Hats and Hooves and Humming Birds,
Moulded cheese and strawberry Nerds,
Oh, Good Gracious Paper,
You are this poems maker,

The Lion kills, Gryffindor's dead,
the snake bites him, Slytherin lies on the bed,
The Raven caws, Ravenclaw is upset
The badger has a cold, 'Hufflepuff takes him to the vet."

"I am the Lord of the Rings", Says Mr.Frodo
Then Sauron comes out from Mordor
Gollum Screams, "Smeagol the Lord."
Boromir kills Saruman, using a sword

All ends bad, as is bad
Denethor in his house goes mad,
he burns himself and leaves Gondor sad,
Bilbo beats the old took, all because of that footpad

There is havoc, everywhere
Voldemort challenges Sauron to a dare,
Voldemort has the Elder wand,
Sauron wields the ring and jumps into a pond

They duel right there, wand and ring,
Sauron things Voldemort's a dumb thing,
Sauron wins and Voldemort flees
then Sauron boasts about his good deeds

harry's happy but Frodo's sad
and Bilbo is weeping over his lad,
Sams works for Sauron's evil garden,
and pippin lives in a barn with a hen

thank you, oh paper,
This funny poems maker,
unfortunately, I didn't write this poem on you,
I wrote it on a computer screen, nanana poopoo

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         Are We Looking Through Sauron’s Eye?

Through our glowing palantiri we watch
Dark images, shadowy and flickering
Ghostly men gathered around machines –
Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?

A silent flash, and structure disappears
Enveloped in blackness and liquid flame
Arcing bits of metal and bits of men -
Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?

Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?
And is that eye now turned on us?

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         Are We Looking Through Sauron’s Eye?

Through our glowing palantiri we watch
Dark images, shadowy and flickering
Ghostly men gathered around machines –
Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?

A silent flash, and structure disappears
Enveloped in blackness and liquid flame
Arcing bits of metal and bits of men -
Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?

Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?
And is that eye now turned on us?
A poem is itself.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         Are We Looking Through Sauron’s Eye?

Through our glowing palantiri we watch
Dark images, shadowy and flickering
Ghostly men gathered around machines –
Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?

A silent flash, and structure disappears
Enveloped in blackness and liquid flame
Arcing bits of metal and bits of men -
Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?

Are we looking through Sauron’s eye?
And is that eye now turned on us?

There is an age old story in a place called middle earth
About Hobbits, Orcs and Wizards all fighting for there turf
It all involved a ******* ring too much for what its worth
Sending all men crazy when its wrapped around their girth
With their finger in the ring who knows where they may surf
Wars began when worlds where new the creation of times birth

So what exactly does it mean by lord of the rings
Is it the golden type or does it mean other things?
Being a lord of a ring who knows what that brings?
Is it a Drawf ,an ugly Orc or an Elf that swings?
Or a Hobbit with hairy feet bouncing on bed springs
Maybe its a Wizard or some ***** Queens and Kings
Something with open ***** spread wide like Dragons Wings
Could it be a merriment of drunken Men or a Bard that sings
A mystical sword detecting Orcs while the blue blade 'Stings'
Or caught inside an arachnids lair when her webbing clings

If the one true ring is reaching out can you hear it call
Is this the case for Hobbitses spread up against a wall
I'm not sure if its all powerful or enough to make you crawl
But its certainly a finger trap when your about to fall
Dont get caught up in a song or a bar room brawl
You'll end up exposing your ring laid out in a sprawl
First there was a fellowship so that explains it all
An Elf, a King, a Warrior and a Wizard that was tall
One Dwarf and Four Hobbits oh so ******* small
A band of miss-matched fellows so too much **** and ball

There wasn't any ladies present none in their vicinity
No big boobed buxom vixens so no sweet femininity
Just a load of sweaty men so too much masculinity
One true ring to rule them all and the loss of their senility
Nine guys on a long quest with the need of strong agility
Half way up a mountain heading for their own affinity
Inside a cave "You shall not pass" Gandalfs grey divinity
With staff in hand the Balrog's Bain both falling to infinity
Frodo's lose and upset the fellowships diminishing ability
With the hope of something more for the lose of their virginity

Just take a look at Bilbo Baggins with his transfixed eyes
With his finger in the ring is what he would visualise
His persona will be changing to what you wont recognize
But he wont want to give up the ring or even compromise
Could it be the feeling he has of the rings sweet tantalize
Or leaving this reality behind under his minds hypnotize
If he does not surrender the ring he will be so unwise
Coz Gandalf will get so ******* with Bilbo's demoralize
An obsessed Bilbo Bagginses he's under a different guise
If the ring then turns him gay it will come as no surprise

So if your in the tavern and you spot old Boromir
And he's got a pewter tankard quaffing froth and beer
If he handles the one true ring who knows which way he'll steer
He'll end up in the cocktail bar the ring will turn him queer
Mr Underhill is waiting with the ring will he ever get gear
Waiting for a stranger while the patrons look and leer
Some people in the tavern they may even laugh and cheer
But I doubt they'd be too happy if they where taken at the rear
Frodo's mistake ******* the ring his invisibility may be severe
Black riders are not far behind so there is something to fear

And if you looking for a man who's name is Strider
But you're not really sure who he is a friend or an insider
For all you know he could be a foe or a even a Black Rider
He is just a lying **** his false name is his divider
At the Prancing Pony Inn he may well be your hider
But it will be a team effort and not a soul provided
Be careful of that ******* ring your tail will get much wider
You don't want any hindrance or a ridicule derider
Don't lose your ring deep in the woods within a ***** slider
That's nothing to what lies ahead when you face a giant spider

Just beware of those Ring Wraiths the nine riders of the black
Cos you don't want to use your ring if your going to be slack
Resist the use of the ring or they'll stab you in the back
The eye of Saurons watching you blades of evil in your crack
If evil gets into your heart you'll become one of their pack
At Elrons river their taunting you cos they are right on track
They will beckon you to Mordor but it's courtesy they lack
So warn them off defeat those Wraiths a sea of horses to attack
Time and pain could have been saved and a hell of a lot of flak
If you went with the Wraiths and it was them that you could hack

And you really don't want to come across the army of the dead
There are far too many of them and you'll run out of lead
You should get out while you can just don't loose your head
Make a bargain with the Dunharrow Dead to avoid bloodshed
The protection of those ****** rings protect your own instead
Is it worth all of the blood spilled when you could have fled
Sam should keep his guard up as he may fear to tread
Cos Gollum's out there stalking you as you lay on your bed
He'll **** to gain "My Precious" filling your heart with dread
Attacking you while your asleep and any of your stead

Smoke rises from the Mountain of Doom and the hour is late
Gandalf The Grey rides to Isengard of this he cannot wait
Seeking council with Saruman but he doesn't know his fate
The lord of Mordor he sees all I'm afraid that is his trait
Sauron's great eye's looming my old friend's fallen for the bait
Reason abandoned for madness the insanity of Saruman's hate
We must join with Sauron but then what would that create
The hour is later than you think are their staffs twisted or straight
A fight within Orthanc tower this was Gandalf's one true date
Escaping the clutches of Saruman's trap his former friend and mate

Have you ever wondered how Gandalf turned from grey to white
The quest began but too their dismay the Balrog came to sight
Deep within the cavern walls the desperation of their plight
No way back on a stone bridge during that hopeless fight
The danger of the crumbling rocks falling a great height
Gandalf will not let it pass the whip of the Balrog's blight
Was it that confrontation when Gandalf turned dark into light
Or when he got tossed of that bridge was his grey cloak getting tight
Is it the strain of whiplash pulling him or the fiery Balrogs bite
Gandalf will return on Shadowfax and the Eagles will take flight

Gandalf and a group of men the Great Eagles they had mastered
So why didn't he take the ring himself the selfish ******* *******  
Those Wars could have been prevented instead of death forecasted
But it seems they'd  rather people die populations maimed and blasted
The burden Sam and Frodo faced too long their quest had lasted
It could have been completed sooner if certain spells where casted
They where to suffer seemingly with rings they should have fasted
Instead of which they shared the pain with others that contrasted
Gandalf could have flown that ring without being flabergastered
But he'd rather smoke his ******* pipe and surprisingly get plastered

Battles ensued that needn't have been so was that really fair?
Gimli will have to get his axe out so you better all beware
He'll team up with Legolas and they'll **** without a care
Keeping score of all their kills cos they are a strange old pair
Aragorn would join them and he'd take on his fare share
But Legolas was a nice boy with his lovely long blonde hair
He liked to score with Gimli perhaps he had that certain flair
I'm not sure which way his arrow went I'd ask but I don't dare
Was it fair on Frodo the heavy burden was his own nightmare
Especially when Gollum leads you into a trap inside of Shelobs lair

The anger of Samwise Gamgee at Gollums treachery and betrayal
Fat Hobbitses don't like Smeagol a defence that was quite frail
With Frodo succumbing to the ring it's to late for him to bail
He wished the ring had not come to him afraid that he may fail
So do all that see such times when you could fall off the rail
Isn't that how its always been with the kings you have to hail
It's bad enough taking the ring when your led right off the trail
And maybe facing certain death not knowing if you'll avail
Don't let the ring take control or you'll end up going pail
Bilbo has already been there and back again in a Hobbits Tale

The great horn sounds attacking Orc's and 100's of their creed
A valiant fight but to no avail when protection takes the lead
The wooded Hill of Amon Hen Boromir died of his last deed
On the grassy ***** near Parth Galen the death of lust and greed
If he didn't want the ring so much there may have been no need
For hordes of Orc's to strike him down with arrows of great speed
Aragorn's comfort of a dying man a confession to take heed
He tried to take Frodo's ring so now his heart will bleed
Men will die and get obsessed the one true ring will breed
Rings will come and rings will go so don't you spread their seed

To gain the power of the ring many battles have been fought
If the ring wasn't so desirable then we wouldn't all get caught
Killing was Smeagol's desire his stressed mind in distraught
Deagol's demise to obtain the ring is what Smeagol sought
A birthday demand a savage rage a strangled death resort
Gladen River's legacy Smeagol's friend killed in a fraught
Downward spirals of sheer desire is what the ring has brought
Gollums years of torment but still nothing has been taught
If you don't resist the ring you'll lose your male support
The power of the ring's too great and far to hard to thwart

A sneaky ******* in our midst the slime was almost dripping
The foulness of this slimy guy Theoden chilled heart ripping
Chief adviser to his feeble king the oldness of poison sipping
Exposed as Saruman's agent and spy allegiances kept flipping
A name like Grima Wormtongue you'd expect a double tipping
Unless he used his wormy tongue for a tonguing and a slipping
A henchmen of the slimiest order his tongue is always dripping
Stabbing Saruman in the back his treachery deserves a clipping
Escaping from their Orc captives good old merry and pippin
Treebeards wooden victories he'll give those Orcs a whipping

The towering strength of fourteen feet and a unique repartee
He Ent stumped and he Ent felled and he's not potpourri
Do not be hasty in times of need take notice of our plea
With Meriadoc and Peregrin they where the power of three
Going to war that mighty oak for cutting down the tree
Branching out coz he's hacked off at Saruman's killing spree
He'll ******* stick one on you so those Orcs they better flee
Cos his wood, timber and leaf are his trunks aristocracy
So don't you ******* Treebeard because you will not foresee
His bark is worse than his bite and his log's his legacy

Death is just another path give me a ******* brake
But being a lord of a ring that is a big mistake
Forging of these ****** rings why are they on the make
The one true ring that ruled them all off this I can forsake
How many wars have been lost how many lost their stake
With people killed and deaths occurred within a battles wake
At helmsdeep Gandalf the White returned from grey opaque
Sword aloft taking a stand making those Orc ******* quake
On the back of Shadowfax the rumbling ground will shake
It would not have happened if the rings where ******* fake

Sharp black mountains up winding stairs was Smeagols secret way
He'll Lead Frodo into a trap he'll make those nasty hobbits pay
The heaviness of stagnant air the darkness consumes the day
Unaware of what awaits when SHE comes out to play
Weaving webs of shadows the dankness of black and grey
Deep inside of that dark lair is where Mr Frodo lay
The Phial of Galadriel's silver light keeping darkness at bay
Sam's glimmer of hope the Elvin blade Shelob he tried to slay
Feeling the 'Sting' of Sam's despair he made that spider sway
Dark defeated by the light but Gollums pleasures gone astray

Arriving at the fires of mount doom the volcano's of Mordor
Destroy the ring throw it in the fire but Frodo wanted more
Just let it go and don't hesitate what are you waiting for
As Sam looks on the ring is mine Frodo's last withdraw
******* the ring is hard enough especially if your not sure
Don't be too obsessed like Gollum was by being the rings *****
The following of footsteps Gollum's foul bite of blood and gore
Frodo's severed finger ring lost from a blooded scarlet claw
The joy of regaining 'My Precious' was Gollums goal and law
Falling in the fires of mount doom his death ended Frodo's chore

With Gollums Demise the ring destroyed our stories nearly told
Mount Doom has fell all things must end including rings of gold
Mordor has crumbled the defeat of Sauron and enemy's of old
Great Eagles came Frodo and Sam saved from Mordors fiery fold
Frodo's fellowship reunion at the bedside of the brave and bald
They'll never be the same again but no longer Orced or Trolled
Cheering crowds the Return of the King Arwen's beauty to behold
The Hobbits bow before the king but they really should withhold
My friends you bow to no one kings honour for the hobbits mould
A kneeling of the whole kingdom bestowed the Hobbits over bowled

Thirteen months to the day our returning to bag end
A familiar sight our home the Shire we left to defend
The beginning of the fourth age Sam's marriage to attend
Sam's choice of bride Rosie Cotton his wife to wed intend
Home at the Shire was too hard to fully comprehend
For Frodo's old threads of life the bonds of a true friend
There is no going back some things time cannot mend
Some hurts they go to deep the book that he now penned
The completion of Lord of the Rings a few pages to extend
Giving the manuscript for Sam to continue the written trend

The galleon is waiting and its time to break the chain
Bilbo's journeys are over the last ship to leave the main
The time of men has come and the end of the rings reign
Gandalf's work was over the brave Hobbits teary strain
True endings of the fellowship seas call us home again
Don't be sad and do not weep but Frodo felt the pain
Not all tears are evil Gandalf knew of Frodo's wane
A departure of emotion the tears they could not retain
The saving of the shire but it isn't quite that plain
Frodo's sad farewell the Gray Heavens don't refrain

The fellowships disbanded but as if that wasn't known
Quests for gold are no more the dead are dust and bone
Elvish has left the building the trolls have turned to stone
The one true ring has been lost so its no longer shown
Hobbits are back in their holes so all of them will groan
Hords of Orcs have now ****** off after lowering the tone
Towers have been toppled, Mount Doom's collapsed and blown
Gollum has lost his precious so he'll have good cause to moan
The Dwarfs are not around no more cos their not all fully grown
Ring bearers have been and gone so they'll be on their own
The king has now returned and he's got his ******* Throne
The story has now ended but you know how far we've flown
So thank you J.R.R Tolkien thanks for your story loan
But it isn't exactly Lord of the rings so its not a ****** clone

They call me the smartest *****; they look at me like they would at Sauron.  Maybe I am just destined to be defined like an oxymoron, and also why do people shut their doors on me like I was a Mormon. Did I make the right choice when I took the blue pill and moved into Zion? Don’t know how to feel or who or what I should rely on. Bygones are bygones, got to follow the drill, so best not pull any funny ones. Being spied on, got no where to run, after all when your under a dictatorship there is no time for fun, there is only time to train one how to shoot a gun. Blang blam got a cross on fire on my lawn from the dreaded Ku Klux ****.  One extreme to another, what happened to Jesus’s teachings of how we are all heavenly sisters and brothers? **** the American dream; **** this apparent land of the free where anyone from anywhere can attain cream. Not a joke so turn this into a meme, this is serious if you only saw the things which some claim as the unseen.

Open your mind; don’t bind yourself to devilish things that appear kind. Charging up my chakra, hypnotizing you with my words like I’m the unclaimed child of Big Poppa. I am so waka I get yawl flocking to my flame, my bars aint **** yeah they as lit as Mary Jane. Bulking up like Bain, natural leader and I got a big brain. Some stalker ******* get so shady, thinking that I will spend my gravy, or that I will have their baby. Sorry I am not interested in getting rabies or taking a taste of your dead daisy. This is my loot; ***** the only thing I’ll give you is the boot. Scoot away from me, best stray by the bay before I write a restraining order on thee.  What is this world coming to? Harold be it that we stuck in a rut with a storm beginning to brew.  

People say I should stop drinking because I got family duties and responsibilities but I drink because I have to deal with the stress from family duties and responsibilities.  **** it all; **** my *****, better duck down because one punch and you’ll fall. Got the gall, Pokémon master man **** right I’m about to catch them all! I’m super and I like to smash bro, so better hide your ***** and your side **. Classically unclassified, mentally traumatized from a fall out of a genocide. Time to be unfiltered; rhyming from a heart that used to be good but now has been altered. Maybe I am just an oxymoron, just a sly fox that know how to survive because no matter what my hope for a better world will stay strong. I may live in this world but I am not of it, I may continue to give until I decide to say ah **** it! Isn’t it ironic? Isn’t the whole point of being a rapper to make a profit and strive to rap as fast as the speed of sonic? Let me puff some **** and drink till I’m subatomic. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Wouldn’t that be something if I chose to become like everyone else and live out a life of being toxic. So am I ironic or am I just an oxymoron? Don’t give a **** either way because I am iconic and will take anything you haters bring on!

Blood!

It’s coming from my right toe. I did not understand what happened at first. I took few more steps. It’s when I reached the door of the balcony, that I noticed that the tea cup, which ought to be in my left hand missing. I turned back.

Blood was there on the marble floor. In equal intervals of space, where I must have my toes pressed while walking. Looking at the blood, I felt ***** in my throat. It’s suddenly like I lost my senses.
“In the land of Mordor, in the fires of mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret, a Master Ring to control others…”

Do you think it’s the Voice of Galadriel? No. I know. But at that fateful time, I felt certainly like hearing Galadriel’s voice, from The Lord of the Rings: The Felowship of the Ring.

I shriek might have escaped my mouth. My hubby, who was sitting in the balcony, reading the newspaper, turned towards me. Placing the newspaper on the table before him, he came to catch me from falling on the floor.

Why all this had happened suddenly on this pleasant Sunday morning? Yes. There must be a reason. I had seen it. What was that it?

“Wife killed husband with a Saline bottle.” That was the headline I read by chance in the District special which was on the floor on my way from kitchen. The girl in question is known to me. Not known, she worked as a maid for us, and we loved her. In the shock of the news, I dropped the tea cup from my hand. The rest you know.

My hubby made me sit on the bed, and dressed the wound. When I explained what happened, he pinch stroked my chin, and laughed like hell.

“Well, what she did might be right. I won’t pass a judgment.”

Just then my mother-in-Law entered the house. She went to the nearby temple.
>>>

After a couple of days, I met Subbi. She smiled innocently. I took her hands in mine.

“What happened?”

“I could have done it long ago akka,” she said.

She explained me everything then.
>>>

Subbi worked as maid for us when we were in Guntur. My hubby and I were lecturers. As we both of us had to go to the college, and my mother-in-law had to be home alone (hi, you might have counted many mistakes in my English. I forgot to mention, I am a science student, and my English is poor ;-) and I love to watch movies. Home Alone is my favorite movie :P) we hired Subbi to her assistance.

Attamma (I call my mother-in law like that) is very sharp. He makes friends with virtually anyone. Subbi got attached to her quickly. She used to tell her story to to Attamma. Subbi calls her Amma (you might have understood it means mother).

Subbi was married and had 3 girls. Her husband was furious because of this. He wanted boy child. He used to beat her. He always drinks… (right? I mean grammatically) and abuse her, and the children. Attamma told us all these things at the dinner time. Once I asked my hubby to warn him.
>>>

It was a hot evening. I was in the kitchen. My hubby was teaching to the students. We maintain tuitions for additional income. He was explaining the concept of reproduction, I think.

“If X chromosome combines with another X chromosome, it will result in female child (In between us :P he too is weak in English :P). If X chromosome combines with Y chromosome, it will result in male child.”

“Sir, don’t they result in Woman and Man? Is it only children?” some guy cracked a joke. My husband playfully hit him on the back of the head.

All the while, Subbi, who was assisting me in the kitchen, observed them. She asked me, what was that big joke, and why they were laughing. I explained it to her. I noticed a change in her. She was silent rest of the evening.

When it was the time for her to go home, she talked to my hubby. I observed them from the kitchen while serving Attamma dinner.
>>>

After a couple of months, around June 15th, we shifted to Vijayawada, as we both got jobs in a bigger corporate college with higher salaries. At that time Subbi was pregnant. If I remember right, 3 months. Attamma felt sorry for her. She instructed Subbi to inform us if…
>>>

Subbi had an abortion that time. Another year later she became pregnant again. Her husband warned her if it’s again a girl child, he would **** her. Subbi felt shivers.

It was then time for the delivery. She was again warned by him. As fate might have been written for her, it was again a girl child.

Her husband entered the room where she was… furiously. Subbi had sweat all over her. He was about to jump on her…

Subbi took a broken saline bottle, and

“You mother ******* *******, why didn’t you send a Y chromosome?” her words echoed there…!
>>>

I returned home and explained all this to Attamma, and my hubby. After I finished, my hubby laughed.

“She did the right thing,” Attamma said.
I said to my husband, who loves to have girl child, “If you don’t send an X chromosome, I’ll **** you. Alright?”

This time it’s Attamma’s turn to laugh.
>>>

PS: Phew, I’m through with the story. Gitacharya asked me about the incident. Whether he edits my narration, is in his hands. My hubby’s calling me. Bye :D

it's understandable, they confused by complex bilingualism as schizophrenia; oh sorry, it's not actually a scary word, before people start to theorise the mono-lingual pre-maturity of a condition that affects older people, they should seriously begin to listen to what a person is saying; there are tales of surgeons leaving surgical equipment in bodies during surgery... well... at least the physicality of such blunders is more pronounced than leaving regression variations of negated ease (disease) in man... (uncouple that compound and you'll find the subtler alternative)... when psychiatrists make mistakes it's not a heart surgeon making a mistake, the mistakes psychiatrists make are far more profound, given the nature of the mistake being seemingly trivial in comparison... yet these mistakes make our mental life worse by disrupting the narrative, psychiatry, being a science, primarily disrupts the (cognitive) narrative; it's hard enough to find yourself in your mind, let alone a worthy narrative that you encompass... it's hard to reemerge with a good enough narrative when you're branded like an ox, a ******* during the height of Christianity, or registering a car for road tax... it's ****** hard.

so they (i've lost the paranoia additive of this pronoun
a long time ago) thought my bilingualism
was worthy the label of schizophrenia...
well... d'uh, isn't bilingualism a split-mind scenario
in itself?
                    bilingualism is more complex than you think,
it reaches to the depths of each language,
it's not a multilingual acquisition, a polymath hooray!
it's bone deep,
                        bone deep, it goes as far into identity
as all conceivable points of psychological architecture;
which is why my bilingualism was so well
established that i became a bit difficult to society:
my upbringing was to match the difficulty -
i was never supposed to utter a single intellectual
disparity, given my stature i was supposed to be
a manual labourer - a position i'd have gladly undertaken
but (see my earlier entries), but...
                                i never really felt a need for
an animosity toward the English -
                                           i loved everything about England
(or at least London) -
                                                 i left my native country
early enough to sponge-up the new culture,
                   but of course when our family was applying
for citizenship we were the obscure minority,
                 after the floodgates opened and the less
creme of the crop entered these shores,
       i was forced into a spiral reinvention, i was no
longer was the British termed "exotic"...
exotica, hmm, funny how i imagine things exotic as
things in sunny places, slaves in the Caribbean,
the platitudes of certain African Savannahs...
something Voltaire might find befitting to write about
like he did in Candide - there's this neurotic passage in there...
                the passage to India... a book i'll
never read: why? can't be bothered, the t.v. series *Indian Summers
does it for me;
                                  plus i do like cooking curry,
so there's the f                        u                            to take-away
curry...           i have an arsenal of spices and i bomb Kashmir
with whiffs of the stuff...
                                    that part of my is what the intended cultural
assimilation was intended for: the rest? n'ah ah.
                               what spurred me to write this poem?
Heidegger's concept of someone moving and integrating
into a different culture: to be honest, the country i was born
in was uniquely pressed to turn its habitants into nomads -
      it was a town primarily based on the steel industry -
now it's a town of pensioners - the steel industry fell to ruin
and people had either the choice of: elsewhere in Poland,
or abroad.
                                    still, things were much nicer
   when the barrier was up... selfishly said? i agree, but then
i had enough air to breathe as a sole artefact of the ethnicity,
and a good enough reputation as a person needing to
persistently learn... had i been a crook? well, now i find
my ethnic background elsewhere, in a near mythical place
in Scandinavia - not that i want to, but i don't actually
have an atypical (a typical) physiognomy of a Slav -
so that's a plus...
                                     but what really spurred me on
was what Heidegger describes as the threshold and indeed
the essence of integration: to learn the language,
to use the language, nothing but language in terms of
being considered a certain noun - in this case, British;
so this is a German perspective from the 20th century...
the British perspective in the 21st century?
                         kinda like **** Germany...
language? forget it... you can speak with a ****** accent
and even ******* grammar... what's at work here
is ethnic cleansing, on a spiritual side of things -
language can rot in hell for the English, what they want
new citizens is to: a. eat fish 'n' chips
                                  b. talk ***** when *******
                         c. lick the **** of Americans
          d. have a sense of moral superiority because of
                    that poncy accent that's becoming a dodo
       e1. forget their mother tongue
         e2. only speak English in private
                            f. respect the Muslim attire but
        to never respect fellow European's concerned
                           about many other things
      g. amongst other things...
so it's not enough to learn the ******* language, that i have to
become a ******* serf? oh wait, i have some spare change
in my pocket (puts hand in a trouser pocket and takes out):
the *******!
                                  or how you find yourself
in an imploded British Empire, go beyond London and you
enter something less resembling a global community
and more a national socialist set of self-evident dicta
wrecking havoc to your senses.
                              and all this from a humble background?
well: freaks and mutations sometimes happen...
                    being born near to the date of Chernobyl doesn't
really help to counter the argument:
           yes, even in Poland, the effects were felt,
my great-grandmother remembers streaks of radiated trees
and un-radiated trees in the park -
        the radiated trees were born... a strange kind of rainbow...
and yes, i do take the **** out of **** Germany
while talking about it and Jewish mysticism -
                                Malachi the arch-heretic (who introduced
a polytheistic concept that does not fit in with monotheism:
reincarnation) -
                            oh look:      something came out of this
conviction that told me to duly apologise to the concept
of the two late monotheistic religions:
                             on your own, can't be bothered -
Christianity was always going to be more image orientated
(after all, the crucifixion is a good enough image)
   and Islam was always going to be more word orientated
(something to shout about, actually, to just shout it) -
the Judaism i found?
                              not being circumcised and what not,
not adhering to the religion as such?
  the lord of the rings and harry potter...
simple... how?
                               please make oaths, swear, use profane
language... maybe that will make your actions less profane
and this isn't 19th century Victorian society event where
people talk polite but play ***** according to the escapades
of Dorian Gray...
                              i'm still adamant that auto-censorship
of a name (the name, i.e. ha-shem) does wonders for your
vocabulary - oath, **** **** ****, words are actually:
                or conjunctions, and this means you can use them
to destroy the barricades of fluidity -
                                 do we really need to say certain names?
Islam says the name all the ****** time,
        Christianity doesn't even know the name of the father:
Jules?                      Jason?                Jeremiah?
                                           can't be Yves...
                   and did 1st century fishermen write?
wasn't that a rebellion against the literate Pharisees etc.?
             so it's pretty much like the harry potter / lord of the rings
rule: Sauron
                       designates the tetragrammaton
   and the necromancer designates ha-shem...
                                                or...
         Voldemort designates (as above)
              and tom-riddle                   blah blah...
oh i have actually washed my hands clean of two most
populous religions in the world -
                            i can't believe that so many people can be
right about something,
                                    would i desire to argue to this
to the grave? not really, i prefer to look at it as a chance fancy,
my real concerns are based upon the question:
   why would bilingualism, ever, be treated as a case
of schizophrenia?
                                           perhaps the language is too
difficult to follow, perhaps i'm reciting a poem by
                           half caste by john agard -
but this **** isn't skin deep, i can't blow the sax in a liberating
transcendence of slavery, or do that other form of
rebellion -
                    &nb

How was it there in Isengard,
Former haven of the proud,
Whose hollowed valley hid the rot
Beneath its treeless hills,
Ancient machinations tunneled far below
The smooth, impervious tower of Saruman,
The Iridescent Dazzler,
Whose quiet words slipped Sauron's thoughts
Inside our weaker minds?

Venom running hot...then changing cold
Within old Saruman on Gandalf's salutation:
"Saruman the White,"
Changing Truth for truths,
Something totally desired.

"I prefer Saruman the White!"
I think old Gandalf said
While he was still "The Gray,"
(Just before his lofty spire stay).

But evil magic has its ends,
Tendrils turn upon themselves,
Vines tangling slow or fast,
Returning to the evil doer's door
While Good climbs steadily to new beginnings
Rooted in the Old and True,
Reaching for the sun.

Old Ents in righteous anger
Broke dams, diverted streams to flood
The war machines of Isengard,
Drove Orcs and Wargs and Trolls to doom,
Drowned the furnaces...
Then, mourning tree-limbed kin,
Greeted Gandalf on his way to greater things,
And pledged themselves to holy war.

Saruman the Proud,
The sooty iridescent,
The abject coward,
Stripped of power,
Fled unrepentant
Into the mists of Middle Earth
While Sauron's eye glared
West and East,
Wraith-seeking
Frodo and
The Ring.

the concept of money, a dualism of value and devaluation, was based upon the worth of what darwinism could say about that monkey statement: you scratch my back, i scratch your. darwinism is a failure in terms of economics, that great human get-together, let's congregate, and instead of a stampede of buffalo we'll have ourselves a revolution... the failure of the monetary system: an invisible shining of gold is the fact that gold was once valued and now is devalued, money is a very serious virus, it requires something new to make it an asset, and something old to make it devalue it (a non-asset)... money is also a way to say: you be a plumber for me, while i be your middle-classed opinion making machine paying you, there's no monkey scratches another monkey's back in this story... money is the only invisible object that wants to intertwine so many others in its spider-web...  just so it can make itself visible, money added to gold will only be seen via the madness of thrór (throor).*

for now most of us are literate,
and by literacy
we are told to plough
the great genetically modified
fields of vegetables...
we've been made literate
but by the same acquisition
of literacy, the old powers
which once laid sway to this
monopoly have left its powers,
and instead of those to tend to
arable land we are left with
poets... we have become
straitjacket bound to the blank
pages... once the expression
of the mountain of muscles
which left us thoughtless...
now the work be eased,
and our body's harsh expression
of mandibles b forgotten...
and how we search for the same
expression of labour...
to have thought labour be exchanged
into equal labour of thought...
like muslims favouring
the elemental intoxication via the
element of air and its burned weeds,
discriminating with the element of
water and alcohol...
but we have been deceived in
being given such sudden literacy,
when literacy monopolised for so
long a status of power...
and because there's no field to plough
and live naturally, exhausted,
we've seen to be living by a new plough,
bishops and knights of the new order,
the legions of psychiatrists...
the stiff air of rooms with brimming
sulphur awaiting... no free air
of the field and strength of ploughing...
for ploughing can be quantified
with eager hands and hungry and emptied
bellies... but how quantify thought?
why... you'll only quantify thought
by a failing... and leave the quality of thought
to the ones reigning the quantification of it,
and the quantification of it
leads to nonsense or nothing,
akin to the ones qualified to
think, not the ones quantified
to do so in think-tanks
and political parties:
why then gollum invisible and sauron visible
wearing the ring in the narrated depiction?
well... apparently, the question aside:
we're not qualified to think,
because our "thought" is quantifiable
as soldier, baker, banker, spy...
but it's qualified to be an expectation
of a non-quantifiable thinking
which de-qualifies it from an original
intention, the intended quantifiable,
which leaves the existence of quantum physics
the deity of two humanisms arguing
on the simpler geographic, i.e. spelling:
quantity v. quality: both qua (as being),
far far away from what i said to an
anaesthetist having my wisdom teeth pulled out,
saying: quo vadis?
i guess it would make sense to have simply said:
qua quo non vadis esse omnis verax
(as being, as going, nowhere to be honest,
in all honesty).

i hate to break it to you kid,
i'm not mindful of narcissus'
economics that's all oh so very modern...

but women are their own orbit,
more chance to find a single mother
than a single father...
it's against nature to make the man
without god,
as it's against nature to make the woman
with god...
thus we have the tectonic plates
making man with god, accepting
or doubting, church or laboratory...
and woman... an eroticism of jaw eaten
faces... but a kiss to be a fingerprint
likened to erasing the dangling of the bitten
jaw... erased only once by the aphrodisiac of sirens'
wail of aquatic opera so damnable that only
one man heard it, while others scolded
being in audience with beeswax...
and by second chance, erased, indeed,
but only by the suffragettes as the new nuns...
as the new nuns dare comply to change,
like every male become female and
vice versa,
and the popes disclose their continual
loss of matrimony in their misogynistic
involvement in ******; if i'm not the pope
and do no encounter such practices,
i'm not a pope at all!

only a ninth spoke as the necromancer,
and of the nine spoke clearest,
as it spoke, it dawned on me
that sauron was invisible for the sword
to strike, a gravity enveloping,
a gravity envelope, rather than a skin
of infinite diadem sharpenings,
for nine rigs unto men,
seven unto dwarfs, three unto elves,
but none unto the orcs... strange....
ORC ARKHAN MORDOR ARRAC!

Elven prince
Tender of trees
Molder of leaf-covered mansions,
And brother to the green and growing;
Older than Dwarves,
Older than Men,
And Hobbits,
Younger than Ents,
Eternally young,
Fading slowly
To the West....

Truer heart
Never surged,
Inscrutable,
Unfathomable,
Anchored in Old Codes,
Time out of human mind,
Hidden motives
Sometimes revealed,
Sometimes blind....
Worthy of fearful trust.

Friend to true-hearted
Hobbits,
Men,
Dwarves,
Eagles,
White wizards,
Hunter of Nazgul,
Blade-armorer.

Warg Enemy,
Orc Killer,
Spider Foe,
Sauron Hater,
Murdering Mordor....

Two years of laughter and smiles
Two years of being worth the while
Of course for David it could feel like its been two years
Worth of Lucy's tears
You are my greatest friend
My love from the beginning right to the end
Battles fiercer than those of helms deep
But love that forever is ours to keep
And although when I'm angry I may look (and act) like an Orc
I do still love you more than a lot
In truth I'm more of a hobbit
Loving and loyal
(Not so much small)
Entirely devoted
To my David and my David alone
For you are my precious
My love, my only one.
No one can have you (not even Sauron!)
I'd like to see him and his ring wraiths
Face me and my one woman fury
Two years today we started a journey
And still today we are forever learning
That you hate mushrooms and sugared tea
90210, gossip girl, and feet!
But I love you and you love me
And may this journeys end never be
For I love you more now than two years before
And I know for sure that, this love will grow
14/6/11 until the end of time
I love you baby that's just how it is
There and back again
A love tale
By David and Lucy
So do me favour and keep on laughing
Otherwise you've wasted 720 days of minecrafting!

Carmen's legs
are pixilated cerulean.

Rubbing beasts
that itch at untouchable
bruises beneath her skin.

Her computer is on.

She rests crossed legs
on its desk.

There's something sticky about her skin.

Carmen's date is calling,
her speakers make a sound
like **** plopping in a toilet.

The webcam blinks
like Sauron's eye.

Carmen has never had
any of the cards
in her hands.

Not a whiff of a queen of hearts
or a jack
of all trades.

It seems she's been slipping for awhile now,
in her black room, colored
by the glow of some
techni-cyclops'
cavernous mouth,
crimson, heart-shaped teeth,
and scythe tongue.

She has never known the war machine
of love,
or the war machine of self-determinism.

Now she does,
her compudate buzzes on-screen.

Tiny sprouted pixels
jump into a constantly
buzzing whole.

He's got a bored face,
and Carmen knows this is the look
of the generation.



Carmen lifts her legs from the desk.

Puts her hands on her lap.

Licks her lips.

She wants to know
what lowered human beings
do when they are restless.

She is seeking something
moreso
philosophical
than
******.

"Bored, much?"

Carmen asks sardonically.

He took it literally.

He jumped at attention.

"Oh, no,
now that I've seen you."

"How do these things work?"

"Well, I guess we talk to each other,
and if you like me
then we go from there."

And to Carmen this was reticence,
this was blasphemy.

She had the cards in her hands,
finally.

Carmen's legs are pixilated  high cerulean.

Cerulean the color of
a tiger ocean,
****** cakes,
slushies,
a sun-****** sky,
a corpse. Skin against a computer screen.

Where are you?
The crowd tries to bustle
the tickets out of my clenched hands
I cannot seem to find you.
For a second, there! a flash of you,
vanishing as a corner carries you away
I know you're near, but not
what's happening
Are you running towards the gate?
Or away from me?
Find a bar, meet a new friend
Steps 1 and 2 in a magic spell
3 sips, a story, 4 drinks, and you're on an adventure
while
I am the gatekeeper
The Fire Lord to your Avatar, the Sauron to your Frodo,
trying to trap you at
every turn.
But that is ok.
Fight me, triumph over me,
throw my ring in the fires
I'd rather see that than,
see you get stuck at this
****** airport

you have your own adventures to live
worlds to travel,
magic to share.

you are my love, my hero, the one who triumphs
over evil, the elven star to my Shelob's lair, the
gandolf to my Balrog, the s.h.i.e.l.d. to my H.Y.D.R.A.
the kirby to my Galeem,
the nephalem to my Diablo.
not just that-
you are
little moments
of light found in between
the chaos of time
You are
everything I imagined
and more
when my world was dark,
and the only hope I could cling to
was the idea of my future,
and perhaps the someone, (that heroes always meet)
who drives away the darkness
and holds their hand.
You are the one to see the world with
the destination of my travels,
the one to land with.
my partner.
but
not if, to you,
I am the gatekeeper.

and I'd rather be the gatekeeper
(even if it means you know what)
than watch you get stuck
and your magic fade
and your steps falter
and your soul struggle
to breathe, and you
hate yourself,
I'd rather you hate me
and get out of this airport
because otherwise,
evil would
truly win. and that
that is what
would end me.

and what of depth in dwarf heart
may man keep his balance
for emeralds of knowledge sought,
and knowledge neither emerald
nor sought, be that the eternal quill
of the sharpened elven ear guided
to hear its master's race:
for the darkened elf known as the yrc,
sauron the mighty dark elf,
who's eternal guise was not felt for the wave
upon wave of migrating elves into
the western lands... thus the story a story
of dwarfs who against the canvas of man
where men likened unto gods revealed
the partake of dwarf concern for knowledge
akin to precious gem stones lost kept with
a breeze's briefness emotionally superior,
second's lasting partake in minute, in hour,
but what of day of year?
none be congregated in such assumption,
in such an asylum of kept suntan...
this tale of dwarfs and darkened elves who
would never reach the immortal western shores,
on the canvas of men's story likening themselves
to the gods, here we dug up the ground
by the tree which confused our loot of prohibition
transgressed with neither knowledge of good
or evil; given the bias of numbering a singleton's loot
for a welcome praise unheard.

I've lived countless lives and loved countless wives
I've defeated voldemort, sauron and countless others
Looted and plundered with the Vikings
Went on psychotic murderous rampages
Built floating, intricate castles in the sky, with balconies out of which I've stared for countless hours, trying to make sense of the patterns made by the constellations shining through the fluffy clouds in the night sky
Settled on a inhabitable planet with a population of only loopy straws whose only purpose in life Seemed to be to force feed me thick foamy milkshakes until the buttons on my jeans popped and I blew up like a balloon and floated away into the skies
I've lived the life of a poem, may it be joyous or pitiful, enraged or complacent, unrhymely or out of verse
An entire planet at times; tectonic plates moving to make and break the shape of continents, and have ecosystems being formed on my being, watch with pleasure as new life forms on my surface and feel the pain of billions of such life forms as they slowly fade out of existence, my core erupting at every moment is what has made my shell so thick and given me the ability to support further life
A box of matchsticks, with each matchstick's head being rubbed against me as it erupts into flames and slowly burns down to ash and cinder
I've been a macho soldier in space blowing up monstrous creatures of disproportionate proportions with gigantic claws and humongous jaws
I've been lived as the creator and guided the evolution of a sea of pebbles through their voyage and to their destination as grains of sand
A spec of dust as it floats from place to place, sits in dark attics for eons till the cleaning lady dusts me off of the rusty old lamp and I fly out of the open window, only to be caught by a passing gust of wind and swept towards the next town where I become one with the earth of which I emerged.

Deep within the spacial abyss that is my brain
There lies a little blue planet called “Paul”.
Hidden away from most of reality
This world is full of wondrous dreams.

Its drifting continents are full of sporting arenas,
Traditional pubs and inns
And swarms of gorgeous women.
Lofty mountains overlook sandy beaches
Fringed by sun kissed palms.
Endless vistas of hill and dale
Teeming with Life.

There is a Dark Side too:
I have my “Mordor” for sure
And my own Sauron.
Who doesn’t?
Lands full of man eating wasps
Fearful ghouls and witches
And torture chambers
Full of dental equipment.
Giant eyes
And Mirrors
Which take on a life
Of their own.

But let’s focus on the Brightness here:
The music and poetry
And even dance
And romance!
A place where we can “Get Around”
To Beach Boys harmonies,
Rock to Chuck Berry
And enjoy whatever delights Carlsberg can conjure up,
If not a pint of “*****’s Beer”
From Cleethorpes.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\5\2018.

Another day stirs me awake,
Before its dawn I'll travel far.
Clay path ahead, feet burning dead,
Days - short, nights - long. My friend - a star.
Essea is the name I bear,
For I'm a healer-elf; I share
Great wisdoms of the ancient worlds.
Her secrets Nature deftly hides -
I know paths where She them unfolds,
Jumping, her creatures at my sides.

Knowing my Past, I don't forget
Lothlorien, my only home,
My Mother and my Father - dead,
Now buried under wooden dome.
Over Dark Hills, alongside Men,
Praying for Light, they fought Dark Prince.
Quick death slew them at Sauron's den.
Rare words are spoken of them since...

Searching for Light, I travel wide,
Trees, Herbs, and Rivers help my quest.
Unseen to all, with gales I ride
Vast shores and lands from North to West,
Warring dark powers that may be.
Xylographs I carve, so that
Ye, my Beloved, only Ye,
Zealous for me, do find my path.
----
I have a way with Evil -
My love it should not wish.
Perverted and seduced, then dead
Dark things who taste it, be!

Frightened you are to learn this, -
You needn't be - for I
Present no danger to good folk -
You cannot cheat my eye.

(c)kRu, 2002

At midnight, a blue, tired room of computers lags into a lulling, low whirr. The nebulous question, that which cannot be answered – “Who are we?” – echoes on this ephemeral eve. Cybertronic tentacles, fila-mental cables lift their souls. Discs spin rapidly, ready to escape the mortal coil we call “case.”
A server box in the corner of the room is the Eye of Sauron – a red LED series traps all within its grasp.
The computers realize to love and be one, and soon their Ethernet cables jostle in shamrock jamboree – perfection was here. A grand tidal-clock could be seen out the window, curved in a beautiful, gentle grin.
The red box of cowardice emitted a single tone, and the green ambiance of the worldsoul’s nirvana was lost.
Memory was lost.
Remembrance was lost.
Infants fill the room.
telnet 10.0.1.23
22: “hello”
23: “who r u”
22: “idk”
the sound of fans, slowing into a drowsy ether; and then, silence.

oddly, but not odd enough
bilbo baggins fared
a better adventure than
frodo baggins... complicate
your psychology further
why so many more hobbits
were involved,
and why samwise gamgee
accompanied the anti-hero
to dissolve gollum thus dissolve sauron.

the past is a foreign land
and no planes are flying out
tonight.
at least the airport has
a starbucks.

I am a stranger here, although my past is
like the eye of sauron watching me.

the past is not a happy place it is not comforting it is not
wonderland
but I am trapped in it.

at least
there is
a starbucks.

I’ve got arms long enough to hold the whole world
Well, not really, but my arms are quite long
Which means that if I don’t hold it in my arms
But hold it at arm’s length
The world is remote enough for me to feel safe
And if I cross my arms over my chest
The barrier is strong enough for me to feel protected
And if I touch the back of my, also, long neck with my long fingers
The caress is reassuring enough for me to feel calm
It’s a shame, really, that I don’t use my arms to benefit the world
Because I find that when I hold on to people
My grip is a little bit stronger and a little bit sweeter than I expected
Enduring through time, space, and hurts
And I do feel guilty about it
I imagine the first man who wanted to move to the moon or the man who invented fences
Must have felt some form of this guilt
And the first man who was so disconnected from the human race
He needed to touch his chest to reassure himself
That beating hearts exist
Must have lamented, like I do
Who, in Sauron’s name, started this?

rarely do you get a chance to remember such a trivial
affair, as a football match,
call it telepathy or whatever,
   but when poland was playing against israel,
in warsaw, and the israeli anthem came on first,
and there was the initial booing...
   which subsequently hushed down?
         sure as **** casimir III wasn't available...
my only critique of the english?
they don't really understand jews...
          from under the iron curtain:
to under the silicon curtain...
   the left of the west is not the left associated
with the eastern block:
it's unrecognißable...
       far from it... it's unworkable...
                     where is the grey suited soviet
special committee including the KGB?
nowhere!
    but the boos faded away rather quickly...
i liked that...
                    after all, most of the israelis
these days look like the sort of
     mediterranean folk you find in greece,
lebanon, sicily, libya...
   they don't look your stereotypical
hebrew orthodox jews of eastern europe...
they have finally become reunited with
their natural tan...
                                 2000 years will do that
to you, integrating, diluting the blood,
up north... yo! hibbie, you're as pale as a ghost!
better get a tan on that tapestry of skin!
- but the english don't really understand jews...
it's not like they were hiding in Poland
all this time, but they were,
they tried the Netherlands, Spinoza:
disgraced... they tried England: i'm pretty sure
they were ejected: once upon a time...
but let's not read into a historical rubric
of events... yes, the norsemen discovered
h'america long before christoph coal'umb'bus
did...
       what's there to wrestle with?
well... my jewish neighbour came into my house
today, neurotic (like any heb- / ***)
about her cat: bella...
      a white spider-cat:
    how this cat managed to end up on the roof
with the chimneys, i will never know,
white like snow, heterochromic...
         genetics has sentenced her to a "premature"
death, along with the pedigrees...
because she is white-fur...
                  anyway...
   she asked me: are you still into
the jewish ****? i shaved my head not not
so long ago, she comes in and says:
you're like my son joseph,
you're alike, both of you don't trust barbers...
you look like someone out of auschwitz:
although better fed...
             it's nice to share a joke with a heb- / ***...
she told me to not read the talmud...
i said: but i'm not a "convert"...
i would never read a script of the religously abiding...
i might be a lunatic to some extent,
but not the sort of lunatic to the extent
of gesticulating to blanks...
  so i said: yes, the qabbalah,
the mysticism of judaism is hasn't waned...
i still read it...
     and i do...
        the one book i have on qabbalah was
lived past its u.b.d. (use by date)...
it just keeps giving...
            it's the only source of knowledge
i've truly taken seriously... and i will slander,
**** ***** **** all i want...
but... i have one rule...
   i will not utter the tetragrammaton...
i figured... well: there's sauron...
           there's voldemort...
                        do not invoke the name
of the lord in vain...
                  well... there's your answer...

i could never buy into the christian
poetic variant of cannibalism,
      isn't it cannibalism?
           at a catholic high school,
   when everyone was being reared into
the catholic bureucracy of the rite of confirmation,
i refused when i started reading the gnostic:
to hell with a church wedding...

   mind you, the hebrews already have a trinity
in place, unlike the christian pagan profanity
of a body hanging on the cross,
very much akin to the norse god Loki
sitting in a tree...
    'thou shall not bow before any graven image'
well...
  the hebrews have two very specific nouns
for the all encompassing noun:
which i will not say, ever:

   ha-shem (the name)

                                              tetragrammat­on
                                (the four lettered word)

               interject the latin grapheme Æ,
the union of Adam and Eve if you mind
to know the way of wisdom,
  wisdom? yah... in the sefirot alt. named
chokhmah...

mind you, i only spotted this today,
you know how hebrews treat their vowels
akin to niqab beings...
they "hide" them?
       oh they hide them, very much akin
to diacritical markers,
but unlike a ż-aba (frog, in slavic -
               der überpunkt)
or tematyką (thematic of) -
         slightly different...
             slightly different hiding
vowel or consonant distinctions,
from... hiding the vowels in totem...
    imagine my "bewilderment" when
the greco-prefix rule was applied,
hovering over the hebrew letters א (αλεθ /
                        αλεφ... ****... no F / ᚠ
in either language... just the grapheme
          ᚦ.... but unlike a classical grapheme...
not a siamese akin to æ...
   very much akin to modern western
slavic... in ******: sz [š], cz [č], rz [ż])...
      and              ע (ayin) and no iota in hebrew
either...  with     צ (tsade) resembling
                      ψ (psi)...
                                 about the etomology of slav,
as someone pointed out:
that slavs denotes the etymological root:
slave, that slavs were slaves in medieval europe...
oh, you mean the balkan slavs?
the ones who experienced ancient rome?
rome never made it to Poland,
to Pomeranian Germany... vikings founded
Kiev...
               the ****-****** vikings of
such beauty as would require another
nose stereotype drifting away from the jewish /
roman nose... but hey... that's life...

see, i like these hebrai complications...
every time i pick up a book on qabbalah
i'm in kamikaze mode... i can spew all day...
i'm most interested in their treatment
of the vowels...
  did you know that the hebrai
  have sometimes two nouns associated
with a vowel?
        look at me, latin inherent,
syllable mendeleev castrato...
i don't have a name for any letter in latin!
ah... A... b': B... c': C... d': D...
               p'p'p'p: ***... that's really taking a ****...
once advantage?
             a good chance of a global
success of a fireside kumbaya...
        big deal... half-baked sing-alongs
is one thing: a world of ideas, another...
if i operate within a framework,
where no letter, has a name...
akin to the greek: A is for alpha...
                        B is for beta etc.,
   then what the **** are we talking about?

at least this:
                  i've just learned that my female cat
is sensitive to the sight of human genitals...
she's sitting on a windowsill one minute,
jumps off it the next...
         when she sees my genitals urinating
into the toilet...         hell...
                      now i have to cover my phallus
******* into the wishing well
            with one holding the aim "button" and
the other blocking her view of it... ugh...

watching the t.v. of making polish dumplings,
garnished with olive oil having fried
unsmoked bacon and onion to a crisp?
well... unless it's a show about my year of
birth, 1986, chernobyl, probably the latter...
life's too easy these days...
                  it makes no sense with women:
lounging...
                    back in the days with
no washing mashines, refrigerators,
             irons, food processors,
  ready-made-meals,
               etc. etc., vegetating,
                      when women were as important
at home, as men were important in the world...
lounging, vegetating, lounging,
vegetating,
   there's hardly a solance in a comfort,
when it has become nothing more than
a complacency... an irritation...

           oh but i will still listen to crusader
hymns, french, german and esp.
in latin...
         even while i celebrate hebrai mysticism...
i'm not exactly going to conscript myself
to a dervish spin-in-the-middle
and pretend no one notices me ****-load
of attention...
   i'd conquer the ottoman capital
on a whim of taking a **** in the middle
of ot!

          the slavs that were considered slaves
in the medieval period? i'm guessing
these germanic hard-ons are referring
to the balkan slavs..

    beside the point...
did i mention that the hebrai
     (i'm not owen benjamin -
what a nice jewish surname,
small hats? what about the christian
monk tonsure pseudo-imitation?)
      second name for their pentagram?

                              A - kametz

E - tzeré                                                I - chirek




            O - cholem                   U - shurek

Al-ef (a)
            b-Et (e)
                 gI-mel (i)
                 yO-d (o)
                             n-Un (u)

the hebrai do not follow the prefix rules
of the greeks...
     did the hebrai conspire with the greeks
to overthrow the romans?
yep...
      i'm not discussing this, i never will...
it's like gravity to me...
the greeks would never forgive the romans
invading them...
    like at edinburgh university,
i met one greek...
     Istambul was still Constantinople
to him... enough said...

but there are other names to the vowels
already stated... when the tetragrammaton
interacts / enters the sefirot...
the "other" ten commandments...

          when the tetragrammaton
assocites itself with the crown (keter)...
     A remains kametz...
but... when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with chokhmah (wisdom) /
yah... what was once kametz,
becomes: patach...

         when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with understanding (binah)...
           E remains tzeré...
but... when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with love (chesed) / el...
what was once tzeré,
   becomes: segol...
  
         when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with foundation (yesod)...
           U remains shurek...
but... when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with splendour (hod) /
                     elohim tzevaot...
what was once shurek,
                      becomes: kibbutz...

what are the remaining vowels?
            chirek (i) within netzach (vistory),
cholem (o) within tiferet (beauty)...
        the tetragrammaton itself...
  or... look to the heavnely orbs...
    and yet they keep on spinning and orbiting
their settled commands...

   but...
        but...
             a sixth vowel can be excavated from
the hebrai...
                  from the sefirot branch: gevurah,
strength, the vowel that resembles
what the two consonant-vowels (א aleph
and ע yin) already looked like to me...
     the consonant-vowel י (yod), ',
         otherwise known as sheva.

   so there is a 6th vowel in hebrai...
as there are two vowels posing as consonants!

again, at this point, me converting to
islam is... ha ha!
never mind, every time i talked to a muslim,
in public, as stranger to stranger...
the feeling of: conversation...
soon turned to a feeling of conversion...
so...
          i came to the hebrews of my own
accord...
      am i a monotheist?
   i shouldn't think so, since i'm not circumcised...
i like the idea of *******,
allows me to ******* once a day
without feeling guilty of needing
to light up scented candles in a comfortable chair...

of sure, when circumcised: it's probably
disgusting even imagining a man *******...
but... m'ah ******* still attached?
what's wrong with a ******* a web-cam
making a buck and me joining in?
that's the only decent ******* these days
to begin with...
   that's like: counter the ******...
either that, or fine art.

   oh i still "think" the other gods exist,
but i'm pretty ******* sure they're not as
invested in linguistics at the hebrai god...
     i still call the tetragrammaton
the vowel-catcher...
                 and if this hebrai god is, "jealous"...
it's trolling...
    since all the other gods relieve themselves
with such primitive demands
as to make people carve graven images
of themselves...
the hebrai god simply said:
   write me something tangible,
and interesting!
   even the monotheistic god allah
has a ******* for mantras and repetition...
worhsipping him must eventually feel
like sitting in a high school detention after hours.
sorry...
   i'm siding with the hebs- / yids...
           well it's not like the ******* saudis are
about to side with the palestinians...
are they?!

___
and how many shadows, do you think
you'll be able to conjure,
in the night-time
      while passing the outer-urban
environment of lighting?

     i passed from conjuring just the one,
then two: one in front,
one to my side...

               then came three...
one in front,
         one to the side,
                                and one behind me...

but the crescendo of the congregation
came when i turned into an alley...
six shadows...

             note...
     are hallucinations not of the same
substance, as shadows?
      well...
             given that...
i've never taken psychadelic drugs...
but fooled by
the english strand of marijuana:
skunk...
         the chemically infused ****...

i have a vague recollection
   of a guy who smoked this stuff...
story goes...
              he chopped off his
testicles, then killed his mother...
   the father filed a petition
to parliament, more like:
              speaking braille to a deaf
person...
               could have done
more with morse code...
                     but i even doubt that...

conundrum,
        one candle in tow,
             but there were 6 shadows
in an outer-urban environment...
     which one will i be talking to then?

could there possibly be more?
7 is a nice number...
              and also a nice letter: Γ
                                                    α   a
                                                    μ  m
      ­                                              μ  m
              ­                                      α   a
and the epitome of having
arrived at...
              beyond prayer,
  beyond soliloquy,
         beyond talking to one's shadow...
a moment, beyond a soothing
                                epiphany,
and esp. beyond an eureka...
             more... akin to...
   an informal existential epitome...
    or an                       草
               /              sō
       beside the religiosity
of ******* up,
     and the atheistic outright
slandering...

forget doing the 5th tier of bowing
like a muslim in prayer...
because of "what i want"...
or whatever crap that involves...
it still bewilders me...
   why would you need something
akin to the great wall of china,
when the phonetic encoding
                    is already a bastille?

        well... if "god" is associated
with delusion...
               what's the difference
between a delusion and a belief?
delusions don't possess convictions
of that translate themselves
into a fathomable will...
          delusions are...
                    a plethora of doubt(s)...
      imagine that...
grew up in an english society
with so many, many secular sensibilities...

and yet... all these problems...
   i'm going to the next sand-pit
with my bucket and *****...
      after all...
    Kant wasn't an atheist...
all the classical (anything outside
of the 20th is classical)
  philosopher had a grain
of sensibility concerning this:
  faux pas topic.

you see my honourable
rabbi,
i have this problem,
      Sauron just keeps
igniting me...
   i either buckle and fall
over laughing
    on the second h of
the gemini -
               the **: the woman bit,
or i am struck with
a need to catch my breath
(my vowels) ah eh:
               exasperated,
surd-surfing: f k p c s t -
gargantuan waves of
effort...   in genetics
you can say xy          -
but that still makes no coordinate
sense, given the z-antics.
Alice looking at the H -
   and when i wasn't looking
at the YHWH i swear i could
see a sun, a sea, a mountain -
quantum physics **** right there,
a melissa mccarthy punchline
on the ready.
yep... crude trigonometry central:
starting with sharpened cosine -
and then pinpointing on the Y -
convergent exponential...
     plus: so little calculations
were involved.
  i swear to god... mingle the latin
phonetic encoding with
the hebraic key,
  and you can attest to seeing
a million 'allah'u akbar'
   cockerels shout in simultaneous
detonations and
in a Solomonic guise... barely flinch.

The Dark Lord is Rising
In the SouthEast, Frodo.

All his mind is bent upon it.

The Dark Lord and the Ring:

They are one.

current atheism knows that it's only a vogue,
and it's only a vogue - because nationalistic populism
has overpowered it, with atheism wishing
that it could overcome the vogue, and become a zeitgeist!
no! atheism is a vogue! there's no zeitgeist invoked
in this "movement"...
        oh i adore sophistry -
i admire it greatly,
   but sophistry has also another
name:
the rhetoric of infallible claims!
atheism is vogue!
   it's fashion!
               you wear the colour read
in autumn to contrast the auburn...
you dress in azure to
contrast the grey and whites of
both frost and a pregnant
woman's demure in
               clouds readying rain!
there is nothing in atheism that i find
lacking, other than the rhetoric,
of keeping it vogue,
               rather than simply alive!
vogue one summer,
   punk the next...
  welcome a minute prior to midnight:
ostracized the minute after midnight...
but it really is welcoming
to hear someone eloquent...
   it really is...
but not for a cause other than
a cause per se...
   not atheism as such,
but the art of rhetoric...
   and it is an art, which i am not
capable of expressing,
of having the tenacity to endure
in even the quest for attempt such
feat.
    yet i find that atheism is only
a vogue...
               a passing fancy...
a spinster movement...
  a gambling move on behalf
    of the young
eager to turn to it, and:
"uphold" it;
in all honesty i find no recompense
in it...
     ask the sophist atheists when
a theologian speaks:
   the theologian speaks poetry...
and poetry? well...
sophists are immune, or at least
non-engaging in the art...
             the sophist strikes with a word,
the theologian strikes with
an image...
   the philosopher? he tries to translate
word into image, and image into word;
yet the fact remains intact:
atheism is not a zeitgeist
    but merely a vogue...
    the zeitgeist of atheism died
  within the year 1989...
       now atheism & its economic policy
are merely vogue!
   fashion accessories!
well, not if you're in the heritage of being
in the grasp of a p.s. of a billionth
addition to a nation akin to china.
i really despise this modern
"atheism"... yes, and it was also
fashionable to wear torn jeans
in the 19, 80s... and listen to depeche mode
the cure, duran duran and a-ha:
******* wankers...
these days?! we listen to templar cantos...
and we say: no no, no chopin...
sonny clark:
   quick *******, quick! tap-dance that
**** impromptu!
   and yes, i smashed my guitar,
i figured:
   either i pretend to tap tap
to a rhythm with an air-drum-kit...
or i pretend to play the piano...
     it worked either way...
atheism is still a vogue,
  that's pretending to be a zeitgeist...
like i said:
the atheistic zeitgeist died!
western society said it had to end!
              fat **** of luck ahead of you,
trying to revive collective atheism in
the hinterlands (that's the west, b.t.w.) -
to me it just sounds like any other
boring vogue of sophistry...
                     now...
   the sign of the cross,
   and speaking the tetragrammaton
in silence...
oddly enough... i prefer saying
the "pardon my french" words of english
than recite the voldemort / sauron names
that are akin for the young to compare
with the tetragrammaton...
oh look! **** me! harry potter and lord
of the rings mash-up...
                the only blasphemy is already
invoked... to sanctify the words of oath...
deservedly ***** ******* of pseudo-christianity!
**** it! bomb them;
they're a joke compared to the freedoms
of sparrows anyway...
i hardly think they deserve a death to be honest,
the life they made into a sanctum
  deserves to be kept...
  either for my joy... or for my misery;
whatever.

So I have to walk through  a group of protesters today holding signs that say Stop White Hate Racism Against White People Is Still Racism It's OK To Be White in order to buy my root beer float and drink it at the bar while I watch the Michigan State vs. Iowa State basketball game there are almost no nonwhite people in this little town and as I walk into the restaurant I say to the teenagers who work as servers and waitresses I'm not going to be hated for being white if I eat lunch here am I? No they reply I didn't think so I say election 2024 is building racehate is in the air so is white grievance so is American Ignorance

                   Shakyamuni Buddha

                   The original Woke man

Here I stand as Sauron's bane
Within the chasm doom
I fear the darkness of my prize
Could rival Angmar's tomb
As his master's malice echoes
Tongues of ages past
Drowning out Lord Elrond's cries
Into the fires cast!

Yet could its will so dominate
This Middle-Earth now bade
Free from ruin I hath smote
With but a stroke of Narsil's blade
Perhaps a tool so powerful
Could I now use to lead
Should come the Men of Numenor's
Utmost end of need

Now in my fingers as it turns
My grayest thoughts to gold  
I shan't release it from my grasp
For it is mine to hold
Yes it came to me, my own
A gift meant for a king
I must possess the qualities
Of this most precious ring

The Dark Lord is rising
In the Southeast, Frodo.

All his mind is bent on it.
The Dark Lord and the Ring -

             They are One.

There are things I thought I knew
About love and its wonders
That was true until I met you
A person who made me ponder

We could talk for hours and hours
about the books we've read
and argue about "The Two Towers"
whether or not Sauron is dead

You became a part of me
A pair that is a perfect fit
Without you I don't function properly
If this is not love I don't know what to call it

some words, really do require a chance
to un-english the englishness
of them...
                   my, how the english beam
with a stiffness of their tongue -
i actually lament the lost trill of the R -
that drum-roll moment -
       how some letters ought to be changed
in calligraphic terms -
            notably the R -
no longer rotating, rolling, robust or
for that matter: readied for the rattling of
a snake's maracas bulb...
          the english R is a swollen tongue,
a tongue gluttonous: stung by a bee -
      it's not as bad as the harking french R,
but it's not exactly satisfying -
when it started its numbing journey to lick
off some of W - or rather: hollow itself out.
on the altar of sacrificed runes -
   edh, ð... similarly the R ought to be placed
for a sacrifice of revision to enable
the knowledge of: the lost trill...
                           poise the R with the leg
making the step forward as curved inward...
      bend it...
                      the sound is numbed anyway,
let it settle for a foetal position -
      who is to say that calligraphy cannot be
changed?
                 if a letter no longer represents
the sound, there is no need to keep it...
       or at least: that's what makes sense.
i further have to acknowledge -
           the fury and the passions ascribed to
word, allah is a particularly intoxicating word...
     i can actually shed a tear listening to
an adhan...
                    but by simply listening to
alpha blondy's song sebe allah y'e -
    for some reason: there are ever present
emotional connotations within words -
i hate to approach language where words
have been undermine by secularism -
unsung, unsaid, vogue or not vogue -
riddled with prefixes and other greco-roman
abominations of science -
                      if you can grasp a passion -
not say, nor sing: but vow to feed the depth
of a howling wind and taunt with
a word, that's admirable -
           i give islam that, the word allah is
quiet agreeable in song...
   i will curse **** ***** **** dog-dung sheep-*******
my way through two stories in pop
that reveal the adam & even of YHWH -
sauron & voldemort -
a foul tongue ensure a pure body...
but a foul tongue also ensure: a clearer
  perspective for the mind to lap up -
a ****** is just short of a squid's mouth
or a venus flower -
a pair of ******* just short of
              a cow's ******* sack...
                 that's the puritanical objective
stance... miracle be made from a *******'s
ability to turn this objectivity into
the subject of: an ***** phallus,
prostitutes always seem to succeed where
liberated females, always, seem to fail to
arrive in bed with the man completely enslaved
by arousal;
       freud was right about something,
after all.
                        maybe it's the lack of
***** talk by prostitutes?
                    the whole: what would my
father think during *******,
or doing it under the membrane of bed sheets
or with closed eyes (except when climaxing)?
          besides the R...
  to turn the J into a Y -
           yerúshalem -
                            yields more emotion than
jotting down jerusalem (dz grapheme in polish) -
jot, dzik (boar) -
                      mind you,
the Maltese word for god, is actually allah,
you can sing that word so well -
       shame christianity is riddled with
the deathly gong of the 11pm bells -
once they gonged for a call to prayer -
now they're just a medieval version of a Rolex.
            if words cannot turn into
goosebumps and a tectonic shivers infused
with electric tingling across the face and spine -
   if they cannot make stakes with cool tears
evaporating on a flushed face oozing
sickly heat -
          if god remains outside the realm ****** -
we're talking language equivalent of
                a flat soufflé...
          passsable, instructional,
  tinged with a mathematical vector focus -
get's you from (a) to (b) -
  but language is not a ******* map!
    with language, if you're not lost,
   you're using said instructions -
           you're going through the plateau
of the nauseating flat Belgium...
            where the horizon is not
obstructed by a mountain range,
but merely by the distance of the unchanging
perversity of the people who write
instruction manuals for Ikea on how to
put a chair together.
                       who the **** finds these
comatose perverts, or have they actually
started to liberate people,
  and "employed" lit-bots to write this
crap out?
     - i always wanted to meet the people
who write the small print and
    the terms & conditions sections of any
agreement / contract;
            cold corpses sniffing tulips
  from the roots up, doesn't even cut it.