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Samir Sep 2012
seductive effective cutlass sadistic
serendipity and la la la
licorice liquor lick her and plastic
roses rise relentless resentment
time mime rhyme desire
sentiment sincerely aspire admire
anonymous synonymous simultaneous symmetry
molasses disastrous syntactic mirrorly
Samir sincere severe severe
la la la love na na na never
samirly this way
suicide sinister cynical silence
stop and stare
care and share
love with or without violence
sloppy seconds menace a menace
minus a life structure dependence
relevance relevance irrelevance
sense tense and meaninglessness
sincerely samirly
synthetic systemic sense
cents cents
sense sense
cents
Samir Dec 2012
Dear all of the above,

Why do you ridicule me so?
Severity, Severity, more than you’d ever know
The extent of beauty I see in the world
Perplexed by the forbiddance you administered, hurl!
Why me? Why someone who has been doing nothing
but describing beauty his whole life? Irony
Why me?

The supreme experimenter
The great accursed
Anonymous
Sad clown
Sad clown

Why me?
A Poet.

One specifically who followed in the footsteps of Poe
not through choice or influence
but because life chose a similar path for me
Dear life,
Dear nature,
Dear conscious, subconscious, unconscious,
Dear collective conscience,

Dear existence,
Dear heavens,
Dear spiritual realm,
Dear all that is and isn’t,
Dear all that can be seen, and cannot…

Dear knowledge,
Dear intellect,
Dear intuition,
Dear emotion,
Dear regret,
Dear regret,
Dear regret…

******* CIRCUMSTANCE!
CHANGE **** YOU!
For the love of everything pure.

Please
Please
Please

I’m sorry
I’m so sorry
I’m SO *******
sorry…

If I could just go back
If I could just…

Please...
It’s funny how it rhymes

Samir… Severe
Please no.
This isn't real.
Please?...
A la nuit satine
la belle Orion se mire
dans l'air frissonnant
des sables constellés,
et sur les rives lactées
où coule le Nil,
je me pavane
le nez dans les étoiles,
suivant des yeux
les volutes sorcières
d'un havane suave
embaumant Misraïm.
Qu'ont-ils raconté
ces hommes, venant de Mars,
lorsqu'ils débarquèrent
de leurs vaisseaux,
fuyant leur terre moribonde ?
Et quel espoir oublié
chérissaient-ils
que garde en son ventre
le sphinx immobile ?
Mon vieux Samir
reprenons une rasade
de ce doux Rhum
couleur d'ambre
parfumé de santal
et laissons sous le sable
soupirer ce mystère
qui sommeille.
vircapio gale Oct 2015
projective geometry used to get me *****
all those positions

,palmately pink and ever green
breathing vasts of void my dark heart laughs in gulping wholes
moaning plenums, hooded over boundless venus-vim

now i'm tired of infinite lines
too many shapes to fit in
too wide, too tight, sharp or empty

,too many ways to come

this was meant to be a disclaimer before a collection of poems

,a way to unclutter
                angst of public  
                              lexicality,
years  after  ­ 'explaining'
                  Samir's 'polygonal me'
                                                to only-me-myself-i-was,
to then indulge this analogic soundlessness...
             
        as i disengage

i can't write without planning on it
i can't write about  writing  without feeling like a fool
                                                            ­                 (,Lear is the only one
that saves me now
                       as now i am the Fool,
                                                 dividing hearts along
in storm-***-love-like railway-*****
                                 steaming full of fiberoptic nooks,
chaining spectra-cogs of a good-will-spirit-****:
                                       concatenated hard-ons every word
each thought a pulsate vulval dream awake,
                                                redichotom­izing lives
                         of shining mons my Athene forehead
                                                      forging fountain thought,
                          urethral letting-beings-be...
freely, my chubby comes back to me
                                         prone before the prostate god)

,in other words
              the same,
                     i cannot write as other than a fool
for
why should i repeat the abject horror of the world?
isn't despair a bit.. overdone at this point?!
and why should i write just the happy!? i'm not in denial, am i?
or am i in denial
about insisting on being in denial absolutely?
--like mind-only schools...
(O the uselessness of words, dismissing patriarchal vigor with yet another wave, the 'brine-milk' ends unending,
forever Femen liberating us of words,
replaced with Fragilaria,
wasting diatomic seas and waterways,
depleted algae gone, extinct: metaphysiCalListo-craticality aborted on a broken Amazonic spear,
our bodies, bodied-hearts, finally won as ours, across Alternaqueeria, fully lucid human-species spanned
i blink my tears and blur my gaze at weeping Pleides

the plan was this: painful poem, pleasure poem, painful poem, happy poem... **** poem, sterile poem, carnal poem, priggish poem, punk poem, open poem, confessing poem, eros poem, **** poem, 'obscene-attractive' poem...
to cleanse inverted mainstreams of my steady-rhythmed pratitpaksha-bhavanams; not "poem, poem, poem, poem..."
but a taut poeming in and out of poems of poemed poiesis prosing poets free to **** again in Issa's snow, or *** on Chiera's cumaholic Shards.

pendulum left, pendulum right; then two pendulums, then none; then one that swings right and left at the same time; then one that spins all the way around, but only clockwise; then one counter-clockwise; then one both clockwise and counterclockwise; then one timeless, then one imaginary one... full of infinite little ones... to represent all the pendulata in the universe as experienced through minor parts of self.. itself as universal part-whole-parcel self-hood spanning star-births yet to come...
,
,
,but it's time to eat a 'square' meal
take off my job-search tie, my peddled lies
                   forget the sunrise vestibules we sipped from,
                                           sleeping by commoding cows

and pretend i'm not dicking myself over
                                                          by­ retreating
into cryptic spectionism-voids again
                                               all seagull-divert-adverts, play
of frozen youth abstrused,
                      self-referred referring loosed
                                          staggered worse than marginalia
no single species 'seagull' singing here
Samir Mohammed Nov 2020
My lungs filled with water in the pouring rain
I stared into the black abyss, hands stained
The blood of the past, holding this blade
That i sank into my heart, I fell apart

I felt myself come asunder
Under the flashing lights and rolling thunder
Strobe Lights flickered, illuminating this long road, quicksand pulling me under
Flash floods, wash away my fickle hate, trickling down my tear ridden face

Rain on me, cleanse me in your rippling waves
Drench me in your grace, as you take me under in your gaze
The eye of the storm, a home in this cyclone
And drown me, take away my heart of stone


Samir Mohammed, Flood
Mateuš Conrad May 2024
microcosm at the end of the garden,
micro-dosing whiskey and a joints:
tobacco and green anger
the one to subdue in the pockets
of anxiety attacks -
that can be channeled into a focus -
all those people on chemo anxiety blockers
at least with the green anger
and the fire water managed to intellectualise
in focus - equivalent to:
painting - if done by solo venture of scribble
scrabble 'n' 'sum                  ... threat of violins
falling and slicing in the rain (demonic)
slicing water and sound and the sound of
water and the sound of fire
and the sound of air and the sound of the hearth...
nights
days
nights
days i spent listening to the four orchestras
of the elements: water had waves
of the sea and the skies of the seas falling
as rain... the grand kidney of god that is this earth
god is filtering equivalent to men censoring
each other other...
      Edie will love another, Edyta will love another
but the whole legality business visas
H-1B plenty of unskilled security men out there
so 1 - 0 to the locals...
          marriage visa? now thanks to Martin's judgement
i will sooner inherit my grandmother's apartment
with a glorious view of a cemetery....
from the balcony... and then this house in essex
this little island of abode brooding...
in exchange for a life on Kauai?
her doubts her words her disqualification of self
that she's 18 years apart in bodies...
we are 18 bodies apart... aparts... a partitioning of sigma
the splitting of the soul not by ******
but under the guise of the many loving expressions...
i have lived a life since September 2023
when i traveled to the island of Kauai to meet
a girl for the first time since i talked to her mother...
i was also looking for a transcendental father...
a father of transcendentalism: no, so no, not my mythological
father - yes: because i am currently living
with my biological father and mother and by extension
the Elephant Phantom Martin and my grandmother...
so elaborate:
from September 2023 on a writing hiatus...
brought them back Edie and Reyla to London and Reyla
****** me off for not wanting to go and see
the Phantom of the Opera...
now in the background a Hanz Zimmer crescendo from
the Dune soundtrack...
                mini puncture and now by marriage...
to say: by the duty of the wedded this monstrous wound
of tongues licking eyes and gently using like worms into
their last state of being veins of the sclera...
                  a text from my nigerian next door neighbor...
lived for 3 years like that like
no woman no cry
                             like that 3 years known to me casual
formal...
only a few days earlier
been smoking and drinking on the roof overlooking
the garden
talking poetry and not talking poetry Ayo Ayo Ayo texting
me now... i waffled back to him that he cought
me in the middle of this composition this new groove established
in infected and mushroom cancer in the brain
we are born with a brain fungus
a dormant brain fungus
what is a parasite a cancer on a tree if not the evergreen mistletoe
dormant fungus... brain... typing listening to music
text from next door neighbor thinking that Edie
will love again can love again loved in the past
we are 18 bodies apart
                                  and so so just a one sided communication
a barrier... the butterfly to caterpillar transition
of... none other expected than a St and a Martin
the ghoul the phantom the missing...
             the ego in the ego the self without self
the id so...
                                  primitive man of pre-haunt of death
most apparent to self and the shadow upon the curtain...
a talk with self most relevant now:
re-imagining what a good chromebook keyboard would
feel like so protruding like an old nokia
and the burners
and what my poetry would be like without Edie and to find
resolve i will have to reply: do you want me to stop writing
forever? because that's what you would have
to destroy... my mother could think that you killed her brother
because you came and i didn't go to visit martin
when grandmother was slowly killing him
you heard me you saw me over the phone
you heard when you heard me hear the message...
could you have said? can you come with me to Poland
blah blah...
i don't know... but blood is blood and blood is blood
and what's bothering me is family
but in the end my mother blames my grandmother
but i also thought about being blamed
and who isn't to blame but Martin himself and i wonder
how happy he is now that he has gone toward
the ******* land of la li lo le ole and lulu or lullaby
because i'm thinking about alcoholism as a zombie taboo
crawling and ******* and frolicking in open wounded
vowels like o cut up to u
or i used for a hyphen and a dot to punctuate better
to say a being stitched up to e to make
the Adam and Eve monstrosity of Eden
found in the Latin script... dated: some literary ******
just remembered that he used to write and so does...
there were nights filled with fire
there were nights filled with thoughts of women
there were nights filled with fuckless women nights
there were nights within nights
there was chaos in order and order in chaos
there was a dualism and a schizophrenia
there was certainly god and madness
and i was so almost killed by a friend of mine from
high school a Samir... in Canterbury...
try this other than **** spice
this Chilean spice...
SALVIA will make you see elephants
and you riding elephants quickened hallucinations
so smoked **** then toked the miracle...
turns out my face slid to one side and i slouched
into a dying fetal position...
them giggling... until seriousness took over and they
realized that i was not going to die...
my impressions of a death party...
death parties exist... i suppose in dark web lingo
a death party involves
at least 3 people...
           2 people plan a ****** of someone by poisoning
subtle: not like the case of brianna ****...
scarlett jenkinson and eddie ratcliffe organised a death
party... samir and mr jivandoo organised a death
party by poisoning...
              to their horror and my own i am alive aged 38
should have been dead aged 21
should have...
there were years in my calendar when writing
that i would drink a liter of whiskey a night...
i would drink a liter of whiskey a night
i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night

what killed martin a bad death of still being alive?
beer... manslaughter by grandmother?
is it in her to be able to **** both husband and son
because they were alcoholics?
genuine questions... interlude for a cigarette and
an auf wiedersehen (oꟻF vderzeen)

ꟻ: ah... remember to find Adam and Eve
in the letters... diphthong... doip doip doup dupe dulla loop
oop                              poo             sssssss
                                                        s­ss
                                                   ssss
                                                        ssss­s
                                                     ss

    s
   s  s                        5S5S5S5S5S5S
       did numbers really originate from the Raj and
thanks be to the Arabs for our modern numbers?!
b6b6b6
                  1I1I1I
                       ­                                3E3E3E
9P9P9P
                                       O0O0O0
             7 Γ7 Γ7 Γ
                                     B8B8B8
          2Z2Z2Z
                                         ­        4G4G4GQ

Q! Q! Q1 Q1 not G... i.e. 4Q

                    (    )               (     )

                                 A

                       ___


(&)                    (&)

               L

      
__

  the Doppelganger Series of Portraits
noses will be letters
the mouth will always be the flat-line of expression
status poker quo

            ($)                    ($)

                    ­      I

                  __

         (£                                 hmm...

no... I looks good...

              (#)                   (#)

                           Y

                   __

                              (Beelzebub... hashtag eyes)....
song switched to type o negative's
christian woman... but i quickly have to switch
to the recent taylor swift song i heard today...
tortured poets department...
typewriter?
                    like a tattooed labrador...
lebrador labradoor
chelsea hoes?
                            labaradorable...
              ­           no ******* body ooh what a sweet
sing along...
  smoke and bears and chocolate bars
smoking and golden retriever?
                                           cyclone of dehydration(s)
this mouth this wake up 8am with summer...

indeed... the poem has exhausted itself
         with god-flow of needing to take a **** -
switching to the memory of Jemminah
and homemade wine and foster the people six next to me...
or this is this is...
                    this is a slowly pealed grape...
                                       this is a reflection on slowly peeling
a single grape...
the unusual request to return to a former writing habit
or habit of the mind to spend an hour
elsewhere... with one's own to one's own sense of self...
and all the Wembley folks in security were hush hush
and bothered about the Netflix documentary
thinking there would be a story against the security teams
if any...
       or rather to hear first rate accounts journalists would swarm
the site post Euro Finals 2021 and ask us about any details
well the film itself became more a documentary for
anti racism...
                     it was the most comprehensive and positive
lesson in  adhering to an anti racism focus...
         i was expecting that...
the security personnel were actually praised... and there was
a sense of empathy....
   i recognized one face in the documentary:
Lee, the son of the owner of Achilleus Security who's
name is not Ralph not Romeo but probably Ricci...
           Italian connections if i were not mistaken...
                       ooze.... hit the snooze before bed
go down smoke dip mouth in some whiskers and beddie beddie
bye bye.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
i should have never experienced school...
all the best lessons in the "school of life"
have had to come after...
thankfully i'm a thoughtful drunk...
but my extended pedagogy honeymoon
was to my liking since i was in it...
having left it...

i don't even begin to fathom leaving
anything at all, or for that matter: having engaged
with to begin with...
i can almost imagine myself
being the chimney-sweeper...
i hear the name: samir... and i'm reminded:
about my "good old friend"
with a father that sides with my mother...
i'm trying to not rage against a defeatist
ratio of 2 versus 1....

i go into the night and wish to find a variant
of baptism with the cold rain
sprinkling me with aura and demand...
but it's no use... the rain comes the book
is never to be finished...
back into the wall: you brick is all that
is allowed to resonate...
perhaps transcendence is a word mostly used
as a joke for...

and only if you were given
the ability to expand your consciousness...
with an amazonian extract...
or some swiss-CIA-magic puree...
on yer bike and down the hill we go...
i've come to center around the truth
of being less and less welcome...
my friend samir... it's almost as if i was
plotting to keep me in this...
surreal state of: full command of the body...
the mind is still allowed some function,
crossword puzzles and what not...
for some death comes with no sense
of closure... i wait, i wait, for death...
i look for it under the carpet of spontaneity...
i look for it in outright violence and
drenching myself in flammable liquid
and then dancing of the nearing: being extinguished
candle dance...

i see i birdge... i look for: the heights
and the broken neck and spine...
it's better i write these words and not feel inclined
to fathom them with an inclination
of the base of: acted interim...
for negative consequences...
there are jobs! but all the best jobs are passed
verbatim... no one finds jobs via
third party sources...

unless.... well if one is a pariah...
an anathema... whether it's an objective reality
is another matter...
feeling is rather much intuitive...
and if this right-wing celebration of objectivity
and anti-subjectivity is to be found
elsewhere, i.e. "elsewhere" outside of the realm
of psychopathology?
the "old man" was looking for a *****
apparently "lost" to aid his glasses being folded
and kept in an ennui...
the old matriarch sent her bell-boy to figure out...
why the bell-boy managed to serve her
sorrel soup and those dumplings...
for dinner...
her o.c.d. started kicking in...
with one walking stick she pointed at the fridge
being unclean...
how the bell-boy "forgot" to vacuum
the house... a second day coming...
i have a bottle of whiskey for company...
and i'm not going to sentence myself for anything
better to bribe about...
the father sides with the mother
and i have no siblings to conquer the world with...
not sentiment of treating the lateral in transition...
going to school was never my idea...
i should have moved beyond merely
denying myself being confirmed in the catholic
act of: good faith...
but university was no better...
i've learned more on my own that was
i was necessarily prescribed...
even my british citizenship is only a piece of paper
that can done-away with like
a tabloid press release on any given day...
it's a bogus transaction...
for the sins of visiting a ******* i am to be
punished? what of the everyday ordeal
of thse casual fucky-fucky that pass on s.t.d.?
the only reason i believe in a god is that:
he will not speak with a human impertinence...
in that however mild caste hierarchy...
even with a republic in mind...

for ten years i spectated oddities in the night
havens...
stars... moving beside the constellations...
once i witnessed two stars somehow
joint together moving across the sky...
sometimes a delta constellation...
otherwise they were stars...
and they managed to pulsate as if giving birth...
and then hush down and still persist
to move...
for not basis of escaping a constellation...
which they were never a part of to begin with...

and i was naive at first,
then i found the cynic...
and then another... cynic...
and then another cynic... cynic... cynic...
and now i'm looking
for the marriage of the stoic to death...
because i don't look for death
as a mark of despair...
i find it as a reflection on redemption!
i conclude with myself:
happy are those who have...
crossed most falsely a street...
why do i have this spatial awareness
and cross it freely, safely?

oh this cynic will become a stoic...
but only in death...
death... is a marriage i see coming...
death has become a she...
in that she's the other woman:
which is not a poker hand of:
the "other" woman in the pursuit of
adultery... this "other" is no less than
a second mother...
the mother that should have given
life to me...

what theatrical wording:
to be born of death...

- because i'm yet to "feel" - or lack...
for a "better" word for "know"
when it comes to the deciding a better
happenstance of an outlet...

that i am no more than a walking abortion?
the roulette of the housing staff
of Downton Abbey...
i still cook the better half of the meal...
but that's still not never not enough...

the lacklustre of darwinism being
so widespread...
how darwinism is so widespread and common...
and there's no voice of "god"
or a david attenburough narrative to billboard;
how this is never the enlightened age...
since each individual comes and goes
from starters: a priori...
not even with the collective quest of man...
there's no a posteriori status-reality...
there's always an a posteriori starting:
bothersome brick and clown...

- because you never visit russia and get slapped
in the face by a girlfriend...
for not lying...
visit your dementia riddled grandfather to be
is not you having the ******* attitude
and having a beta-******* the side...
if ever that's a conversation starter...
but i didn't back i just ****** harder...
until the 300 Spartans would appear...

and for all that the sun has to offer...
the night the moon and the stars...
not being ****-brick-built
for the affair of the goliath gorilla
versus the lion... in a match-up...

i much appreciate the phrase:
to be born of death...
i see life and a second coming as an arrival...
the rotting corpse doesn't bother me...
i will be forgotten and a month will pass
and the flies will become
all fidgety class A...

some + + + to mind afterwards...
you can never wake up from a mother:
sort of loving you...
it's no movies honey...
it's the basic tricklets of mantis...
and you finally arrive at death:
death your second mother:
your real mother...
who is not part of the nitty-gritty
aspect of *** as both a pleasure...
and a procreation "tool"...

the only reason as to why i abhor darwinism
is not that it's wrong...
it's right... but... i "like" i "dislike" has nothing to
do with this... no one begins anew:
with some social engineering focus
and only cites this one theory:
darwinism... "confusing" the circumstances
of the crows, the lions...
the bears for god's sake...
even the heliocentric model does how as far
as what making an geocentric model exit
allowed with the discovery of gravity!

to me darwinism is a plague on all manner
of thinking... whether that be
bow-tie-and-towing thinking
or, quiet simply... puppet that *******
***** gag of a mouthful...
and let's see her...
spit teeth and lecture us on...
"forgotten" basics...

i'm either simply tired... or quiet simply:
enough!
tired or sad...
funny... the better part of "madness"
is better associated with
a seance of lethargy...
the mad are "lazy"...
or perhaps they're "lazy"...
because the collective money is spent...
un-collectively...
even in capitalism...

i play Igor the Ignorant...
harry and meghan markle...
***** 'arry?!
are supported by... tax-payers?!
really?! oh wow!
there's that argument of:
shut the **** up...
and there's the argument...
which i majestically prefer...

walk into a field in the depth
of night... find some horses...
then pretend to be holding
a cube of sugar...
or a slice of apple...
then... manoeuvre your head
dislocated from your body...
jack-in-a-box style...
when the horse falsely nibbles
on your skin...
and retorts with a gallop while
standing...
luckily missing your ******* 'ed...
because the horse "thinks" you're
playing stupid...
no... just the roulette...
i'm looking for my mother death:
have you seen her?
i want to impregnate her
with a makeshift ***** consciousness...

i'm going places...
i've been to st. petersburg... that should
be worth enough... stamps...
but i have had these "adventures"...

a herd of them! in a field!
two albino stags and a litany of the elders
standing watch...
me them the night the moon
and the field...
and... the horse is mad!
i didn't extend my hand to pretend
i was holding an apple!
or a cube of sugar!
horse's mad!
sir john the squire!
i said 'ave 'ee!
no the horses said:
the buckle do-better pretended his arm was
the apple of concern...

oh sure sure...
the never mind the 'ed that was about
to be kicked in by the buckling hoof...
my most n'est-ce pas kind sir!
like i said:
i'm a walking abortion...
and thank god that i'm to be excused
from moral, fatherhood, status...
character flaws...
the lest of me is... the best of me...
esp. anti replica stature...

but i do love my mother...
never mind i want to be this premature
freak of her's in having the privvy of
dying before her...
that would be, most, lovely...
i always fathom a life worth living as also
having the chance to die before one's own
parents...

as i love my second in coming to fruition
mother... namely death...
and whether a heaven or a hell...
i am assured a nap...
a kipper for the better part of...
acquiring some, Velsh!

yn coch, coch?! flacid.... bunker baron thereof!
mild instructions of the oxford bunch
with their chief sermon-writer...
hardly a Knox when a Wittgenstein would suffice!

is red, red?
i only ask... since i'm an acquired body
to a most fulfilling mind of concern...
looking for "converts"...
among the welsh...
the scots? hardly the gaelic bunch are they?
they prefer to stress their:
accents of speaking the lesser
Westminster & Eton bra... brachhhhh...
loch! not lodge of cheao:
and no "N" either...

i spent three years in Edinburgh...
and 10 years in vicinity of London...
and all this time... i should have taken
a ***** in the centre of Caerdydd!
eh... funny simples and symbols...
you never know who to side
with on these islands...

gorllewin neu na gw...
close proximty to gw? zło - evil...
but there's no... coming back with:
friends, romans, countrymen...
lend us a ****-bag of lemonade non-fizzy!
syrian or lebanese intellectuals...
starve for this sort of base,
content... or none do...
perhaps we're the porky-pie starving:
Glasgow holocaust ready...

cornwall... of south wales...
the white cross on a black canvas...
korn-walia... cornwall...
walia - wales...
siding with the picts was a mistake
concerning this already...
troubled heart...

cushion savvy - always accessible Velsh...
drwg yma... drwg yma...
na pentref ynteu na ddinas ddiogel...
or some other "monstrosity"...
esp. when the Lebanese french speakers
come! and... they've already come!

but i was expecting to learn some
gaelic from the scots...
unlucky for me...
that i still find the welsh as outsiders...
and retaining their: tafod!
there can only be one...
proud people of these isles...
and that's the welsh... the Cymraeg...
eh... opaque petty englishmen...
call it a Kymraeg...
i call it via zee fwench cedilla avenue:
Çymraeg!

blah blah mon petite cherie!
**** a fwanchmon mon je sui allias: non?!
learn some welsh of 'ebrew... no brou?
no velsh b'woo?

a mishtaken identity cry-oh! asis?!
cwy... oh... asist... this T is a
monsieur tapisseriesourd...

vell 'ear all better left "off":
mistaken-hier or hum ha or otherwise...
the inquisitive nuance of the wording...
plus the spanish queer-position..
of the  levitating wheelchair bound?

the horse the "fake apple"...
the nibbled on hand...
the near-miss kick on the head
hoof imprint and...
that god awful beauty of a full *****
of a moon! to leave a feeling
of crescendo... had i died...
i'm always looking for premature
death...
this sort of luck?
is no luck at all...
no wonder i find the gods
reticent of an existence...
this comedy of i...
given this pronoun injustices of
the freed peoples republic of the congo...
grammar lessons! chop chop!

faking a handshake with a boa constrictor...
the snake i don't mind...
the chimp pretending to fake fwendsqueeze-it
is bothersome...
some of us remain idiotic till the end...
i would rather the reality of a tiger...
than poker-mind a fellow ape...

darwinism quote: so so...
here's to finding the right sort of tapeworm
infestation... a barrage of eggs
in a single slice of dodgy bacon...
i just can't stand...
pretending... when what i'm eating with...
i much rather prefer to eat...
and not talk...
because... m'ah curiosity and...
the chicken drumstick aesthetic appeal...
and the mostly assured lanky
extension of the human arm...
which equates itself to the lanky
almost meat-free representation of the duck's...
"leftover"...

how else was this not to be conjured from?
everything i say is disbelieved...
i say red: it's "blue"...
i say blue: i'm a better renown of a safeguard
cabbie matching up to my Lebanese status
of: doctor...
i'm also drunk... i'm tired...
i know that Tahir means little bird
in Pakistani... or little pigeon or at least that's
also a synonym of...
the bird that got away...
probably a sparrow...

2am looms and i have no worth of a woolen shirt
on my body...

english people exploring grammar school
*******...
the pronouns and otherwise...
the "gender neutrality" of the ROYAL:
ONE ought to...
and WE should think so...
hello! the leftoever crown of the guillotined
head?! for all the coom'on'R's?!

stealth theiving of common...
chemistry's prefixes...
trans-...
cis-...
the sort of prefixes mostly associated
with studying chemistry!

- i can be expected to least fathom the...
unpredictabikity of any sort of..
forthcoming: how, ever,
to diguise this coming onslaught and
monstrosity...
this wing clipped...
this lip purged from kissing...
this ear to listen,
this eye to see...
these fingers becoming
dexterity prone via a simple task of attempting
the tirade of a piano...

one was expected,
we were all so hopeful...
gender neutrality of pronouns
for god's sake!
no mongol would think twice
to call it a cheap-steal....
even if poland was named: crown...
and lithuania was....
lithuania... the "left-over"!

mam marwolaeth!
pwy e gobaith darganfyddiad!
(no braggadocio! modest rodomontade scored triumphantly!)

Unbeknownst to me, a generic human ape,
an unpleasant surprise
     swished down like an ominous cape
awaited and near smothered me drape

ping that October morning, where no escape
presaged via frisky black cats
     chasing shadows on fire escape
crossed my path after walking under a ladder
     where ice **** ravens didst jape!
**********
Wheels of injustice applied via de
fender, sans Johnny Cochran forced ee
year splitting amidst general public fee
ver rush to absorb disbelief shell shock hee
ret tickle non guilty conviction from key

ping popular culture spell bountious lee
really exhausted viz three ring me
dee ya circus (June 1994 – October 1995) pre
vail ling obvious evidence irrelevant, thus re
deeming O.J. Simpson to strut guilt free

from emotionally charged trial. I awoke
as usual and performed customary bespoke
oblations vis a vis half-hour plus choke
hold asphyxiation meditation, okey doke
shuteye discipline followed daily to evoke

calm, cool, and collected trance zen dental
bliss before motoring on with gist of gentle
lee presented vignette, though me mental
state did not shift gears into a rental

modus operandi, but only partially new
trawl eyed , cuz the then fiancé (one mew
zing chic chick i.e. Abby Robin Zison), Jew
dish us lee spent the night
     at our transitional grew

some domicile) immediately nsync to report do
tuff lee (at the Goddard School)
     raced like a Chew
Bach ha's Dickensian protagonist back up Badoo
two flights of stairs. Like eponymous Aloo

men hum mushing spry feline woman out bitta bing
bitta bang (clanging like hells bells) ding  
donging, she immediately flew back fling
all four feet eleven of her harried style jing

ling in an agitated state she set foot to go bob  
bing out the door intent
   (as iterated) driving to her job,
and in combination pantomime
   and words crisis did lob

asper like a bot to me,
     she attempted to communicate rob
bing her unsuspecting fount of thespianism
   tub air gritty modicum
   of rationale from putrid slob

name of Leslie (the lunatic landlady)
     thine paramour conveyed clarity mouth ajar
after surmising urgent news
     required automatic action to un bar
driveway, where I parked car,

the previous night surreptitiously venal far
from rational rapscallion most definitely har
bored an axe to grind, and locked Ford Escort par
**** shinned within chain linked fence - war

fore suggestion got made
     (from future bride)
to confront landlady,
     and sternly insist and mildly chide
corrective action taken,

     yet this storyteller defied
said suggestion, and brainstormed
    with betrothed asthma guide
averting compromising neither of our pride

and prejudice respective, sans stevedore
managers would not let us slide
gnome hatter, how we could not
     escape deprecation
     no matter how much we tried.

Prior to heading off to bed
     the prior night, I deigned
to express likelihood to landlord/owner
     thyself and pseudo spouse needed to find

another place to live. The major reasons
for vacating premises? Her grind
ding cigarette no ifs, ands
     or buts smoking mind
less ness ranked (on par
     with chimney didst wind

     burning wood smoke
at full blast) as primary source
     of revulsion did provoke,
and aye came across with homespun folksy
sensitive mien, as a simple country bloke
I expressed honest sentiment at being
extremely averse (where hacking awoke

     the future wife)
     from second hand carcinogen(s)  
     extant within cancer sticks. Asphyxiation deafen
knit lee found me choking half to death even
putting towel under the door, or

     additionally keeping
     bedroom window wide open,
the malodorous nicotine wisps ambled - pen
     knit trait ting, wending, curly cued,
     and filtered thru fabric with mischievous yen.

No matter, the twisting tendrils of tobacco found
their way into ole factory nasal cavity ground
zero, sans health conscious holistic being hound
did, what constituted one deranged dame
     the SPCA ought to impound.

Another factor fueling foul accommodations yin
     wanna know offset fine tuned win
Dixie yang,
     which odoriferous torture constituted

     nauseating odor of cat *****
and litter boxes smelt worse than sin,
cuz, they never got cleaned of feline ***** matter
     near visible as a unsightly dangerous shark fin.

Upon summoning effort
     and energy to communicate
bona fide concerns, she responded
     and didst denigrate

with contempt fiery madness irate
psychotic malicious venomous vile
     as dead body snatcher mate
and then insidious wheels

     of malice with tongue flames
crackling, popping, and snapping
     from out her reptilian pate
     began to turn more sharply

     amidst ghoulish clatter and path
     of destruction on her tabula rosa slate
with more danger than
     along axis of evil tete a tete.

She madly paced back and forth
     across maligned envisioned aisle
a small patch of uncluttered space in main foyer
     witnessed seething rage wherein

     carpeted floor boards,
     an imperfect circle shod feet didst dial
no doubt internally
     plotting vengeful strategic guile.

Castigations, fulminations, and insinuations ague
gulled out her mouth
     noxious fumes left exit pronto flew
ludicrous lacerations
     from fiery dragon lady did spew

while yours truly soundly slept
     and without incident dreamt edenic view
she unwittingly trappings to annihilate  Xandu
some personal vendetta. After I washed, dressed as a zoo

keeper headed downstairs,
     the malicious scheme she did hatch
out back became a living reality,
     an empty house doors hooked with latch

(Samir, the other occupant) left hours earlier no match
to tangle with wicked witch absented premises natch
eerily echoed every footstep trod one patch,
after another
     patent leather slippers paused to scratch

an niche 'pon second landing
     (to confirm a strong hunch)
that nary a soul heard nor seen,
     probably out to lunch,

no raving ranting banshee
     demented drunk as punch
No zombie like entity appeared from the “DO
NOT DISTURB” sign affixed
     outside sleeping area, aye did scrunch

brow to compress insight,
     where mangy catatonic felines
     shared coterie holograms suddenly jumped out
     from virtual reality cat n' app cradle
     swishing tails shorn like cat o' nines

mewing obscenities (within/ out
     computer screen, ominous signs,
sans phantasmagoric phantom) lurking
     like a lunatic swing from vines.

Nonetheless, I continued to tread
     down dimly lit said
lower level with glimmer
     of optimism to bolster lead

din heavy mood crossing fingers
     spare set of skeleton keys
     (with cross bones and skull head)
nearly always left tantalizingly
     dangling in unused door latch, twas cred

double wish, thus spirit within me soared
and just as quickly sank to abyss of psyche moored
     sensation felt like poured molten lava oh Lord
Guess what? No such luck. Oh,
     she definitely would not a ford

carelessness, and took precautions okay
hiding temptation to make a getaway
Well…I stepped outside
     to assess situation. Blimey cray
zee myopic eyes forced to glean deadbolt
     found gate shut tight, thence a feeble bray

escaped parched lips, when lo...vix
teased and cross myopic eyes,
     no doubt played tricks
holy glory. Ah, a handsaw
     carelessly got left and altered mix
matched tool chest in plain view, a sudden fix

but prior to acting on the plan, quite do able
I made a few telephone calls
     first telephonically cable
hub rate, and firstly contacted employer

     told tale more unbelievable than a fable
thence to local police
     in order to file complaint against
     goon bonkers malicious monstrous label

quick as the brown fox
     jumps over the lazy dog
escape attempted perilous hell grog
ghee nightmare commenced after placing

     phone back on cradle, whence nog
     'gin set fingers to twitch busily
     sawing into one steel link,
    (an effort aye did slog)

thru to break at one linkedin steel segment
barricading trusty Ford Escort
     so this fellow could hightail with pent
up adrenaline out of nefarious
     steely web and test a mint...,

     whence surge of adrenaline
coursed from head to toe,
     my heart pounded not so gent
lee ready to burst from chest,
     and palms perspired profusely
with unexpected accursed of evil incarnate
     vis a vis hell bent agent

provocateur ready to pounce
     and deliver violent
retribution, which blows
     from blunt heavy object,
   would invariably render me unconscious
   courtesy of cerebral rent.

For better than worse, a kind face
of destiny smiled from countenance grace
sing unseen karma
     smiled smooth as sateen or lace
upon my essence as shaking hands

     furiosly moved saw handle
     back and forth dozens of times until…
THE CHAIN BROKE AND SET ME FREE
     now fickle finger of fate
     got me ought ta this place!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2024
I.

i struggle to find some alternative to her snoring and her moaning and her talking about magic numbers associated with keeping or reaching a perfect space in which to live, but i have to find alternatives...

Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

       a reading by Jordan (a) Peter's son:

sum: in Icelandic:
everyone's everybody or someone's ibin
a son of...

hereson boujeron...
did i: mishear that?

maybe my listening "skills"
are not up to scratch: whether vinyl
or liquirice
liquid not D but still
it's not Lick-a-Rish: reesh: reach!

envy of the stars...

liquirice... spelling mistake: underlined
in red...
liquorice... LIK-O-REESH...
reed?

            i much prefer fennel: seeds...
but i also know
that...
well: no surprises...

Roman cumin is standard cumin: "standard"...
but in the same way
Caraway Seeds are also categorized
as cumin (elsewhere):

pizza for dinner
and i "suffer" a suffering of this
doughy platitude that
doesn't: envelop the jaw to bite
for worth of bone, sinew, marrow slurp,
this dough like this sickness
borrowed from
the metaphor
whereby words become transfixations
to call wine blood
to call bread body
this is not what the Slavic atheists
envisioned as simply
necrophilia
but this is poetic cannibalism
what sick mind gives this envy
and mindless watered down soliloquy
not even St Boniface or Augustus

i write this as if waking up
to the simultaneous revelation of
both Auschwitz and Golgotha
equal in parody
this tender kept heave! heave!
i find not Euro-centrism in Christianity
therefore?
i can: clearly! disregard it as
something to curl and to tend to "shy intellects"
fervent ground: fertile ground
where Christianity should be
not a crutch on the spirit of the European
but a post-European dumping
ground
like... Africa... parts of China...
somewhere south in the tropics of Vietnam...
Africa (again)
south America:
and... north America...

i can't stand this cult of the "misplaced"...
"missing": cosmopolitan Messiah
this: no wandering in the desert for
40 years by god the Arabs and the Egyptians
are having a field day of
explaining who's who in the plagiarism of:
nobody to borrow or steal from...

so i was skim reading today's newspaper
and finally realized:
CLASS...
a hierarchy a society
not that i beg to differ
but so much of authoritative print
is based upon the middle-class
and their loss of cooing when pigeons
make authority of the sound...

so much CLASS: opinions i really have
no concern for...
in my little corner
i can sort of breathe an opinion off myself:

"decolonizing" the teaching of philosophy
disregarding Plato et al
as somehow "white":
like the Mediterranean curls and olive glistening
was: up to what point
will we conjure up "whiteness"
to say: oh hell yes! the Finns were the white
oppressors all along!

coming to terms with Anglo-Saxon
****** trivialities of
power-end submission-begin dynamics
like for me:

it wasn't enough to bed a 55 year old woman
to finally realize: in my 38th year
that somehow:
getting my rocks off at the prospect of
a 20 year old "body" who
punctuated *** with: pay-me-more
for: oral *** for the fingers slipping
into **** and guitar was
a saxophone's polyphony with trumpets
and trombones

and how those black men allowed
us to escape the rigidity of genius music
in score
in orchestra
with all that silence before the crescendos
so freely
this is some Jazz Musicians' Appreciation
Society?!

the Euros have started and i watched
Germany trash Scotland 5 - 1
but it wasn't just about watching
the football
that was in the background
like music like radio 4: BBC 4
i'm going through a breakup
and i'm cheating
with the workaholic me
the one that scribbles a tonne of words
with a search for some signets
in Katakana and Cuneiform
and Jesus
Jesus saying as much as he did
just doesn't cut it for me
i need a fire of intellect
and by simply nodding along
to those sayings
cages in on Kauai:
in London:
but not in Princeville.....................................

II.

am i such a bad man?
today i felt neuter good: atheistic less
and solipsistic more

i shoveled pebbles from one side
of the garden to the other
to make room for measurements
of garden furniture:
WIKLINOWE... the **** does that mean:
i so didn't want to hurt her
i made an SS-man incision
with a scalpel
and shared two videos
then the cutting words: THE END...
her religiosity got in her way
her kindness and femininity
a complex got in the way
her *** got in the say
and opened a many other ways
to see

am i a bad man?
i never cheated with her in the 4 years
long distance relationship
impossible to live
like that on DOPAMINE hits
the chemist in my ignored it for far
too long...
those were dopamine hits
having met on the Jesus Trek
i wondered: am i not riding my bicycle
that many times?

me mother and father were
actually woken up by a smell...
my female cat left us...
woken up by a smell:
not a sound...
a smell...
the **** blew the roof off and all
the rats turned into lizards...
i'll admit: some turned into cockroaches...
but then that was a far reaching
Apocalyptic B-movie B-Plan
of the vermin
i imagine a flag of central Europe:
i see four colors...

black
red
yellow
white

      yes: that's the flags of Germany, Poland
and the Vatican..

i feel like such a bad man
but today i felt normal:
i broke up with a girl and i spared myself
what i already knew:
she had a meeting with her friend
and her friend's friend some artist
from California
and i already knew:
but she prolonged
then she heard i was inheriting property
in Poland
and so she stuck around
for a bit longer
and the torture continued

and there was more Jesus than Christ
then someone broke in and starting
shouting: Immanuel!
Immanuel!
                
                    Isaiah: make me return among
this plagiarism: who the **** brings
a book into a forest?!
like who blings with: brings forth
a glass pane to the desert?!
i ask! i ask!

this is writing with interlude this is no
case for the Editorial High Priest
for this writing to reach the masses:
perhaps a few
out of what, i ask?

not out of difficulty?
i don't ask out of vanity
or snobbishness:

in the night i heard the words:

CO ROBISZ:

not: CO TY ROBISZ?

nor TY ROBISZ...

translation?

what (you) do       (beyond lost in translation:
a bilingual loss of translation,
translating into English from Polish
where there is less "shrapnel":
less conjunction not so frequent stress on
pronouns...

CO ROBISZ...

   what you do:

             because there was not question
asked by my father as i jumped
an inch quicker to send that cat ****
for examination in the sewers and picnics...

CO TY ROBISZ: yes:
the pronoun interrogative structure of sentence
even without a ? stressor at the end
would be just that: half asleep father with
burning nostrils like i...

TY ROBISZ: i sort of wish he said that
but by saying that
he would be implicit in deeming me a god:
but i am not: you (are) doing...

robienie would be the exactness of
doing...
since it is indefinitely placed in grammar:

ROBISZ is a DO- without an -ING
just like:
BJE could  be the antithesis word
from BE- within the confines of BEING
via -ING
but unlike the -ING of DO- and BE-
one can say that: stressed using the articles of
"atheism":

DO or NOT do...
either way: you're going to: BE!
to do and to be are: indefinite articles..
doing and being are: definite articles!

to do not to be
is doing is being
is not neither
not being and
not doing
but rather
either doing
and not-doing
or
being and
           not-being...

III.

have i left a daughter?
i would not have so many transcendental
euphoric experiences
of simply coming back from work
and acknowledging:
t.v. is acid
need the alkaline gangrene of
whiskey and marijuana
and day-dream come 11pm...

have i left a daughter?
i left a lover
and no amount of ****
will suffice but hell i know it now
and it's like horror movies
i now watch without being scared
so i watch *******
without being aroused
or trying to find paths to the stars...
learned it with intimacy
par excellence:

but i can't forgive her
the book: initiated like a Kantian
categorical imperative
like that wording somehow deafens
the blow
the turn the other cheek
i will never do
but am under sort of forced will:
not free will:
not enslaved will:
i am forced to: live this will...
from free will
to enslaved will
to forced will...

i turned the other cheek to Samir
not Kibsi
not Qarri
not... Samir-Saffar-Ali...

               i have been forced to muse:
to mule the alkaline and acids
the salts and the sugars
i am one carrot shy of a donkeys'
ride on a roller coaster...

                      21 years and i'm not counting:
perhaps that intelligence
deviation:
i explain it as:
been on the construction site for 40
years and didn't use ear guards of moth cloth
or worked in the events industry
as a security guard
and gone deaf from teenage screams
or listening to my headphones
with music from teenage me
almost shortening the switches:
man needs torture! torture!
make his ego come up with excerpts
coming and going
not a sleeper narrative:
i think i am i **** i eat i welcome
i pet i zoo i transgender i stink of glue...
i ergo i plus i minus i divide
i shave i live i outlive i ferment i create god

IV.

but this sharp sound in my head
from the word
whispered into my head via ear:
PIENIADZE: money...

oh but the devil can exist outside
the human world
allowed to be a shaman of shadow
and torrential rains! discipline!

watching too much ****
can make you forgot your original
wits and measures
of watching with disgust two
serpents:
two snails... mating: asexually
it would seem...
even now... the woodland pigeons
seem to be...           GANDU!

GANDU! gay: in Urdu...
sorry... this last work advert i saw stressed
that there are preferential ethnic characteristics
concerning a job role:

best be BLACK
ASIAN
NOT CHINESE
NOT RUSSIAN
BLACK AND ARAB
AND INDIAN AND URDU
BEST BE GAY TOO
TRANSGENDER NO
JUST LGBTQ+ queue too!

can't be white:
even German white is too white
so like German English
history is nothing
because oh i'm pretty sure
a Somali can joke
about Nigerians not hearing themselves
but then again
i'm just a white guy
with two Africans born of immigrants
and two immigrants
on the Bananas Bahamas..

this is the Royal Academy of Arts...
the job is simple...
£26,000 a year...
for... 16h worth of work over 2 days...
but...
Africans and Asians (not the Chinese,
of Japanese: didn't you know that Japanese
are ****?!) and GAYS...
#GIMPSFREEPALESTINE...

  so... not anyone necessarily competent
in faking and then flaking a smile?
no... none of that?
not anyone intelligent
just a racist mantra reignited
because if that **** has been
then let's return to the god of tribalism
and not any: withholding
god of the intellect when the Quran
was first scribbled down!

time for: herding the people...
it's an ugly prospect but
it's one that has been measured as occuring
countless times in history
without any real focus of entrapped
leverage of importance...

for weeks i thought myself this terrible man,
this...
ah.... but language and its own purposes
arrived and were left waiting
and i too waited: in steam and ferment
and the prospect
of a meteor
and i too decided: as *** the envious
parody of when is intellect to be envied
to be pardoned like a mutation

heart broken: heart mended:
heart broken: heart mended:

   hertz gebrochen: herz fest
   hertz gebrochen: herz fest

           Schottland!

         wurde ich geboren
                   mit einem
                         deutzschintellekt?
Alvian Eleven Dec 2024
Sebelum 07 Oktober adalah normal lama.
Orang orang Gaza masih punya kehidupan.
Kehidupan yang telah menjadi masa lalu.
Masa lalu yang hanya bisa dikenang.

Hassan selalu senang tiap jumat siang.
Setelah shalat jumat dia bisa makan enak bersama keluarganya.
Lalu bersantai di tepi pantai hingga sore.
Itulah normal lama Hassan.

Tiap hari Asmaa bersemangat mengajar.
Pelajaran bahasa Arab untuk sekolah dasar.
Murid muridnya selalu berisik di dalam kelas.
Itulah normal lama Asmaa.

Samara selalu merayakan ulang tahun anaknya.
Dia membuat kue **** dan memasang hiasan lucu.
Boneka besar menjadi hadiah untuk anaknya.
Itulah normal lama Samara.

Tiap sore Mai selalu menyetir mobilnya.
Pelan pelan melewati jalan Al Rashid yang ramai.
Sambil melihat lihat suasana tepi pantai.
Itulah normal lama Mai.

Mustafa sibuk bekerja siang malam.
Mengumpulkan uang untuk membayar dowri.
Agar dia bisa secepatnya mengawini gadis pujaannya.
Itulah normal lama Mustafa.

Fadi selalu begadang tiap malam.
Saat listrik menyala dia sibuk melakukan banyak hal.
Mengecas laptop , mengetik makalah , mencuci baju dan lainnya.
Itulah normal lama Fadi.

Tiap hari Mariam selalu sibuk.
Pagi hingga sore dia berada di kantor.
Bekerja mengurusi periklanan dan digital marketing.
Itulah normal lama Mariam.

Heba selalu senang belanja di pasar.
Dia membeli daging , sayuran , buah buahan dan bumbu masakan.
Saat tiba di rumah dia langsung bersemangat memasak.
Itulah normal lama Heba.

Saat pagi Yousef sering pergi ke dermaga.
Dia melihat laut sambil menghirup udara segar.
Lalu membeli banyak ikan yang baru ditangkap nelayan.
Itulah normal lama Yousef.

Mohammed bertubuh kekar.
Tiap sore dia rutin pergi ke gym atau latihan tinju.
Terus berolahraga menjaga kebugaran tubuh.
Itulah normal lama Mohammed.

Lulus kuliah Abdullah masih menganggur.
Dia sering berhutang apapun di toko tetangganya.
Saat ditagih seperti biasa dia selalu menghilang.
Itulah normal lama Abdullah.

Keluarga Ali punya kebun olive.
Tiap musim panen dia selalu senang memetik olive.
Sambil makan manakeesh dan zaatar bersama keluarganya.
Itulah normal lama Ali.

Tiap malam Tareq sibuk belajar.
Dia ingin mendapat nilai tinggi saat ujian tawjihi.
Agar keluarganya merasa bangga padanya.
Itulah normal lama Tareq.

Ayahnya Omar bekerja di bengkel.
Dia sering memasang tabung gas untuk mobil.
Sopir sopir taksi tidak perlu membeli bensin.
Itulah normal lama ayahnya Omar.

Tiap menerima gaji Khaled merasa senang.
Dia selalu mengajak keluarganya makan enak.
Menyantap berbagai hidangan sea food di restoran Abu Hasira.
Itulah normal lama Khaled.

Wajah Eman selalu tampak cantik.
Dia rutin pergi ke salon melakukan perawatan.
Produk produk kecantikan juga dia beli semua.
Itulah normal lama Eman.

Ketika musim dingin Aya selalu senang.
Dia menghabiskan waktu membaca koleksi novelnya.
Sambil makan burger dan mereguk hangatnya sahlab.
Itulah normal lama Aya.

Tiap hari Walid selalu keliling Elsaraya.
Dia menyopir taksi mencari cari penumpang.
Sementara anak anak jalanan menjual tissue dan biskuit.
Itulah normal lama Walid.

Saat ada orang menikah Nassar selalu diundang.
Dia menjadi fotografer untuk memotret pengantin.
Pernikahan meriah di hotel dan resort tepi pantai.
Itulah normal lama Nassar.

Saat ramadhan toko Fatema selalu ramai.
Orang orang datang membeli berbagai kue buatannya.
Kaak , qatayef , baklava , kunafa dan lainnya.
Itulah normal lama Fatema.

Ketika hujan deras malam hari.
Kakeknya Ashraf selalu mendengarkan radio.
Menunggu lagu lagu Fairuz diputar sambil menghisap hookah.
Itulah normal lama kakeknya Ashraf.

Saat pertandingan El Classico.
Khalil dan teman temannya selalu pergi ke kafe.
Nonton bersama sambil bersorak sorak.
Itulah normal lama Khalil.

Huda kuliah literatur Inggris di Universitas Al Azhar.
Dia senang menghabiskan waktu di kampus.
Nongkrong di kantin atau baca buku di perpustakaan.
Itulah normal lama Huda.

Ketika musim panas Kareem tidak betah di rumah.
Dia sering nongkrong bersama teman temannya di tepi pantai.
Sambil makan jagung , kacang dan minum barrad.
Itulah normal lama Kareem.

Generator di rumah Shayma sering mati.
Biasanya dia keluar membawa laptop nongkrong di kafe.
Mereguk hangatnya mocca sambil mengunduh film dan anime.
Itulah normal lama Shayma.

Ayahnya Lubna punya kebun buah buahan.
Stroberi , jeruk , lemon , semangka dan kurma.
Tiap hari kebun itu selalu diurus secara telaten.
Itulah normal lama ayahnya Lubna.

Malak sering ikut kegiatan.
Pemberdayaan dan kreatifitas anak muda.
Dia belajar coding dan konten multimedia.
Itulah normal lama Malak.

Setelah lulus kuliah Zaina sulit mendapat pekerjaan.
Dia membuka kios kecil yang menjual falalel.
Orang orang selalu datang membeli falafel buatannya.
Itulah normal lama Zaina.

Dima punya banyak koleksi novel.
Dia sering membeli berbagai novel di toko Samir Mansour.
Lalu dia membacanya sambil berbaring di kasur.
Itulah normal lama Dima.

Tiap pulang sekolah anak anaknya Hussein selalu senang.
Mereka dibelikan Playstation agar bisa bermain game.
Ada balapan , pertarungan dan petualangan.
Itulah normal lama anak anaknya Hussein.

Tiap hari Reem selalu enerjik.
Dia menjadi instruktur fitness dan aerobik.
Tak mengherankan kalau tubuhnya tampak langsing dan kencang.
Itulah normal lama Reem.

Masa akhir kuliah Amal sibuk belajar.
Dia ingin segera lulus dengan nilai yang bagus.
Mendapat beasiswa kuliah ke Eropa adalah impiannya.
Itulah normal lama Amal.

Menjadi ahli bedah adalah pekerjaan Dr Ghassan.
Selama puluhan tahun dia menjadi dokter di rumah sakit Al Quds.
Walaupun gajinya tak seberapa tapi dia selalu semangat bekerja.
Itulah normal lama Dr Ghassan.

Ahmed dan keluarganya baru saja pindah ke apartemen.
Apartemen berfasilitas lengkap yang dibangun di tepi pantai.
Kehidupan terasa nyaman tanpa mengalami masalah apapun.
Itulah normal lama Ahmed.

Setelah lulus kuliah medis Aboud langsung bekerja di rumah sakit Al Shifa.
Dia senang bekerja dengan rekan rekannya yang penuh semangat.
Menyembuhkan orang orang dengan berbagai keluhan penyakit.
Itulah normal lama Aboud.

Kehidupan Mahmoud benar benar bahagia.
Dia tinggal di apartemen mewah bersama keluarganya.
Berbagai bisnis yang dia punya terus menerus untung besar.
Itulah normal lama Mahmoud.

Tiap hari Sham senang menghabiskan waktu di rumah.
Berkumpul bersama keluarganya menikmati kebersamaan yang menyenangkan.
Baginya keluarga adalah segalanya.
Itulah normal lama Sham.

Sondos kuliah hukum di Universitas Al Azhar.
Dia mempelajari hukum internasional dan hak asasi manusia.
Dia ingin Palestina yang terjajah mendapatkan keadilan.
Itulah normal lama Sondos.

Melukis adalah hobi Bayan dan Layan.
Mereka paling senang melukis langit seperti lukisan Van Gogh.
Bagi mereka langit menyimpan segala misteri yang tak diketahui manusia.
Itulah normal lama Bayan dan Layan.

Normal lama berakhir setelah 07 Oktober.
Orang orang Gaza tidak lagi punya kehidupan.
Hanya ada masa kini yang menyakitkan.
Dan masa depan yang terancam.


November 2024

By Alvian Eleven
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
nudni ludzie zawsze mają coś
do powiedzenia

-

boring people, always have
something to say,

bo to zawsze znaczy gawarić
         o innych -

because it always means
speaking about others.

3 ******* nights,
i've been mitigating "concern"
for a light source
via a candle,
   and a samsung tablet...

what has resorted
in giving me the most comfort?
what prometheus came down
with onto the plateau...

what the demigod son of
zeus came down with,
with, electricity?!

                  fire, fire is comforting,
in that it warms,
but also illuminates...
what is a thunder bolt?
light... and then?
  electrocution!
         no more, no, less!

the cats agree...
i'm good with:
from earth you came,
unto the earht you will return...
in between?
i need to pour some wax
into my hand,
just, to "make" sure...

                    danke (dir).
hier, mein zeppelin!

          was war was:
        mit die Elisabeth-Gruß?!
             tragen-zu komödie-skizzieren?!

english people talk too much...
   englischvolk spreschen zu viel...

i'll speak my german,
via anglican grammar...
                for a reason...
       beyond the reason of:
well, i've integrated...
there's no other reason for me
to "integrate",
other than to,
disembody myself from
these, corrupt people...

              ich bin deutsche,
durch fälschen...

            i had to...
  you think relearning head-banging
was somehow "easy",
without learning some deutsche?!

oh, yes yes...
   ich war gehen mein glauben im
diese fälschung sachsen...

   pierdole...
               nawet...  jeżeli mówię
gminą mowy,
  a nie panem miasta:
tym - germańskim...
                             to, moja: sprawa...

when was, center, osten?
            oh, right... when Warschau...
und Berlin was "osten" off anywhere
beside Paris or Loon'don,
and as far east as Novosibirsk?
as vest as is vest as
is the "pity" showered upon
           Doob'lin?!

i'm waiting.

and in my waiting: who could say...
i have a fetish for german language...
but none of their pornographic materials?

perhaps i would have learned french...
if i knew the post-latin order...
and how the germanic languages use another
order... how even western slavic uses...
post-latin romantic order of words...

best example?
sunflower oil... in english...
in german: sonnenblumenöl...
huile de tournesol in french...
olej słonecznikowy in ****** western slavic -
masovian or galician or...

the sunflower is a "precursor" of...
oil... not elsewhere...
among the french and among the polacks
oil is stressed first...
then the denotation of: what kind of oil?
why i didn't learn french?
oh... i was supposed to forget my mother
tongue...
i would have learned german
with more ease having acquired english...
fwench ****** it oops...

what's that, kind auditory hallucination
of spontaneity and no l.c.d. being ingested?
what's that word?
niemcy? hear that? the word means:
germans...

so what's cooking and more to the point...
who's cooking and what?
languages?
in my vicinity... 4 at least...
one as still acquired...
one in a caste of a broken lending broker...
one as a fetish and one as
a... minor fetish... Paris circa 2004...
and not because i'm english in any way
possible and i have a: the sort of grudge
that a ****** deals a russian a hand...
english superstitious enclaves when being
a tourist in Paris...
as someone not from Warsaw...
i did find a lisp of Bulgahov in Moscow...
it was aired... suspiciously silent...
a dog-whistle you might say...

the old capital was in lesser Poland...
greater Poland and its trade ties to
Brandenburg via Posen...
no one was expecting a Winchester to London
shift... the masovians were being
incorporated synonym in tempus (in time)
with what was to become of the pagan Prussians...
the new rulers of lower buxton & saxony...
punk history lessons...
because the northern crusades only took
place due to some people
defending the last pagans of europe...
the lithuanians...
and the marriage was a success...
as was rome...
the crown that was known
as greater poland, lesser poland...
snippet of pomeranian...
and...

when bohemia became integral to
the borders of defining the holy roman empire...
the crown with the grand duchy of lithuania...
perhaps the post-vikings did *****
a brick that founded the basis of Kiev...
but there's also L'viv...
and as one greek said to me...
there's no Istambul where i look...
there's only a Constantinople...

no... the Notre Dame would have survived
the **** occupation...
Paris wasn't bombed...
London though? it's a miracle that St. Paul's
survived... with or without a fire...

all this history and... no history class back
in school... dates that are like cognitive
tattoos... i am almost ashamed of reciting them...
but then i do have a body without ink...
historical infantilism...
who is to cite the h'american constitution,
the declaration of independence...
who is to cite the magna carta...
who is to convene over the Union of Lublin -
signed in 1569 - that created a single state
of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth -
who is to ask this "neo-nazis" these
germ-an-ans... and the Muslims regarding
their Iraqi "beef" with the Mongols?

is this truly infantalism? historical infantalism?
to remember or at least,
ascribe oneself a continued presence
of these events? what if not in skin alone...
the mind is a fickle embryo that's bound
to be ****** into a whirlpool of:
scientific exploration and "gender neutral pronouns"...

because what the hell is worth my attention...
that a battle of Hastings took place in 1066?
what of the battle of Tannenberg in 1410...
then the teutonic knights were fighting a northern
crusade against a converted people from 966...
and their coalition of lithuanian pagans
and the rabble e pluribus unum?

infantilism... i guess it must be infantilism...
just like those people citing the former
glory of the british empire...
and they being the descendents of former colonial
subjects...
but if they're all so oh very serious...
look at my tattoos! look at my historical infantilism!

i too can play this game...
i too can look bleak with surprise:
oh you think that the northern crusades didn't take
place? the only holy ground is the levant?
not the old forests of mother Prussia?
to me... it's historical infantalism...
to most it's... Al-Ḥarb al-Ahliyyah al-Libnāniyyah...
or the Dissolution of Yugoslavia...
or...

that... "thing" in Syria...
i love how the Muslims love to put down Christianity
as not being the religion of the pacified...
hell... even i have heard of buddhist warrior monks...
and they cite!
my good friend Samir loved citing this to me...
when i was going through my apostasy and wasn't
ever going to be confirmed in the church's
bureucracy...
apparently a Muslim in the west knows very
little about the catholics coming from old Rus...
vicinity...
what's that quote he used...
matthew 10:34 - do not suppose that i have come
to bring peace to the earth.
i did not come to bring peace, but a sword...

and my most beloved quote about
a second coming... in the Islamic hadith...
حدیث نماز خواندن عیسی به امامت مهدی‎
the (hadith of jesus praying behind mahdi)
as cited by ibn ibn ibn abu huraiah
ibn ibn ibn allamah sayyid sa'eed akhtar rizvi
ibn ibn ibn jabir ibn abd allah...
ibn ibn ibn al-husayn al-ajiri and many others...

where will the kind sir, descend?
in Damascus... and again that Syria "thing"...
once upon a time i could find a good
quote with regards to the descent...
his hair will appear as if falling pearls...
his tears this that and the other...
in a: once upon a time you could find
everything on the internet without it being
meddled for herr zensor purposes and -
an objective lack of transparency...

i see no better indicator that a second coming
has occured within the dogmatism of Islam...
if you couple the two "stipends" of:
believable wording to be carried on and on...
until a freak accident like the Syrian civil
war occurs...

it was hardly a civil war in the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth...
given how the swedes felt inclined to invade
and lay their deluge...
because the king was a swede in this...
freakish... monarchic democracy....
and of course the ukranians...
and of course add some spice of the ottoman
nibble...

again: isn't this historical infantalism?
i should be... when people have all the right
to excavate as much from the holocaust
and the dead in the water slave, trade...
trade... which implies the middle ground
of misery while two opposing factions prospered...

to write of such things...
and not need a little sense of how infantile it is
or rather: can become?
in an otherwise pedagogic rubric?
like we, really needed to learn of the fact
that england was under roman occupation...
and how that's a reason to be proud...
as somehow related to the modern
aesthetic splendour of the Italians...
of which the modern germans scoff at...
given their mozart and their "****"
of the opera... and how... oh ****... i'm using
their letters... but how the germans nor the polacks...
ever entertained the ancient romans...

again... this most certainly has to be some
variant of infantilism... why would i recite
some distant date...
mind citing a past and dead and gone?
perhaps... i never really figured out a "way out"...
perhaps i was always playing the mole...
and digging trenches...
looking up psychological erosion of:
being just as bad as the "other side"...

or perhaps i'm just the sort of *******-beater
that forgot to fall in love so so hard
that he would be living with a regret
of getting a tattoo of a name: ИЛOНA
on his left collar-bone?

perhaps one of the two!
let's flip a coin!
Alvian Eleven Dec 2024
Tengah malam di pinggiran kota Surabaya.
Aku duduk sendiri di teras kafe tua.
Kupandangi jalanan yang lengang.
Sambil kuhisap pelan pelan rokokku.
Dan kuteguk kopiku yang tak lagi panas.

Tapi pikiranku tidak berada di sini.
Pikiranku masih berada jauh di Gaza.
Dimana kekacauan panjang tak kunjung berakhir.
Hingga aku lelah melihatnya setiap hari.
Seperti pertunjukan horor harian tanpa akhir.

Kusambungkan ponselku dengan wifi.
Lalu kulihat layar ponselku yang kusam.
Dan kubuka akun sosial media orang orang Gaza.
Ahmed , Omar , Eman , Mariam , Abdallah , Mohammed dan lainnya.
Seperti biasa mereka selalu memposting.
I'm still alive... I'm still alive... I'm still alive...

Tapi ada akun Facebook yang telah lama membisu.
Akun ini tidak lagi memposting apapun selama berbulan bulan.
Tentu saja aku sangat mengkhawatirkannya.
Dan aku menerka nerka apa yang terjadi padanya.
Apakah dia masih hidup atau sudah mati ?!?...

Akun ini milik seorang gadis bernama Nour.
Dia mengungsi dari Al Rimal kota Gaza.
Aku mengenal dia sejak akhir tahun kemarin.
Lalu kami merasa saling dekat satu sama lain.
Terhubung pikiran dan perasaan.
Antara Gaza dan Surabaya.

Aku ingat setiap hari aku selalu memberinya kata kata penyemangat.
Agar dia sanggup melalui hari demi hari yang kacau , berat , melelahkan dan berbahaya.
Nour selalu menceritakan apapun yang dia alami.
Penderitaannya... ketakutannya... kegetirannya... kecemasannya... kelelahannya... kesedihannya....
Aku juga merasakannya.

Ada kalanya situasi tenang sesaat.
Cukup tenang bagi Nour untuk mengenang kehidupannya.
Dia mengunggah foto rumahnya , lingkungannya , kampusnya dan juga sudut sudut indah kota Gaza.
Saat semuanya masih ada sebelum 07 October.

Bagi Nour nostalgia adalah penghiburan sesaat.
Pelipur lara di tengah penderitaan panjang.
Aku selalu terlarut nostalgia apapun yang dia ceritakan padaku.
Bersama teman temannya dia suka nongkrong di kafe tepi pantai.
Menyusuri keramaian jalan Al Rashid lalu makan jagung dan es krim di tepi jalan.
Atau menghabiskan uang untuk belanja baju di Watan mall dan Capital mall.

Membaca buku adalah hobi utama Nour.
Dia sering membeli buku di toko Samir Mansour.
Lalu dia membaca buku buku itu di kamarnya.
Berdinding pink , meja yang tertata rapi.
Dan sebuah teddy bear besar di atas kasur.

Memasak adalah hobi Nour yang lain.
Setiap hari dia memasak apapun di tungku tanah liat depan tendanya.
Falafel , mulukhiya , shakshuka , maqluba.
Tampak begitu lezat hingga membuatku penasaran.
Seumur hidup aku tidak pernah memakan hidangan Arab.

Nour juga suka mendengarkan musik.
Dia menyuruhku mendengarkan lagu lagu Fairuz.
Penyanyi diva legendaris dari Lebanon yang dia idolakan.
Aku terpesona mendengarkan suara lembut Fairuz.
Menyanyikan lagu lagu Arab yang liriknya tak kumengerti.

Nour punya kucing berbulu putih tebal.
Kucing gemuk dan lucu yang bernama Kimba.
Setiap hari Kimba selalu dimanjakan Nour.
Tapi terkadang Nour mengeluh karena Kimba makan terlalu banyak.
Sementara makanan kucing susah dicari dan harganya naik tinggi.
Tragisnya , setelah lebaran Kimba menghilang berhari hari lalu ditemukan tewas tertembak quadcopter.
Kematian Kimba membuat Nour sangat depresi.

Nour kuliah di Universitas Islamic Gaza.
Kampusnya telah hancur dan kuliahnya terhenti pada semester lima.
Tapi dia selalu bangga pernah menjadi muridnya Refaat.
Mewarisi ajarannya untuk melawan dengan tulisan.
Menulis apapun tentang Palestina dan kehidupan apa adanya di Gaza.
Dimana jiwa jiwa yang punya kehidupan tidak cuma dianggap sebagai angka.

Aku takut jika pada akhirnya Nour hanya menjadi angka.
Angka statistik para martir yang terus bertambah setiap hari.
Sementara dunia tidak mampu melakukan apapun selain hanya melihat pembantaian tanpa akhir.
Merampas kehidupan secara paksa dan menyakitkan.

Tak ada yang tidak menyakitkan di Gaza.
Tapi bagiku lebih menyakitkan tidak ada kabar apapun dari Nour.
Aku merasakan kehampaan kehilangan dia.
Aku merindukan percakapan dengan dia.
Yang bisa kulakukan sekarang hanyalah memandangi foto wajahnya yang cantik.
Aku sungguh mengagumi kecantikannya.
Tatapan matanya yang berkilau , senyuman bibirnya yang mempesona.
Sepertinya aku telah jatuh cinta padanya.

Where are you now ?... Where are you nour ?...
Selama berbulan bulan aku selalu bertanya seperti itu pada Nour.
Tapi hingga sekarang tak ada jawaban sama sekali dari Nour.
Jika seandainya dia memberiku kabar singkat saat ini.
Aku benar benar akan merasa sangat lega.

Don't leave me !.. please don't leave me alone !..
Nour selalu memohon seperti itu padaku.
Dia ingin aku selalu ada untuknya.
Tapi sekarang dia tidak ada untukku.
Dia telah meninggalkan aku tanpa kata.

Ketika kupandangi langit malam untuk sesaat.
Aku bertanya tanya tentang takdir Nour.
Apakah dia telah menjadi satu diantara bintang bintang di langit ?!
Ini tidak adil , aku mengenal Nour terlalu singkat pada waktu yang buruk ini.
Aku hanya ingin dia tetap berada di bumi , berada di kota Gaza yang dia cintai.
Aku sangat ingin menemuinya pada waktu yang baik seperti yang kami harapkan , waktu ketika tanah Palestina telah terbebaskan.


October 2024

By Alvian Eleven
Alvian Eleven Dec 2024
It's midnight on the outskirts of Surabaya.
I'm sitting alone on the terrace of an old cafe.
While looking at the empty street.
Slowly smoking my cigarette and sipping my coffee which is no longer hot.

But my mind is not here.
My mind is still far away in Gaza.
Where there is long chaos that still not over for more than a year.
Until I'm tired of seeing it every day like an endless daily horror show.

Now my phone is connected to WiFi.
Then I open the social media accounts of people from Gaza.
Ahmed , Omar , Eman , Abdallah , Mariam , Mohammed and others.
As usual they always post.
I'm Still Alive... I'm Still Alive... I'm Still Alive...

But there is a Facebook account that has been silent for a long time.
This account has not posted anything for months.
Of course I am very worried and I always wonder what happened to her.
is she still alive or dead ?!

This account belongs to a girl named Nour.
She fled from her home in Al Rimal , Gaza City.
I have known her since the end of last year.
Then we felt close to each other.
Connected thought and feeling.
Between Gaza and Surabaya.

I remember that usually every day I always gave her words of encouragement.
So that she could get through the chaotic , heavy , tiring and dangerous days.
Nour always told me whatever she was experiencing.
Her fears... her suffering... her bitterness... her anxiety... her sadness... her exhaustion...
I feel it all too.

Sometimes the situation was calm for a moment.
Calm enough for Nour to reflect on her past life.
She uploaded photos of her house , her neighborhood , her campus and the beautiful corners of Gaza City.
When everything was still there before October 7.

For Nour nostalgia was a momentary consolation.
Her solace in the midst of long suffering.
I was always lost in her nostalgia no matter what she told me.
With her friends she often hung out at beachside cafes.
Walked along the busy streets of Al Rashed then ate corn and drank coffee on the corniche.
Or spent money shopping for clothes at Watan mall and Capital mall.

Reading novels was Nour's main hobby.
She often bought novels at Samir Mansour's bookstore.
Then she read the books in her comfort room.
Pink walls , a neatly arranged table and a big teddy bear on the bed.

Cooking was another of Nour's hobbies.
Usually every day she cooked anything on the stove in front of her tent.
Falafel , mulukhiya , shaksuka , maqluba, Everything looked so delicious that it made me curious.
In my life I have never eaten Arabic foods.

Nour also had a hobby of listening to music.
She told me to listen to Fairuz's songs.
A legendary diva singer from Lebanon who she idolized.
I was fascinated by listening Fairuz's soft voice singing an Arabic songs whose lyrics I didn't understand.

Nour used to have a cat with thick white fur.
A fat and cute cat named Kimba.
Every day Kimba was always pampered by Nour.
But sometimes Nour complained because Kimba ate too much.
While the price of cat food went up high.
Tragically , after Eid Kimba went missing for days and then found dead after being shot by a quadcopter.
Kimba's death made Nour so depressed.

Nour studied at the Islamic University of Gaza.
The campus had been destroyed and her studies stopped in the fifth semester.
But she was always proud to have been Refaat's student.
Inheriting his teachings to fight with writing.
writing anything about Palestine and life in Gaza.
Where souls have life not just considered as numbers.

I'm afraid that in the end Nour will just become a number.
A statistical number of martyrs that continues to increase every day.
While the world is unable to do anything but just watch endless massacres.
Taking lives forcefully and painfully.

Nothing is not painful in Gaza.
But for me it hurts more not to have any news from Nour.
I feel the emptiness of losing her.
I miss conversations with her.
But now there's nothing I can do but just look at her photos.
Admiring her beautiful face , her sparkling eyes and her charming smiling lips.
It seems like I've fallen in love with her.

Where are you now ?.... where are you Nour ?...
For months I have always asked Nour like that.
But until now there has been no answer at all from Nour.
If only she gave me any news for a moment.
I would feel very relieved.

Don't leave me !.. please don't leave me alone !..
Nour usually always begged me like that.
She wanted me to always be there for her.
But now she's not there for me.
She has left me without a word.

When I'm looking at the night sky for a moment.
I wonder about Nour's fate.
Has Nour become one of the stars in the sky ?!...
This isn't fair , I've known Nour for too short at this bad time.
I just want Nour to stay on earth , stay in the city of Gaza that she loved.
I really wanted to meet her at the good time we hoped for , the time when the land of Palestine has been liberated.


December 2024

By Alvian Eleven
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2024
bouncing off the walls a slight tidbit
and shandy
because i just love those advertisement
interruptions
when i'm in the mood to write
and i set my alarm for 9am
or rather 8:50
and i did wake up but chose
to remain in a bedded position
because that wasn't just a dream
those were two days in two lives in one
a shared experience
and just thinking about love & suicide
and paddling from the north side of the island
to the south side of the island
of Kauai
because i was having a midlife crisis
whatever that means
a midlife crisis is a bit like global warming
a massive farce a diabolical bollocking
sentiment
that's the 3rd time i had *******
and i sexed her up good
so that she was ******* herself
while i was playing tweezers and pliers
with a limp oyster **** hey Jeronimo
hey Jericho
a city and a people
a bit like Pompeii
all in its glory that joke of lawyers
and attorneys
of: if you want to make god laugh:
tell him your plans
and he will say: islam
and by the god willing decree
you pitiable man
you humble man
you enviable man
i am the jealous god
speaking unto the enviable man
and that is as far as i dare to say
my presence
not otherwise
otherwise in birds and tectonic
stomachs of a rumbling
like water boiling
oh this oblivion of the dark grey
hot day of the birth of Gemini
and Samir and i cannot part
and i have to come to terms with
the burdens of love
and if i'm to be having
******* with Hawaii
then i need the eyes from behind
that Niqqab to be looking at me
fiddling their rings of marriage
and proposal
and i need to know
why i'm to make alternative conjunctions
and prepositions
of exclaiming !!! !!!              !!!     !!!
the problem with pronouns
conjunctions
and puncture marks
like abruptness of the dot and the Q: ?: question
and the colon
and semi-
what a sentence preserved:
mummified even
i swear to god
i am god
in my solitude
without a loneliness
and today's menu looks pretty already
i have a cabbage
with baggage
a carrot without a stick
a donkey
a jockey
an Armageddon
and if Nietzsche thought himself
a ******
then i think myself a Teuton
it's as if i'm not something organic
that history makes me inorganic
that i have a history
and a people and a binding will
of the collective unconscious
and that i can't motivate myself enough
other than myself
in my worst habits

i'm spinning i'm spinning
i'm spinning
i'm out of control but i'm also in control
i chose to write but
there are also household chores
but i didn't smoke all of it
it's all uphill from hereonin
here-on-in
up up up
up
up
up up up up
all the way up
there's no point in my slowing down
i need the air the breath
the soul if
if i'm going to gamble with
this love magnet
a Taurus and a Gemini
if you should so speak
because i told her a joke
i was so tired
and i thought about going to the brothel
but i didn't
so stupid
i mean: did you even bring your
"other" ring:
yes that **** ring
i don't mean what gets the girls
staring
the younger ones
when you come all stainless steel
and wood on finger
a ring
a ring on a finger
a sun in  the sky of day
and a moon in the sky of night

a tide of ocean
a river
my feet walking
a tide of ocean
a river
a tide of a river
my feet chasing feet
my eyes blinking

my eyes blinking
me interaction with the former
Putins
the Deutsche....

one gigantic hard-on for a word
that's impeding...
thumping me Mongolian
Saudakur style
grunt grunt grunt gurgle
hunger
one meal a day Bruce Springsteen
style...

Geheimnis - secret
Civic - bürgerlich
polizei -

     polity and the philosopher
polity and the philosopher

ah... perfect rearrangement
just did the duty of emptying those two
decorative bark sacks in the garden
under the Patagonia
and Pagoda
and Nebraska
or somewhere
clinging to far away places
but the *** so close
now i'm itching fidgeting
and itching once more
i want to scratch my brains
and i know i only have one
but there are two hemispheres
and already

the schematic semantics
of math and how numbers know numbers
and how letters don't know letters
and how there aren't syllables
in numbering Katakana
a 10 doesn't make it a binary
of vowel consonant
or consonant and vowel
but that there is vowel distinct
from consonant
and how woman is a vowel
and how man is a consonant
and this is
my microscope my telescope
into the ventures of man as soul
and oscillation away from the days'
removal from the status: just an animal...

now the throat is dry
and i'm going back into my garden
as either Adam or
Satan
and if she wants...
she can moan like a Capirote on fire
that's where Christianity
is vibrant
and echoes a love of men for men
and women are like
secrets
like the ones you keep hidden in Je-CHO-Wa
he: who hides them
(them): being women...

he who hides women from the harm
of the charm man
became endowed with
with Sisyphus and the bundle of burden
that rock
and Adam's apple
and the thinker of Rodin and his resting
clenched fist ***** face...

by 3:30 the effects should be wearing off
and i should be gearing up
to making that beetroot coleslaw
i have the red cabbage
and red onion and
the carrots
the lemons and the yogurt
and i will probably stop thinking

or think that out of all the 300+ employees
i was asked
to go to Portsmouth
on the 14th for a 7h shift at a silent
disco
but i asked about the engineering
work potential on the 7th and 8th
and how two days ago
it took me almost 3h to get home
to what then
kiss the doorknob and go back out
am i mutant robot or Mongol
just want to know
                 so maybe i can leave early
if put on gate 3
they are really sparing me when
it comes to DC3
and i always volunteer
but each time i get rejected
perhaps because i'm prized
i don't know
you can really write a philosophy of work
i mean
you can truly write about micro-managing
your psyche in a working
environment
you feel that Nietzsche went mad
because he didn't have menial tasks
before him
and Bukowski on the other hand
couldn't materialize on the gems
of thought when performing menial tasks...
and Heidegger is found
somewhere in between...

i smoked i drank a little
but i already went out to the shop
to get more whiskey
and a baguette
and Havering Road was filled
with skipping and tictactoe
and a girl
and she was called Reyla
and please don't make me speak
my stomach's soul

Mongol:

дуу хоолой
duu hooloj!

сүнс бурхан

           strange seeing Mongolian
in script: NOT
in Turkic -
but Slavic...
Greco-Slavic

those sneaky ******* from the ancient
world those
Greeks
first they hijacked the Hebrews
and rebuilt the Roman Empire -
Troy -
since the origins of
the myth of Rome is that of defeated
Phoenix of Troy

now they hijacked
the Greek lettering themselves
and applied their genius
to the Slavic people
who competed with the Germans
and at the pinnacle
cheap-*****
Soviet metal competed with
staging a filming of the moon
landing
no sorry no R.E.M. song
like U.F.O.

             disputed by all costs
"win" the "race"...
      
are we all so dumb deaf and bereaving
a fate of debt that
somehow
to no greater advantage
there's an Aladdin with a lamb
and a camel shaped lamp
and there's the rich man
and the rich man gets murdered
is depressed
O         o       O      what then Oo
that's like also oOo
that's the trinity of earth moon and star
and some vague Postman Pat
to Lucifer: you forgot my black & white cat
so rhyme
is echo is rhyme
is not thyme
is time
and timing
and space and spacing
and so dislocated verbiage
much Morse: or worse than a finger
no longer pointing to somewhere called
elsewhere
like death is a rattling toy
and i have only sand dunes in my vibrancy
of contested spirit...

to the far burrows of the former
kin -
           in kind by way of summary
a "buying" of leverage
of time contested
as lost to: a commute...

                  perhaps the ordeal has not yet
begun;

— The End —