Gone unto Heaven

Unto the Heavens she hath gone
Leaving me with an only bun
My mother has passed away
So got no more time to work on clay
With her death, time recalled all hert past
While I sailed alone in a boat with one mast
I remembered all what she didwithout a fee
And how much she eagerly wished to see me
Her words are still alive in my mind
A lady like her is so hard to find
So mother rest in peace
We all miss you even my niece

Sam Burton


Today is Friday, Oct. 3, the 275th day of 2014 with 90 to follow.

The moon is waning. Morning stars are Jupiter, Mars and Uranus. Evening stars are Mercury, Neptune, Saturn and Venus.f



In 1950, the Peanuts comic strip by Charles M. Schulz was published for the first time.

In 1959, The Twilight Zone, with host Rod Serling, premiered on U.S. television.

In 1967, Thurgood Marshall was sworn in as the first African-American justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.



A thought for the day:



The upward course of a nation's history is due in the long run to the soundness of heart of its average men and women. -- Queen Elizabeth II





Quotes for the day:



A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere.

------------------------

A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.

------------------------

A hospital bed is a parked taxi with the meter running.



J. Marx





Every instance of heartbreak can teach us powerful lessons about creating the kind of love we really want.

Martha Beck





"With the exception of women, there is nothing on earth so agreeable or necessary to the comfort of man as the dog."



Edward Jesse



"Efforts and courage are not enough without purpose and direction."



John F. Kennedy



"All you need is the plan, the road map, and the courage to press on to your destination."



Earl Nightingale





Poetry


PLAYBACK



Lauren Camp



Let there be footfall and car door. Let me
be finished with fire. Let
the man get on a plane for his morning
departure, erasing each reverie. Soon
there will be only daylight,
maybe a blue envelope, torn. Maybe bracelets
of color from the petunias. I will need
to know how to recover
the familiar, how to open the door
in the evening. How to again lock it.
Almost everything about me goes unspoken,
but commas and colons. I live with this
heart rate, multiple times, its direction,
its tempo: my 4/4 with acceleration, sometimes
tuned to an alternate signature. Think of Brubeck's
"Take Five." Those blocky chords were the result
of an accident-dead on arrival, they said,
after he smashed to the surf. Think how
he switched it around, made his hands
do what he wanted to hear, and forgive me
for the analogy. May I never
rush a surge for a better experience.
Every Sunday all over the country,
apologies gather. When I'm not in this
small cottage, unreacting, I cascade sound
and a few sentences from a cramped
room to whoever will listen. I know some
people think it is sinful to love such temptations,
but I stay with my face soft against
microphone, announcing my moral
directions. Sometimes, I'm convinced my blood
needs all those crossings. I'm not after
absolution. The man I love taught me to want
without lyrics. Remember I haven't
gone anywhere. I'm in a thirsty way
sort of possessive. I shouldn't show you this
side of myself. Try to remember I'm also praised
for my kindness. We each need to learn
to turn off some dreams so we can play
hours without creases.


About this poem


"Sometimes my poems are clearly focused on a single topic, but more and more they seem to need to be about many things because that's how I experience the w orld-so much going on all the time. Given the chance, I'll always try to make c onnections-in this case between jazz, love, humanity and potential error."
-Lauren Camp

About Lauren Camp


Lauren Camp is the author of "The Dailiness" (Edwin E. Smith Publishing, 2 013). She hosts "Audio Saucepan," a global music/poetry program on Santa Fe Public R adio, and lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

*
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience.


(c) 2014 Lauren Camp.
Distributed by King Features Syndicate




Health and Beauty Tip



No matter what kind of ****** cleanser you use, check what kind of water you have access to. Hard water can be just as detrimental to skin as plain soap, and can dry it out.



JOKES



Toddler Property Laws



1. If I like it, it's mine.

2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.

3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.

4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.

5. If it's mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.

6. If I'm doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.

7. If it looks just like mine, it's mine.

8. If I think it's mine, it's mine.

9. If I... Oops! I'm sorry, I goofed! Instead of typing in the Toddler Property Laws, I've been typing in Bill Gates' primary business plan.





Phone Call



A young boy answers the phone.

A man says, "Hello is your dad around?"

The boy whispers, "Yes."

The man then asks if he can talk to him.

"He's busy at the moment," the boy whispers.

"Then is your mom there?"

"Yes" the boy whispers.

"Can I talk to her?"

"No, she's busy," the boy whispers.

"Is there anyone else there?"

"Yes" whispered the boy.

"Who?" the man asked.

"A policeman," came the whispered reply.

"Well, can I talk to him?"

"He's busy too," the boy whispered.

"Is there anyone else there then?"

"Yes" whispered the boy.

"Who then?" the man asked.

"A fireman," the boy whispered.

"Can I talk to him?"

"No," the boy whispered, "he's busy."

Annoyed, the man asked what they were all doing.

"Looking for me." the boy whispered.





Hard Working?



A business owner decides to take a tour around his business and see how things are going. He goes down to the shipping docks and sees a young man leaning against the wall doing nothing.

The owner walks up to the young man and says, "Son, how much do you make a day?"

The guy replies, "150 dollars."

The owner pulls out his wallet, gives him $150, and tells him to get out and never come back.

A few minutes later the shipping clerk says to the boss, "Have you seen that UPS driver? I left him standing around here?"



Presidential Quotes



"If Lincoln were alive today he'd roll over in his grave." --Gerald Ford (president, 1974-77)

---

"A friend of mine was asked to a costume ball a while ago. He slapped some egg on his face and went as a liberal economist." --Ronald Reagan

---

"I want to make sure everybody who has a job wants a job." --George Bush





Football and Confession



Years ago, the chaplain of the football team at Notre Dame was a beloved old Irish priest.

At confession one day, a football player told the priest that he had acted in an unsportsmanlike manner at a recent football game. "I lost my temper and said some bad words to one of my opponents." "Ahhh, that's a terrible thing for a Notre Dame lad to be doin'," the priest said. He took a piece of chalk and drew a mark across the sleeve of his coat.

"That's not all, Father. I got mad and punched one of my opponents."

"Saints preserve us!" the priest said, making another chalk mark.

"There's more. As I got out of a pileup, I kicked two of the other team's players in the . . . in a sensitive area."

"Oh, goodness me!" the priest wailed, making two more chalk marks on his sleeve. "Who in the world were we playin' when you did these awful things?"

"Southern Methodist."

"Ah, well," said the priest, wiping his sleeve, "boys will be boys."




Have a super nice Friday and a very dazzling weekend!

it was almost two months ago
my new job was going terribly

i had two managers
one was either a compulsive liar or losing her memory
to dementia or early alzheimers
the other one was a typical single, white, overweight woman
who enjoyed flying into fits of rage and preaching about white privilege
when she wasn’t giving angry lectures about how howard schulz’s wife
had nannies to help her raise her children

she didn’t like me
so i just quit, with no notice other than an email
saying i was resigning effective the time stamp of that email

two weeks before i quit, i had the saddest dream
about some guy i had a mental breakdown over ten years ago
i haven’t talked to him since some sad
emails in 2010, he never responded to my last email
i’de been looking him up online lately but retrieving no matches
because his name is so common and it’s been so long

in my dream he texted me or emailed me
magically, he had gotten my phone number
or one of the email addresses i use now
he wrote that he would be in my town
and asked if we could meet

i was really looking forward to it in the dream
i was getting ready, hair, make-up, clothes
i realized my dress had a ketchup stain on it
towards the end of that part of the dream

i don’t think my hair or makeup or face or body looked good
i looked like i look
ten years older and haven’t kept up or maintained anything
not that i looked good ten years ago, but i look a lot worse now
i sort of realized that when i saw the ketchup stain

then it occured to me that he never responded when
i either emailed or texted him back:
“yes, yes, let’s meet again”
there i was, excited, getting ready,
vacuuming a car I haven’t driven in years
i just wanted everything i wanted back

i thought we were going to meet that weekend
but then he emailed me saying
no, he wouldn’t be in town until the 22nd

march 22nd was on a wednesday this year
so i would have just been working late
and getting a bad review for anything i did

i quit my job on tuesday, march 21st, after a hard day of doing nothing
since then, i’ve drank a lot of wine, gotten ******, and smoked cigarettes.

i also found his mom’s facebook page
and his.

his is set to mostly private, but his mom had posted
some recent pictures of him and his girlfriend

he looked weak and unhappy in the eyes.

Why am I sitting here?
Feeling empty and alone.
And How can you just lie there...
So still, and so quiet.

Then Somehow I know you are there,
Softly aiding those who mourn.
You with the palest eye's I have ever seen,
Now closed.

But now the why's have slowly died,
Accepting their defeat.
And somehow now I know it will be alright...

Because now that you are gone,
We will never be alone.

Dedicated To Florence Schulz

Analogous to (being mine) security blanket
similar, but not identical
to the trademark one
clutched by Linus Van Pelt,
I take flight into sleep
courtesy holding fictional little yellow bird,
a mutual best friend of Snoopy.

While drifting off into dreamland
holding tight to said stuffed animal,
yours truly listens to the drip...drip...drip
of wet clothes air drying on the rack.

Additionally to supplement aural experience,
I incorporate deep sleep music
frequently binaural beats
found thru youtube.

Though ye (dear reader) might snicker
at me (as if writer of these words
heralds from Mars, or considered
an alien creature from the outer limits
of the twilight zone,
where dark shadows flourish
in tandem with mysteries of the Milky Way)
regarding yours truly
snuggling with an inanimate stuffed animal,
I attest clinging for dear life
to aforementioned stuffed toy.

I frequently experienced profound social anxiety
(mitigated courtesy prescription medications),
and ofttimes feel like taking flight,
as adrenaline courses (née rushes)
and rattles these lovely bones of mine,
particularly when yours truly
finds himself within madding crowd.

One hapless generic garden variety guy
(me, an aging baby boomer
formerly many scores earth orbitz ago,
a long haired pencil necked geek)
plagued with panic attacks since... birth
experienced accursed
lifetime psychological providence,
where profound anxiety prevailed.

Impossible mission to describe
how fast paced life in general
generates utter confusion
analogous to floundering trout
besieges mine mental redoubt
seeping into crevices,
then sealing nooks and crannies of psyche
courtesy impenetrable grout
emotional helter skelter all about
as if mine entire body (eel) electric

forced, kickstarted, subjugated...
to perform (yes folks) hokey pokey
mental gears and cogs
snapping, crackling, popping
inside tumbler like noggin
purportedly linkedin hashtagged
with said mild personality disorder
punctuated with debilitating panic attacks,
hence qualification clinched
for social security disability.

Onset of emotional paralysis
ofttimes in the past
stopped me dead in my figurative track
metaphorically wishing me to skuttle
back into hermetically sealed manhole
invisible among interleaved bract
where safe and sound
within mine secret cubby hole
also known as apartment b44
at Highland Manor in Schwenksville.

While listening to natural soundtrack,
frequently variation upon binaural beats,
as iterated above or
soothing relaxation by
Peder B. Helland,
an enjoyable youtube track
I imagine playing knick knack paddywhack...
as well as really idling away leisure time
occupied with other favorite pastimes
such as: playing solitaire, scrabble,

reading – after qua cracking
binding of newly purchased books,
(usually at Liberty Thrift Store)
crafting poems, occasionally
testing my chess skills
pitted against computer, backgammon,
as well as solve crossword puzzles
meditate (on the gift of a watermelon pickle)
to self hypnotize snapchatting,
kickstarting, buzzfeeding biofeedback.

Last night I was ******* in my bed with my best friend Patrick Enright and my other best friend Brendan Schulz by ivan molar who really wanted us 3 *******, you see Ivan grabbed Brian Allan and put him in the back of his after life Ute and then grabbed Patrick and Brendan and sat over them saying you three you three you three I will keep you three here forever
You see Ivan wanted to die so he could grab Brian Patrick and Brendan
And hold them for a hefty ransom, we were scared as Ivan stood over us with a very sharp knife saying you three boys or should I say men won’t live very much longer than where you are now, Brian said you are evil very very evil, let us go or I will bash you
And Ivan Milat just laughed and said
How could you bash me I am bashing you and you will never escape from me and Brendan said *******, get us out of here please but Ivan just laughed and said you 3 men’s kids of the 80’s will never escape you 3 will die in your sleep and the next day your families will be planning each of you’s funerals and Brian was scared as he didn’t want to die and started to struggle saying get me out of this evil realm with this evil spirit but Ivan wasn’t wanting to let us go, Ivan wanted these dreams to be our last dream of our current lives and I will hold Daniel morecombe with me you will never free him, you will never free yourselves and Daniel will join Brian Patrick and Brendan saying you 4 will never escape from me, I will push your bodies down onto the floor of this after life vehicle, none of you will escape and Patrick said please let us go Ivan and Ivan said no and tied all our legs real tight saying none of you will escape none of you I tell ya, the rope is on too tight and it is enough to make you suffocate and Patrick said it is Christmas, Isn’t that the time to be nice and Ivan said no, this is the time I make you four boys suffocate
Till you can’t live anymore
Heh heh heh heh heh heh
Brian Patrick Brendan and Daniel morecombe were struggling to get free because this man was not joking when he wanted to **** us and we were scared as we were trying to take the rope from out of our hands and feet and the gag on our mouths
We were very scared as everything was very tight, Ivan drove the flying panel van around the afterlife saying ha ha ha me the great
Got four Boys ******* in the back
Never oh never will they escape
Because I have them ******* and wrapped in my kidnappers cape
I can hear them struggling said Ivan oh yeah
But nobody else could so I will succeed in this kidnapping oh yeah
Go on Brian Allan and stay there Patrick Enright and keep there Brendan Schultz while Daniel escaped saying I haven’t got time to free you all, because I want my next life which is Ryan Donnelly to not have these problems and Patrick said mmmmmm mmmmmm mmmm
He was really saying please let us go
But the gag was on his mouth too tight and suddenly Patrick Brian and Brendan were being whipped and Ivan said I will ****** you three in your sleep and Brian Patrick and Brendan woke up but Ivan said I will get you when you go back to sleep
So watch your back

I

for weeks prior to your death i sat with a premonition
of bad writing and a toothache -
not that i ever thought much about my writing -
or that i would have to think very little of it:
more on the lines of - id est quid est -
                                      mind you - i took my mind
off writing by working in the garden  -
the pergola had to be erected so an evergreen could
be cut down -
and the wisteria that was hugging it
could be cleaved from it and dropped onto the:
prior mentioned pergola...
there was some light cement work on the fence:
a little trench had to be dug so the neighbour's
weeds would not burrow beneath...
                all that since i last saw you -
come late july - most certainly - no... wait...
come to think of it... it was late august...
me and your son-in-law (my father) were driving
across all of europe -
and on the way back i remember the heat on
the belgium france border...
                 it was an immense sensation of
whale lung thrown onto a frying pan of a stoney
beach... or at least: the sensation of stickiness
is how it could be imagined -
                perhaps that's how you can ever
begin to read a bruno schulz's cinnamon shops -
immediately from the first sentence:
that barrage of ultra- something or other:
ubergrammar - no... just that necessary style i am
yet to accustomed myself to...

II

that was 3 months ago - and i'm still learning
that: we live by regrets and memories -
which are hardly sins -
just as i remember, you'd say...
'call me every month and check up on me,
call me up and say "hey grandpa! how's
it going?!" i know we both can't talk
on the telephone - to talk you need to see
hands move, you need a face to peer at...'
that is my regret...
although the last words we exchanged
were about you wanting to buy me the rest
of karl ove knausgaard's mein kampf...
which, 3 months later, i knew you would...

IIIa

i've finally sat down to scribble something
down - if i were using my right hand
and a pen on a piece of paper
you'd immediately recognise my hand-writting
and tell me how unrefined it is:
that i'm chicken-scratching -
that i write like: kura pazorem -
   and i'd tell you: precursor of the next
stage in the process: i'll be typing
through and through...

      you died on the 23rd of october
at 5:30am if i remember, 5:10am
sounds better - circa -
            your wife (grandma) called
circa 11am on the 22nd of october and left
a message - i was out walking
complaining: how i'm not alone enough,
premonition after premonition -
she called in a confused state although
i beg to differ - that you were heaving
your last pangs of life
in a hospice - or that she just placed you
there...
i had my ticket booked for the 24th hoping
to catch you: just yet...
on the 23rd i was told at 8am...
your daughter my mother told me
upon waking, then left the house to pretend
nothing had happened...
i got up, cleaned the house...
i begged a deity or simply ex nihil that
i might cry that i might be left with
a sinking sensation...
by evening i was sitting with a headache
worth a siamese twin and hardly
welcoming the next morning where
i would fly out...
    sketchy: barely any details...
and that's how sorrow, grief, anguish...
began to creep in...
the tears your daughter cried...
i would gentle waver in a pseudo-dance
with her in the bathroom
as she cried into my shoulder
and would later
blow her nose into my t-shirt...
it pained me that i was unable
to release my heart from these piles
of rock...

IIIb

it's the 1st of november: guy fawkes night...
i'm sitting sipping a 30% cherry *****
and pretending to chase it down with some pepsi...
3 months ago i told you i quit smoking,
i lied and i didn't lie:
i continued to smoke 2 a day -
when i wanted to write, when i pretended to write -
and on the odd occasion that i proved
to myself that i was writing: i smoked 3 per evening...
hardly the usual pack a day...
3 months ago when i last saw you
i didn't smoke a single one...
for the last 3 weeks i saw you...

IV

the most vivid image i have of you is you
picking up knausgaard's autumn and reading
an extract about eating apples -
how he never leaves apple cores -
just eats the whole apple so that there's
a pleasure and then a debt at the core:
of bitterness -
i pondered this twice on a walk...
if you leave enough flesh around the core...
three bites along the length of the apple...
and you fiddle the apples seeds
with your tongue and teeth...
there's hardly any bitterness of...
eating an apple like a magician...
hardly any lesson invoked concerning life...
but that wasn't our usual conversation:
you already exhausted your cameo cinema
of memory to the point where
i would remember the surnames /
names of the people in your life...

colonel zydaczek in your days
as a military gendarme...
on parade in warsaw...

V

the intricacy of the hell that is family...
i can't be fooled about how unhappy your marriage
was...
kept for reasons of propriety or some other:
safety mechanism or the best kept excuse imaginable...
what might have been preserved if...
say... if i were the sort of man that was born
into the 20th century -
                many years prior to 1986...
you would have been a great-grandfather for
at least 10 years...
it was hardly necessary to be the only grandchild
but that i was... and remained...

VI

you're dead and i'm still three-quarters alive:
how can i write some solace for myself:
how can death become this spectacular cut-off
point where i can no longer harvest
any memories of you...
you're dead and i'm lingering -
not completely debilitated:
just unsure whether a mountain is this
grand metaphor for something
that is:

today i tested whether grief is an aphrodisiac,
i ****** off to humbert humbert's
fantasy since it was already freely
available and felt no need to go beyond
what was already taboo...
then i took a shadow and i knew that
if on high: herr omni- c.c.t.v. cyclop eye
would not be looking at such details...

you're dead and i'm not going to beg
for rhymes and odes -
to write some miraculous epitaph -
beside cutting up onions today -
tears! finally! tears! i managed to cry
authentic tears once more!
it only took cutting up an onion to do so!
but, with such tears...
no softening of the heart -
heart's still a stone...
and brain is still... hardly a whirlwind of
disposed thoughts
and only: pickled with eye, ear and tongue
extensions:
pretty hoarding fungus chappie: sort of...

VII

i'm happy to tell you the world is still
"happening": whether by concerns for dasein
or a lack of thereof... but the mud / **** flinging has
never been greater...
you took the best of what autumn had to
offer...
a bouquet of bronzes and geld,
of frivolous yellows and burnt orange translating
itself into bold deepenings
of transcending prime artifacts of:
her gown of sweet scented rot: of(f) brown...
you should have seen the light
as it married itself to a fleeting of once
formerly amen of green...
the blistering sky as blue as a aristocracy of
angelic blood: formidable events took
place: i imagine you were in conversation
with someone...

VIII

the ceremony itself was unspectacular...
if the restrictions weren't in place:
i imagine many more people would have come...
three women stood out from
the rest, i imagined them to be your
former lovers...
i stood at the entrance of the church
not wanting to talk to anyone...
closing my eyes i moved from side to side
like a tree teased by the wind...
you were attired in prof. trim of navy
as i was... black can hardly be associated
with mourning or with a funeral...
i chanced upon navy...
grey was also visible...
but black is for paupers / plebs...
something more refined was in order...
navy or a darkening - charcoal grey...
we talked about this: or at least i imagine it
to be so: black is reserved for
priests and for crows...

IX

since your death i have found a return to england,
every time i left you, i left dear mother,
poland,
i guess not anymore...
since the headache of all the formalities:
and your son (my uncle) being so unbelievably
circa 50 years old...
never mind... and your wife (my grandmother)
i landed in england as i only landed
in her ***** only once prior:
the first time -
hardly excited like the first time -
but content that i... don't really have anything
to return to: that feral land...
for the first time i can become
so carelessly formal: expediently pressed
to poker my stay in those black-holes of
a land: you were dying like a patriarch
of former communism when
abortions rights were atheistically pronounced
and liberally secular...
the women came onto the streets
in protests of their rights being removed:
that they would have to give birth
to deformed foetuses...
notably? because by biological deficiency:
they would still have to be born...
since ****** or **** didn't play a role...

barbarous land of catholicism...
and all this time i was like:
so... what's it like then?
i ******* into a tissue and flush it along
with the crocodiles...
am i committing genocide?!
if i were given a fixed amount of *****!
perhaps... but this ***** comes
like glue or salt in the oceans!

Xa

in the prosektorium...
             the dissecting-room... the morgue...
after all... i knew that walking around town
and putting up the necrologue would be easy...
3 x 100ml of ***** bravado and i was:
pirate-chested hairy!
my long coat and all the your pearls of beauty
would start calling me gwandp'ah...
the bureaucratic details of your death:
someone had to identify you in the coffin...
i was expecting something: completely different...
i'm not sure someone can prepare
you: prepare you seeing a dead body...
esp... a dead body attired for a ceremony...
hell... i've seen a roadkill before:
a fox... i kept feeding a fox for a month...
seen a fox up-close...
i imagine a dead body "by accident" is a lot different
to... i've seen a  man knock another man
dead - one blow to the head
and a pancake on the street...
it's a bit different... seeing someone...
so well presented: for: the ceremony...

Xb

upon entry i remember the colour of the tiles:
what a bewildering window-shopping
reference, a sponge of a waiting room,
i don't really knew what it was that it was
supposed to be waited for:
identifying you:
you adamant to not get new porcelain worth
of teeth: milkshake baron you...
slurp up the rest of your meals...
i supposed... you and your missing
prosthetic teeth...
but first came into view your shoe:
which wasn't yours...
but as an extension of your feet
i guess it was...
it was "just there"...
             NUR DA...
                     peeping from above
the horizon of the coffin...
teasing me before i would come
antlitz zu antlitz...

arms folded: immaculately cut fingernails...
a bruise from the igrawka
of dryp dryp dryp...
your sunken cheeks...
your lips stitched together:
yet your sunken cheeks...
your inability to borrow a jaw... strong enough:
that pearl of a pear of your chin...
your frivolous last expectation
of the already lost hair...
of course i couldn't be a pure
atheistic / materialist -
i was a child again: i wouldn't call it
a soul: i would call it
the sigma-of-animation...
the sum-of-animation...
obviously this was missing...
that detail that essence was lost:
the earth implored for the body to be
paid as ransom...

but there you were: face somehow
recognizable: yet returned to the generic
project of the dead, the babes
and all those daddy-long-legs
anorexic models parading exhausted
beauty on catwalks of:
skin a leopard... dress a skeleton etc.

now we have conceived that:
i want to drink to tell the truth...
i will not revise this like some comedy
sketch:
it's not the best i can do:
it's all i can...
let's not pander to critique or a lack
or audience...

Xc

i do remember a "little" detail concerning
you...
you were a philately enthusiast, weren't you?
no wonder only i among the closest kin
wanted to sleep in the room
where you least heaved:
spewed some blood and were
surrounded by books...
and there be postage stamps!
i "stole" 4 albums with a collection of
them... i hardly think of selling them
to pay for electricity...
believe me: sooner i dead in belgian
euros or swiss franks at a dignitas clinic
since i'll be left completely solo
than have to...
sell them to sustain myself...
but as it happens... your wife...
my grandmother... was furiously tasked:
well... tasked me...
with withdrawing the 500zl per day
of all you 7000zl worth...

money money money:
i do wonder what grandma will spend all that
money on...
i don't think i'll want to inherit:
but these stamps are...
well... i have photographs of you from
1965 when you were still a young man...
but you were my grandfather:
i own your identity card...
with a photograph taken circa 15 years ago...

the circus / the church already stated:
you have died you are relieved from
all things temporal...
why the spatial details at all matter:
coordinates "hier" coordinates "da"...
and "sein" and "abwesend"...

you became a brother at the funeral...
you were no longer hierarchal with contest
for power broking future and past...
my brother: not my grandfather...
the priest: father, said so...
       *******' load of hierarchy:
fiddling sputnik violins from kindergarten...
roman catholicism...

grandmother still stresses her upbringing
ever-more...
she still thinks we are vermin-people
and that ****** should have started
with us rather than with the hebrews...
you and i know that's
a ceremony of: no comment...

how would you have detailed this approach:
i know how you would have:
it's not even worth mentioning since
we would already graze upon a superiority
complex with an inability to brush it off
with a laugh...
because we wouldn't laugh...
it would be a a headache to detail:
and i was born with this "other" half
included...

XI

look! we're nearing the devil's dozen...
which comes to the clue:
13: as jesus the hey-zeus!
       proto-paul and the propaganda
of how the hebrews and the wounded greeks
overthrew the romans...
ruled for a bit... and then...
come... the ottoman turks...
sort of... gave head....

XII

we could joke: ich: the plural ownership of they,
ich: haben - that deutsche and i,
one might always expect a dog to bark
come the night...
no no... this all too much detail for all:
the necropolis of poland that's nuanced
egypt - they have to buy up lease
for their graves...
carve out graves without dates of death:
they buy out 2nd mortgages of pyramid
democracy and crux...
the hebrews left pretended to giggle:
hard torn with the ashes...
me buying up history which could
never compete with an anglo-1960s
detail: snippet...

XIII

that i find an oyster wriggling in
the shell that's a skull that's somehow
a chewing gum's worth of a tongue...
this phantom of ***** white that's white
that's also stained with burgundian lashes
of agony of sipping wine
while spilling it over the cranium
of golgotha...
scalped...
learn to detail this new graffiti....

XIV

i talked to Paul before i took toward
the darkness and two ****** pretending
to be virgins upon the mt. of Kierkut...
he asked me how tall i was...
then he stood a step one above the tally
of my count, above me...
to measure up...
  and as he talked i had no face:
he would only concentrate on the region
that was supposed to be an ownership of
my heart...
once... i talked to a nurse on defeaning
tube train...
i was lip-reading...
but this thief: he told me... Piccadilly Gardens
of Manchester...
in the prisons with
the russians... and those that punched above
their weight... would inject vaseline or
whatever might... cushion a "sudden"
disappearance of knuckles to
make a full-fat-pouch of a fist...

poluse... not ******...
this guillotine measured "short" would bemoan
his luck with women...
around us... women walked like
sacred cows...
any old mongol would have... would have...
soud-hampton high on Herra...
this is just after your funeral...
i had to take a walk and pretend to
breathe and own a dog...
my list of excuses writing you
are drying up...
what with the promises of the islamic
republic of the world...
all these untouched all these
unloved virgins of the wriggling harem...

XV

arktyka - antarktyka -
antarktyka - arktyka -
             sąd - sad -
  sad - sąd -
      judgement - orchard -
           arctic - antarctic...

XVI

an... AFFOGATO...
well... that's 30ml of espresso...
and... a scoop of ice-cream...

XVII

what daughters-in-law there could have been:
if... bread was skimmed...
and the milk was...
trickling down from heaving...
stones instead of believing oneself
to be a courtesan of cows...
what promises governed the hebrews...
when... for what was their lot:
and subsequent loot...
the qurun drilled a blackening portal...
the arabs celebrated...
the russians would always inherit
siberia...
estonia was given  snippet
of the baltic sea curated by the danes...
lithuania shrunk into memory and beyond...
germany frau benß fur immer merz...
the huns / gargoyles in southern greece:
i.e. and northern macedonia...
balkan pirouettes of detail:
regained pride...

ah! ya!
ß = "z"
s = s
c = k
z = "c"                 jawohl!

XVIII

herrbittebonbon!
and your finger sticky from all that
SS-toffee...
translation: herr! bitte! bonbon!
which you always were...
the 1939 prior to the "adventures"
of the 20th century...
which sedated the grand yawn
of the british empire come
the zenith last exhaustion of
the 1960s and then some
"tremor christ" quasi canadian
for the finicky "end-of" summary
of a ******* football match-up...

the ottoman Janissaries vs.
the egyptian Mamluks!
   vs. the Mongolian horde!
                 in german it must sound
universal:
ist der straße gerad(e)?
to hell with asking in one's native
spreschen... future bent... nuanced got...
this returned alt vater spreschen...
i come with a shadow that
king arthur combated...

XIX

i would be writing a wriggle of russian:
if i were also writing enough finesse of
diacritical detail(s)
but given this diacritical blank:
dyslexia prone pro-latin english
UMPIRE stutter EMEMEM EM...
i would be: but apps don't work
with cyrillic or ancient turkic...
chopper
čopper... wait... what use is that...
extra P?
            çopper?
hiding the "jew" the god... the mammon...
H - one leg one arm of
the tetragrammaton...

        i don't actually mind...
it's not a conspiracy low i.q. "theory":
the dictates of rhyme and fact...
best posit a revision of
punctuation:
the hyper-stressed: newly arrived at
jerusalem kippah brethren are:
insomniac: "somehow"!

it's more a: huh?!
"they" missed the poetry train
and the hyper-cultural-reinvention
of the 1960s... still stricken-blind by
what... erik lehnsherr (henry hillside)
had to endure...
what are these puffs of blistering
a pyramid a sight... these halves?!

like we'd had to total: amost...
a crew of party poopers...
we were we are... these shadow-deafness
"equipment" best excusing:
           für immer fortschritt!

     tsukunft: in ergets nit...

  so much for hebreq married to germanic...
and not to the neighbour... zunge...
yiddish wasn't born from ****** tonguing
long: oi! oi! lithuanian spears!
the last remains of paganism...
by prior to moscow... blah ah ha ha...

it's not like the jews married themselves
to ****** or russian...
they said their jingle-bells with
pseudo-germanic:
yiddish... didn't they?

**

i've just seen a corpse readied for a funeral...
coffin and all...
walking through a graveyard
at night is... all too easy...
come to think of it...
i want to sleep in one...
my mortal democratic oath:
i can wait...
no matter...
give me two sponges and enough of them
soaked in acid to wait...
allow my tongue to get drunk...
my ears to succumb to deafness...

how you could deviate from german
with a spice of the odd 'ebrew...
you could...
yeah... i'm one part convinced this
secular niqab tactic does work:
as long as the arabs own
all the yachts and the air-conditioning
and all the camel milk and leather...
but... once they show...
entry points for disgruntled
mongolians...
        
        my corpse is waiting
for the 22nd century for all this to become
a promethenian platitude worth
of yawn as any... prior:
or future:
but thank god...
i'll be left without having made
any genetic investment...
perhaps an idea of mine...
perhaps some artifact that i allowed
myself to keep for a transition
period...

der ende!
as it happens... the world is...
my grandfather died...
i have little concern for the better half of it...
i'm cradling a wound of a quarter...
i guess that's how you
contest things passing guised in
matters of a temporal inquest...
however it goes...

drunk this night...
sober... two nights solid tamed with...
the worst kind of sober:
a socially expected sort of horrid;
a 14 day self-isolation presccription;
otherwise? me?
jog-friendly... whiskey and cat's whiskers!
*******! birth of h'america come
november!

empires die in afghanistan:
among the pashtun women.
oh yeah... lived for being fed the soul
of Karen and Mr. Surprise: a Gein Mommy's
Lover Boy -
butz the baconz iz oh soz sizzlez! ya?!

As children, when Lucy pulled away the football, it was cute.
Back then I could laugh about it and I didn't give a hoot.
But now that I'm fifty-one years old, it isn't cute anymore.
Yesterday, Lucy pulled away the football like the many times before.
I punched her really hard and I knocked that **** to the ground.
Here came Linus to defend his sister and I had to take him down.
I pounded on his head and I crammed his blanket up his ****.
Schroeder joined in and I knocked him out with an uppercut.
I even had to beat up Peppermint Patty.
Maybe I shouldn't have called her a fatty.
Charles Schulz made me lack self confidence when I was a kid and that wasn't good.
If I could travel back in time to beat the crap out of him, you'd better believe I would.

Hi this is Brian Allan again
Reporting to you from the basement I am been held in with Patrick Enright and Brendan Schulz and today the kidnapper came in with a big axe, well he was putting it away but he said to Brendan I am coming to get you and I am going to **** you and me and Patrick started to get scared that the kidnapper was going to **** us all and the kidnapper went away saying heh heh heh heh I have those young people right where I want them and me and Patrick and Brendan were struggling trying to escape and the kidnapper came back and whipped us with his garden hose and yelled out you youngens will never escape from me and we all tried to scream but the duct tape was nicely gripped around our mouths we couldn’t be heard
If I didn’t text on the phone nobody will know what is happening to us
Brendan was moving around the garage trying to find a way out of here but it is impossible for us to escape because the tape was on so tight, the kidnapper came back and picked up Brendan and said tonight I will cook you on my barbecue and have fresh tasty young boy for dinner
And I started to struggle my way over there to save Brendan and the kidnapper got the axe and threatened to chop our heads off and me and Patrick and Brendan tried to scream through our duct tape on our mouths
But we found it impossible to be heard
And the kidnapper left saying heh heh heh I have the family people *******
We say to you all
HELP US

Hi my name is Brian Allan
I am 21 years old and I have been kidnapped by a gang of thugs who were interested in taking money off people and my hands are tied together with very strong duct tape but I still can text this but I am finding it hard and with me is my best friend Patrick Enright who also is 21 years old, he is very scared, so scared in fact he doesn’t want to speak because he is afraid he will be murdered by these thugs, at the moment I think we are in this thugs basement with the door padlocked shut, and we have my 10 year old neighbour Brendan Schulz who was playing with his roller blades when me and Patrick were being abducted and because Brendan saw us being dragged into the car the thugs chased Brendan down the road and when Brendan fell down on the road and skinned his knee, the thugs got out of the car and took brendan’s roller blades off and threw them in the nearest garden and tied Brendan up with me and Patrick and now we are in this basement we have no idea of what is going on outside and we can’t speak to each other because the duct tape is tightly around our mouths
Patrick is very scared and said to me to say that he is still alive and don’t stop looking and Brendan said the same thing and then the kidnapper brought some food for us but we had to eat it like dogs because he only took the tape off our mouths and Kept it on the rest of the body just in case their was no funny business because he knows what young dudes like us are like, we will thank him for the meal and then run after stomping on his foot, well he didn’t want to take any chances and that made me and Patrick and Brendan very scared for our safety, we are thinking we are going to die or something and after we finished eating like dogs, the kidnapper came back and duct taped our mouths so we can’t speak or scream or anything else and we were bored because all 3 of us are young and being captured isn’t very much fun
HELP US

Hi my name is Brian Allan and I am still ******* with duct tape with my 2 friends Patrick and Brendan
Last night when I hid my phone so they don’t see it the kidnapper grabbed Brendan and said you are only 10 and you are going to hung bu the neck untill you are dead and nobody will hear you because of the duct tape on your mouth and once I have done with Brendan I will **** you 2 and Patrick was trying to escape and then thought that he figured that he has never been kidnapped before ever in his life, I am struggling trying to get out to save Brendan but I don’t want to hung by the neck myself but I said threw my duct tape gag let me go let me go please save me and the kidnapper said Brian Allan Patrick Enright Brendan Schulz no need to shout threw your gag nobody can hear you and then hung Brendan on the roof and Brian and Patrick said
Put him down he is only a kid and the kidnapper said ok if one of you can replace him and after he untied Brendan he picked up a axe and hit the kidnapper over the head and then untied me and Patrick and suddenly we escaped but we were unaware that where he took us was a lonely place where we just missed the hourly bus by 10 minutes and we had to wait for 50 minutes but we had to hide just in case the kidnapper came through from the whack and it was a boring 50 minutes and with 1 minute to go we saw the kidnapper coming toward us and we couldn’t hide but we got on the bus and the kidnapper followed the bus and got ran over by a car and in about 5 hours he was dead and Brian and Patrick and Brendan cheered so loudly saying
Ding **** the kidnapper is dead
Yes he is the kidnapper is dead
And us 3 young dudes are free