-
I: tonight! at the Oscars!

i really had to watch the whole show
twice, to convince myself of
something;
    the first time i watched it i was
as any usual idiot aspiring to
wow!
                      you know the usual
finesse,
             a bunch of humble people
with diamonds that belong
                                     to hades,
or at least the j. r. r. tolkien dwarves,
       and the masked king
          under the dome of the theatre
or rather:
           when does an actor, not act?
and i thought the mob
    that went to see ballet clapped
too much...
                        boy i had it coming
with this crowd...
                  these one-legged actors
seem to clap more than
    your typical pleb like me at
                       a ballet performance;
but this was only upon first sitting.

2nd sitting? ooh - a cringe (show
a face of constipation with closed eyes
and skidding mouth trying
to usher in the crin-  with a floating
                    -dg         - the d being
subtle) show...
                     the majority of americans
are of german descent, although
they speak english, right?
      and i thought english humour
was bad...
                        upon watching highlights
a 2nd time,
      i started smelling a rat...
         weinstein...
               sure, sure...
                          but who's that young
girl sitting next to guillermo del toro?  
      holding his arm as if clinging
to daddy issues - but hey!
               there's the aqua god hidden
somewhere in that bag of meat
               finely, finely attired!  
yeah... and i have an easter bunny
shoved up my ***,
                    and mother goose too!  
and black, so much black,
                 well, khaki doesn't cut it
really...
              but by watching the highlights
the second time
           it just felt like
     quote from the phantom tailor,
i.e. you hurt my feelings!
   chic? what's chic?
          chick-chicky-poo-brains...
        crass, man, absolutely crass...
     the absolute german joke:
    regarding the best picture
            award from last year...
              it just so happened that
the academy made a mistake between
a BLACK movie, and a musical...
     and in this years "ceremony"
            the hurt feelings had to be
appeased and what: the barbarian horde
expected was - but not on the last
minute whim...
            well, bull in a china shop,
     the closest i can come to the grace
of a balerina, is to curl my toes inward,
  and then stand up and walk the crow
walk... the opposite of how a gorilla
does the same with its hands.

***** please, don't confuse hans zimmer
with: are you sure that
   john williams isn't plagiarising
himself all the time?
           so, i came up with a new category,
the sort of guys
    who choose the music for such
films like baby driver...
                          can't argue that that
film is the ******* purely on the basis
of what soundtrack was behind it...
how about there's an oscar for those
music nerds?

II: i never follow the exact recipe -
    this is my body (pepper),
                          this is my blood (salt).

just 'ave a look at this:

ingredient list from
     two different recipes
     (a) epicurius.com
                      (b) pekishme.com
   (c) ... the hybrid

  (no measurements are to be given
in the later revealed hybrid
   as in the following two recipe
sources for a reason...
        i'll admit... the only branch
of chemistry i was good was
       organic: or rather - the i see) -
i've seen too many english women
sticking to "guidelines"
  and have seen at least two
marriages where a woman didn't
understand the concept of
       al dente, that later had to be
cooked to a nice chew in the sauce
after having rested in a seive
   drizzled with oil, prior to being
cooled with cold water to stop cooking...

                   A                                              B
butter          ­                                       fettuccine
breadcrumbs                                    cutterf­ish
fresh basil                                         shrimps
chopped fresh thyme                      clams
mussel                          ­                     white wine
water                                                 double cream
olive oil                                            onions
zucchini   ­                                         garlic
yellow summer squash                  thyme
red bell pepper                                oregano
garlic             ­                                    olive oil
shrimps                                            parmesan cheese
scallops
fettuccine

                                     C      
butter                                                
br­eadcrumbs                                    
                   ­                                         shrimps
                ­                      
mussel                                               white wine
                                                           double cream
olive oil                                            onions
           ­                                                garlic
                                                          ­ thyme
                                                           oregano

                                                        ­   parmesan cheese

fettuccine

and there are problems with reading two
recipes...
         e.g. you can't exactly use wine
and cream and also add
  zucchinil, yellow summer squash                  
& red bell pepper with these mild
sensations that are not balanced
akin to cream and wine (esp. white),
fresh basil? doesn't go with cream...
fresh thyme does go along with meat,
notably, lamb?

    dried thyme & oregano are
a match made in heaven...

      point being,
            the crucial aspect of fusing
recipe (a) with recipe (b)
  is the butter and breadcrumbs...
    you melt the butter and brown
the breadcrumbs in it...
    let them cool, and then sprinkle
them on the dish...
    you can also infuse the addition
of cream with parmesan,
  as you might also add extra on
top...
                 but the point of
recipe (a) crux is the breadcrumbs
mingling with everything
   in recipe (b) - but also with
what's essential in recipe (a) rubric.

III: code.

    for a while i forgot where you begin
writing html...
            blanked man, blanked...
     oh... right... in the notepad
and then you save the file under
   under index.htm
             with a sub-heading ALL TEXT...
but at this point it's really caveman
talk to me, the ones using the language
proficiently have been taught
by pioneers in the field,
            and it's not about wealth
distribution, but about knowledge...
  
e.g.
      <!DOCTYPE html>
<html>                         but why not <\html>?
<body>                         but why not <\body>?

<h1>me being late</h1>
<p>the first word is spelled mama, or gaga?</p>

</body>
</html>

           with those questions in italics
  i can't see no gate opening, nor closing
     subsequently with <h1> and <p>,
               apparently the gates
    are always open and there needs
               to a constant flow through them.

sure, smart, but dumb at the same time;

because i can tell you,
i once had an "I.T" "teacher" in my youth,
charged 20 quid an hour,
and all he managed to "teach" me
was how to change the, ******* screenshot!

it's not exactly true what they say
about teachers... it's not that if you can't
do, you teach... the darker side is:
                       you scam.

IV: ✡.

       there is no such thing as a "secret"
among the rich,
    as there certainly isn't such a thing
as a "conspiracy" among the poor.

V: the croydon cat-killer.

this isn't even an urban myth told
in thailand by hippies...
        let me tell you,
          when you spot a decapitated
cat, lying on the street while
walking at night,
   and you've read about where
this story originated, i.e. croydon
you start to start looking
   for that pathetic sadist...
   thinking to yourself:
           well, and we met, would
you have the ***** to do that to me?
  i'm gagging for a chance encounter,
just to see the ****** breakdown
upon trying to move to an upper
tier of this depraved practice.

Wisper, because time
passes so quickly.
Wisper for fear the clock strikes
one too many

The hours like sighs
rob us of our moments
the good, the bad, the indiffrernt
I try to hold you .
Like the seive holds water
Through my fingers you glisten
you glimmer, you disappear
Time, time, my elusive one
You make my life appear
like a dream I hardly dreamt

You are going, you are gone
Of all the sunsets of my days
I'll remember but a few....time so dear
So unpalpable
You are gone

Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights
2006

I came to this place on two broken
Knees.
Six words said: Can I have a drink
Please.
They are not that expen-
seive
I believe I can deny my carnal
Needs
I know even wizards can
Bleed
Profusely some Gods speak languages
Falsely.
And certain people speak but stare
Blankly.
Layman's terms: the majority is
Lying

not got poetry within me...

have searched and sought,
found only dry bones
and hollow whispers

mirages to a soul that sighs.
mirages to a soul that cries...

bones that clack and clatter,
whispered words that natter
and scatter and dissipate
....at an alarming rate

my ear aches, my heart aches
and those bones, do break...
and shatter

mirages drift, mirages drift...

as i sift and seive a tired mind,

yet no poetry do i find....

Blinded by fake-ups and look-sees
Brainwashed by surgeries and fakeries
Withheld by ridiculous ideals
Restrictions aided by societal feels

To them she was an outcast
But she was my Aphrodite
They could jest all they wanted
But I was taking home this deity

To remove all the tussles
Seive out the floccs
Solve all the puzzles
Open my Pandora's box

Whatever I found I wouldn't fright
Rather I think I'd take delight
Take me oh seductress to your chamber
Of your soul I'd love to be a member

Where they saw flaws I saw beauty
I saw angels doing their duty
They thought what I saw microscopic
I thought their primitive minds myopic

This strange creature unlike any I'd seen
Had pulled my heart and tugged at the seam
As she tore it open all I could find
Was I was a goner and I didn't mind

Her beauty had left me mindless
My entire being insentient
I could all but do her bidding
To this I was very willing

It just leaks,
Right on through.

Soften the membrane
of Creative Thought
not the memory taught
Let the Seive of Osmosis
relax into action
not the pounding thought
but the Natural Draw and Release
Ease into Ideas
and construct a Tidy Bed
a Cleared Desk of Concentration
an Operation of My Dreams
Structured
as a Part Within
The Worlds Form
Rightful in place
and Marked Out
then Mailed Out
When Ready
Make me A Use
that I may
In Simple
Create.








© Jon Thenes 2015

a readership is simultaneously
a censorship and a seive,
rather than a passive ingestion
of a freedom,
to boycott journalism;
came the hammer and sickle,
came the seive and the scythe;
and that, ignoble and inncoent:
"bystander".

I have a love/hate relationship with morning,
And not for the reason you might think;
No, I have no problem with alarm clocks
Or early jobs, cold breakfasts,
Or the grogginess only cleared by a cup (or three) of coffee.
No, I have a problem with literally waking up.
On days I wake up without an alarm clock,
I hate it. Well, hate is too strong a word;
Really, it's bittersweet.
I swim up towards consciousness
From the warm depths of sleep.
I float on the strange, ever shifting barrier of
The dreamworld,
A silver sea rippling with black and white reflections,
Hints of rainbow.
My brain is trying to tell me something,
I'm sure of it, if only I could
See the message for a bit longer.
There is one moment,
One single, tiny, brief, glorious
Moment
Where I know that I'm dreaming.
My dream-self is warm and fuzzy and
Right in the midst of an imaginary...something,
And I know that this instant is all I have left of it.
I strain, focusing all of my real-or-not energy
On decoding whatever it is that I can't quite see.
I revel in the mysterious firing of synapses deep down
Within my brain, forcing pictures of
Life
Onto eyelids that have never seen
The bright-hued portraits
I hang before them.
And I won't be able to think about it
Until that last, final instant,
I try to keep it with me like water in a seive,
But I cannot stop myself from floating up,
Out of Dreamworld, off the surface of the pool,
Away from, from..from....
It's gone.
I can't picture it anymore as I am
Inexorably dragged up towards my life.
I wake, eyes flashing open.
Heart pounding.
Out of breath from my struggle to
See the other side.
A tear escapes from the prison of lashes.
****. I was so close this time...

This isnt a poem about a girl I once knew
Cos let me tell you man, there has been a few
As I have met many names as Sandy, Amy and those I have forgotton
And surnames not asked like Smith, Jones and McConnon
Goodbyes can also be said to streets I have lived
To my neighbours I once loved and those I'd like to seive
I'm writing this bard a bit to soon as I have still nowhere to go
Just looking at lottery wins in my dreams, to-and-fro
Would I head north or over to the greens of Ireland
Or back to where I grew up, Dorset and its Jurassic Sands
Would moving house make it harder on Wilf the cat
I'm sure he'd find a new place to prowl, they all have the odd rat
And driving up the A1, past the fighting metal zebras
Whilst missing the *** shop everytime, some stories to tell you
Looking up and seeing those birds of prey
Can see why they're are based here, the good old RSPB
But the pubs are closing one by one and now the Queens Head
If this keeps on happening, soon the town will be dead
So time to pick that fantasy house now on Rightmove
And say goodbye to Sandy,
with those fantasy millions, its hard to even choose....

JJB

/you don't, you don't! meddle with civil wars! syria is syria's problem! you don't! you don't! meddle with civil wars! concerning england... i would have thought charles I would have taught the adequate lesson? no? you don't meddle with another nation's civil, war!!! you a syrian baker, plumber, or butcher?! no! thank you! you're just an globalist commentator! *******!/

ukraine was to join
the european bloc  of nations,
once upon a time
before the 2nd crimea war...
     me?
i'm exhausted with all
this verbiage of a defence
for a freedom to talk,
word's worth a tonne,
****** of Ibiza:
             i look...
    and see nothing more
than baggage receipts...
of said freedom...
             so much weighs on
us, to allow these f.j.w.
         freedom,
                    justice...
            a glaring stare
in a hood, with gnashing teeth...
                         what's to fear
other than a punch to the face?!
            fear that?
               send me your way,
i'll pay the due...
             sclera white agitated...
18 years minus
           otherwise spent
at the Camden Market...
              the freedom to speak...
my...
                  how about
the filter for the freedom of
thought, and the subsequent seive?
          reading combats the easy pleasure
of watching videos...
               the "illiterate"
wriggle through...
   and what remains?
                            the seived lot...
as pompous as i might be,
i won't be...
                      but the statement remains
ringing, true...
                    there's a fine line between
the literate, and the easily impressionable...
via the video medium...
              even i know,
that you don't **** around
with a syrian butcher, when the problem
kisses a syrian baker...
  you ******* numb-wit's worth
of tory or librarian socialist!
          i expect charlie on the banknote
within the next 10 years!
            your little *******
meddled with gaddafi...
        now... syria... is, mine...
           or as the prophet said:
  juggling damascus:
                                well...
what, a mighty, return!
                          because that's not what
was written, subsequently kept?
the sadist in me
almost admires
the written word being
turned up-side-down
             as the Quran states...
so... the Syrian civil war.
now you can wave: bye bye;
          and now,
i get to sharpen my teeth.

The illusion is that I toil and turn,
When in reality I am like clay in a hand
And I'm like a vampire toy
Turning around in my mirrored reflection
This is the place where I toss and turn
This is the place where my nightmares come from
Why I want to live and leak like a seive

I toss and turn in the universe
Like backwards motion
Never having a real choice
You're meeting me at all these different points
From an everywhere that is the only nowhere,
From an only that is deconstruction.

Front, back, this side. That.
Circumstances are set
It's something that you need to feel
So feel it well,
Sense the world.

. ****, ****, am i too late, am i too late? did i make it to the show, did i miss the circus? oh... looks like... no; **** it... let's party.

in the confines
of a budding flower,
and never:
to be truly exempt from
harbouring its, potency
to bloom,
    always left...
blank, slate,
       like some ghost
off-shoot from
the gallows
in a scheming evil
space of emptied
rooms, corridors,
and... allowed to dart
my eyes into dancing
shadows
without the puppeteer
strings, expected,
to be attached to
these: dolls
of the apocalypse.
   - i... seive through
the scraches
   of an underbelly
of pig, without a well
glared at lights,
issued, to donning
a tuxedo...
just because i was
born with green eyes,
doesn't imply
i am to,
disturb this chess board
of current, and future
events...
  a night at the oscars
is like me taking a ****
in an alleyway,
                funny...
they come for me
when i'm found
******* in an alley...
but when i visit
a brothel...
      handcuffs off
attitude...
             i need,
language to, ferment,
               brew...
  give me the air
it itself requires
  to be left manifest...
anyone,
figure out,
as to why...
the prime purpose
of expression within
the confines
of the english language,
has to move,
all the way from l.a.
to the faroe islands?
no? me neither...
   but i'm done
with all these spasm-riddled
anorexic zombies
of the cat-walk,
walking like
rearranged, *******,
toothpicks missing a shadow,
and... a limb's worth
of the torso having imploded...
oh but i'll eat,
give me the meat
for the worth's
of a dog barking,
growling, and then
allowing itself to scimitar
the flesh
with every bite, chew,
and pavlovian dribble...
like minded individuals:
welcome!
i almost forgot to mention
the curiosities...
like:
   when i wouldn't
decide to take revenge on
a *******,
instead... forgot
my genitals
(because i didn't trim
my *****, having
to remember, to forget
my face, and synonyms)
and kept kissing her
for an hour...
rib-it... rib-it...
rabid rabid...
a frog does a burp and...
  you start sinking
into an **** of imagination...
plenty of that
where this came from...
slacking on psychadelic
drugs, exploring the foundations
of literacy...
   a david walliams
little britain sketch,
   high-pitched voice
at this point:
         ooh... whoopsie cares?
little cry-baby
with a ******* attitude
problem...
they were always going
to ask a ****** to do
the voice-overs for
those,
   expected to be castrated...
given they weren't circumcised.
ooh! the litany!
like i said...
by the time i'm done
drinking that bottle
of *****,
my ego is going to,
resemble,
            a... submarine...
then i'll splinter...
and call for all aid for
africa propaganda to
be dipped into
   cleopatra's grimace,
for: translated into:
bath tim.
what? i thought that
sounded better than
time, or thyme,
or... never confuse
Timothy with Thailand;
whittle timmy...
timmy do good...
  timmy well behaved...
timmy begins,
  and ends with...
shaving prospects...
via... scalping...
   a scalp "victim":
******* left the remains
of a receding hairline!
         ha!
talk about going
    to the wrong barber...
oh, not turkish...
turkish: zee klassik...
    see... *****...
does terrible things
to people...
     you down 'alf a litre,
you start
    to juggernaut into
a blank canvas...
  poetry? yeah: forgot
                                  the paint.