in the footsteps of the Troncosada, which were and will be reunions of Italian families, of which there is no support or limestone that remains intact to its omnipresence.

In 790, a capitular of the Carolingian king of Italy, Pipino, in whom he acted on behalf of his father Charlemagne, prohibited the citizens of Piacenza by deliberately granting citizenship to those who depended on the king, thus allowing someone to escape control of this. The prohibition prevented escape from royal power. The city became famous on May 10, 1847 when the annexation to Piedmont took place, which started the long process of the Unification of Italy, which culminated in 1870 with the incorporation of the Papal States. Vernarth undoubtedly before closing the door inside his house opened it for a well-deserved new constitution of the right to acquire.

From here he went on great excursions to the Island of Sardinia in the autumn, where they lived from 1874 to 1877. Sailing trips were true insignia that shone through the waters of the green Celestine Sea. In an emerald sea between large and small coves of white sand ... on the celestial map of Sardinia, great syllogistic light of the Mediterranean for only them, with a territory full of galleries and bookstores, mainly mountainous for their walks and a half barefoot in summer, and with high chamber music peaks. The presence of Vernarth and Etréstles, attracted a lot of attention here, because they were seen every 50 or a hundred years, always seeing that their environment appeared the same, but humanly different. Sometimes in this territory, there are large areas that remain magically intact, inhabited by deer, wild horses and birds of prey, rich in forests with ancient trees, ponds and small desert areas where they both rose, to dissipate the sea that reigns with its colors and it is insinuated in the hidden coves, along the coast and on the beaches in the most frequented towns. The Emerald Coast, on account of impatient dreams in a little gem such as Porto Cervo, Porto Vecchio and Porto Rotondo, the latter facing the Gulf of Cugnana.

Great commotion attributed their curiosity to them as they were older, and where every millennium to be inaugurated they went to the nuragic complexes scattered throughout the territory: Unique monuments in the world that serve as testimony to an ancient and mysterious culture, dating from the fifteenth century to VI BC The nuraga, built with large stone blocks, were developed around a central tower in the shape of a cone trunk, which transmits solidity and power. These are archaeological sites where signs of ancient rituals and domestic life can still be found today.

In this algebraic cradle, it is where his Liturgy will connect linearly with Patmos and evangelization methodologies. All the seasons of travel to this mysterious area, he summoned them to meet and plot the 1,020 km. Where no thread of life is left unpatched without their repeated prayers before each glass of wine served, not even in the darkness of the Mausoleums themselves of the Troncosada, noble family originally from Venezia, in the early middle Ages.


Ellipsis in Tuscany, Villa Gamberaia
Vernarth, and Etréstles and Valekiara, are approaching the coincidence of Tuscany. Once they stayed in Sardinia, a coastal sailboat transported them in the middle of a stormy day. It was a great happy day to arrive in La Spezia.

They arrived, in a bright cart devastated by the olive trees, near the Villa Gamberaia, after eating some bacon and cheese sandwiches. This villa was originally a country house, which was owned by Matteo Gamberelli, a bricklayer, in the early 15th century. His sons Juan and Bernardo became famous architects by the name of Rossellino. After Bernardo's son sold Jacopo Riccialbani in 1597, the house was greatly enlarged, then almost completely rebuilt by the next owner, Zenobi Lapi, documents from the time mention a limonaia and the landscaped bowling alley that is part of the garden in today's design. Here they parked and at night they followed the Liturgy, highlighting those that coincided with Lent of Easter, where one day they were seen talking with Petrarch and Laura de Noves. Here Vernarth with them offering the modest auction that without a doubt would bet one day on this Villa of immemorial centuries with great challenge to its ruse, and of such architecture.

“A little more history…, The flower bed was presented with French-cut broderies in the 18th century, as can be seen in a detailed map of the estate described by Georgina Masson. The olive trees have always occupied the slopes below the garden, It has a distant view of the roofs and towers of Florence. The monumental fountain set on a steep hill on a side flank of the garden terrace has a seated god flanked by lions in stucco relief in a niche decorated with pebble mosaics and padded masonry. ” Here at the Verbena of a long feast day, everyone together with Vernarth got drunk with Corinthian Wine, which they brought and did not stop from the swing of the rhythm of the music that made them foresee their multi existence beyond their limitless sensibilities.

The parapsychological plot took them through multiple spaces of their frantic journey, as if they were being recently procreated by their heavenly and earthly parents, before they resumed the end with Kanti, Reader and their pelican Petrobus. This outcome would mark a new path of valleys on valleys, to shelter and fill their memories, especially their great navigation to the Dodecanese and Patmos, so close and intertwined with Sardinia as two islands united by the same new ocean in which we will have to navigate, and domains to ride shipped around the world.

To be continued , under eition
parasychological plot
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
drinks like this cold numb the fingers; many a times i leave the house
wishing for a poem like this one, culprit terse
and all me in the night on the greenbelt fearless
concerning death without seeking the sky;
i mean i love terse poems like these
with caterpillar sludge of the path
erected to teach mathematics like so:
god give me the shrubbery above
and nothing but worm below...
i want to be the imaginary blur of antagonism
where life dictates all life with me
being the continued tear jerker jack to abide
by bullying; no!
i want to etch twilights in
the hallucinations of the night,
dwarfing then expanding
the nightly roulette of routes
flamboyant with the shadow sharpening lost:
first the fox eager to tell the route as scout,
then i hooded with beer in hand
not asking for directions asking for the dry wooing
of his call.
there i stood in a field in a foreign land
and watched east darker than the west with the lighthouse
rotondo - i prefer to roundabout i have me say;
then sat on a pile of stone worth the blair witch project
with cinematic heart attacks, and sipped a quiet breath
to include carbon monoxide and the scenery of the blinking stiletto erections
for the trail of tailing off elephants into the night;
sooner the drunkard but sooner the pacific boa around the neck
or the black sea boa and the man drowning;
gays' gauge foremost loss of the piston in woman's favour
to trip up **** in hetero pleasures asking direction from athens to tripoli.
i was there, hoodless and armed with bare skin tattoos
invisible but seen by polaroid goosebumps exposing,
there, waiting to etch the bubbling
freshness of a secondary twitch into flex but not circumflex of prayer
or movement without motive other than prayer and abiding
by ***** and priest talk.
i took to the soil, i took to the grain,
i took to the tomb, i took to the skeletal vain!
i took to the soil, i took to the grain,
i took to the tomb, i took to the ceremony of
perfumed parting with a sneeze to make death laugh.
and by god i laughed, mortally into the eternal!
i bulged all life into the marrow
and called it an artefact to be worth a **** instead of a whistle
on that bony flute, with my breath believably less
accommodating turning the haemoglobin dolphin
into a champagne siren.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
.it sounds dumb... because it was done so... by someone who was drunk... wow! like christopher ******* columbus! discovering h'america! in a can of sardines!

How to Stop Obsessing
Over that One Guy // Amy Young
Undogmatic - The Deserted House
(collab. with Tapani Sysimetsä)...

do women...
have no knowledge
of their own
shadow?
  really?
   so the desire
to a niqab?

   me? i hate maggot
heat...
of the desert...
   i don't like...
    doing the camel jockey
*******-beings-whipped
part...
   like...
can't
do the arithemetic
of an FU in terms
of counting fingers?

copper cronies...
and...
all that oil...
was...
dropped...
ah ha!
ARAB PRIVILEGE!
COPPER SKINNED ******
PRIVILEGE...
   ANTI C.A.
    US UP,
NO TO BANGLADESHI
SUB-ARABS...
  LESSER COPPER
'KIN...
         but people do realise...
it is an arab privilege...
given...
that these people...
are sitting on...
oil...
and... all i'm sitting on...
is... salt?
right?
    salt... is fuel...
for what sort of vehicle?
me... i'll state the blatant:
it's arab privilege...
  brainwashing breeds
brainwashing...
  we can all go rotondo
and... woo-woo-woo-e...
round and round and round
we go...
  but to me...
sitting on a dump
of dinosaur ****...
i call that arab priv.,
or... not being sober
copper... something or other.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2021
all the hard work seems to have been done,
not that any was done
to begin with...

   from the fountain of nouns -
   there's nothing...
   well there's no new new
   in the sense that
   a hammer was monumental
   a bridge too...
   when wine was first made...

i'm waiting for something spectacular,
like a Krzesimir Dębski
arrangement or a film like
American Beauty -
        or just tomorrow that can
be turned into a resurrected
dog...

         not that a life, this life is
somehow wished alternative...
      that it can be: the life... that life...
today i was at the fishmonger
eyeing up a lobster -
perched on a platter of dead fish...
more animated than alive...
animate thing -
   eyes like dark portals -
         i a puddle's worth of a labyrinth
in which an ******* could
equal genocide of my d.n.a. -
something a little horrid:
   just like that...

and of course...
      what is a george oppen poem...
what's a miroslav holub poem...
   two days prior i was in a w.h. smith:
in the classics sections
with the meagre display of poetry
on offer...
    and... well there wasn't much...
so here's to... doing it for free...
doing it for the cult-esque fancies
of a readership...
doing it for... best served outlet:
bypassing editorial qualms and
what would / might sell: eyes peeling...

what's a Will Alexander poem...
what's poetryfoundation.org even about
except: race, bad grammar in bio:
i they O vey you and my pronoun
whiplash: Aladdin's ditto to
               a Khan or otherwise a variation
of Ottoman...

pristine nouns - historical gravity
i.e. a receding pastoral version: today
yes and of a time: that's prior...
when written i'm assured:
not spoken -
  at least that's how i know when
i can relax a little from thinking:
or any other: moral-ought
should i still have any...

       to the source of ontology -
       how to be: prized culprit a nuanced
       deity of the omni-
       prefix rubric like 2 x 2 =

there are some places where only
a first Tuesday of January
at 2pm belongs to...
   i can think of at least three-quarters
of a dozen of such
places: which i will not name...

but at least here: i would like
to express how i relax from thinking:
or... not thinking...
between the structures
of res cogitans / the narrative ortho-physical
gob...
and res vanus / the empty vacuum
two eyes for periscopes
a sea of grey amassing -
     a variation of suppose: people
their own lives...
    placebo solipsism /
           it's like that 'the earth is flat'...
"theory"...
      it's not an 'ought experiment...
it's more a: because it might happen on
c.c.t.v. no chance for north.east.west.south...

exhaustion... fork in the road:
now more sketching than...
it was never going to be a conversation
or a script to... orate & plagiarise...
in the end: that's a beginning...
while in the middle
there's all this shrapnel and...
   a need to compartmentalize...
shove and sort and take a strong arm:
work a shovel...
not that you'd ever use
a shovel to shove...
or shoo / cuddle with a coo coo...
a flurry of pigeons...

    and that i was shat on one today...
years ago i thought it might
be deemed lucky...
  but the image in my 'ed was...
only lucky... should 'un'
                        take a diarrhoea "tot"
on a bowler 'at o' mine...

3 full glasses of wine...
   that's... 3 full glasses of wine...
       a cat sleeping in my bed...
and half past midnight to come...
also...
   had i discovered pinyin earlier...
no matter i'd still be
bothered about the eternal glyphs...
needless to say
i came across hangul and katakana
prior and i knew
they made sense...
            
well: sounds...
         back to the sound of ambiance
i.e. the "music" a refrigerator makes
in the middle of the night...
that there's N
and all the vowels...
       (ン) ア     イ ウ エ オ

and this is how N looks like
     when "mutilated" by, said vowels...
acting as a prefix

n.b. why ES and not SEE
                "C" but not ECK
                 KAY... TEA but not ET
                ZEEZEDZEZ but:
                 EN
                 EM
                           ME N'EH...
                  NA            NO...
syllables syllables...

(ン)ナ     ニ ヌ ネ ノ

MANNA
   i.e.                          マンナ         (1)
                                   マンンア    (2)

      (1) is...             (2)... isn't...

rigid structures of bull-tied-to-tongue
doy'ch:
           stier-gebunden-zu-zunge...
a name of a woman...
                         アンナ...

ナノ:                   n'ah "know":
   which isn't: now...
           ergo: n'oh...
                                laughter in
katakana: ハ ハ
                            ハ   アハ      ハ ....

bother:           cull the surds and then
"somehow" the sounds...

borrow / lend: apples and coal...
i.e. セキタン
          (sekitan)
          リンゴ (ringo) non essentially:
1960s anglo-ßaß culture: rut...
nostalgia... bonfire...
       crisp as: cutting in with words
it's not like there's a moral
backlog of cursed morose & dodgy
fabric... history sort of:
relaxed & ****** off...

           if i could wiggle in some
korean: Ta
                 Ke
                             the periodic
of keeping tables...
   having chairs to char a bias
on for bone...
  serve up the chisel...
    rough up: coincidentally
the brood of stones & stoics...

              hoops... which you could
dub bonanza for chitters,
jokes and jitters...
           variations of D        Z:
talk Fwench ****:
wan                   and qi    cue: K...

the "currency" of verbiage...
      
   otherwise: when a pronoun behaves
like an article...
notable example:
       mein kampf - i'll treat "my" as
a pronoun rather than as a determiner...
the way i see it... thus...
my struggle is...
      casually... my: definitely articulated...

ich / i(s)ch kampf...
                   "i" struggle... which is...
an indefinite article...
blessed jah! the grammar *******
have... cometh!
phi or theta closure?
both?!                  hey-ya!

   variations of:
     chew-tongue... slurp-bone...
  kauenzunge
                 schlürfenknochen...

    loiter-with-shadow:
                   "head" detached...

herumlungern-mit-schatten:
           "kopf" abgetrennt...

rigid like Trent and...
              heave the Rhine, Rodin...

ol' schwab...
    wine = sour-grapes
                                            wein = sauertrauben...

these fesseln these scharniere,
these schleifen: ernte... nichts...
             my godhead humming...
                      no play-pristine-good-fork
of a **** 'ere "now"...
language for the eyes...
language for the nose: K: cardamom...
before we: were never going to
sit it out in a Siberian work-around...
chasm such that the echo: spawned...
litanies in Byzantine...
     which was a precursor to
Turk & Ish...

                     schweinefleischhacken...
what a nice... nice bIG best...
rounded word with
not hyphens...
maXen m'ah mummy: noun that's also
a verb... alias:      schleichumfang...

ein / eine bursary für
                                    sechs ("z"ex):
          
           zitieren:
quetschen - unter alles die onomatopoeias
  (rigid ******* word...
hasn't changed since the greek's
eureka 'id it)...

           los los los...
               gargantuan only with
a glagolitic mmm...
   almost looking armanian...
ⰏⰀ
   マ...
                 Helmut gorun'd'tat...
heave!
              
   - and "they" thought i might just...
give up... tongue like ice-cream...
like easy like
low hanging fruit... like:
for the taking...
all the **** and ****
and she still has a superiority
complex when
i look at it as: collateral...
little o... pseudo-***                  
  
             (ch / č
                        hide a vowel / vowel-catcher...
      cache a vowel...
                    verstecken ein vokal...
                 vokalfänger - or pretend...
just pretend to laugh)...

and croat... down the corridor
of an arm-wrestle between
proto-prussian and pan-slavic
rus...
        tell me some more:
and i'll acute that S for you...

                                                if only:
details could be written in german
as: detallen detallen...
but is... otherwise... beiwerk / nähere...
oops is for: regenschirm -
and bloat is for: pilz...

         and here's for a *******
carousel!
   rotondo, kalimotxo... "jajaja"...
meow-up-m'ah crease of zzz of agitated
lazy of herr Kraz...
certainly...                 if that's how:
letters "work"...

                 arbeit: arrived at:
macht...               freedoms pigeons
and dolphins...       creases of paper...
           come 2am... it's plenty.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
the pre anglo-saxon england:
this arthurian myths of:
   some celtic bride and some leftover
legionnaire regaining status:
or gaining status -

pre anglo-saxon england:
oh god... that cocktail of celts and
the welsh...
well: it's anglo-saxon england
that entertained the vikings...
and later the vikings that settled
in northern france...

the monstrous export of
the anglo-saxon republican export
from the h'american colonies...
a strict work ethic...
work hard...
em... how hard can you work
in an environment of
window-dressing...
of being a cat-walk exemplar...
work hard...
stacking supermarket shelves?
can you turn bulging machine
having:
the capacity for unforgiveable
spontaneity:
i figured: a poem a day
keeps the psychiatrist away:

the apples are rotting...
the bears are getting drunk on them...
staggering around senseless seem-like
in a cider tango...

a work ethic... where... mostly...
the ethic of work is: dasein -
a mere being there...
a presence of something that
doesn't discount the rubric of:
the long-stretch of time...
mannequins at work...
staging a cul de sac coup d'etat -
work ethic...
after a while competing
with machinery:
in a thespian despotism
and a d.j. roulette is not enough
for: me to spew rhyme after rhyme...

i would hardly want to disgrace
anyone at work...
lucky for me a dream i had
only yesterday:
i was chased by a faceless throng
of people who wanted
me to stand on a stage...
and persuade the "less initiated"
with new testament jargon:
i was invited to become
the last conventional:
the confidence man: an orator...

not a politician... as such -
not a rhetorician... not lying for
a purpose: more... lying for lying per se...
i rarely dream where i can bring
back images of the dream...

i honestly don't know what
the "whiteness" argument is with these
critical-race theorists...
these neo-marxists...
i latched / i eavesdropped on a conversation
and i'm: precisely here:
nowhere...

      work efficiency: baking too much
bread... what is... "work"...
it's certainly not something as
crystal clear as...
sitting through a le mans' episode
of 24h within the confines
of the marathons of a football match...

snooker nears the concern for
the spectator -
          
  but i'm just eavesdropping -
   i can't buy the new left from the west...
      there's just too much idiosynchronicity
that pulling it apart:
i want the ride on the roulette -
rotondo - ferris-wheel -
i just can't buy western socialism:
it's pretend hive for a season
mentality...
      a whim a vogue:
                 a fly rattling the purpose
of space abstracted to its erracting
flight confined to a cube...

i'm hardly: well... how doesn't it feel
being mistook for a german or a swede
in england...
then again only copper-skins
on edgware road selling quran pamphlets
asked me whether i was german...

i must say: i didn't mind that...
if they suppose i was russian...
i might have minded that...
               i am always this little boring
mr. incognito a retail
of non grata -
          my poverty of history:
i'll ***** myself around the world
never making it to grand h'america...
in england i'll...
honest to god:
gladly scoff the battered cod
and the chips come a friday...

          i don't need to see the sea:
ha: on the continent people had
to plan for summer and for trains
and transit... to... "get 'em away from
the mountains": no camping freaks
among them... lazing on the beaches
until the sun might turn into
crab-mouths nibbling on them...

come on though...
oysters?! that semi-solid sponge of
goo and glue managed to earn...
itself a rolling-pin's worth
of a shell...
well... the human brain is no better:
considering that it was hijacked
by a mushroom... come
the post-aquatic process
of redefining standing-up straight...

perhaps i own my bedroom:
this little guise for the world to understand:
but then one cat if attempting
to sleep in my bed
and the other in the armchair:
while i'm sitting reading
the pickwick papers
sitting against a cold radiator -

she doesn't like me teasing her hind
near: what is her tail:
my imaginary coccyx and her
cranium 69 psalm...
she harks at me...
she butchers me with boxing gloves:
i am expecting
******* sized up to mosquito replicas...
she draws blood from the index...
i smear the drawing of
blood onto her furry nose...

i was too young to have fallen
for such a love of ***
that would never translate
itself into a "love" that could
have us: find each other...
pairing and piling up with
a glad tiding of responsibilities...
i still remember
this "other" one as she took
me to a party just before
bloc party arrived
and a girl might inquire me
as to why i wore
a eisen-kreuz t-shirt...

               it must be self-explanatory:
i have yet to live the unforget-
-able life...
this colt this Abel this leisure of activity:
when pitiable Cain has to wade
through the tsunami of...
the roman gentleman:
forever out of context:
      there's some "inevitable" and there's
some "traditionalism"
       and there's PREJUDICE
against occupations requiring manual
labour: these befitting slaves...
mind you: retail trades have
come through the aeon as...
devoid of criticism or allowing
a self-awareness...
      
concerning now i am no high-brow
thinker:
i am ashamed to "think" to put
this fudge-packing to paper...
wow! no paper!
pixel digits of beelzebub's voyeurism...
i find my agony in
that: physical labour needs
to find its detail:
i can't find escape in the per
se of poetry from long ago...

i need to rise up i need to rise
with aa riddle: to riddle the princesses
with my own lost joy, joke & rhyme...
butchers' pressures for
*******...
the detailed art of the inconvenient
**** stressed with:
ghosts macabre:
if the niqab was addressed
by some variation of: Coco Chanel:
the long white 'un...

i'd love to see a niqab paraded
in white...
               i was the con-stipated...
i was the con-findance artist being
chased by a face clot of bass riddling base?
who's o.k. who's not this new:
pristine vogue of perfect?
my shattered little blessed purpose
insignia of g'aah g'aah:
better: blah?
no reiteration within the confines
of nervousness -
i will not seek any variation
of new york...
i will not make conquest
of coastline h'america...
give me my mundane suppose
euorpa and
some ******* mediocre "supposed"
teasing anti-adventure fly-over...
grey-the-grit-grey-first-born...

i the summoned echo of Abel...
while Cain has his pop-tarts
in the h'american
celebration of serial killers...
and: mother siberia welcomes!
oh god... who needs them shackled
up... let's just drop them...
into a geography that might
expand their minds!
wouldn't it be... fair?
no new africa this new Sib?!

it would account for the moon-goal:
ha! mongrel / 'ongol...
very funny: as english always is...
when it can be tested
with phoneticism...
and a dickensian sam weller's: gadanie:
spreschen...
best kept patriotic: nervous angle...
no new blue: all old blanche... ha ha...
nervous ******* twinkle...
borrowed bliss... no north 19th century...
ha ha...

  but it's still a chapter or two where:
the dickensian narrative sort of:
left me: as it left him...
just pass the time...
as every novel does:
line the lineage...
mould - just enough dough
or words for the readers
to: ahem... "mishap"
a tumbleweed moment...

execution of the antithesis of
"buddhist" posturing:
not finding a cushion to not think...
read a book in an iron maiden
fixation:
play the freely available russian...
i will never come across
the intricacies of h'america from
a postcard...
i will never make it to iowa:
iowa per se...
outside of the federal export
narrative of a myth of a
nation-project...

   i want to see the sort of
h'america the rest of the coastline
decided to **** on...
but i've already seen st. petersburg
from the perspective of:
great *** and no one ever wanted
to listen to bob dylan...
there was a necessary stipend
of reading a bulgakov...
         which i did...
          while moscow and metallica was...
let's just forget it:
i find the most pristine ideal
of a day...
come my little solo rummaging
of the woods come the raj spices
of autumn...
come these ancient woods
that will never borrow acorns...

i went back a side-step back
toward the ***** of abraham marx -
and i came back:
trojan projects:
mass graves of Ypres:
deserved by the germans...
have these mass graves...
but a solitary statue of...
at least the achilles heel of "st." michael...
will you not dare to claim
the laughter of Ares?
then succumb to a "saint" and michael...

**** your incongruity -
i tend to make an event of walking out
from this house
with an apple in tow...
and like some philosopher...
leaving enough flesh prior to the core...
before ackowledging
the possibility of the magic
trick being towed...

i can eat the whole apple and
there's no cider coming from the seeds...
write the metaphor of the bible
anew:
apples are not new to the riddled east...

ah! ah! ah ha ha ha ha ha!
the riddled east!
give 'em the nocturnal flesh
of a phlegm compact fig...
  give them the dates...
the oranges... the lemons...
         who was moses to give them
the apple?
last time i heard apples originated
in kazakh territory:
which was picked up
with the mongol migration...
along with the beijing plethora
of dumplings...
  
england is still far far away...
ready to make it's surf exploration first...
thirst for moon in north h'america...
first come first served:
last time i heard:
iceland didn't beat them...
because... ha!              ah ha ha ha!

first i played a recorder...
cheap plastic...
no... there was no mention of a flute...
i was english i was i never never...
but it's not like...
i had the vantage point...
of the english...
since no one really wanted
to live on iceland...
england prior to the anglo-saxons...
yes... these:
leftover peoples: troll...

ich muss "troll"...
      shwemme-affe-contra-hund:
scheissegrubestapelregalneu!
   ich: ja... westen bankrottberliner:
mein ebenfalls: kaiserbrötchen!

one might simply tire of pandering
to the germans...
one simply can...
as one might excuse oneself to teasing
the mongols: via the russians...
so... it's a no man's land...
through and through...

   i.e. where's what middle with
the middle of the east
that's also: "york" and the yacht and
the islamic mystics: rumi from afghanistan from
the 13th century or otherwise...
the senior draft?
no... solipsism adventure: primo!
the bangladeshi are slaves
when cicero had to speak: proper...
necromancy for the believe-ability
of the existence of arabs...
camel jockeys...
            the nobel routine handlers...
shadow rubric oopses -

there is not need for a coupling for
communism with Jainism -
when the doggy-mom does her bit
and the thief from Camden Town
does his: leash to lynch...
empires the metaphors:
the peoples the jack 'o' cracks:
pancakes... and the littering
to street with...
all thoe romanian / bulgarian
****** you didn't ****...
because ****'s son slashed the broker
on the northern duaghter
you...   hindered...
  stroked bloke & towed
fiddled barrels...
   like some "ilford"...
          
the "solution" is...
all tongues but no spanners...
the "solution" is...
all tongues but hammers...
              my best inclined: fugitive
of a body... this fetish toad-ape
a colour figurative
of imitating traffic heed...

my best blotched narcoleptic
blond-Fe....
ironing suitor...
    ape gesticulating
supposed applause...
for the audience to cwy away
an about: a'goo...

               cicero minded: might have...
"slaves" take up the deeds of
aesops in the deeds of the row-men...
or the same-ethno-minded:
belittled brain-custrd-fudgings...
A                           A                       A
my exploited nuo lambda...

i wriggle with a rare
rage most impossible...
i tinge these letters:
the spice list for a karma sutra
of
outdates the necessities
of the new testament as:
any new sort of investment:

didn't you know?
the serenity of a composition...
bach will never ride
a donkey:
among the four horsemen...
there was one with death: implicit...
towing a donkey... riding: slow...
and it's not that i might make
bach pop: or propping up...
i have no romance with
some borrowing of
"amore" of italy:
               pizza pardons?!
i quite like the tenderness
of the "in-between-bits" of
liver... stendhal!
the rubric details:
                         i oppose a suggestion
that something could be claimed
to make monstrosity
of sketching forward this...
ahem... modern...
man...

"we": i found it very much necessary
for the modern man to talk
this borrowing from nuance...
this bowing-down
burrowing:
thorough.. through...
my long lost asp and bulgar...
the sort of exotica that
the british never tasted:
it was Bulgaria that was not...
not ever... Haiti...
and because of... what?
white's what?

       middle of "my" jerusalem?
i can't fathom a... "middle yeast"...
from a region that doesn't
need beer...
ergo and "ergo"...
the riddled east...
troll the overt-simplification...
that let's me toll up stupid
and there's no necessary
i.q. quest -
yes.... the pay-back for
toying with both tourist
and the cricket teams / themes...

my last middle...
it's an yeast! a brain-borrow:
born bread-winner"
riddled "eat"!
oh ****...       tiny tony
and that major SHA-SHA!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
god, what an awful 48 hours,
     insomnia without my anti-depressant
25mg pops and
            painkiller: pain-keeper...
**** sicks from the top
  and you get a chance to form a reply,
or rather, a reply comes out
    to the sithering event horizon
                           like... anything might...
i blame the change in climate,
after all an island climate is so much
different to continental climate...
       vaguely, what the hell did i do
for the past two months?
             spent it with my dementia prone
grandfather and:
     a neurotic grandmother...
             watched one act of lunacy that
you probably wouldn't forget,
trying to stop my grandmother
   from calling my grandfather names
e.g. to idiot! debil!
                          while he decided it
was 9am at 2am in the morning,
    walking out of the house in his
pajamas...
             and: lost... an abyss behind the
days... fell, broke his coffee table,
looked at me with bulldog mouth nearing
frothing...
               lunacy theatre...
               but try calming a scolding
woman while trying the dementia prone
old father to go back to sleep...
                      even though i did cook
for them for two months,
   sometimes we'd sit on the balcony on
Sunday and eat, the most perfect
poultry roast, roast tatties and a zingy
salad...
                    and i'm not that bad at
fixing up a kitchen,
    the bare minimum since these aren't
the sort of people who need fancy-fancy
details...
          freshened up the walls in a pale
canary yellow,
     painted the furniture sides and details
white to match up with freahly
bought grey wooden chairs...
       refreshed the floor,
          sure, linoleum... but it was
originally linoleum, and...
            i'm apparently pretty good at it...
        not to mention i did manage to
  to finally finish H. Sienkiewicz's
   nights of the teutonic order (krzyżacy) -
because i had to watch
            the Aleksander Ford film...
only today i remarked to my mother who's
not even 60 whop began walking
with a walking stick,
     matriachal and murmuring under
her breath in the candle:
                             to imagine such will...
(a) not enough teutonic knights for my liking,
(b) the film had to avoid so much
plot embedded in the book...
    (c) why the hell do i identify
   with these knights?
                introduction with conrad,
  i'm guessing,
       and all the fanciful names...
                 e.g. frederick von wallerond...
names as pristine as **** uniforms:
                     you almost want to have them...
but this is a story about the dawn
of the 15th century...
               you have Hastings 1066 in
the west...
               and you have Tannenberg of
1410...
                  maybe because
gott, mit uns! sounds so hard-on
                          while listening to
                an alle krieger by und ein...
or?
            see... speaking english,
                     the "almost" unrecognisable
version of german...
      you... become fanciful,
    with a history...
                    almost attempting to be closer
to home...
         with an intact psyche at least:
not bothered by a tongue per se...
                   werner von tettigen:
                                      kommen auf!      
and that lightning krieg just last weekend?
    public houses in Marienburg...
               angel session:
   ****, forgot my genitals!
                forgot my genitals i said to her,
can we pretend
               i am both the mouth
of Vul'              and the tongue of Phal'?
                          Lusva was born
                          leeches stuck to
        the mime language of hearts.
                             funny you should say...
        **** usually sinks to the bottom
and then back up...
    michael rotondo...
                         we heard that one surface...
but only a week later,
   in a respetable english publication
             that's the times:
   style supplement...
               a certain francesca segal
moved back into her mother's house...
            two children and a husband
  towed...
                         but no... nothing of
the ordinary:
                       mickey was saying:
   i'm like air... sometimes there...
           can't defend him either...
                                  i know, the minor
detail... 6 months in...
            but then there's the oddity of work...
can anyone even comprehend
michael getting the sort of job
francesca has?
                      now all that i want to do
is work in my pyjamas, within arm's reach
of a well-stocked fridge
                            and a hot kettle...    
it's these little intricacies of
the story...
               i'm happy to have "suffered"
past the 48 hours thinking:
                 why did i accidently steal
ten quid from a teenager that
started to mouth me off when i bought
him 40% rather than pissy-juice friendly...
and the moral conundrum is
   with the already drunk or sober teen
who can't keep his mouth shut...
    ****... when me, Peter and Kieraan
were growing up, we'd be buying
      cheap cider from the local indian corner
shop and play snooker at
                 the local youth club...  
   ah man... there's hardly a point...
     there's a psychotic itch, a taunting line
you don't want to cross confined
    to the word:              loo       sir...    
****, that's hardly metaphorical...
                                      low       ner(d)?
                see, already soo'unds better...
****... why did i even begin this
                                               narrative?
oh, right...
                         the fatherly concern for
the oedipus son...
                                      yet the daughter
always has a hard time with
her mum...
                        household grievances...
it would have been a nice theory...
had i not the capacity to look for
          Charon with two coins on my eyes
when i look at a *******...
****... it's like the heart could never be
as pristine as to involve a me
                            in the whole affair...
it must be the whole oedipus complex
inverted-stigma...
                      apart from the commentary
*******...
              i guess i'll have to bury mine...
properly... unlike i buried her cat that
was poisoned by my neighbours...
               poor ******... hope you like
the piece grave i hacked off...
                   don't worry, it didn't belong
to anyone,
      stacked like in a jewish cemetary...
who knows...
          maybe i buried a holocaust victim
into a body of a cat, that now lazes
                        around ha-shem's throne?
i still need to find that teenager
before his "uncle" finds me and give
him back the ten quid...
                     drank the ***** though...
funny...
     michael wouldn't have this sort
of problem if...
                                            grandparents...
but then you wonder about
  michael's parents...
             so... we much of your parents
lately?
                   there's a 1 in 4 chance that
                              one of them is still alive;
     mine was 3 in 4 till about 5 years ago.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
i haven't seen
a gamer since:
the god delusion
took off....
i thought
i was strapped back
into "hiding"...
or the infantile
quantum relief...

kept me sane
peering,
into, the
armed with only...

one...
              eye...
i tend to squint
shut 'un of 'em...
problem?

and the world
plays out its
roulette
rotondo...
   ****-***** about
to smacker me
up with a sober 'un?!

he walks
past me,
broad on his "shoulder"...
i'm walking past him
with a bottle of beer...
he has, i mean:
he has to excuse the "affair"
with a 'ha ha'
making it to a breath
status...
    
******... just tickles me...
i could just 'ave burried
my mother...
but i love
the tease...
tending toward
the cast of man
who's allow the instnce
a case of...
gender disphoria...

'ha ha' passing a stranger?
bigger no bigger
than what i'd expect from
a pick-me-up...

thank **** i didn't bother
making video content of
myself,
resorting to writing
instead...

                  i'll let it pass,
this, what you'd call...
encompassing
the easily available act
of... person...
or... lax...
                  
  i saved 'em the trouble...
beating myself up
with an eye
worth the plum,
and the hue,
and the eye-liner
to mach up with...

       ****, ever find a man
gagging for a sadistic
intake of pain?

rare... i'm sure...
pain, as a variant
of pleasure,
is so devoid
of the univeral man
exploit that...
                for the man
who actually deviates
in deriving pleasure
from pain?
           simple...
i never ingested much
of pleasure
from an ******...
to begin with.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
the current world, enclave,
zeitgeist, whatever noun
or subsequent misnomer
you might wish to attach
a canvas for...
spoken back to me?
or, ingesting me with
either "phobia" or "apprehension"
has left... me...
          seemingly
                  aloof and
"forgetful", in that:
        even if i were to "re"engage
or simply: engage with it...
i would scatter in a frenzy
of spaghetti leg tie-ups
of a: malaise for
the general facet of
a **** sapien take to
merely walk...
    i congratulate myself
on the superstition
surrounding the voyeurism
of the cat-walk
   scrutiny...
                be by the buckle,
or be by the nibbling
on a horses' hoof?
          the world: rotondo...
         spinning itself into
a fixation,
    for:
             upkept momentum contra
   the frictive norm
of the static of mountains,
like:
something only a cézanne
could observe!
i have here a world:
worth a nickle and a buckle,
a hybrid of a laughing
horse,
   a timeless scrutiny's worth
of an innocent smile...
a gargantuan giggle
of a sea-faring toddler...
   and an abyss that's worth
the in-itself vacated
by, time;
   given the strict Irish nun
orthodoxy of:
    being kept in-tune
with that grand space of...
                 drowned procelain
dolls, shoved into socks,
thrown into the sea
with a reminder attached
to (what would inevitably
float to surface) them:
of a scythe...
      and what is but one
man before the sea,
with a boot's worth
of licking the heel and a pen
and a page,
the sea itself,
j. m. w. turner: fishermen
at sea...
            an encore
with a scoop of freshly
printed pages worth a book...
ink aroma,
    and superstitions of
oil paints,
     in what has become:
the portrait of the meal:
without either the chef,
or the person about to eat
the gob's leash set loose for
a sensual frenzy
of an "elsewhere"...

i see a mountain i find:
the obliterated maze,
   or as something with
a lost -esque for what
remains both intact,
and a metaphor...

with the sea?
i am riddled by the continuum
of a perpetuated
motion...
and Gaia...
and Luna...
and the envy of Poseidon...
and how the moon
orientates the seas
with tides...
    and what i wish i lost
by not thinking:
i would not forget while
breathing,
and by the similitude
of neither thought
or breath in tow-simultaneously...
i somehow forgot
to sieve myself through
the logic of kept geometry:
                   -ology...
and every other -ism...
which... given the countless
tries to avert:
is akin to the plough of minds
in less a word,
and more a geometric deity
of a square, a triangle...

for the mind a static
in-depth "origin" of a mountain...
for the body a fluid
depth with a lost
faculty of memory,
a satan: an undermining of...
the rot of scholastic
******* and bait bruising
of the rubric in
making the tedious child
the overtly-tedious
employee...

         people speak a too plain
a too spooned a tongue
for me to work myself toward
a tirade for...
              or rather:
i am caught with a lost
guard...
            to fathom their -
blatantly made scrutiny of
teasing-dialectics...

                 isn't monotheism
a... supposed solipsistic god
in the pantheon of all the other gods?
    
autism ≠ altruism...

   but the demiurge is
a solipsistic god...
             and what is red,
is red... but also a tomato
and a ripe pepper...
   and words:
sometimes have to harvest
a cascade...

               format.

yet i find my lips...
moved only by a kiss of a stone...
in that they are shut...
had i the chance to craft
a video...
   but in writing:
i guess i have the last and
the least revealing remnants
of succumbing to a public
shame...

             nonetheless:
open scrutiny...
                           and...
                                      a vacancy.

— The End —