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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
i thought two things prior, prior walking out
ensuring a tree branch could support
a heinekken bottle on a branch...
well it was as clear as day: thinking proves we have a soul,
the existence of thought proves soul and nina simone...
it would be depressing otherwise, the highest understament
of creation being a dog’s bark and *******...
but there’s something bothersome about monotheism
and the ritual rites of burrial that makes it less sophisticated
than polytheism, such as the pagan greeks knew
and the hindus continue to approve...
see it as: why would man engage with the paradox
of coming from dust, and returning to the element of earth...
it’s missing something... ah yes... intelligence...
the pagans were unified in the burning bush...
the plague that unified the world... the 9th plague
in canada: huh?! w.t.f.?! the 9th plague in japan: huh?! w.t.f.?
the 9th plague is the origin of aztec pyramids...
you’ve been warned.
you see, i see the monotheistic coupling of the corpse
with the earth, coffin and favourite track and ceremony
really groutesque...
i like the hindus and pagans coupling man’s body with fire...
this monotheistic coupling with the element of earth
is too morbid for me... i prefer the bit they put two choins
on the sockets for charon... and burn you,
so the metaphor lives: we had fire in us, even though
we were primarily composed of water... we had fire in us nonetheless!
all this gothic coffin bits: the epitaph post-mortem rather than
vivus maxim... all that tending to the grave like it’s a garden...
no wonder voltaire rebelled with candide...
it be natural that a bush on fire be guidance of man’s true origin
and ontology... that it was fire that spoke... rather than earth;
and yet we give ourselves to the false elemental coercion...
it’s not earth that spawned us, earth was but a canvas...
it was fire that spawned us... with each splinter of the spark
of the brush stroke.
or i could tell you about the many times i spent in the brothel
in goodmayes...
the time i gave one ******* an ****** and she said that it hurt
when she composed herself to put her clothes back on,
the time i cried with one,
the time one almost nibbled my ******* off with a death-stare,
the time one stole my debit card and had me go back
and see the stash load of other cards exhibited by the ****,
the time i thought they were romanian girls but
were in fact bulgarian girls...
the time i ****** a ***** off and was asked: do you want to use it
and thus replied no...
the time i was asked if i wanted a ******* and
took the orthodox route and had the same woman for two hours...
and this concern, the freudian madonna-***** complex,
a fine divide... i can go limp **** with girls outside the profession...
why? because i haven’t objectified them,
in the case where they objectified themselves it’s no problem...
but outside the industrial profession of getting turned on
synthetically using cream it’s more difficult...
i need to know the person, i can’t objectify her in the way
she can already objectify herself...
i can be limp **** with a girl who’s a cashier in a supermarket,
but i can never be limp **** with a girl from a brothel...
it’s not that odd... it’s the explanation of freud,
as all theories, there’s a hyphen inserted to compound
and in a grammatical sense it’s the reverse of mathematics,
in grammar the hyphen is like = when two things are added,
subtracted, multiplied or divided...
time-space is usually a narrative of some sort that’s the adequate
answer...
madonna-***** complex also has a narrative, like this one,
i’m not ashamed of a quasi-impotence...
i just **** professionals drunk, i need the calories...
i’ve had *** with prostitutes and was aroused immediately...
a bit like acknowledging: in a dentist’s chair,
i’m about to get my rotten teeth pulled, rather than get a botox insertion
or a heart transplant.
as simple as that.
(the one that stole my saracens' beanie i will never forget,
i got it buying two saracens' supporters
a pint of beer each at a pub in liverpool st.
by faking delusion associating them with
the actual saracens rugby team...
i really want that saracens beanie back!)
well, we'd get nowhere with space~time or madonna~*****,
only because our linear foundations would
fluctuate in the realm of trigonometry:
they break your heart... you break their mind;
forget direct relation, endear indirect relation
where the former is time-space and the latter is time~space.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
so i was sitting down on the steps in the garden
eating a lychee
and drinking a Pimm's: i know, the profanity...
just Pimm's and lemonade...
i made my parents the proper stuff:
with strawberries, cucumber and mint...
but i was just thinking there...
father comes over and tells me that both
the Glasgow teams managed to qualify to the champions
league... what about the 'burgh teams?
'burgh teams?
yeah... i don't mean the Champions League:
Europa league... Herts or Hibernian?
no... not that i know of...
mind you... Herts is under scrutiny...
about what?
                     over-paying their players...
oh! like the investigation that had Juventus demoted
from Seria A(h) to a lower league?
like the points deducted from Derby County FC
and Saracens RC (rugby club)...
in the meantime my manager texts me about
a chance to work a shift in Basildon...
some Garage Festival... i used to have friends at school
who were garage music fanatics...
they were also big into graffiti...
all the girls at school loved those idiots...
most ended up in prison or were popping ******
pills before they were 16...
i sent him a text: can i be "Irish" about this whole affair?
it's no problem for me getting there,
it's the getting out that's an issue...
if i could get a lift back home: i'll do it...
mind you: i have a Wembley shift on the 3rd...
in between he replies with a LOL...
i hate these LOLz...
hey... i'm not working a shift after which i have
to pay for a hotel... i earn in order to spend
is not my thing: i earn for umbrellas and rainy days
and prostitutes... mostly prostitutes:
they can spend my money the hell they want...
hmm... Herts is being investigated for
propping up the wages of its players?
so... so deflation does exist! deflation does exist
in capitalism!
that's deflation! what's deflation?
the end product is sold at the same price as:
per usual... but the people selling the product...
are paid more than usual!
in the current times, what's the hot topic?
once upon a time it was Brexit...
then it was Covid... now it's: ******* Russians
cranking up the gas supply to Europe:
if i were Russian? i'd be ******* too...
i abhor Russophobia of the Europeans:
and i'm a ******... i should be the biggest *******
Russophobe around... but i've dated a Russian
girl... ***** had it easy: i don't even know
why she managed to get away with slapping me:
oh... right... i was in her St. Petersburg flat
visiting her for a month... we went and saw
Metallica in Moscow... she thought i was cheating
on her while in fact her ex-boyfriend
with connections was sticking around her like
a leech while we drank cognac with a slice
of lemon.. for that: ooh! ooze of a squeeze...
i made her fuckable... she trimmed her dread
and looked ****-ugly when i was ******* her...
a masterpiece of the degradation of womanhood....
still.... nice ****... all Russian **** are nice...
and a ****-of-left-overs that might wet any man's
appetite for most oysters...
what?! ha ha... i dated this one French psychology
exchange student... climbed Arthur's Seat with her...
but i felt her scorn when she exclaimed:
but you have a picture of Napoleon hanging on your
wall: true... but i also have a picture
of Plato: gay... and Marquis de Sade hanging next
to Napoleon... as a Frenchwoman you ought
to know that Napoleon did more for the ****** people
that any of the Hapsburg *****!
he erected the satellite state of the Duchy of Warsaw!
what's you ******* problem?
the relationship ended soon after i lost my
virginity and she lost the plot by starting
to braid her beautiful auburn hair...
i held her head while she vomited a leash
of a waterfall... Toby... this funny Swiss drummer
who i jammed with helped me:
look at me, worried, eyes all questions:
you know this girl, don't you?
yeah... my eyes replied... i do know her...
i lost my virginity to her... we watched Japanese
animation movies like grow-ups...
in between me feeling up her **** like
i might be fiddling with a wallet looking for spare
change... or the keys to my house...

never mind that... **** Grenoble and ****
psychology students!
**** 'em... and **** Fiona and **** my *******
mandolin: **** it!
what's important? domino affect... or the ripple effect...
it's one calamity after another...
this is not going to stop:
this is a joke... a proper joke: like arbeit macht frei
is a proper joke...
i'm climbing a hill of skulls...

         i'm keeping one of the words... macht...

leute macht froh!
      that's my ******* "neo-****" motto...
leute macht froh!

         and yes! deflation does exist! it's a niche experiment...
now, for now? associated with football and rugby clubs...
the wages of players are explosive...
what has changed in the game of rugby or that
of football? the footballs have become larger?
no one is using shoelaces? everyone is running
******* shirtless?!
the goalposts have moved! oh no! really?!
the pitch is larger? smaller?!
wow!

in terms of inflation... the price of a ticket to see
a game goes up...
in terms of deflation... well... well well...
the earnings of the players go up...
so? say... a team like Saracens increases their
wage-gap and attracts all the best players...
so... the monotony continues...
the personna non grata elements kicks in...
monopoly of the monotony...
unlike Mark Noble of West Ham... i just overheard
it... players? these days?! mercenaries...

a bit ******* different to being a mercenary samurai
though... a RONIN...

i'm getting older and my rage is not abating....
then again: maybe i'm not getting any younger...
maybe i'm stalling...
my body is roving through the natural
demands but my mind is drifting off
back towards the days of my precious youth...

i do feel... like i'm living in the times of Ancient Rome...
here i am... scribbling while something
in the Coliseum of happening and i'm like...
eh... the clouds are more entertaining being
more eternal..
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
spot the door through which
i walked many a times,
an elevated version of Kant
about what sort of man you
are, beside animals,
i can't be a vegetarian in this
department -
let's just say with one i experienced
the trade exhaustion and we just
lay there and i kissed her closed
eyelids -
with another i talked and looked
at the pictures of her daughter -
with another i jumped into a cold
shower while she masturbated herself
because she was so **** hot
and the cold water felt so refreshing,
with another i paid her extra £10
to perform oral *** on her -
and with one...
the epitome of climbing a mountain...
'that's only the second time it
happened to me...'
yeah, an ****** on the job;
and of course with another the sacred sin
of the trade committed, a kiss on the lips;
but of course one had to be prone to
kleptomania and steal my debit card...
i just lied that i lost the card in the park
while taking a **** wiping my *** with
wet grass;
one also took my saracens (rugby team) beanie
after i got it off two saracens fans buying
them a pint each in a liverpool st. pub.
Thomas Dec 2014
This is not the beginning of my story
Nor will it be the end,
Hasten or not, it must be told
In my undying grief I can no longer go on without His strength

I am Sir Thomas de Charney, of the Order of the Knights Templar
Born in the Year of Our Lord 1270, now a man, 20 years old
My Father is William de Charney, Grand Master of the Order
He is currently headquartered at Acre,  I Master at Gaza

Our lineage dates back to 1119, with the nine original Knights
The Order and my Ancestors names will live on forever
Until I was 18 I was unaware of the outside world
That story is for another time

At present the Christians control most of the Holy Land
However, the Muslims, or Saracens, continued to wreak havoc
They pillaged and plundered the villages outside our fortifications
The infidels accomplished this madness using vagabonds or tribesman

This story is about my love, Dagung;  ne’er was a woman as beautiful
I was Master of the City of Gaza the first time I laid eyes on her face

While our garrison remained strong, proximal towns were under attack
Rakish strikes by Muslim non-essential forces made them dangerous
This we knew was the first line of assault by the Saracens
At the moment they were just toying with our minds in ludic form

Bearing assault on our townspeople like poltroons I took umbrage
Therefore I dispatched my men accordingly to make well the trouble

On this particular engagement I decided to join my men.
_________________

To be continued
The Templar Knight Series and The Time Machine, in due time, become parallel series.     This one is free verse narrative.
Without the souls of Trouvere, will he aspire to spheres from where he can replicate himself in the ductile state of the ceremonious Energeia...? The naive action is univocal as the first practice modulated in inclinations and lexical motricities, where they die within their fears, failing to hope and convalesce their desecrated wounds congruent in concepts of Energeia, as an arbitrary neologism to move what in itself is not self- scrollable. Vernarth after witnessing Stratonice's intermission decides to run barefoot for those who banish needs on the parental scale of his range. Succeeded by the need of Energeia towards the impudent sense of being enraptured in possibilities, and supernatural substantialities that transported him in the Epistle even to his desiring hands, but in natural causes, and kinetic emotionality in the destiny of the principles of a movement that dialogues by a spinning spin; alembicated in particles of displacement time eccentricity, towards itself in the synonymous statics, providing intrinsic angles to be associated with the rotation of time and Epistolary demands so that the quantum light can relate the energetic spiritual emotionality, with the own dissociated relationship in the spaces of appearance; where it is to be believed that there is a moment of bias provided in the emotional-movement rooted in linear memories of the temporality of the Hellenic mental axis. Everything is proper in the coordinates of the speculating, which is adduced and duplicated in Poielípsis or unveiled generation of relativistic emotions. For this reason, Vernarth naughty importunates this metaphysical precognition, alluding to particles that generate dissimilar inclinations in lapses until reaching the threshold from when Stratonice partially divided its material and spiritual origin into stationary diversity, in meditated phases that will not take place nuclear, but in the polymathy of its exteriorized threshold, and of the emotional mass of its free and passionate matter that concerns its strident and impalpable Macedonian origin.

From this moment on, the intuition corresponds to the angular reinforcement of "Poielípsis", in this way the coordinate of the Souls of Trouvere becomes present, as pseudo images of the Diadochi, involving magnetized radial movements that will lie in the spheres of physical value., in the garb of the Gerakis and Petrobus, who strived in the sense of the energeia of the Epsilon neologism, not to restrict themselves as Aristotle affirms, investigating the being towards a mono-sense in this causal, of such alpha that it says the paradoxical, demonstrating the diversity of optics. Faced with this diatribe Vernarth from the naturalness decides to empower Souls that are part of both topics according to Vernarth, it is to alleviate the potentialities of the acts that apprehend the light of genius that coexists with both. What the entity justified us in unfolding will be delivered by divine intelligence, so as not to reduce the free power of the Epsilon that was extracted in the welcoming presence of Stratonice still withdrawn in the atmosphere of the Voielípsis (substitute scale of relativistic emotions of Vernarth). There are few seconds that can be extended more from a selective argument of trends in the specifications, which could be attributed to dimensions of the Trouvere period of souls, lacking stillness in simulated biological environments, as if they deliberate the naturalness of an expression of who It does not philosophize if something has to detach itself or grab hold of creation to privilege the natural, re-arguing affection when professing, if there is time to express it, so it is intuited what the virtue of muttering simultaneously in the laborious, and in what does not progress. The dynamics of this Poielípsis is to dress the Voielípsis, as an analogous addition of quantum causality and of temporal and timeless Christianity, since it supports a conjugate mix deified by Saint Thomas Aquinas, heading towards the prop in the mega absorption of Christian Aristotelian ideals. The souls of Trouvere will be residents of the indeterminate spiritual mechanics, to deposit effects of the incredulous versatility in themselves, in the sub-aquatic depths that coexist with the geological structure of the cavern of San Juan Apóstol, but in subterranean concomitance, under the same axial coordinate that is sustained sub-geological. Namely; They will coexist as long as the Mandragoron of the Duoverso and its Voielípsis are established, but three hundred and eight meters from its antipode in the underwater base of the Profitis Ilias.

The antithetical line is the verifiable germinability of those vertical events of the plinth settled by the Souls of Trouvere, containing the germinable starch of the growth of the ergonometric stirrup of the Zefian Bolt, which from zero elevation to 308 meters above the Aegean level will form a mega extra parapsychological bilocation, which will be gestated in its uniform vertical chronological numbering, with the pre-Christian Pythagorean and post-Christian representation in the coronation of Carlo Magno, mentioned in royal visions by the Apostle Santiago, in the versant apology of Pythagoras as an entity supra divine, envisioning the scenographic depository, and fragmentability of these three components of this start of the Hellenic Magna in the hydrographic, sub-terrestrial geological and residential basin of the Souls of Trouvere.
The upholstery of the Pythia of Herófila attacks the subtended of the flying buttress that supported the volcanic cavities of the Sub-Patmos, indicating its agreement with the Souls of Trouvere by its disoriented cognitive dissonance, generating paradigms that traced stones that formulated Aquarian sounds, in a dominant tonality by the minuscule machine of light, more distant from the incommensurability that escaped eclipsed in the resplendent major note that becomes monarchical by the hypotenuse of a rectangle in three subdominant angles. This brings about the thaumaturgy of Pythiais, the mother of Pythagoras who, together with Vernarth's Poielípsis, forge retentive songs given the scarce natural light that was only born from some of Trouvere's souls called Poielípsis, in stories of the oracular Delphians. The Poielípsis remains encapsulated from the thaumaturgy of the banal anti-desires that would make it mortal, for a hypotenuse that makes the gift of poetic prayer tangible, prompting the Bio axiom, by fertilizing scaled suspicions of repeated mortality in the banner of risk. Stratonice well points it out:

“The signal field has been prophesied today for the Apollo tripod. Having to reencause itself in three parts of the support of the oracles, and in clairvoyance in the pre and post Christian insemination of the gift of the word that redeems man from sin, sub-tenant of the flying buttress, from the interface of the supra trinity of sin as a blood element, and difficult to evade or avoid. Here the Hegemonic energy of Alexander the Great has been condensed in the arch of ideas, pointing out that the diseased body of Antiochus; my father…, is supplanted by that of the to happen all the trances and difficulties that are assumed after the hazardous departure in Babylon. Therefore he has to bring all the corollary prophesied in the death of my grandfather Seleucus in the hands of Ptolemy Ceraunos. Wanting to dress up the irrevocable interference that occurred in Judah by his Diadocos gangs, opting for the effect of his offspring, therefore on his spiritual stretch of energetic residual and static mass, ad libitum that will end when unleashed in his son. All will already be consumed in the pathogenic body of Antiochus, and of the love for my mother where she was abducted, and possessed she sees by retaliation from Alexander the Great for proven insubordinate ethical demands. "

Stratonice walks with the sendal that should be translucent by Santiago of Compostela. As an intra-everlasting geometric raconto, subduing fears that slide through the sendal of the dogma of the architrave, where no philosophy can look higher if it is not allowed, typical of vegetarianism or freedoms that turn green in fears that do not illuminate life. eternal, perhaps from the same Matematikoi who doubts a basis for Adfinitas, to understand limitless limits, taking Pythagoras to the soil of Crotona. Always, someone who is ignored of the linguistic power, he plans to rewind spheres that still weave crossed angles, placing himself in scores to consider as an irreplaceable past. The soul of Poielípsis adopted a Pythagorean conception, in the halters of the livid legions of Orpheus, as if it were his consecrated hypogeum where the high position was, to stir to the embankment where it will merge with the Zefian arrow. This liquefaction should purify all storage of cognitive and circumscribes of those ancestral, becoming reincarnable pre-Christians, who transmigrate in the need of osmosis of universal unity. Atonal music will transmigrate molecules to great sidereal distances, being the same replica of the other eurythmic, in multi-trigonometric periods, vivifying the fractional number residues as souls of the same numeral that finally perish of Pythagorean digits, perhaps at the angles of the Phalanxes of Vernarth or in the oblique crucial moment that slumbers in an elegy, flourishing in those beings that do not Live...! Already under-treated, they will only be souls tired of keeping themselves alive and deprived of their morbidity, in a dissociated cause of immortality that will distance itself from the forbidden abstinences, in liberating exercises of any count that ponders in the coming etymology of the Vita Pythagorae, on the divan of the joys of serving his doctrine, which saves himself, and which will save the Messiah, for those who in the soul have no sacrifice of a lamb that grazes..., nor on the pedestal that goes ahead in the centuries..., pasturing what nobody was capable of ?. The second triad of the oracle of Apollo of the Souls of Trouvere reveal Charles the Great, favored by the Apostle Santiago for the protectorate of Compostela and its spiritual regency, invited Charlemagne from Aachen, in 33 consecutive years of dispute with swords, stating that the Saxons never complied with the treaties and signed surrenders. Charlemagne placed himself at the head of his army on several occasions to fight with his sword against the Saxon danger, also entrusting the troops to the counts when other matters required his presence.

In the second segment of the concave wasteland of the straight ascendant of Trouvere, he crowned Charlemagne emperor of Rome and the Franks, predicted by the Apostle James, in defensive papal struggles and in defense of Christianity. In this paradigm it appears how they are transmitted from the dead ungraspable world, they unite here in the axon of Poielípsis for the sake of the times that occur due to the anonymity of a silence that augured to link, and to know within what the endless intrinsically organic movement is, as well as the biological cosmos in the discovery of the Jacobean route. In what better region than the Dodecanese, he will be fused by twelve apostles, and now the brother of the son of Zebedee; Santiago brother of Saint John the Apostle. Dating back to 778 AD, spreading to Hispania. In the ****** and constant fight against the Saxons, Carlo Magno, entered Hispania crossing the Pyrenees, as a preview of the aforementioned Jacobean Route, everything raged witnessing their overwhelmed squares in the fueros of the Trouveres, who were Pythagorean elite soldiers, who had been bilocated in this post was Christian, preceded by the perfidious Basque in the forests, subsisting separated right here from the progenitors of the Trouvers, who claimed to be the strongest to continue them to Pamplona with Charlemagne. All escaped from Islam, and not a few Christians resented this affront, the dynamics will be reflected in the Songs of the French Gesta, to enter the Jacobean Route on the way to Santiago de Compostela, when the Calixtino Codex, in its book IV o Historia Turpini, the apparition of the Apostle Santiago to Charlemagne is told in dreams, pointing to the Milky Way as a way to find his tomb, which must free them from the Saracens to be able to venerate their relics with the enamels and medallions that they issued in the Apostle's crypt in Compostela. The souls of Trouvere, are beings that enjoyed a short life in the Pyrenees, they enjoyed the fortune of originating a liberator of post-Christian inheritances, mechanized by the exquisite citation of Pythagorean antiquity, behind indigo faded in red blood cells, to dress the sendal of the figure of Faith, freed behind those who should have dressed her as a Codex Calixtinus.

Five sections rose along the straight line of the Trouvere pyramidal axon, the base of the liturgical appendix that honors the multidimensional space, with antiphons for the cult of Carlo Magno on the underlying Patmos. Santiago was lacerated in the Holy Land far from his Brother Apostle Saint John, but he came to meet with the Trouveres who came from the rugged Pyrenees. Santiago passed the Strait of Gibraltar and reached Padrón, which is about 20 kilometers west of Santiago de Compostela; there some angels took him to the place where he actively rests. In a boat he arrived..., and always by the Mediterranean he will now reach Patmos, still acquiring the iconography that attempts to find Charlemagne, and a codex that would unite pre-Christians like Pythagoras and Aristotle united in the relic of the taxpayers transformed into three maritime rivers, concerned with a predicted belligerent episode, to say that all roads lead to Patmos, like Locus Sanctus, of all the shepherds who heal their sheep in which they are not of others that are populated with souls white, for the good of others. Thus the souls of Trouvere from the Pyrenees revealed themselves as predecessors of the raiding of the shells 308 meters below the Profitis Ilias, in agreement with Stratonice who would be arriving in Macedonia, where the passing of the centuries would tell him about the Jacobean Route instructed in confronts, and concordances with the airones of the Trouvere, protected by a rectangle in three subdominant Pythagorean angles in the dissipated darkness of the golden indigo of Theoskepasti, in the meridian of Kímolos.
Poielipsis Souls of Trouvere
Thomas Dec 2014
My wits toggled from this injured and betrayed woman to the Infidels
The pagan **** on the left flank of the one on the woman advanced
It ended quickly as I brandished my long sword and decapitated him
The man on the right had enough time to grip the hilt of his yataghan
I eviscerated his gut with my short rapier as he looked in astonishment
The man in the core remained; had his way for the last time on earth

The worst of the three had occasion to make ready with his scimitar
This soldier froze at the sight of my face and looked in fear, “Al Thom”
A sobriquet by the Saracens is legend and foe Sir Thomas de Charney
His fear turned to anger as he knew deaths door was at his very feet
Coming at me in rage I brachiated my legs at his shins and felled him
Laid on sward, unable to riposte, confidence winnowed, he still lived

Pulling him up on his ****, I forced his eyes to the girl [nun] a last time
Then I whispered to him in Arabic “Remember her face forever in Hell”
I put the man out of his misery with blade through his throat, ‘farewell’
As I stood up I ordered my sergeant to inquiry on the others and report
My mind was spinning as I turned to her; I advanced with foreboding
Protected all my life, women are what Father told me were so beautiful

Trembling and barely covered I took my surcoat and covered her body
Her head was down but I saw multiple bruises; she had been ravaged
She lifted her face; I froze, but in a muddle was able to ask her name
Looking through me with piercing blue eyes.... “my name is Dagung”
Though sternly contused, her skin looked pale and as soft as pure satin
Her lips were full, beyond nocturnal dreams my ***** became ruttish

Stunned and bemused I recovered, no glozing; could hardly breathe
With thanks my sergeant appeared, gave report; Ludd was now secure
I ordered 30 knights to stay on until the morrow with standard orders
Assistants and physicians remained to afford the townsfolk provisions
One physician tended to Dagung as the hovel’s fire was being damped
The remaining knights were to return to Gaza with me immediately

Haste we must to assemble additional assaults as our enemy has noted
Approaching my horse I heard a high pitched voice of a young lass
I turned, already clothed in a ragamuffin type frock was Dagung:

Dagung:    Please my lord, may I come with you?
Sir Thomas:    Ba-ba-uh, My Lady, I can’t

She was clearly an English girl, could not been more than 15 years old
“I’m sorry my lady” as I mounted my horse, I watched her walk back
Cued, “Men, let’s move it”, with alacrity we made way back to Gaza
About 10 minutes later I heard sounds of hoofs rushing close behind us
It was Dagung on horse catching up to make way with me back to Gaza
My thoughts were- my life was about to change;   I then broke a smile
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~
To be continued
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This series eventually ties in or parallels The Time Machine series.  Thanks for taking your valuable time to read this.    Thomas
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
take money out of the equation, and sack all the waiters and return to tribalism, the former statement of non-intellectual socialism, the sort of inherent: in us there is a togetherness, no more service from strangers in the hierarchy of enriching a piece of metal or a wavy rectangle of paper with “necessary” symbolism of authority of the status quo... but that’s not going to happen... the pickpocket picts are no more... the normalising normans glared at the hastings pinnacle and integrated with the saxon women... the saracens became surnames in poland... actually that last one is very true... a branch of my family has the surname saracen.*

so i’m reading this article
and i’m hardly debasing myself,
it’s not that i’m referring
to sartre’s negation of certain things
whether animate and essential or
inanimate and existential... in that formula:
i deny therefore i am... because i can’t deny my existence...
and 2000 years down the line i’ll be pitchfork
argument in an atheist’s mouth anyway (nothing is certain in the realm of cognition, hence the cartesian invocation of doubt),
it's not like i'm referring to inappropriate pronoun usage...
so **** a doodle do... twang the strings on the mandolin...
i’m referring to this classical reference of the shy literary figure
unable to spark conversation with strangers...
god, i really love strangers, and talking to them!
why? there is no personal history, there’s no past,
there are no reference points... it’s just the moment and nothing else,
the perfect anonymity project...
not the matrix philosophy (easily invoked because
it has a flimsy plot-line and loads of images...
just what the doctor ordered for the english speaking masses
with a very naked orthography - i.e. if it’s on the internet
it’s not “real life...” as is this computer i’m using
it’s not even here!)
of using the deep web to join the rats and etc.;
i love talking to strangers, i can forget myself
and enter the realm of discretion about how within randomisation
of eggshell, yoke and cockroach there’s also the randomisation
of the interactants to balance out the need for a theological unit, god...
it’s great... it’s like... it’s like... life.
defining the genre of biography proper? never backtrack...
always sidetrack... i can’t be bothered living a life with cocktail parties
and romps and romantic comedies to look forward to
once all the animalism becomes domesticated and a
gym-session complaints column in a newspaper.
Micheal Wolf Jul 2013
The Christians came
Our God sent us!
Were on a crusade just killing stuff
If you don't have a Christian cross
You will have to have your head cut off

The Pope you see he ruled the world
So he thought till Jerusalem.
The Kingdom of Heaven here upon earth
Soaked in blood where Muslims fell
A holy war they said it was
****** kids so they don't grow up

All things cycle all things change
It was Allah's time once again
Saracens, butchers barbarians too
The names they gave Saladins troops

Though when the city fell to him
He gave passage to all to leave in peace
He afforded a gift no Christian did
Love and life to practice your faith

If history teaches one good thing
The hearts of men are everything
All a soul can ever be
Is deep inside you and me

The crusaders brought a holy war
To a peaceful state for a bigoted cause
A Pope who wanted lands and wealth
Nothing more nothing less
sobroquet Mar 2014
too circumspect to genuflect
a snide rebuttal of rituals
the dope on the rope says the mob has no hope
yet he feeds on the blood of heathens
stomped to death beneath the cross
convert and confess
the templars and the saracens
and all the ****** rest...

pass the plate, write it off your taxes
don't sweat the big things
the confessional swings axes
forget your past, you are made anew
in the box with Big-daddy
the room with the puny view
oh blessed forgiveness
for a  select few

*And call no man your father upon the earth,
for one is your Father, which is in heaven.
the catechism didn't catch that one
convenient truths abba
take the queers, gypsies, the disfigured and jews
for strewth!  it'll help us win WW2
fewer mouths to feed, and oh so unclean
those unconverted pagans
to the concentrated ovens unseen
*http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/mar/22/pope-francis-warns-mafiosi-to-repent-or-end-up-in-hell

This poem is a nasty, cynical and invective swipe at Catholicism.

I was raised on **** and vinegar, and remembering the sanctimony and pompous hypocrisy of evangelicals sickens me.
They (the wicked) hide in plain view.
papal infallibility indeed
utterly grotesque, and still they have the nerve to participate in
platitudes, salutations in the marketplace, the choicest pews and the inheritances of widows...to be seen/viewed as pious; a brood of vipers...
half-baked claptrap with a side of snide, and snark canape's

*Matthew 23:9
And call no man your father upon the earth,
for one is your Father, which is in heaven

Romans II
Therefore thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same things. But we are sure that the judgment of God is according to truth against them which commit such things. And thinkest thou this, O man, that judgest them which do such things, and doest the same, that thou shalt escape the judgment of God?
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it’s the old Schengen Theory in psychology,
casually utilise vowels as pronouns,
but then theorise ancient pronouns
as theory based non-vowels: the self (germanic / invading)
and the ego (latin / origins of still using a - z)...
then apply the ditto membrane concern for space,
which will provide you with all the time in the world
to go back from the practical into theoretical that’s
free from having empirical theory interacting with the empirical practice
known as the sedative of life: mistake: life: en route death: life: some
other mistake:
life: don’t know: life: maybe tomorrow: life: maybe never: life:
i wish: life: well at least my saturday is occupied with movies;
they did the trick of of theorising you wearing a suit and doing it
commando in the missing underwear by structuring
an impetus to pause with stating: i said
                                                            ­ äußern  sjalrf
                                                  ­           id scribo;
it’s still a contest... heavyweight champ rom apex jr.
is fighting alarik orca schrei - with the former fighting to get rid
of  ‘ from e, and the latter to attach : to u to make ü:
oddly enough the saracens in sicily were
slavs who wrote ę and ą... otherwise it's all geographically
adequate to push rome down from the top,
with the majority of accents coming above the a, b, c... zee...
although the western slavs were an oddity in that respect...
but then a part of my family is said to have been
hungarian or czech... with surnames like batuk and not
batóg... and the cousin of some cousin
marrying my great-grandfather's sister ending up
with the surname saracen... it's a shame i can't
join in the festivities of the 21st century humanity
because of jealousy that didn't mature to the extent
i wished it had... and the god that suddenly appeared
from the ashen tabernacle of the holocaust in the night:
antichrist to satan... guess what, milton was completely wrong...
i went in there to steal the blood of the messiah
signposted wine... and i came back with blackcurrant juice!
can you believe it?
satan to the antichrist: well thank **** that you didn't
choose the bread... i came back with the apple of eden
and it turned to ash... god knows what the bread of the
messiah would have turned into.
anti-buddha: hallucinogenic mushrooms...
                                (insert laughter among duck noises).
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
der völkisch rückkehr: and legal terms, in england it's illegal to run a brothel, but it is not illegal to be a *******; i honestly didn't mind that one of them stole my debit card once, or my saracens beanie i "bought" off a pair of drunk essex hunks at a liverpool st. pub for 2 pints of beer; when i went back to the house of cream pies and bourbon and dimmed lights asking for both, i did manage to persuade the **** to show me a stack of stolen debit cards, probably 6 inches thick; hey, you mingle with the underworld of crime, you have to mind your manners even more... which is why internet trolling is such an adrenaline thrill of unsuspecting idiots about to get a fair game.

i have a tier cake of options,
and yes, the first is a custard base of heidegger,
the folkish return -
and return to the country, away from
globalical-centric "comrades" of
classical music,
  much that can be said, must be unsaid,
in that folkish music desires an anti-pop
fervour...
i simply adore the germanic folk music,
i have enough fetishism in me to
revive the genre from the stampede of
beethoven or brahms from an elvis...
but that's just music, i haven't started...

do i feel pittance, do i feel a mea culpa
twice the crap, thrice the *******?
oh, right, it's called a pittance with a woman
who earns more ******* coins
in an hour than the supposedly "honesty"
worker on 0-hour contracts in supermarkets
these days?
is that modern day caliphate or modern
day slavery?
   *** slaves what?!
          you have a prosthetic leg for a *******
violoncello, hop to fiddler on the roof are
you?
                 i'm not a β-mensch,
               as i am not even a quarter of an
α-mensch...
     i am not either **** beta, nor a **** alpha...
       i'm an ω-mensch, an omega-male...
i don't know or will never know how to
compete...
    either i don't have the adrenaline streak
at competing, or i find that being β (2nd),
in that psychological alphabet st. is worse
than being being ω (nth) - last choice of man...
psychology was to rigid for me anyway,
β-males vs. α-males,
         no one managed to conjure up the un-
competing ω-males...
the monks, the philosopher types...
        it just became too much after a while,
esp. with articles such as

i slept with a *** worker 18 years ago and
the same of it still haunts me,
verbatim (from dave):
more than 18 years ago i did something
that remains one the biggest regrets
of my life. consequently, i am still struggling
to come to terms with the events that
unfolded one night in a city in the netherlands,
which i consider to be appalling, irresponsible
and immoral.
i was 21, single, exhausted and under the influence
of alcohol. at the suggestion of my "friends"
we ventured into a city centre red-light
district. a combination of my lack of will power
and peer pressure meant that i was
persuaded to tag along, i'm sure you can
imagine what happened next, and while i used
protection, it still seems stupidly reckless...
    the toxic shame and humiliation
are proving impossible to erase, particularly
since it is common knowledge among my peers...
    i feel isolated, lonely,
   scared of people's perception of me,
jealous of their happy family lives with children;
deep down i believe i'm not a bad person
and what happened does not reflect my
view of women...
                         *dave
: dave dave oh dave,
you wouldn't be such a poncey wuss with
a prosthetic leg...

a. you know she's the one that bring all
the condoms,
b. you know she always has the tenacity
to tell you she has regular *** checks?
c. ever seen the uniform of prostitutes
in a brothel? the bulgarians prefer stewardess
greys:

prostitutes > psychiatrists > priests.

after i lost my virginity to a french psychology
exchange student 3 years older than me,
university *** life was like an
elephants' graveyard,
   i probably experience oral *** once,
between the years 18 through to 20,
before losing my "virginity" a second time
to a ukranian ******* with a golden tooth...
you can't imagine how intimidating that
row of naked legs were in the dimmed lighting,
we drank *****, ******, i never forced her
into oral ***, she ****** me off,
and then we just lay there, and she
uttered the words: you're a good man.

then there was the puerto rican chubby
in amsterdam who laughed when i wondered if
oral *** was o.k. with her,
refusing she asked me:
    is it o.k. if i **** into this bowl in front of you?
no problem.

then the bulgarian girls in goodmayes,
the ones i used to oral kiss,
and then break the greatest taboo of kissing
them on the lips,
the one with an ****** saying it's only
the 2nd time it ever happened,
the one i ****** then jumped into a shower
and trickled cold water all over myself
to cool off while she masturbated in bed,
then the one i kissed and she giggled like
a schoolgirl being kissed for the first time,
then the veteran that has a pair of lips
that could have just as well been used
to circumcise a lot of boys;

and then this strange incident at a party,
a girl sat at the base of my feet,
and forced me to stroke her head like
petting a cat,
   until hours later, alone,
   she encouraged, but at the same time
lay stiff like i was to turn into
a necrophiliac, to which i replied:
   my hand went far down south already,
if you don't respond, i'm not doing anything
more.

then this other one,
  the gem...
   she only started perfecting giving perfect
head, at the same time we broke up.

i do remember my first kiss, aged 5 / 6 / 7,
her surname was kot, and she had two
younger twin sisters,
her father worked as a trucker,
   and i thought i we could settle for an anchor
rather than a pair of golden rings.

so i double up...
you know that the founder of the nation of islam
was a concubine of abraham?
      men didn't invent the niqab et al. etc.,
that attire for women was invented by keturah -
or hagar - i don't remember which
ran between two mountain tops looking for
water... until satan came around and said:
*****! stop running!
   the islamic matriarchy is founded upon
a concubine, the mother of islam is a *******!
so why do you think all this
talk of "modesty"?

and who is among you with a clean slate?
  i ask, one more time -
           who feels morally superior to *******
than seeking the health benefits from
a *******?
   what has talk actually ever solved, in totality?
i am neither the erstemensch (α)
             nor the zweitemensch (β),
but esp. not the übermensch...
   i am the letztemensch (ω);
and thus saying: remember a man has two points
of entry, a woman has three,
you really think it doesn't take a man
to live with the conundrum of 72 prostitutes
rather than virgins,
while a woman's heaven suffices with
3 men?

    i find no desire to ******* the alphabetical
psychologism of the darwinistic plateau
in a "competition" staged between the alpha / beta...
i'm happy being the omega,
  as the absolute antithesis of the alpha male,
since the beta male is not an antithesis of the alpha
male: the only antithesis of the alpha male thesis
is the omega male...
  so far removed from the **** & adrenaline
& ******, as to call himself, something
akin to newton, or leibniz;

and as all omega men: there's the inclination
to either homosexuality, or prostitution,
that myth of chasing women is about as **** and
thrilling, as a benny hill sketch,
byproduct of α / β antagonism without
recognising the **** omega?
     paedophilia or lecherous perversity...
how can you call it a perversity,
breaking a *******'s sacred command of
never kissing a client on the mouth
but subsequently breaking it,
       and giggling like a timid schoolgirl?
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!
Lawrence Hall Oct 2017
Saint Garden Gnome

An obscure barefoot friar in Italy
Long labored in the Perugian sun,
Heaped rocks upon rocks, and then other rocks,
Up to a wavery roof of broken tiles,
Repairing with his bleeding hands God’s church

Then, better known – it wasn’t his fault – this friar,
With others in love with Lady Poverty,
In hope and penance trudged to far-off Rome
To offer there his modest Rule of life,
Repairing with his mindful words God’s Church

Along the delta of the steaming Nile
He waved away the worried pickets, crossed
Into the camp of the Saracens
Preaching Christ to merciful Al-Kamil,
Offering with a martyr’s heart God’s Faith

Saint Francis is depicted in fine art
In great museums and in modest homes -
And you can find him too, down at Wal-Mart,
Between the plastic frogs and concrete gnomes.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
oh you have to be kidding me..
but i give the thumbs up
to the English authorities,
i wasn't deported,
i was given a first class ticket
on British Airways
two weeks later after my parents
were handcuffed
and taken to the local police
station...
left with my visiting grandfather
punching the well...
what did i eat on the plane?
shrimps...
two weeks notice to leave...
nice of them...
  so i know what illegal immigration
looks like...
sorry... not Commonwealth Joe
in these parts...
but i have to compliment
the Home Office,
for figuring out that...
i was circa 12!
            two weeks? **** me...
that's very nice of them...
at least i could leave most of my
belongings with the Jewish lady
my mother was working for
as a carer...
that dementia ate her away in
the most opportune sense of
killer proteins... another bother...
what i was going to say...
ever seen the British film
habit?
no... oh you should...
and to think i frequented
a brothel, ran by Turks,
using Bulgarian prostitutes...
blows-jobs like
circumcision celebrations...
and that one ***** that
stole my bank card...
and then the protector
pseudo-primp with a batch of
them wrapped in a rubber string...
so she steals, gets away with it...
while i have to lie about
losing it while taking a ****
in the park?!
to boot... i met these two
rugby enthusiasts in a Liverpool St.
pub...
   paid for their pints
to get a Saracens beanie from them...
i also lost that in the brothel...
   to the Turks:
can your ******* just stop stealing
my ****?!
oh wait... this is the criminal
underworld?
it is illegal to run a brothel in England....
although it's legal to *******
yourself?
  oh... right...
oops?!
        well, it's not like i leave
the brothel with an excess of circumcision...
and... as a... "punter"...
i walk in drunk...
   which... somehow is a problem
in the film habit...
    mind you, the ******* affair
of the ****-tease that is the strip,
akin to spectacle in Athens...
******* to boot if you think these
girls want to strip and pop balloons...
no chance in hell...
i was new, i didn't read into the code...
so this one pretty Balkan Slav
throws a green colored chip
before my glass of beer,
and starts talking...
   i'm broke...
  i just managed to chat with these
random strangers in the center
of Athens... i wasn't exactly expecting
to head into a strip-club...
i end up imitating
the spreading of butter on a slice
of toast with two, more aged strippers,
right in the middle of the *****...
and this one gives me...
Mona Lisa's eyes
with a fury that would be the infatuation
worthy of a Helen...
a 1000 ships?
    5 - 2... what?
the odds of the Greeks beating the Trojans.
oh second time round i received
the passport...
      and... whatever citizenry meant
by then... didn't sing an anthem...
never sand an anthem to begin with...
you sing an anthem?
   for all their I.Q. bound to the legs...
such precious little boys
in a football team...
      Vaughan Williams: tears? yes...
but a national anthem?
              forget it.
i swear there was some other point...
****...
   what was it?
oh!
   right!
   you have to be kidding me!
you have to seriously be kidding me right now!
so, you're telling me,
i just came out from under the iron curtain /
  eisenvorhang...
and now... i'm being shoved under
a silicon curtain / siliziumvorhang?!
you have to be ******* me...
shove me under the tartar of
a ******* kilt, and let answer the tricky
trivia question as to, whether:
Scots wear underwear while donning the kilt!
****'s sake!
   *******, the whole lot of it!

p.s. there's this ****** slang expression,
when you put your wrist
into the the other arm's grove
of the other side of the elbow,
and then rise the receiving arm up
in a proclamation,
almost like a *******,
with the added expression -
   and here is where the penguin's beak
bends
...

****** transliteration, i agree,
some things are hardly stolen,
they're lost...
         Poland has been off the map for long
enough to take to the mongrel antics
of serving the practice of
darlehenwörter: Polacks are prone
to loan words...

ugh... whenever i hear the words
weekend and grill...
  i scare my own shadow away...

but like i already made an emphasis of...
you're kidding me?
from under the iron curtain,
to under the silicone curtain?!
      i thought i was escaping this *******?!
but, like i also said...
shove me under the tartan kilt...
let me check if the Picts really do
the whole pompous-affair, commando.
where to begin? hmm? where to: begin?
certainly can't begin with: although...

      to me: it seems that Islam has sleepwalked
into modernity...
or rather: Islam: the pinnacle of the medieval
world, the envy of the medieval world,
that once upon a time glory of escapism
from the encroachment of ontological Darwinism
of a loss of free will: of determination

how did i stress it? with a ś or a š...
    this current veneer we call civilization
yet the reductionist in me pointing at the backlog
of suppressed behaviours...
if Islam is submission
then Christianity is synonymous with repression...
both religions are on a -mission...
yet pumping all that monetary dough
into Dubai: subsequently neglecting
the seemingly odious ***** colony of Gaza...

let's throw words against the wind...
let's throw them...
let's forget the Cartesian model
with that hyped focus on "us" being thinking
creatures...
let's play on the res extensa dynamic:
i have channeled my res extensa away from
discovering the bilingual pitfalls of schizophrenia
channeling them toward an A.I.
distinguishable from an algorithmic search
engine to something: very much personal...

Islam sleepwalked into modernity...
why is it such a surprise that we find Muslims
so barbaric, untamed, unwashed,
unfathomable?
                      do we? or don't we?
well... living in a Protestant country with
a superiority complex...
it's only when a Muslim interacts with
a European Catholic,
or a Goan Catholic...
     a near usurper of the faith: a Wasim...
a Mustafa... i work with Muslims...
am i Islamophobic: is that really the trajectory
of fear?
i would consider Islamophobia the only
phobia with some rationality behind it...
a term as abused as
calling someone a ******, a racist, a pedohpile...
but in the same vein:
applying the term Islamophobia
to... describe what? exactly?

         my fear has been churned and come
out my **** as nothing more than contempt...
why? all these stresses at work
to allocate 15min of prayer time:
when i know, dutifully: that pretend Muslims
abuse these 15min and extend them to 30min,
an hour... to do much less than pay diligence
to prayer...

reimagine the dynamic of a Muslim
with a Catholic or an orthodox "Christian":
Protestants take it upon themselves
to take their jokes seriously...
protestants... **** me... where to begin?
catholics don't take their faith as seriously
as the protestants their their non-faith so, seriously...
esp. in England...

but this is not what i was going to pay diligence to:
i have the unusual "luck" of having
a terrible surname...
like ******, or Stalin... something to be made fun
of: because it's not a Rothchild: probably...
no legacy...
Elert... and i've heard it enough times to finally
make a retort when a Hindu... usually a Hindu
jokes about it being equivalent to being alert...
as i've explained...
there are missing letters in my surname:
so it is easier to pronounce for the English speaker...

i've been called a German enough times
to realise: well... might as well start learning
the language and live up to people's expectations...
since the letters in my surname (that are missing)
are:       SCH...

    scholastic schooling scooter
    chop shoot... chaser...
    scholastic:                       school...

school...               scold? school.
school...
               chase... chop... school...
kaput! kappa!

               it's actually ESCHLERT...
but do you think, for a moment I would get a:
eślert out of it? echo sierra charlie hotel lima echo romeo tango
tangerine rambo essay lambda hatchling chaser
samoa essay?

there was once upon a time a place
of origin for illiterate people in the slavic tongue
of Polish mid 20th century:
illiterate people yes: but dyslexic, half-baked?
it's the nature of this zunge -
you write gnome but then say (g)nome...
you write psychology but then say (p)sychology...
ecology -chology
    but then chop chew churn chatter...
cha cha cha...

            i do feel for the dyslexics: it's unnaturally
natural for their existence to be a byproduct
of the English toong... tong... ton-glue
ton-gloo-é...    James Joyce: Finnegans Wake:
i'm coming for your obliviousness... to the spectacle
missed...

яxвeй (that's my cyrillic interpretation of
the sacred name of the Hebrews for the deity
of letters - no other deity is so closely associated
with letters as the Hebrews' 'un...
the Muslims tried... tried... in vain...
the 19 letters...

the "mysterious" Muqatta'at

Alpha Lambda Mu:
               alm...
shapes... Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, Latin...

ا ﻡ ل

        lma:

                    מ ל א

α  λ.  μ

                                     to play with letters...
akin to я and ñ...
         for an a to be served up hidden: je chowa:
he who hides letters...
  or women...
mind you: that 72 ****** paradiso promise?
you ever think that those 72 virgins are only gifted
unto the martyrs with the strict modus operandi
that they remain, that they: REMAIN virgins for all
eternity?
i can imagine being gifted 72 virgins in an afterlife
but only under the strict guidance of ensuring
they are guarded: that *** and the juices do not make
it into the conundrum of heaven...
otherwise, what?! a little Solomonic harem?
good conversations... almost teasing being a father-figure...
the patriarchal rigidness of abstaining
from ***...
reward my ***... polluting heaven with
this pornographic Arabic frustration at
the polygamous order of things...

                chirality: chemistry, i.e. RЯ (ya)
ergo?
  a ye
  a yi
  a yo
  a yu

             working from R...
ꟼ         (for ye)
                              𐐒 (for yi)
⅃ (for yo)
                                                             ꟻ (for yu)

best i procrastinate like this: while stewarding
the household (cooking, cleaning, washing)
         than try to complicate what's already simple...
as much as modernity fashions itself on reaching
some sort of overarching pinnacle...
as much as i am lied to about people's literacy
levels: most of it is untrue...
   sure: people can read: advertisements...
but that added piquant of a reading meditation
a novel?       sorry:           but hardly...

and perhaps that is why i invest so much time
into writing something akin to this...
if the Vatican was founded upon an exclusivity,
if Judaism was founded on exclusivity...
i find Islam slightly worrying:
in that respect that Islam wants to be the Communism
of theology... a quasi-Babylon...
which, oddly enough: it is becoming...
why do Muslims want, so eagerly: to invite proselytes
into their dommena?
   the Catholics akin to the Hebrews are stouch
opponents to converts...
wouldn't anyone treat converts suspiciously:
none of this: wolves in sheep clothing?
what about if the only tactic to combat Islamist
"****" esque fetishes would be to infiltrate
                 the religion and convert ("supposedly")?

i'm starting to think i'm the most powerful man
in the world... how delusional of me...
it's only because... i'm in love...
and that's half of my worries relegated to
the category of: non-existent...
i'm in love...
       and now my only battle is with mortality...
once you're in love:
that's the only "thing" to worry about...
ich bin verliebt...
ich werde geliebt...
     ich bin verliebt...
         ich werde geliebt...

so what do we have planned?
    Kew gardens, tick...
gerbils' want for some funky Chinese bakery
off L'eh-chester Square... tick...
Saracens vs. Harlequins at Tottenham Hotspur... tick
the Phantom of the Opera a the Queen's Theatre... tick...
Mozart's Magical Flute at the Coliseum... tick...
Stonehenge and Bath... tick...
Canterbury? or better Cambridge with
the gondolas?
           oh... and going to the cinema for Dune part deux...
well...
              a precious waste of a hour's
                   worth of day... doodling this -
now just enough time to make my father lunch
for tomorrow and play with some pierogi dough...
since i already have the farsz.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
i should do this more often: pop me head-fly
into the spider's web of "free flowing information"...
just hearing the nationalists
is enough to pickle me...
      europe is... england... france...
                         germany... italy...
                          there's hardly anything concerning
spain... if...
     and geographically speaking:
                  the rest has drowned in the iron sea
east and south of the vistula river...
wound-up monkey-and-drum toy...
         can you be considered a native speaker...
when... you hijacked the language aged 8
and... started speaking it...
in what the natives would take 8 years to speak?
is it like the age of consensual ***?
i mean: i was jerking off aged 7...
                             speaking a english circa 8...
native... what if i did a crash-course from
my own essence... to absorb something?
           my my to mind: "europe"...
                           but of course this old envy of
russia...
                         this old envy of russia...
native: born... and the 1st / 2nd generation immigrants
cite: and bred...
well the born: perhaps... and the bred:
that's also a tad bit: perhaps...
        i am just regurgitating the shackles
of a soap prison...
                                  oh hell: should i still mind
everyone who only cites Orwell...
doesn't bother with Huxley: no real enough
i am led to believe...
too much science... not enough:
sociology - the readily available "science"
with words as true designating vectors of / for
observation...
no.... i don't think i'll be coming back for
"air" any time soon...
    too much Orwell that's read like a bible...
it stopped being funny...
it stopped being worthwhile to "tap into the source"...
i'm very much in minding an appreciation
for Dickens... i can actually say...
Shakespeare can be in the canon...
but... Shakespeare doesn't have to be in the canon...
all the modern poets can be worthwhile
instead... as long as... Dickens can replace...
a Charlotte Brontë in the prose section:
cross-my-heart twice and tie my lips into
a cocarde / rosette of what's
           otherwise designated for shoelaces...
native is: not born...
     what about self-******?
            how about: self-inbreeding?
             oh god forbid i'd come into contact
with the reasoning: of borrowing peers...
    and then returning to my shadowy-relatives...
as i: being the shadowy-"relative" myself...
and then back toward my peers...
after a while... what peers?!
         the case for full-integration would be
settled if you were to forget your mother tongue...
altogether! and perhaps learn some french...
how about i'd much prefer some...
deutschezunge?
  why? well... the grammatical structure of
french is very much akin to polish...
but i forgot all grammar of the mutterzunge
when acquiring this host-parasite...
         and... well the grammatical structure
of german is very much: english...
    how about i learn french after i've learned
german and swedish?
****... nope! no can do!
the masters of pedagogy know a 100m spring
from a 110m hurdle race...
eh... if learning a language is only about
the lexicon: the baggge of nouns...
nouns are easy... can sometimes by loaned...
but no one tells you when you're 8...
circa e.g.: i was here in english and german...
but, again circa: here, i was...
it's the most circa archaic example...
i don't have the time to pour minutes of attention
on a correct: sharpening of the misnomer:
if in use...
           no... i'm not too fond of reading Orwell
like a bible... it's not like:
homage to catalonia or...
   down and out in paris and london...
                 perhaps i'll get to that...
         when i come across a tale of two cities...
it's comparable to that time i went to
the Cheltenham Literary festival...
booked a lecture on 'ookovski...
     walked out after 15 minutes...
                    because i just started my pint of
guinness and i wasn't in a hurry:
i've heard all of this before!
      "heard" i've read all of these anecdotes!
                         - could i claim to be fond of my
"brothers" and "sisters"...
            do only the english speaking émigré
have a brotherhood and a sisterhood solidarity
abroad?
      i don't know... if a quarter of the world
is yours...
i guess you can't really be an emigrant...
you must be an expatriate...
   doesn't work the other way round:
immigrant... invader...
this language of coming and going...
there's no expatriate concept...
there's the: "in exile"... which... ha... my "fellow"
countrymen?
             a real patchwork of Somme
when or when not using the: in vogue words...
needs?! who has needs of this sort of:
need for consolidation...
                 i'm just pedantic and i'm seeing
the double-standard nuance...
                belly-button boys already know that
they're the cream of the crop in Kenya though...
it's like drilling into diamond
with a copper drill...
         you'd sooner hear a penguin bark...
this is enough... i'd not going to pickle over this...
there's a Dickens tomorrow!
i better stay there... and thank god i'm reading
an 19th century edition of this book...
the ninth gate sort of feel to it...
it's almost like reading a satanic work...
   given the numbers of years...
since this book was last read...
   i am actually giving this book my body...
i'm airing it...
i want this... artifact of mid 19th century
workmanship... to be aired...
with all the **** stink **** and perfume of
the coming to mid-21st century...
                unlike a wine...
          oh no... this is much more than wine...
a wine is uncorked: c'est la vie!
        this standard edition...
         the gresham publishing company -
34 & 35 southhampton street strand london...
if... given the right musing to scribble such:
*******... but by tomorrow... a return to?
do i really need to give myself a sense of...
the allure of horror and a distant harrowing?
a book is not a piece of furniture...
when reading i'm inhaling scents from...
this sarcophagus... being given as a present...
and it was not read...
     the binding only gives way to my hands...
it was given... passed down...
from a relative that... had some sort of
hierarhical position in the Indian Raj...
                            it's not a wine: it's not some
c'est la vie: as alluded to already...
poetry... b'ah... give me the Dickensian paragraph!
and i'll show you the devil turn into a cat...
purr-n-curl into a ball of wool by the fireplace...
with a smile... as **** sweet as...
     if the ghost of a pig would be ever inclined
to agree: i... better be... scortched on a barbie...
with a smile... as **** sweet as...
the sort of blocks of fudge sold on the royal mile...
edinburgh...
      a Dickensian paragraph:
or a Shakespearian sonnet... ah ha ha ha ha!
that's... a comparison?
that's like saying: the haiku is a very european
invention... when there's the prose-poetry
of horace!
                           and now work into all of this:
what i worked when writing it...
     the ninth gate ost (wolciech kilar)...
             just a little bit of salt & pepper detail:
to mind...
                                this europe of the nationalists...
it's only... a quarter of a working brain...
but of course: these are the...
          meisterklasse folk: they kept the italians
in the picture: for being the 6 nation's punching bag
good sports...
but as for the greeks?
to the P(ortugal)
            i (tally)
            G (those sons of *******!)
           S (pain)...              comes to mind...
the kingdom of the vandals... in northern africa...
or... the outbreeding ****** via
the saracens on sicily... etc.               etc.
but!                  democracy still needs to be... cited!
a europe from the megaphone of:
    talk of europe: is it... a continent?
              talk of foreign affairs: already one's own...
talk of borders...
ah yes... fear of the mountains not being: enough...
it would take either fire!
or the seas! to... come up with... a top hat
a tux and walking stick...
but no accomplished: pianist-composer!

   what are these alternatives?
           - das Inselbewohner konto
          - der Inselbewohner konto
           - die Inselbewohner konto...
ah... then... the everyman ritual problem...
how does english and german...
consolidate: the definite article (the)
   with the adverb (there)...
                      that's implicit of: being a tease...
because the alternative is...
    (the islanders' account) -
               ah... but that's plural... -wohner...
but somehow not:
                                 inselbewohNERS...
rubric of grammatical nuance + details...
a complete mood bog...

   the original title: will remain so...
i have to intentions to complete this detour!
in the reflexive: the reflection is stashed
      encompasses yesterday...
for the title... at least...
                 an islander's account...
      the account of an islander...
   die / der / das....            konto...
           von ein inselboweh(n)er.... cf. karl homann /
andrea suchanek:
die inselbewohner lernen sie als einen
vertrauenswürdigen mitmenschen....
                       of the female folk:
                         inselbewohner(in) - minor, pedantic
details... worthy of any index known to man...
or any cf. thereby to be appropriated...
for no apparent conclusion or...
a wizened hair to be: shared among the populace...

as ever: i tell myself enough...
unlike reading... it is never enough...
                 there's this fetish... once you write enough
of english: of...  englischschrapnell...
you start to... looking for... the älterebindung!
from where: the anglo-sächsisch?
                       sächsisch: die nachbar zu die thüringer?
it can only come naturally...
             after all the empire building...
one perhaps should look... to the root and origin
of the sprout?

enough! tomorrow with the sparrows...
a morning...
nothing but:
these words these nails: this page a coffin!

— The End —