In{peace}ner

Yet again, I a(struggling)m to sleep,
Yearning for m(soul)y to keep.
Day by pa(day)ss with no remorse.
Death scouring the lands on his tire(horse)less.

There was Mar(First)cos,
There was Ka(Then)in.
De(coming)ath is for all of us,
As morale beg(wane)ins to.

Shots are fired in hot spu(sporadic)rts,
du(I)ck for cover as my shoulder hurts.
Blood flo(down)ws my arm as I grasp my gun,
I close my eyes as my comr(run)ades begin to.

I am paralyzed, planted in the ea(bunkered)rth,
My comrades car(me)ry as they flee.
I fig(sanity)ht, refusing to see my own worth,
As bullets fly by, in an endl(torrent)ess of maniacal glee.

The pain sears, racing through mi(my)nd.
Muscles, tissue, bone, to unw(beginning)ind.
Con(crosses)cern my comrade’s face,
As he looks at my pai(disgrace)ned.

Earth spews the gro(from)und to my right,
Launching us into the thick fum(air)ed.
I scream again as my pa(rears)in its roaring might.
My vis(fading)ion as my body lands on my earthen lair.

whi(Death’s)sper then did creep,
His bre(cold)ath in did seep.
I no pa(feel)in as I know its time,
To join m(mates)y, out here on the Rhine.

.
                                  M e l
                         lissa McCa  rth
                         yE    llend     eG
                         e       n eri         s
                         T       ina Fe       y
                       M      indy Ka        l
                      i         na   Mar       ia
                     B       am      for        d
                     K       r is       ten      Sc
                     ha      a l        Re        b
                      el       Wi      lso        n
                        L          e   na         D
                         un       h  am      A
                           my      Poe    ler
                               Amy Schu
                                       m
                                       e
                                       r

I had a lovely little drone
and every chance I had,
I'd fly so high, up to the sky
in weather good or bad.

I'd push the limits further,
and every time I flew,
my boldness knew no limits.
My confidence - It grew!

I'd fly until "connection lost"
and RTH* kicked-in;
a feature oh so good at hiding
multitudes of sin!

And so, more reckless did I grow
more daring I became.
I mocked the regulations
and derided them as "lame"!

And then, one chilly, blustery day,
I set forth to the beach.
I flew my drone out to an island,
almost out of reach.

The wind, it changed direction
and turned into a gale.
My lovely drone fought valiantly,
but nature did prevail.

A watery grave engulfed my drone
in cold and wicked sea.
I lost my lovely little drone
and little drone lost me.

So now I cry and save my cash
and count the days 'til when
I'll buy a lovely brand new drone
and do it all again!!!

* An automated "Return To Home" feature.

even before Southport unfolded
i was having a difficult week:
i could blame it on the heat
and the fact that my bedroom faces sunrise
that i would wake up exhausted...
in hindsight:
with some trepidation...

          i can't say i was on good terms with
this guy:
a bit like Chinaski in the Post Office:
for some reason:
i attract the attention of weirdos and "losers":
and i also get called one:
my posture and diameters don't
disguise me well enough
to sieve through societal expectations
of what winning implies
in this mortal realm:
i'm not a fan of automobiles:
i don't own a car for the sake of practicality
the mere idea of operating
an exoskeleton rather than
being exposed to the elements on
a bicycle...

             i wasn't a "fan" of this guy
i wasn't his friend:
he jousted a few times: argumentatively:
friction tenderness:
yes: i did make fun imitating his
strange Picasso mannerisms
his idiosyncratic wobble of the head
but even with another outcast of Darwinism:
a Martin:
i did say there was something Anti-Socratic
in: with a personality like that
regardless of his physical posturing:
there is something irredeemable
that life could be so cruel:
and life was cruel to Mark Leggett...
he couldn't escape the bullying...
a solipsism through and through...

and it's not like this is the death of
a family relative:
a person drops dead on the street:
shock, awe, horror...
a relative dies, accomplishing old age:
certain complications as to the details
of a death: the agony of a mother
the agony of a mother against her own mother
and you're strapped in between
trying to make sense of:
better to poach eggs than to fry them:
i still find it impossible to put salt
on boiled eggs,
poached eggs...
fried eggs...
scrambled eggs though? i have to salt them:
any other variation:
NO SALT ALLOWED...

so for almost a week i was being fed
this cosmic: existential: oogie boogie...
lethargic: no reason why
i can blame the heat:
i should be happily going about my day
getting a suntan...
last night was the first night
i put on my night-guard...
oh jeez: the unconscious seeped through
i has gnashing like a zombie
thirsty like a vampire
and about as mad as a werewolf...

but for the first time
i didn't get out of bed
to have my nightly nibble...
apparently sleeping with someone,
intimately, reveals your nightly
struggles:
my bite so relentless i could
actually bite off bits of my teeth:
and it's the front teeth chattering:
the problem i have is with my maulers:
i keep on chewing
and chewing: and obviously it would
be a bad idea to fall asleep
while chewing gum:
but i had fluorescent glitter stones
for eyes last night...

i woke up and the message read:
sister finds brother dead in his flat...
so is this punishment:
knowing him intimately is not:
suicide? it must have been suicide:
i can't imagine his life...
well: at least some less suffering
in this world...
but ******* Southport?!
and the audacity of the media:
even today on the radio some "high authority"
judge: whatever...
this politicization of a tragedy:

three children get murdered
and suddenly it's a ******* "far right coup de e'tat"?!
can't it just be a primitive outright
mob cry for: what the **** is going on?!
oh: the narrative proposed by this judge was:
oh this is just another summer fever
pitch: football hooliganism
part and parcel of just: living life...
well: count my Sherlocks and dress me up
in a tutu... i don't think i have any marbles left!

far right, mob outrage?
so the best the left has to offer is slanting
zombie-slogans
when existentialism: beside any safety of
ideology: comes knocking on the door
and there are no longer available slogans
kinship of "**** scums off our streets"...
about time for the "nazis" to start buying
property, then; no?

we had out differences... at work...
but i succumbed to finally admitting:
but he looks intimidating with that freakish
posture of his: he is, useful...
so weird hearing about the death
of a coworker...
because it's so vaguely familiar of
how we don't treat mortality with anything
but: the unfamiliar stage fright...
it's also that someone so loosely associated
with your daily grind
someone who wasn't loved by you
cared by you
frivolous to you
a nuisance to you...
just like i can't digest killing a spider
or a fly...
this other night i actually allowed a mosquito
to drink from my neck:

the night was so serene since
the moon dipped into the oceans early
and became Poseidon, *****:
took another Medusa harlot for some
interracial inter-species fuckery...
jeez:
today i've been hearing a Morse code
in my ear...
a pressure with my eardrum bulging...
setting off strange rhythms...

i don't understand why being strapped to reality
this inescapable tract of "coincidences":
sure: he was difficult:
but as much as i didn't like him
i still tried to work with him:
and he would still come up to me
bother me with that talk
and god: those teeth:
i did admire how he was almost like
my great-grandmother
able to withstand all that rot and pain
but still able to eat using his gums
that became as revealing as bone...
and how his personal hygiene begged
for water
and how for: some strange, ******* reason:
he would pinch off the tops of cigarettes:
but wouldn't keep the pinches
(or maybe he did)
to later roll up a new cigarette:
but he didn't have the ******* caliber to roll
cigarettes...

and that punchline of:
i've been working at a steward for 13 years...
yet such was this an imperfection of man
that he couldn't even
try to get a security license
and just listened
and listened
and followed orders
and became so difficult as a man
since he was never a man
but this monstrosity and i...
just tried to understand:
but even my patience was tested
and to think who his father might have been
although that was never disclosed
and how his mother conceived him
and it was as if divine mercy:
and cruelty:
to experience life with such bad lot...
it comes beyond the realm of pity
but from a realm of: this wasp like determination:
this quasi-parasitical vigor of life:
because you can't call it a vigor for life...
this sickly twisted and very much Igor...

suicide... i guess so:
then again he did have such terrible habits
almost zero net gain from
nutrition...
but i like to think i was tortured these
past days
because i was sensing a passing:
which is why these bouts of Charon:
i was literally passing a soul from this realm
to the realm of the exalted in no longer suffering...
i was giving birth to death...
who's death? i couldn't tell you:
but i was in labor... i was giving birth to death...
which is strange for anyone to understand
a woman couldn't possible comprehend
the cul de sac of a masculine existential dilemma:
since i can't give birth to life:
as a man i can give birth to death...
and that's not by means of ******:
giving birth to death is not causing death...
giving birth to death is cryptic as it is wholly
anti-birth:

DEO rTH bi ody...

                          then coincide that chattering
in the night:
since unlike chewing gum a night guard does so much
more...

very much Biblical:
a place where there's gnashing of the teeth:
who isn't to say Hell
and who isn't to say Heaven:
whereas the former is familiar
and human grotesque:
the latter is godly and all the more terrifying:
a place where murdered children go
and if that isn't terrifying i
think i can stomach this Hell and Hearth...
because i escaped from the clutches
of a "lucy letby":
strange: how no mob furor:
then again it was a boy killing children
and still: no collective consciousness
no protests
of a lucy letby: widow of silence...

no i couldn't possibly call xenophobia a
form of racism:
but the boy we learn
was from Rwanda: and how the newspapers
lost the plot
by starting the article:
oh: didn't you know about the genocide that
took place over there:
his parents escaped:

but wasn't he "born and bred": British?
i'm just the mongrel
who came to England:
i am not "born" or "bred" of this land...
mongrel of ideas:
not by standards of breeding:
i'm pedigree...
but but but but...        buttocks...

what a spectacular dream:
Hellraiser 10...
i stopped following the franchise after the fifth
movie:
but in this dream all the cenobites were
present: as humans:
desperate to imbue their tortured forms:
and Pin-head was bleeding through
his eyes:
a ghost in a ghost glass elevator:
sort of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
with god the ***** Wonka...
somehow:
if god is the artist of dreams
then i had that dream...

oh a simple feast:
cauliflower, boiled
to that event horizon
of still some bite
but almost a buttery
discovery of the taste
of cauliflower...
fondant potatoes...
fried eggs...
breadcrumbs browned in butter
drizzled over the cauliflower...
a simple feast...

**** me: cassette,
wheel frame,
rubber rubber: tire and inner tube inflatable,
82 quid!
i bought it because
i didn't want to be coming back
home empty handed with
the ****** up wheel:
just walking around with a wheel
feels like homage to the Indian flag
and Elijah...

700c x 23mm:
that's the diameter and the width:
no one cycles on 23mm wheels these days...
but for 200 quid i can get a new bicycle:
what's the point of buying parts:
if i were to buy a bicycle from parts:
i'd be looking at three times the worth
of a bicycle...
but i bought it... then returned:

funny... i don't remember there being
a Police cordon at Chadwell Heath High Street
when i went there at circa 2pm...
the supposed incident happened at 12:30pm
a cyclist fell... "fell"...
**** me: i've cycled drunk and flew over
the handlebars and cracked my head
open
then walked home and slept for 10 hours:
but i don't remember anyone making such
a fuss... as to close off traffic:
i was lucky that people thought it was
concussion
rather than me being drunk and exciting
and that motorist just jumped out
and bandaged my head
and that was that...

mind you the R.A.F. did fight the Luftwaffe
while drunk...
the latter were kites of amphetamines
while the R.A.F. were ****-heads...
who one the war?
the chemistry barons meister tropes
or the drunk lunatics who fought
for a land we currently live in...

maybe, once upon a time:
Islam had an allure for such noblemen
as Byron to don the Ottoman exotica robes...
maybe Islam had an allure in the past:
but then the 21st century has shown as
how provincial and backward Islam
can be: as special as any other religion...
the Islam of Pakistan
is not the Islam of Saudi Arabia:
we know as much about the Christianity
of England and
the Christianity of Serbia... no?

i still don't understand how Russophobia works...
all the genius of this world
held by only one country: like that?
but somehow Islamophobia is not the fear
of spiders?
someone please explain to me
why Russia is not waging an educational affront
against the western flaccid ideomorgue:
it's not an ideology: it's a necropolis of gherkins...
an ideomorgue...
and such outrage at the Civil War in Syria:
yeah: the Syrians are fighting each other:
are you Syrian?
so no matter Oliver Cromwell?

  the Russians can at least say: dear Ukrainians:
please don't let us lose you
like we lost the Polacks to their Germanophile ways...
come back... come back...
war is a hyper educational reconstruction...
without glorifying it:
war is education...
        unless it's not war but genocide:
oddly enough the Nazis are weird like that:
educating in one parallel
to the genocidal: which makes them so short
lived and paradoxical and
on the tip of the tongue of useful idiots...