the first layer is p.t.s.d. free
orientation...
i call it the ***** brigade,
a strong psyche,
or at least something akin
to a ******... and i knew some would-be
footballers, aged 15 / 16,
dropping ****** rather than ecstasy...
a weird experience seeing it happen...
his name? ryan.... ryan cyrmy...
however you spell the last name...
i found him popping ******
on a night out...
can you imagine it?!
no, don't know my potential,
it's still very much anime fantasy...
the worst sadists come
clothed in the following:
save a drowning puppy,
forget the drowning toddler.
per-fe-ction!
oh sadists are above psychopaths,
they're an anti-thesis
to the psychopathic theoretical...
muder industrailised is
an anaesthetic...
****** solo?
that's an adrenaline rush...
but genocide? i.e.
the industrialisation of ******?
no misnomers here, sure
homocide, whatever... let's not
get into the correct word,
when deviating with "misnomers"...
industrialised ****** is
an anaesthetic...
****** one on one?
that's pure
adrenaline...
they do say that p.t.s.d.
arises from what evil you did,
rather than what evil was done unto you...
sure enough, imagine firing
a machine gun, and then having
to return to a society, where
boiling water for a cup of tea,
could also seem dangerous in your
murderous hands...
within comparison?
i like to think of the undiagnosed:
p.c.s.d. (post-colonial-stress-disoder)...
and if you come from an ethnicity
that had and has encompassed
a nationhood, without colonising other
nations...
it's a grand joke,
i'm just making jokes over a slobbering
pope, that, if god endowed him the wiser
step, would have been a lesser saint
or no saint at all, but at least
a fond memory,
of the sickly pope emaritus,
that taoist pope i wish he would have
become... to ease the world,
let the world forget you;
but now... semi-, completely senile...
slobbering, needing a napkin to catch
the saliva oozing from his
pseudo-brain-haemorrhage;
ya... ob nur papst rentner:
pig latin makes germanic sparrow -
none are exact...
but at least we can
conclude: at least it was a singing
cucumber pickle singing in the
barrel with the pickled barbarossa
in jerusalem... singing...
when the boy is resurrected and sings:
crow for crow, and a thousand number of
the crow throng! so the red king arises
once more!
precursor i guess...
bartablondine.
