Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Diana Mendoza Aug 2014
I am not required to love you.
Let's get that straight.
Neither man nor woman
Is obligated to profess
And show their undying love for you,
Just as the sun doesn't revolve around the world,
The world doesn't revolve around you.
A series of acts showing your "kindness"
Is not a contract for a relationship.
The very fact that you have to shout
How you are a "nice guy"
Shows how you aren't;
Kindness doesn't need reassurance.
To be frank,
This whole delusion
Is getting a bit out of hand
(see: the "****** Killer",
a guy so sexually frustated
He killed people
for not giving him the right to get laid).
Maybe, hear me out here guys,
it's not because girls only look for "bad guys".
Maybe we look for soulmates,
Not Good Samaritans with hidden agendas.
This may come off as a shock for some of you,
But all-around goodness isn't equal
to treating girls nicely
Only because you might have a chance.
So if your mating dance
Consists of acting like you're an angel And simultaneously complaining
About the blindness
And insolence of women,
It's high time you should stop.
Put down the fedora while you're at it.
It's become a symbol for gentlemen for you,
But now it's a warning sign for us: "Beware the self-entitling guy!"
Honestly, we cringe every single time.
And darling,
Nice guys always finish last
because they whine
Instead of running.
it seems we live in times
when helping hands extend only reluctantly
to those in dire need who had to leave
     the ruins of their devastated homes
     not waiting for more bombs to fall
to those who had to save their lives
     from the barbaric rule of self-styled prophets
and those whose simple love of education
     was met with inane terror and oppression

why is it that so many people
     are afraid of them and think
     these desperate refugees are perpetrators
          not the victims

why is it that the nations most responsible
      for chaos and destruction in these countries
           far from their own safe shores
      are the least willing to accommodate
      those they have driven from their homes

good Samaritans have become scarce
only a few today share their possessions
     with those who are in greater need

our humanity has been outsourced
to NGOs and sundry other institutions
to whom we donate so they feed
the hungry   poor   and the displaced

it makes one wonder whether shameless greed
has indeed  
    and without any saving grace
become the only goal of our race
The waves undulated as if
they were the backs of 100 wriggling worms
The sky shed tears as if
a 1000 angels wept for the death of hope
black clouds roiled, sparking with fury
casting lightning down upon the mire
but below, upon the sea,
a miracle was set to transpire.

A boat rushed down and over the waves...
Back and forth,
a juggler's ball tossed and turned it appeared to be.
Yet, despite the malice,
and the seething spite of the sea,
the boat was safe
snug as can be.

And in this boat was a silent baby
his eyes stared out into the turmoil
he did not understand the frustrations of the elements
how they wished to smite him where he lay.
Despite the twisting of the boat
he did not roll, nor did water coat
his soft cheeks, his baby blanket
he passed on into sleep,
into dream he
went.

He awoke to battles raging about him
the crashing of thunder
was the desolation of a mountain
the world knew war for the first time
deaths in the billions, no pasture without crime.

He stood as a man
with bearded face
skin like the earth
armor embraced.
He realized he held a mighty weapon
it gleamed in his hands
power coursed through his veins
down to his soul
up to the heavens!
A beacon of light he seemed to be
but heir to destruction he truly was.
He did not know what power does
to the feint of heart
to the well-intentioned...
He struck the ground amidst the battle
the whole Earth shook, oh, the chattering teeth!
The mountains lumbered to form again
as if by the shovels of skyward giants!
The battle paused for the barest of moments
the awe was palpable
like a kingly feast
but the people's hearts hadn't forgotten the pain
their hate surged up, like volcanic bile
despite their peace present for a while
the massacres began again in earnest
perhaps more so than before his deed.
No one knew the power he wielded.

He still had hope, he could do something!
But what greater act was there than mending mountains?
His heart was up to good,
but his mind couldn't ground him.

"I must stop their wanton annihilation!"
He roared within himself,
"Are they not my people? Am I not their savior?"
He went to the most heated battle
struck the air with his weapon
and every person's foe was replaced by their loved ones.
The battle ceased in an instant.
Each person stared in utter disbelief.
By what power had this happened?
It was said that mountains climbed back into place,
but what could summon loved ones,
even from the grave!
The fighting ceased despite their hatred,
and the stories magnified in flavor.
Many who were hungry
for peace from the storm of violence
fed upon the hearts of those in doubt
they claimed they knew who stopped the battle
they hoped to mobilize a peace effort.
He gathered these hopeful souls
banded them together so their efforts became tenfold!
Soon enough, the stories crept across the lands
across the seas
and underground.
For once, hope had purchased ground,
but hate, when cloistered, beaten back, starved,
becomes ever more malevolent,
ever more conniving.

He did not call his people an army,
he called them the Samaritan Initiative.
They did not fight their war with weapons of battle,
they fought with hands that mend and bind,
they saved the sick and the dying,
they uplifted the oppressed and those denying.

As time passed, his efforts grew,
but someone used his deeds as currency,
mobilized the scandalous, the warmongering,
someone hated he who mended the broken...
Someone plotted his demise.

He led his Samaritans across the world
each place they touched was left whole again
and though war still did reign, rotting and true,
he did not tire to end the end.

A new beginning he hoped to create,
but whispers that he was a fraud began to sate
the ears of those whose purpose it is to doubt peace,
they sowed the malice back into the healing wounds
soon enough, his power began to abate,
therefore, rumors seemed to be true.

He grew restless when he was barred from homesteads
barred from cities,
even countries!
Somehow these echoes of forgotten civilization rose
only to defy him
and he smelled someone's stench in the air.
His weapon yearned for someone's death.
For once, it did not wish to mend, but break,
and he felt spiteful all the more.
All the adoration he had garnered
had blinded him from his true purpose.
He sought out the taint that spread its tendrils.
"Someone."
He said,
"Is ruining my... empire..."

One day, while regrowing a desolated forest with his weapon,
someone came to see him.
She smiled at him, marvelled at his work.
"Who are you?"
He wondered, suddenly charmed.
"Someone you know..."
She grinned.
He spent weeks distracted and curious about her,
what was her riddle all about
and why did he feel her in his heart?
She did not seem to threaten or scheme
in fact her presence was a dream
and he yearned after her like nothing he knew
his mission delayed
his plans askew.
Many around him questioned him saying,
"Who exactly is it with whom you're playing?"
He would blush,
"Oh, someone..."

One day,
she did not meet him at their lover's spot.
She did not appear for a week, then another.
His mind began to churn about the months.
Since when had he last sent forth his healers,
or mended cities and silenced weapons dealers?
He began to be suspicious of her
he could have summoned her with a flick of his weapon,
but he dared not discover if she really were foe,
for if he should break, what can he grow?

Eventually, she appeared again,
smiling broadly, like an old friend.
He then knew the anger that so many harbored...
Oh, the twisted things he felt by her abandon,
the sheer weight of his turmoil felt too much to bear....
So he ****** it upon her without any care.
His voice was louder than a church bell,
flashing out across the forest where they would meet.
She cried out in fear
she ran from him swift
he chased after with guilt he couldn't lift.
He found her weeping by a well
on his knees he apologized incessantly.
"How could there be darkness in you,
the mender?"
Her question struck him in all places tender.
Doubt crept into his addled mind.
His weapon's glow flickered
his conscience was blind.
Surely not now should he have such trouble?
Could it really be so simple to pop his bubble?
"I love you more than I can bear!
When you leave me,
I begin to tear."
She nodded and held him close to her.

Someone watched from shadows not far,
they saw his frailty,
like a door ajar...

The months passed and he went back to work
new cities to grow and malice to mend
people saw him more for the savior he was
even though the rumors of fallacy were abuzz.

A special time became the moment of his life worthy of note,
a marriage to the woman whose life he knew by rote.
They consummated in the night and in the day.
Time seemed to stretch on and shrink all at once.
His happiness was a thing of infectious charm,
but all that glittered soon became alarm.

Upon returning home from time spent mending the broken world,
he returned to find his home
covered in blood.
He knew whose blood coated the walls.
Bones, ground into paste, smothered pictured frames.
Flesh reduced to pulp covered the floor.
His mind fractured in no way subtle.
The light of his weapon winked out with no rebuttal.
He wept uncontrollably in fits of despair.
The world seemed cold, frozen over,
desolate of love or laughter.
"I can't bear to live."

Someone crept in through the doorway.
"It's a shame, isn't it?
No man is greater than any other,
yet no man is born equal.
No man lives without love,
but every man dies alone.
Maybe you can understand now,
why we deserve our own genocide...
Maybe now you'll let us fight to the death,
and have our peace that way!"

He looked up and,
despite the pure evil that stood before him,
he did not see that.
He saw someone lost,
someone abused,
someone desperate for truth,
any truth.
He saw someone fighting to love something,
anything.
He saw someone forgotten by loved ones
after committing acts that person was unable to avoid.
He saw a frightened being
lashing out at the world
in the hopes that the suffering would end.
He felt boundless compassion.

"I have no power left."
He said.
"No power to mend or bind.
No power worth your scorn."

"I'm going to **** you now."

"If I'm to die,
I hope my blood is enough for all who suffer."

"You're no messiah! You're just a lie we all want to believe!"

"If I was just a man...
I would have died when you killed her.
I would have hungered for torturous retribution.
But you have broken no one.
You're someone who needs to see your own suffering
out in the world
to justify the injustice dealt upon you.
But for every drop of effort you put into destroying her,
I wish you never experience my pain.
I wish to mend what drove you to break me,
so no one else may be harmed by you,
or anyone you inspire to deal death."

"No, I defeated you..."

"You tried..."

The weapon flickered.

"No, no, you can't feel love for me...
You don't have the *****."

"I have very big *****."

"You think you can love me?
After how I destroyed you!"

"If I could be destroyed,
I would already be dead!"

The weapon burst forth with light!

The killer realized they were someone foolish
Someone lost
Someone in need of healing.
For if "he" could not be broken,
surely there was hope.
If he could mend mountains
bring back loved ones and unite lost families
grow cities from the earth itself
grow forests from twigs
and deny a cold-hearted killer
the satisfaction
the honor
of seeing the fractures of a shattered soul
in blood-red, swollen, tearful eyes,
perhaps this man,
this one man,
could reveal what love is
to the killer's own famished soul.

He saw something shift in the eyes of that tortured someone.

That's when he realized...
That's when he understood.
He had the thirst for solving puzzles,
but humanity is not a machine,
it is a collection of gears
each just as vital as the whole,
for the whole does not exist without the worth
of every individual.
And to ignore an individual like this...
Someone who stood at the center of all the woe,
the evil,
and the tragedy in the world.
To ignore them would be to throw out the puzzle completely.

"May I mend you?"

Realizing they were someone facing an open door,
that person nodded.

He struck that person with his weapon.
Light flooded out as if by the sun itself.
Time seemed to stop.
People looked up in wonder of the light.
The very winds halted,
seas stilled,
nature perked up in unison.

When the light faded, he saw himself staring in a mirror.
The man in the mirror had blood-stained hands.

He stepped across the threshold and hugged himself.
His darkness hugged him back and the blood seemed to vanish.

"I forgive myself for killing her."

His darkness melted into a bulbous, gooey form and sank into him,
as if he were some kind of sponge,
leaving no trace of the darkness visibly.
He accepted within himself that he was capable of
unimaginable evil.
He accepted that he had control
and that he was responsible for the health and sickness
of the world.

Around him, the world began to shift.
In fact, it appeared to melt into liquid
and splash around him.
The liquid became clear, like the ocean.
It splashed and slid,
rocking him about.

Light flashed!

The baby awoke, curious about the world around him.
His boat had touched some distant shore.
Flecks of water spotted his cheeks and he laughed.

A couple crept up to the boat.
"I swear I heard a baby," a man said.
"You're crazy," a woman said, "Out here?"
The couple looked within the boat
and found the baby smiling at them with his
toothless, innocent smile.
The woman held a hand to her chest in awe.
She tenderly carried the baby out of the boat
and rocked it in her arms.
The baby laughed.
The man reached out.
"Not that hand!" The woman said, "You just cut yourself!"
"It's okay, no blood anymore, see?"
He pinched the baby's cheeks.
The baby touched his hand.
His **** healed in an instant!
"Woah!" The woman yelled.
Feeling for a scar where there were none,
the man stared in wonder at the child.
"Honey," he said, "This kid's got potential..."
This poem sort of came out of nowhere.
It does sit on the border between a poem and a story.
I've been fascinated by the Poetic Edda and the Iliad, how a poem could be hundreds of thousands of words long.

So here's my little poetic narrative.

Enjoy!

DEW
Micheal Wolf Jan 2013
I'm all out of fairydust my magic wand is broke
I'm not the samaritans I have problems all my own
99% of the time I'm there for everyone
But 1% you need to know I have to be alone
I don't have all the answers I listen very well
Tough love can be hard but you need that as well
All are worlds are different some seem dark and black
I'm often there to hold your hand and try to guide you back
But for a while you are on your own I'm taking some me time
Temporarily unavailable sort your own life out
Amitav Radiance Mar 2015
Do not shy away
From expressing your feelings
For they are true callings
From the heart waiting for audience
Samaritans are there
In the realm of your positive vibes
Your plea shall reach
Waiting to congregate at the place
Where all souls shall meet
Exchanging each other’s feelings
Emphatic chants of happiness
Shall reverberate everywhere
Outside your realm
True callings will impact the hearts
Which have forgotten to empathize
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Crashing into life, frame shattered.
You’ve put an end to my flight down the eternal mile.
Red scattered about, broken shards of life by the roadside.
You have shut me down bruised and battered.

Can someone save this body of mine?
Can someone put this mind at peace?
Samaritans come to rescue and ease the pain
of a body and soul that can run no longer.

Oh blessed hands from above,
have you spared the heart that beats within?
Have you cupped me in your palm?
Can I believe that you stand by to protect me once more?
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
jeffrey conyers Apr 2013
Many people remind us of the Lord.
They venture into places we dare not go.
It might be the ghetto or the wealthy side of town.
Where pretense is in the people you know?

They have the heart of the Good Samaritans.
Where assisting those in need?
Is there only agenda.

They mean no harm.
And many never seem alarm.
But more comfortable.

It's been stated many of us live in a comfort zone.
Surrounded by security from the real sociaty.
Where fear controls your every move?

These brave souls acts on reaction.
Always seeking a satifaction to the crisis.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.

Emergency Technicians.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Fire  personnel.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Law enforcement.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Counselors, charity workers.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
All honorable soldiers.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
And brave parents.
They have the heart of a Good Samaritan.
Especially when we see them stand up to those trying to be mean.

When others would avoid getting involved.
We must remember there are those that honorable in the eyes of God.
When people with titles refuses to fight.
They need to remember they walking in darkness instead of the light.

Comfortable in doing wrong.
Instead of doing right.
Bob B May 2017
Two men recently died from a clash
On a Portland light-rail train.
The two men lost their precious lives
For reasons so insane.

Someone, angry, confused, and deranged,
Entered the car and began
Assaulting two women verbally.
Obviously, the man

Was more than just a pesky nuisance,
For three passengers tried
To intervene because the rantings
And ravings wouldn't subside.

The white supremacist, Islamophobic
Madman yelled in a fury
That Muslims should die. The line between
Safety and danger was blurry.

The three heroes became the target
Of the reprobate.
He stabbed all three, but two of them died:
Victims of cruel hate.

One man was a former vet
And loving father of four;
The other a recent college grad,
Gone forevermore.

Even though we know the answer
We still ask ourselves why
It is that good Samaritans
Sometimes have to die.

- by Bob B (5-31-17)
renu Dec 2015
Everyone loves the rains.
Romantic, walk in the wet streets
Getting feet wet, trying to make paper boats sail...the feelings run deep.
But Chennai my favourite city
Came under the deluge of uninterrupted rains.
The city streets became rivers
The homes and everything drowned underwater, people suffered through
A loss of everything that was home to them.
No power, dwindling food supply, the list became endless.
The rains refused to slow down,
It brought about a destruction with it unimaginable in a city where people lived on a day to day basis.
In the midst of this misery and destruction, kind souls helped the less trodden. The volunteers and good Samaritans brought a ray of hope to the devastated population.
The city is limping back to normalcy.
Hope the rains go away so that people can rebuild their life.
Rain rain go away
Come again when we call you.
My mother, is my reference to everything that is beautiful in every single way. She has a smile that powers butterfly wings and heartbeats.

My mother, carried a sunset belly for nine months pregnant with stars, because she understands that stars are just far away sons. And God has used her as a garden to grow supernovas.

My mother, has helium balloon pair of arms that always tend to lift me up when I fall. With leather belt extensions to hit some sense into me when I’m wrong

My mother, taught me that the journey is great, but the destination is legendary. That God comes first and everything else next, so I put my best foot forward and look towards heavens gates.

Real life superwoman, my mother has a cape made of hope and silver, constantly flying into dark clouds so we have silver linings to hold on to.

My mother, made sure that in a black and white world that is more tiger than zebra, we saw things through shades of grey. That nobody is just bad or just good, and once in a while devils can be good samaritans.

So give everyone a chance, with pennies for their thoughts and just maybe they’ll have two to rub together.

So I promise you this mother. That I would love God and love you.

And if I’m lucky enough to find a woman half as amazing, God willing, I will call her wife.

I promise to be the man that you raised me to be, with titanium spine, a gold heart and glass eyes to see past what this world has to offer.

I promise to stop making eggshell promises that break too easily.

My mother, is a vast blue ocean, with a shoreline full of the whole world, watching her son rise.
#mothersday
Red Sep 2018
I've misplaced my identity
It slipped from my sticky *** covered hands
I froth and rage when asked for my name
spit blame upon others because I've lost myself
tragedy is nestled in the cracks of my family life
burrowed in school classrooms and house parties
I never noticed my life was submerged in it
consumed by that cruel water of humiliation
I am a beggar depending on my next stray dollar of affection
clinging hopelessly to its contents for survival
they coax me with promises of change and adoration
yet these charitable samaritans always seem to wander off
like I'm a stray dog starved and ignored
so do not dare ask me how I've been lately
I itch to use my fists to show you
all that remains in my empty void
Is this dull aching for another sip
a violent seduction of my morality
amber elixir offensively dancing in my glass
mouth watering at the smell of that pungent liquor
my friends remain rolled in cigarettes and sipped from bottles
this masochistic cycle fuelled by self damnation
I have no respect for this dependable broken body I occupy
for I am no longer a person but a problem
hostage to the memory of the smiles of my perpetrators
but these clammy deformed hands
hurt my loved ones in a fit of paranoia and fear of betrayal

so hurt be a little harder baby
a sadistic existence is what I deserve
arent I just a cheery chick
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
a Jew (unlikely) or a Muslim (most likely) might ask me... do you believe in God... and all the Norsemen will answer... do you believe i exist?!  a happily ever-after ought to ensue. that crucifix of yours worthy of worship is nothing compared to the blood-eagle... unless he actually hanged, and the nails impaled him on his wrist-bones rather than the palms, so that if done properly, he wouldn't be able to move them.

and do you know why the holocaust happened?
monotheism once conquered the tribes
associated with Beelzebub - it ate them -
monotheism the strong-arm out of Egypt
ate up the deities of the middle-eastern tribes
when Israel descended like the 11th plague -
some would say -
but when Judaism cut Isaiah in half
and crucified Jesus and beheaded John it weakened -
the Roman never took a Jew for a slave labourer,
hence the Zealots and the Pharisee and the Sadducee
flourished - students as ascribed with their
rabbinical pimps - because the Jews would never
be enslaved to build something as spectacularly
democratic as a coliseum - for the people, by the people -
that really bugged them -
why are we given intellectual freedoms and aren't tasked
to construct a pyramid or the madness of the hanging gardens
of Babylon? something's wrong! awry indeed -
they weren't asked to build such feats -
they thought that coming from Egypt into the promised land
they might plagiarise their foot when heading north
beyond Roman authority -
their Hebraic came against Runic - they lost, given
the Holocaust - they just couldn't, couldn't
erase an ethnicity - the ᛋᛋ tribe revived -
**** me they already erased the Slavic polytheism
and the symbolic phallus with their ******* circumcision -
the ᛋᛋ tribe was revived - little shlomo only goes
north so far... beyond that he gets gas chambered -
and he does - you can practice you belittling monotheism
in that olive garden, we keep our souls less mongrel-like -
the Nordic tribalism an polytheism you will not
erase unless speaking to a sadistic German -
Islam will plagiarise you, and fail, spectacularly -
plagiarise you as in: yes, Judaism in question -
you had your ploys with eating up polytheism in tribal affairs -
imagine a non-warring polytheism (India)
or a non warring atheism (China), before news reached
the individual - the holocaust happened because you
tried to conquer the one polytheism that captured
the Germanic imagination - with runic came the Hebraic -
and one could not erase the other;
i bemoan, of course i will - i have a ****** on a crucifix
when i should be thinking of a spirit in the woodland -
it's no wonder i'd turn to the Scandinavian encoding of sounds
for a heart - the Holocaust happened because the Jews
thought they could conquer all polytheism with the phonetic
encoding erased subsequently - LATIN HEBRAI EVICTUS FALSUS,
so crucifying the son of god with kept alphabet
of the enemy and later computer programming? how strange,
you could tame the Samaritans and the Philistines together!
but ahead of Austria and Hungary the Norse fables -
the gas chambers - as once erasing the fables of Slavs,
your own cognitive ethnic cleansing -
came the *gas kammer
- aren't we all indolent sheep
readied for the kosher season of slaughter? aren't we all!
nase kamienice, a wase ulice! ours the
tenement houses! yours the streets!
every jew prior
to world war 2 in Poland... you want some *******
Spielberg sympathy or something? a Mitzvah cupcake
with that milkshake? oh don't worry - the Jews tried
to conquer the north once... the Muslims will
doubly fail in their ethnic cleansing... i have my Eskimo
brother telling me so - halfway bound to Mongolia, i am,
to wake up Genghis Khan.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
Cigarettes & candy are great tools for propaganda.
But ***,
cancer and rotten teeth ****.
Good Samaritans my ***.
susan Mar 2015
walking through the park
people watching
eyeing the entertainment
a clown twisting balloons
into obscure shapes
and telling people
'it's a dog'
or
'it's a monkey'
and those same people
grinning enthusiastically and exclaiming
'it is, it is!!!'
while walking away
pulling junior by his arm
scolding
'hurry up'
the balloon lasts 5 minutes
usually less
before junior
trying to choke the 'doggie'
busts the balloons...

...and then we're left with
a screaming
      crying
        toddler
       great

i turn my attention to the pond
ducks, geese, a swan or two (i think)
moving gracefully
on the water
until one duck
smaller than the rest
starts quacking anxiously
obviously distressed
and i turn to see it caught up in a tangle of discarded
fishing twine
his terror obviously alarming the others
and then there's a spectacle
of quaking, splashing birds and people
while a few good hearted samaritans rush to
save the duck
eventually a beat cop arrives
shooing people away
while saving the day using his handy
sport knife to cut away the twine and set the bird free
taking a small bow to the crowd of people cheering

moving along
i come to a street vendor
selling ice cones, pop, cotton candy and popcorn
so i stop for a small ice cone
blue
treating myself
walking along
enjoying the scene
i notice a few kids laughing and pointing
i shrug it off until a kindhearted old lady
offers
'your face is blue, dear'
taking out my compact mirror
i do see that my face is indeed blue
   the ice cone
which i unceremoniously dump into the next waste bin
trying in vane to scrub the blue off of my face
with a slowly shredding napkin
i take the path to the nearest exit
out of the park

so much for a relaxing stroll in the park
on a beautiful spring day.
It is art that oils the moving parts of me
the free flowing nectar in the seed of me,
art in ******* tips and the half full skips,
the 'tramps' that ship the coal around the coast.

I play host to the wonder of words that make up the rhyme,
more 'fog on the Tyne'
the lowlands and highlands within these Islands and bridges to cross,

It is art in the heart and what we see with the eyes,love it,despise it,ignore or get wise to it,
everywhere I look, I see that someone took time,moulded , transformed it and changed forever this world a bit
and every bit helps.

My fingers are lazers ,blazing out art,starting to burn in every sentence that turns and turning to light,
gutters that utter to me prophecies and in the pharisees I see only samaritans who give
salute to the pimps and the prostitutes,the Kings and the courtiers,those who buy and who sell,who are
milled in the gin of it,the thin and the quick of it,tied to the wheel in the cockpit and spitting out what could be me for the hell of it.

I see art in the  faces that stare blankly,to flicker at screens in store windows,art in the glow of the cigarette end,in the bending of imagination, where salvation is palmed off to an ungrateful nation as corn from the candyclouds,art in the female,the he man, the mail man,the banter of cantors,the whispers of sisters the sadness,the badness,the joy and the gladness is there,
out looking to share,insiders,
outsiders,lone wolfstate riders and in pairs or in threes all looking to please,
street paintings,feint bread  lines on fences,dull
brush strokes on brickstock
unlock your mind
find your
art.
Corset Jun 2015
The road to
has been long.
Worn each day
charmed upon wrist,
shiny trinkets of
silver,
jingling
forget-me-not.

The sound of smiles
were sometimes
counted upon like days
taken for granted
we should always be
lips turned up
in the darker corners.

The way sunlight strobes
through glinting trees
at 70 miles an hour
on our way home
to somewhere,
we have to be
for fresh coffee.

Never dreamed
we would ever be,
roadside
our tongues tied
words strung like
feathered frowns
of long dead Indians
battered by the way side.
Morrison-esk tears on blue
voice of a stranger's hat-
Imagine that
a cursed heart
that slays the dawn
waves angered on
stands still waiting
roadside Samaritans
will live without eyes,
laughter of friends,
stumbling worlds
will be less everything
colorful,
when you are gone.
Kevin Eli Aug 2013
Insidious doors that close linoleum floors keep the secrets of the man hidden from the poor.
It's a shame the way he makes me work for more.
Fear is the weapon of our enemies and allies.
Crying wolves, crying wolf while slaying dear.
Maybe we are better off this way.
On blue moons, our eyes turn red and we say we are done and won't take it again.
Force fed, force shaved, forced to listen and forced to behave.
It's a shame the way he makes me feel depraved.
I shout, scream, stand up and get mad.
Tear apart the room without saying a word.
***** you, you aren't my Dad.

Have my cake and eat it too?
**** me off under the table while the social network takes a stab. I don't care. F%&K; the media's news.
I see the headlines spelled a million different ways, but you are still the one that has to sleep at night, knowing you nurtured a nation that reaped and *****.

The innocent, the young, the scared, the hopeful, the dreamers, the soldiers, the vagabonds, the artists, the entertainers, the founders, the church-goers, the fishermen, the students, the Samaritans, the stay at home mothers, the policemen, the American man. His soul and the spirit they tried to preserve.
Lied to and tapped, again and again.
It's a shame the way he makes me give and take.
Inside us, inside the US.
Without asking.
AM Oct 2013
I did not even know the man
I only glimpsed his face
But since 5:30 this afternoon
He is all that has consumed my thoughts

I saw his last moments
I watched them play out before me
As his car swerved into the next lane and
Off the road
As the trees enveloped him and hid him from view

The rest was a blur

My father and two workmen
Good Samaritans who gave no second thought
To their own safety
As they hurried across the road to save the life of the stranger
Who was breathing his final breaths

I wondered what he was thinking
What he was feeling
In those final moments
Who were the faces that swirled through his brain
As his final tears streamed down his bruised and ****** face
Did he know people cared
Enough to save a man
They did not even know?
Or did he feel alone,
Did he feel no one would weep in his absence?

Volunteers tossed branches aside
As thorns cut into their thighs and sweat trickled down their faces
They threw the driver's side door open and I watched their faces grow solemn

His last breaths were ones of agony
And then he felt nothing

Time of death, 5:30 PM

I hope he knew that someone cared
I hope he knew he wasn't alone
And though I do not know him
Though I barely glimpsed his face
I hope he knows that I will never forget him
For he will be the reason
I begin to truly live
Trevor Gates Sep 2014
Our Father,

who art in heaven

Mother Earth,

who art in Hell.

Burnt to ash,

ready Armageddon

Watch the sky

where angels fell



Zipper-mouths pulled tight

as the Cross passes the way

Carnal masks shimmer light

As sludge engulfs the day.



Vicious, vicarious crows of blackened ember

Cawing and moaning; devilishly romantic

The touch of fingertips on lips I remember

Left her womanhood wet and frantic.


Unchained desires that surely are satanic.


Those hours in confessional amongst lying sycophants

Console weeping eyes and tarnished souls

Elected “Saints” stand tall with hypocritical blather  

Condemning children with eyes like burning coals



“But virgins taste sweeter,” as the angels say

With sins like spices which season raw meat

But innocence-takers hide beneath crimson beds

Sitting atop thrones as stewards to God’s seat



Will those that fall, eventually rise?

All creatures tempted by tangible discord

Would we disobey the Grand one’s design,

If we follow the path that derives from the Lord?



Samaritans run extinct in the iron fire roads

And jukebox ****** priests play The Doors

Demon-eye coffee, dark like oily foes

I sip and read about the murders in the Moors



Devil executions fuel the jungles outside

Angels Abandoning service to kids like me

Fixers and hitters of the skid south side

Shouts from the shadows, “Hey, Nothing to see!”



Violent red dresses accompanying long limb girls

Spreading legs for daddy and **** daddy do’s

Magic hallucinogens showing circles and swirls

In faces under hoods and sky-crying moods
Daivik Feb 2021
This past year was tough
For all of us
The foreign virus
Tried to defeat our trust

We were fighting an unknown fiend
It separated us,tried to make us weak
Destroyed our economies,thwarted our means
Of livelihood.We couldn't let it win

Warriors came in coats of white
Treating without care for there own lives
Just so humanity could survive.
Some were martyred.We cannot forget the sacrifice.

Trucks ensured we had food to eat
And all other amenities
But what of those who were away from home
Those poor,migrants and forlorn
Angel descended in human disguise
Good samaritans helped them reach their home
Helped them stay alive.

We lost some.
Some lost their jobs.
Virus tried to destroy human will.
It didn't know we were made of steel.

We persevered,we fought,we strived
Though we made mistakes, made some slights
We wore masks
We wore them with pride
In this wretched quarantine.
We were one in this fight

This pandemic
Stopped the schools
But through online classes
And teacher's will
We somehow made it through

A word of gratitude to sanitation workers
The unsung heroes of this lockdown
Working in these tough conditions
You all made us proud

And somehow by following the rules
With sheer discipline
We made it through,we made it through
This one hell of a pandemic

And now we are slowly limping back to life
The past year tested us all
We lost some
Lost some fights
I hope this year we'll win the war

It will take some time
To restart normal life
But if we persevere,fight enough
I know that this year will be bright
Dark clouds will give way to sunlight.
Atheists
Atheists who believe in evolution
Lying
For example, evolution
Stealing
Satan worship
Judas
For example, Darwin

My neighbor Will
Who manipulated me into bad Pokemon trades
Witchcraft, for example, Atheism
Women’s sexualized Halloween costumes

Sexualized women, for example bikinis
Prostitution
Cussing, which is prostitution of the spirit
*** with someone other than your spouse
*** before marriage
Pictures of ***
***
The word “****”

The Ancient Greeks, who rejected Jesus
The Ancient Romans, who rejected Jesus
The Ancient Jews who rejected Jesus
(The **** Pharisees who rejected Jesus via ******)
The Ancient Samaritans, who rejected Jesus
Except one; that guy’s all good

The Ancient Babylonians, who would’ve rejected Jesus
Marrying a non-Christian
Helping your Atheist spouse to cuss or ******
Divorce
Not forgiving someone
Gollum, for several reasons

Not praying
Praying to Mary
Praying to Allah
Praying to Baal
Child sacrifice
Saying  “Just water please” but then getting pop

Bill Clinton, who did all that
Gabriel Jul 2021
I’m calling a ******* line
and telling them that I don’t think
my first girlfriend ever loved me.
They ask me what I’m wearing,
trying to divert the conversation,
and I ask if emotional baggage counts.
I push a hand between my dry thighs
and ask them if they like their job.
I ask what their favourite flavour
of ice cream is, and if they’ve ever
eaten it in the sunshine and felt okay.
I ask if they have someone back at home
that they’re doing this for,
or if they just like monetising a soft voice.
You have a very nice voice, I say,
and they laugh, awkwardly. Kindly,
they ask if I meant to call the Samaritans instead.
I say no, they blocked my number,
and they expect me to be killing myself every time.

Are you killing yourself now?
Slowly. Do you have a boyfriend?
No, baby, I’m all yours.
Don’t lie.
I have a baby on the way. I’m just trying
to make ends meet.
I get it. Me too. By the way,
do you even like ice cream?

Not really.
Me neither. I don’t know why I brought that up
in the first place. Are you lonely?

Right now?
Yeah. Now.
A little bit.
I am killing myself, by the way. I just wanted
to talk to someone before I go.

That’s okay. Your call will be charged anyway.
From a portfolio I wrote in third year of university, titled 'Infestation'.
jeffrey conyers Jun 2013
We know them.
We love them.
They your enemy.
Thy your friend.
They your counselor.
They your pal.

They share in your life.
When you was young,
And they still there.
When you full grown.

They taught you right.
The opposite of wrong.
They taught ways to get along.

Who are these good Samaritans you ask?

They our parents as you might have guessed.

Not always right.
Not always wrong.
And it by them that our values are based upon.
Besides they aren't all that bad.

Probably, the best friends you will ever have.
Even, when we say they get on our nerves.
Especially, when they claim we have no nerve to get on.
JT Jun 2016
the world ended in february; it is getting difficult to remember
a time before humanity, ephemeral in the end,
slipped into the gaps between evolution’s gnashing teeth;
i saw the first ghost outside my window
stumbling in the distance from the chapel garden,
walking about the streets with curling fingers,
reaching out to touch warm skin, and i,
behind thick locks and boarded windows,
dared not leave my house for days; in march i sat trembling
as i counted empty jars in my cenotaph pantry;
after eating cat food and the cat i
carried nothing on my back when i fled my home
in search of a safer haven; in april, i stood
on the tops of hollow buildings and looked down at the street
to see faces shining red, ravenous and without mercy in the ash,
i watched a man open up another’s ribcage
like the doors of a hostel, unsealed at the edges
as if just another canned good from a looted grocery store; in may
i caught glimpses of children catatonic in their skin,
orphaned by pestilence and rotting after
their first death and their second, i witnessed
my mother’s apostasy, saw her gnawing on the bones of the vicar
with a king james tattered at her feet; in june i saw my sister
huddled in the corner and clutching a revolver,
white-knuckled, one bullet,
staring down the barrel as wounds bled and hands shook,
and the seed of acedia—germinating in her chest
beside that vile malady—kept her finger twitching just beyond the trigger; i
lamented the absence of the swallowed sun, forgot what apples tasted like,
stopped telling the difference between samaritans and corpses and
observed that which was once called love turn into a hungry fire
as old and primal as leaning stones, carnal and hard and ugly
and spoiled like all else; in july
i noticed my hands had begun to shake every time i heard my name, and i
trudged through another fallen city, broken eyes watching me as i passed
with a shopping cart of tinned pears, the weight of all their hunger tied around my ankles,
marching towards the end beneath a black and starless sky
i felt it, coming closer as i ran,
and crawled, and prayed, and walked. and walked. and walked. and walked. and
in january,
(before i began to fear the human silhouette
and you started holding my hand to keep you sane,)
we drove nowhere on the highway at dusk,
headlights illuminating the obsidian road, moon trailing your truck,
a sacred ghost, omnipresent, neon signs blinking their greetings
for diners and motels and gas station stops, dissonant music laced with static
pouring out your dashboard radio, the two of us
in contented coexistence, wordless,
the world alive and well.
and in february,
in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the terminus began,
the planet shook for a final time and brought to pass
that which is written—o death,
where is thy sting? o grave,
where is thy victory? the dead shall be raised
incorruptible, and us?
we shall be changed
Life is amazing, Life is marvelous
There are ups and downs in every corner
A surprise waiting in every door
A new adventure, a new experience
Dreams are made and broken on this unpredictable journey
Here's to life and its surprises!

Here's to the parents who love us so!
To our mothers who love us so much and brought us into this world
If you didn't endure the pain, if you didn't give us your care and attention we wouldn't be the people we are now.
To the fathers who told us to explore the world, try new things, and don't regret.
"The world is your oyster! Go out and adventure my child." he said
They loved us unconditionally and we'll never be able to pay them back for as long as I live
To the people who grew up without parents, fret not. You are stronger than most of us because you were raised up by God Himself, and no one could ever ask for a better Teacher.

Here's to our friends and our so called friends!
To the real friends that greet us with their warm smiles and support us in every endeavor
To the fake friends in my life who are like two sided coins with one side willing to shake our hands while the other side ready to find an oppurtunity to stab us with the dagger named "Destruction".
Thank you fake friends for teaching us not to trust everyone we meet because we wouldn't have made better decisions with you around
Hugs and kisses you two faced pigs!

Here's to the politicians that run this country
To the underdog nobles who have a burning desire to see this nation become great again!
Thank you for enduring all the criticism and salt that comes from us! We hope to see you in a higher position putting your ideals into action.
To the fat kings who are no better than the sloth.
Thanks for helping the country with your corruption and pyramid system. Your fake promises and your deceiving smiles just yell,"Work my slaves! Work! I said work!" When I think of these guys I think,"Boy, our taxes sure are in good hands. Who voted for these guys anyway?"

Here's to the saints and good Samaritans that have helped me
To the strangers that taught me that no one is entitled to anything
That we live in a shared world and there's no room for me, myself, and I
To the people close to me that support me and help me in my journey in life
There's a piece of you in every bit of me because of your heart to help others God bless you!

Here's to God above
For loving me before I entered this world,
For giving me the chance to be alive in this world,
For guiding me all my ways,
And for paying a debt that no one could ever pay,
Here's to life!
Olivia Kent Jun 2016
He told me that the world was good.
Maybe was carved from ball of wood.
Sadly 'twas invaded by wood worms.
Who spent hours daily nibbling.
However: it isn't really wooden.
Despite the pain 'tis really good, good as gold.
Our world protected, loved so dearly.
Close to ending,
Only nearly.
Protected by the word of various lords,
And mythical souls.
Hercules in full support,
The weight of the world on his shoulders.
Heracles despatching lions, well only one to my knowledge.
Gods and prophets will do their best.
Adam and Eve conceived their sons and Noah's floods and Lot's salt pillar.
Angels soothe minds of the troubled.
While gorgons, witnessed turn to stone, their snakes are hungry their dying for rats.
Samaritans will save the world, not just lonesome travellers.
And Jesus, he turned water into wine, not mine, loaves and fishes to feed them all.
Let us pray.
(C) LIVVI
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2023
there is a very infamous instance of bez-osobowość
when you cross the Polish border at the airport
and get searched...
the celniks (guards) - provided you know the zunge:
will address you in a without-person(ality)
language / syntax...

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

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

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

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

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

identity "politics"?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- definition definition definition:

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

in out in out

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

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

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

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

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

what? well what?!

i am what:                 !
                             ?  i am  ?
                                     !

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

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

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

la ilaha illa allah -

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

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

now for the gates...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     щ: šč          ?: ść

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

deszcz: rain
    dość: enough...

szczerość: ščerość: truthfulness...

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

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

  mein englischleash: nein nein: niet ein leine!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mundnichts... mouth-nothing....
        pupilleessenauge...
pupil eating eye...
                   in mich: ein legion von
alle der schrecklich gedanken!
         ha ha! wie ein teuflisch zirkus!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
and so the syrian "samaritans", as the twin satans rose against king solomon's profundity in praying for wisdom but only unearthing the woad pigment for his people on their faces, striking a river-flow where no water should have abounded for them to congregate, yet congregate they did, as immigrants, to a flow of awaiting mingling of metaphors, such that the amassed people turned into a river, winding northward into the womb of the holocaust; and among many the lament, while sylvia took to expressing a stoic end, ending it all by amassing a respectable readership... she still reminds me of Eva Braun... who, after all, geneticists proved to be a Jewess - indeed that twinning of dichotomies against the practical linear expression of reincarnation disproved - the linear parallels of: one life, one life, this world; that, whatever that is, you name it god, you name it heaven, you name it hell... forget that, take hold of this.*

i am fasting all day,
but i drink,
i get the calorie intake
of fire first,
then i stuff my stomach
like geese or turkeys for
slaughter;
apparently i'm purified
that way;
no, i don't take lovers,
i take prostitutes into
the garden...
less hassle; they're like socks,
i'm the shoes with
that magnetised quote:
never judge a man by his shoes,
or try to wear them;
you might get a hex of excess
skin - basically wear your own
and leave a river of echoes where
you might.
Sunday sewn on Saturdays seams and dreaming freedoms stitched in black and white,
night light salad greens and where sleep used to lay grows a new day.
Tea,at most a slice of toast,the morning views,who's in and out and what's news is this?
kiss the crumbs of toast goodbye,licking lips,another dry day in the dock,pock marks on the hoarding,lording advertisers selling premium this and other things and the Baptist church brings pamphlets to a table set before the door,selling the hereinafter before we've been before.
It's City Sunday when the marketmen come sell their wares down in the lanes and trains are full of gawkers gawking at the hawkers and the good Samaritans which are few and far between are seen along the dusty tracks collecting tax from income earned,where nothing's taught we never learned the basics of how to live a life of ease.
I please myself as to when and where and who I share my hard times with,just give an inch and some take the whole **** mile
but it's Sunday for a while and so we let the dogs at bay go on our way as if it's Sunday everyday and nothing's new,
Sunday sews a string of beads around the neck of late last night and pulls it tight and we might decide that Sundays are alright or not.
Spot on spit upon my hand and shake it well,agreed that Sundays ****** Grand a day of rest and love to test and takes the best of all we've got.
I like this day an awful lot and there's not a lot I like no more and tomorrow's Monday,what a blinking bore.

— The End —