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22
Movies into the late night
Two people
**** carpet underneath
Scary movies playing on the screen
Satus creates platonicy
Is that what belongs between?
Bodies move closer
Platonic still in nature
One curious of more
Is the other wondering as well?
Twenty-two days left in this month
Will change occur under this moon?
Twos of twos will live to see
Five movies in one night.
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
/political correctness is a term used for people who have forgotten, near-archaic social formalities... oddly enough, social-formality is still obliterating political debate,  and is only existent, when met with political "dialectic"... since ancient Greece,  dialectics has been the enemy of politics, since it curbed the stampede of orchestrated, pristine, rhetoric... which is why politicians stutter, or mishandle... what was once a fact, has now become a statistic... which is... something you call: diluted ****, or diarrhoea...

political correctness?!
    what is "political"
about an ontological
focus of a priori
   social formalities?
   political correctness,
id est:
    satus quo prolongation?
as far as i know that
ship has sailed...
perhaps like the Titanic's
maiden voyage,
not blessed with a champagne
bottle christening...
a Kantian revival against
the Hegelian "dialectic"...
after all, he was the Copernicus
to what became the Marxist-
Galileo fiasco!
    if only Copernicus
became a martyr for looking
down the whirlpool of
a flushed toilet... who knows?!
*******... spaghetti
al fresco and Venitian blinds...
fatso mafiasos and
Marlon Brando dyslexia
due to cotton buds shoved
into his cheeks like
a ******* jerbal...
             gallows the schmuck,
hence came Zodiac Leo...
i'm actually apprehensive
about the fact that political
correctness is actually
an: apolitical statement...
seen that khaki attired king rat
scuttling about giving
shadow commands?!
me neither...
   but at least in a dictatorship...
some *******
doesn't have a choice,
but own up...
    illusion of the emperor's
new clothes...
you're right... the clothes
are rented...
   because there weren't any
to begin with!
   no wonder there's a shadow
spine to the "pristine"
idea of democracy...
chivaraly was also,
once upon a time, a novel idea
and an idea with a span of
history (ideology, vogue)...
      but came the undertaker
and buried that *******
with the maiden's hankerchief
he used as target practice for either
*****, or snot...
    political correctness is any ugly
term for what is otherwise
a root of social formality,
   laughable, even still...
  political correctness has no
a priori root to pivot on...
   political correctness attempts to
be a form of social formality,
but it's... kinda hard to
speak about an unspoken rule
that has been passed on
and is anti-political,
id est: intuitive... hardly the curious
child with a stick and a wasp hive...
      people feel unhinged...
no wonder!
        a social formality is within
the ontological a priori focus...
an inheritence that's silent...
but, politics, is never exactly
   an a priori focus...
              tinged with a posteriori
artifacts, it usually cites
Napoleon, ****** and Russia...
             to be "politically"
incorrect, is to what? what?!
                    momentarily relaxing
social formality?
                gender neutral pronouns
of the western world... ha ha!
a much older debate about
pronouns exists in the Slavic world...
made concise be the use of
the pronoun you...
     and of course,  i...
       which focuses on a loss of the title
herr und fraulein...
              ha ha...
told you that nag hammadi library
shepherd and pivotal St. Thomas' gospel
was going to be a hit...
              Chinese whispers in Judea...
the current... thrill of bi-cis-dunno...
doughnut?
    - only two people worth
admiring in the 20th century:
Lenon and Kennedy...
   the sort of people who true... fans!
i make a falsetto,
some Hannibal Lector will be
on my heels, thinking up
a ritual where, I'm actually eaten,
in a snippet of my body, akin
to the tender-bits of my liver...
   way to go... a sabbath encore
of those ***** ****-takes of beauty
Scotch banshees!
       fifth limb and the word: USURPER!
nope... make my tongue
into a ***- (yes, like
****** I might call the urban
of what is a renowned country's
worth of Billy, hence
the hyphen attaché)...

     whatever is politically correct
(mind you, german idealism,
rigidness of vocabulary,
only 3 definitions of a word
are utilised, the fourth
becomes a writers' scurvy
or a ***** tattoo in a thesaurus)...

whatever is politically "correct",
hence the ambiguity of -ness
is an orphan of both social
formality & informality...
who the **** would asked
for a political butcher,
let alone a member of parliament
take on a rabbi's son?!

nooooo....   oooooone....
       lovely,  ain't that
the pretty siht:
sight of a tightening
of a cravat prior to
the folded napkin in heavy cotton
before the state dinner...
minus the China and
the yardstick worth of... silverware...

came the ümlaut...  
the closing of the parabola...
the shy messiah...
the rollingpin of omicron,
the ******'s worth of omega.
   und?!
          ah...
    the siamese twins of H
in the tetragrammaton...
once a wave (W)...
     once a particle 3D (Y)...
jew counted matchsticks
   and read a book...
Pole has 1 to count,
       afro-boy has 20+ raps
for one gil scott-heron
  for every ****** factory
and for every if it came to:
this revolution, lardy lardy,
was televised...
now we're praying that it
could please! please! shut! up!
            
the toying with Greek and
a crucifix that became the tongue
of the golgotha-cranium?
   do the sons of light caste
a shadow?
       surely "we" read the light
from shadows...
   night, however...
is... without form....
        devoid of the triangle
and the square...
    the universe is ever expanding
is the closest they came to
giving it a geometry...
and then they finally settled on a:
linear proposition...
   came the "big" and the "bang"...
and then the, "supposed"
sparrow eater worth of vacuum...

there is an understanding
of social formality
  (a priori)
     as there is a knowledge
of social informality
      (a posteriori)...
    political "correctness":
a claim of being...
       politicians should learn this
mantra:
    to be politically "correct / incorrect"
is to be... apolitical...
   what?  
                just because
the church bred atheists...
a parliament can't breed apoliticians?
  granted...
     the parliament has a luxury
of a god on a string...
          and a suddenly materialised
"god"...
             the church is already a warm broth
of gurgling **** in the shadows...

for whatever the audacity of
youth apparent,
the fervour in me is hardly
as Dynamo for Alt.    
        in what remains an inherited
burgeon of power....
   than a plebiscite of gambling...

who speaks of political correctness
is only speaking of
a buffer zone to the ham trough...
yes, thank you,
I know there is no talk of
political correctness in the scenario
of a uniformed police officer
and me drinking a beer on a bench...
politicised bystanders...
****... me...
   can they flip and omelette like
a pancake?
        social formalities don't need
a stray dog's worth of tongue
to suddenly discover
the arithmetic of counting teeth!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
the **** do i hear?
either
mike flowler's
for the love of a princess
or
  vaughan williams's
fantasia on a theme
by thomas tallis...
yes... because i am also
too aware of being
aware of, my ******* cat,
smirking at me,
lullabied by this piece...
and yes...
anger.. urgh...
         England
did not provide us with
an original pianist...
troll: even i wouldn't be
proud of Elgar...
keep pushing the ******,
keep pushin',
****! where did the G go?!
i cried listening
to vaughan williams...
but listening to classic.fm,
i hear...
i wrote a poem
that became as famous
as the table-ware's worth of,
a, work:
   or a michael portillo
smirk... god! that man attires
himself well
in what, constitutes
a bright neon take on color
in the creed of the tux...
lazily fetched....
why wasn't michael portillo
ever the british p.m.?
   i guess as much as:
which is why i attire
myself in the hierarchy
for the worth of attire
resembling either a genuis
or a ***...
                 my use of
the given tongue is the last
remnant of satus to
concern myself with...
but the pyramid is
all that will ever stand,
and all else that will
topple...
my my: the man dressed
well!
        see the crisp
canary yellow,
the fading cosmopolitan
pink itching
to figure out a salmon spank
of punk pink...
suit and sir...
but i remember burrowing
like an pauper in
the forest,
shoe not far from foot
muddied...
by a man riding a horse...
and...
god give me the courage
to have the same-sense-semblance
of the farce that has
become of this man's face!
leave me a death's ardent
patron to say:
and in that democratic
worth of the column
in a sight of:
the vote to veto ratio -
yet all must die...
i sometimes wonder...
such a well dressed man
as a michael portillo?
i shackles and tiresome tartan
scraps for a bending knee...
squek (s)quack: and no door
or a duck in sight!

   i'd still say:
the man retired from
politics, because he dressed
too well, refined, affirming...
   that:
            not many much
of muttering,
   to claim a rhetorical
spit, and chance...
and...
                   i want to
be reminded by the arithemtic
of the scan of the peopled
earth,
  and never be given
a chance inspection
of the hidden rubric of heir
and hierarchy;

            should i have
burdened myself in utilizing my voice
i should have found
myself in...
  no freedom to heave
with the burden of lodged limbs
before me!

whatever: "philosopher's stone"
of the crux of mammon
doesn't attach itself or touch
****...
   people like pearls
in purple satin of a bishop's cloak!

or at least...
a handshake with a shadow's worth
depart from the body
entrenched in
              the logistics of mind,
belonging to the man: not his scout.

— The End —