Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ayad Gharbawi Feb 2010
ANOTHER LETTER TO YOU AMERICANS: WHY DO YOU BLINDLY SUPPORT THE CANCEROUS, RACIST REGIME OF ISRAEL? AND DO YOU SIMPLY NOT SEE THE CONSEQUENCES?


Ayad Gharbawi

February 4, 2010 – Damascus, Syria


I am writing you from a Third World country. I am trying through my letters to connect with you Americans. I am trying to communicate with you so an understanding can arise between us.
I do not feel in any way optimistic. Why? Because you Americans live in plastic, fake, unreal ‘reality’ that your mass media feeds you that is fundamentally pro-Zionist and pro-Israel. It is precisely this blindness of your slavish poodle behaviour towards this Apartheid state that renders you so much hated by every nation and by every religion and by every race on earth.
It is no secret that US foreign policy in the Middle East is heavily influenced by Zionist lobbies. This is a fact that has acres of literature written upon it. What do the Zionists do whenever any human ‘dares’ to critique Israel? Well, of course, you declare him to be a ****, or a Self-Hating Jew or an Anti-Semite.
In other words: no human can ever critique Israel, and should he critique Israel, in any way, then that means he is a genocidal, mass murdering ****.
Did you see that typical Zionist, Dr. Dershowitz, who has recently labelled the author of the indictment of Israel’s atrocities in the Gaza War as an ‘anti-Semite? Well, Mr. Goldstone is, of course, a Jew himself.
That should point out to you all, the basic law: anyone who even thinks of daring to criticize Israel is a **** or an Anti-Semite.
Therefore, no respectable human can ever critique Israel.
And that means that: Anyone in the civilized, respectable West, who ‘dares’ to critique Israel in any way, shall be expelled from his/her job and shall be an outcast.
That is the Zionism in action in the West.
Fine. So, if no respectable, sane human can critique Israel, does that mean that Israel is the only nation on this planet that must be beyond any critique?
And if so, why are you, the people of the State of Israel, supposed to be beyond any critique?
Obviously, this Zionist twaddle is *******. The Zionists greatest fear is being compared to the Apartheid South African regime.
Why?
Precisely because Israel is an Apartheid state, where any non-Jew is an inferior-class.
Look at Israel.
Look at that cancer, all of you who love Israel. Look at all those American politicians who are paid by Israel to go and visit that land. Do they see the shanty towns where non-Jews live? Do they see the ghettoes where non-Jews live? No, of course not. This ‘tours’ show American tourists and politicians what a great land Israel is for the Jews, while they simply, forget to show these ‘visitors’ how the other half lives.
So what Israel look like?
Israel is a great land for the Jews. No one is going to deny that.
But what is Israel like for non-Jews?
Israel is a land where, because, you are not Jewish, the government, has the right to demolish your home and your land if they so wish and you can do nothing about that.
Israel is a land where they can expel and deport any non-Jew from your home at any time they like.
Israel is a land which has the right to expel any non-Jew from its soil.
Israel is a land that does not allow a non-Jew to marry a Jew.
So what kind of country do you Americans call that?
And then you Americans wonder why do these non-Jewish inhabitants hate poor, democratic Israel so much?
We, the non-Jewish inhabitants of Israel – we the Moslems, the Chaldeans, the Druze, the Armenians, the Russian Orthodox – hate Israel precisely because Israel, under its Zionist ideology, is simply determined to create a Goyim-free land that is only for the Jews. (‘Goyim’ = non Jew). So, we are all to be expelled or murdered in order to make the land of Israel only for the Jews?
Do you Americans think that the entire Goyim (non-Jewish people) are going to accept that?
Did the blacks accept the White Man rule in South Africa?
Did the Albanians accept Milosevic’s Serb-only Yugoslavia?
Israel is one of the few remaining countries where the Racist Supremacist ideology functions fully and is alive.
And yet, the West, cannot even dare, to speak the Truth that everyone knows about.
Israel is a state that was created by:
1. Ethnically cleansing as many Goyim as they can during 1947-48.
2. Israel is a nation that has a Constitution that is based on the sick fact that the land of Israel ‘must only be for the Jews’. Any non-Jews (or Goyims) must be removed.
Now everybody knows these facts, Jews, Zionists, Goyims and everyone else.
But what is so sickening, is why is Israel allowed to practice these Racist rules, whereby other leaders, and other nations were; punished for being racist – such as Milosevic’s drive to expel Albanians and Saddam Hussein’s efforts to expel Kurds?
Why are Zionists immune to any criticism?
Why is it that the Goyim world cannot critique Israel?
What are you Americans unable to realize what a cancer Israel really is?
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
.how does philosophy and psychology differ? well. psychology was spawned from having to focus on the "need" of a "learning" for writing: speak comes easy, writing, not so much. psychology is so easily spoken, philosophy isn't, philosophy is like a child talking to an adult when psychology / sophistry comes into play /
    refrain... how do i rephrase this statement?
      ah! philosophy is like a child talking to a child...
psychology is like an adult talking to a child...
psychology is a supertition of knowledge...
philosophy? a fear of knowledge.
  knowledge does not make happy people,
or gullible talkative types, either.

... the birth of psychology contra philosophy... the when sophia over-powered the philosophers with too many observation cues... maxims and aphorisms... la rochefoucauld & nietzsche... it began with a dialogue, it maintained itself in a solipsistic monologue... it ended up as advertisement slogans: maxims and aphorisms.... cute observations: seen, "seen" but never tested... i've seen the ugly side of psychology... it's psychiatry... the big pharma carousel and slurred sedative spreschen... try getting a slurred sedative spreschen out of me... i'll sock you... i'm this: )( close to the itch of throwing a punch, i almost forgot what implies: peace... me dancing on old college's (edinburgh) roof while listening to: the shins, new slang... that was peace...
  that was me: rooftop, night, moon,
and the lingo of limbs floating freely off my torso
and at the same attached to it...

       i once cared about a "double" chin...
i grew a beard,
stopped worrying about: when will i learn
the violin... fiddled with my beard
for a while and figured: not now,
not ever...
                much much more gracious
than fiddling with ***** hair...
after all: a beard is very much akin
to ***** hair...

          jordan peterson and the old testament...
right...
       if ever a cain...
  siberia looks like the ideal prison...
after all god said, or "said": let him walk off his sins...
hard to walk off your sins when caged...
siberia? perfect training ground...
all that ******* being sold, cain? a vegetarian...
abel? sacrificed animal flesh...
paradox... so... god... expected us...
to remain hunter gatherers?!
  cain was thinking ahead!
he sacrificed fruits and veg. and...
cain was like: we better start thinking about
morphing into an agricultural society!
god praised abel, the neanderthal hunter gatherer...
cain was like: but look! look! wheat! bread!
we can feed more people!
god said: hunter gatherer! abel! win win!
cain paid homage to god
via fruit & veg...
abel... via kosher blood sacrifices...
now... either i'm just plain stupid...
or god is a really bad fiction....
written up by circumcised men
who never learned to *******:
since: the obvious impediment restriction...

cain was a veggie... abel sacrificed animals...
mea culpa somnum... send this whole
died on the cross
          ergo saved ergo ergo
my fault ******* to sleep... i'm tired of this mantra
like an eskimo is bored of ice...
i'm bored of listening to semitic proverbs...
   i'm bored of their rubrics...
their: "fate-warnings",
their superstitions... a semite will forever remain
a semite for me: kippah-***-tonsure...
or a camel-jockey brigade... lucky them they settled
on a once grand mountain range
of Sahara that was the bed for oil...

oh look! wow! i can think for myself!
wonderful...
               which is what i always thought
would become reality...
i'd watch a video...
not comment,
                 and write a rebuttal...
                  which would fall on deaf ears...
or that sacred minority report...
i'll face it if you face it:
the monotheistic god of the semites...
is as ridiculous
as the poloytheism of the pagans...
      the monotheistic god of the semites
is just too... pristine...
     give too many omni- prefixes
to a being and he becomes, boring...
like superman...
                  and to still preserve intellectual
integrity within the ontological omni-
zoo?
                              hey! feel free!
       i much prefer to believe in a "god"
of a limited circumstance...
                  as the will of creation? sure: omni- etc.,
but as a spectator in the back of the minds
of the "created"? cameo presence...
hence not omni- etc.,
                  after all: free will is free will...
and it requires no divine intervention
in order for it to be proved...
  however bad it happens to be upon
embodiment...
    god was never a source of intervention...
the jews begged prayed lampooned for
that sort of god...
did it fare them well? i don't think so...
god was always a cameo for me...
   something i could rely on...
in terms of finding my grand jurisprudence
libra... when the human sense of justice
would disintegrate...
and i'd be met with the west saxon mantra
of: innocent until proven guilty...
or a jimmy saville...
  i was wronged,
no one will believe me,
fair enough...
                     at least i've found some source
of compensation,
for the time being,
before i believe: not to be reunited
with the dead loved ones...
but before i believe to stand
in the grand court of judgement...
with king Solomon as the prosecutor
.


do what the english language does, it uses
hyphens to create compounds...  just do this:
            object-object...
   would i **** it?                depends on the follow-ups
that constrict the two-way "system"
of re-appropriation
            with the german language...
it really is the new: north south east west
"copernican" discussion...
    the **** am i supposed to do
(as a male) with an object
     that's not object=object... because it isn't...
      or object≠object: well? because it
clearly isn't...
                      ****, bro?
                       can i get a hotdog instead?
yeah yeah, extra onions on top...
                            but write it out in
that natural **** schizoi fashion
    as post-german compounds... hyphenated,
but instead include the following variations...
      and put them up for a narcissus inspection
and ask: are they chiral?
               stress-free is a compound word...
           but it's easier with an object-object
compound... 'cos' then you can **** around with
object-object... object=object...
             object≠object...
                                object~object...­
                       object≈object...
                           and   object≡object...
it's close proximity, i gather, so it's hard to
orientate yourself as you might with 1 + 1 = 2...
                      but it's in english, and english is
prone to try and forget the norman conquest
and rekindle itself as: with a germanic origin,
and all that custard that modern german
looks like: i'd be sooner wearing sun-glasses than
actual optic magnifiers if i was found
reading german krupahunddoughchew...
                               or the likes of this fake example.
true transgender? it happens in the ≡ category...
the binary...
       it means: even though you're male
   and can't fulfil the female role of a reproductive
****** capacity... i'd still *******...
    joke's on me...
                 but otherwise? apart from the starting point
in the english language...
      the hyphen and compounding words
as is the "vogue" standard...
               so working from object-object...
and then including the stated variations
                       of a dualistic **** by dichotomy...
         ah man... i'm just talking about
how english is trying to resurrect its saxon
ancestors... what with creating these hyphenated
words... you're going to shove some
      other mathematical symbol in between
the two stated words and think of
                                  some grander schematics...
the death of the university coincided with
the death of the asylum...
                               evidently 2 + 2 does equal 4...
         but it's still a case of working
from object-object...
                            object/subject-subject/object?
north, east, west, south...
                      what the ****?!
                        we have modern neanderthals
roaming this place, and they're faking
  the status **** sapiens... that the hell can
evolve from that?
                    clear and bite-sized truth acknowledgement:
we're **** schizoi... split brained...
                     we've reached a stage where
we're not modelled by a multiplication impetus,
but an obelus impetus (÷)...
                       western society figured...
as **** similis: we have a billion chinese and
a billion blue indians of the raj...
                                why should we be bothered?
                isn't that the case of what's happening?
unearthing the nag hammadi library
                               and the whole transgender movement?
oi! where's the vatican! get those cardinals off their *****!
                                 white, red, purple, black.
pope, cardinal, bishop... priest...
           sure sure... brown....                          monks.
but we're losing a fight against neanderthal islam...
                   come your hungry, your oppressed...
your first cousin ******* retards.
                                         i know i'm taunting,
i'm taunting with a reason: neanderthal islam....
                 so much for history and gloating about it
citing the ottomans; thing is... i have lost the ability
to fear death... i'm actually teasing it, more and more,
day after day, after yet another day...
                          it's a bit like the reverse process of
castration... i'm feeling up pigs' genitals, saying:
      oh look! this porky can sign in #A!
                               quick! to the castrato oink corp!
yep... etymology... the alternative to reading
history.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2022
honestly? if i could be accused of being an anti Semite:
could Freud be called a Semite in the classical
sense of: say, scuttling like a "rat" in sneakers
on... hmm... why is it that when i type on
Day of Judgement... i first receive results for the Islamic
concept of Yawm ad-Din,
   and not... oh... right... i'm thinking of Yom Kippur...
i used to lived next to a synagogue...
i'd love watching these rug-a-muffins with their
curly "dreads" scuttling into their hiding wearing
sneakers... because they couldn't be bound to any
ownership of leather... no leather shoes...
no leather belts... yeah: and i was considered a lunatic
once... get enough people on board...
no secular psychological lion to stress you out
as some weakling away from the herd...
but with Freud? i'm a ******* SS-mensch...
i abhor him... interpretation of dreams?
  hey, Freudy-ol'boy... i think i just dreamed of
the birth of an oyster... i think i might as well
have shoved my head backward like the freefall
head-first of a Lucifer back into the source...
i think i was literally dreaming of how oysters
reproduce... curious little boy that i am...
    i hate Freud with a passion... to me he's not even
a ***... he's just a high-brow intellectual
readied to pamper to the needs of 19th century
aristocratic ladies having to be married to the likes
of Huysmans' Jean des Esseintes...
or Baron Masoch... Venus in Furs...
                      things... change...
         mutatio omnia...
                         all is subject to change...
                Copernicus is rigid... Freud... eh...
not so much...
                               there are fluctuations...
Freud is not rigid...
        his intellectual outpouring is subject to change...
unlike Marxism with it's rigid idiocy...
because its focus is on the personal level:
i... i return to the archetypes...
               Freud can't do that for me...
i do that for myself...
                   imagine a lion yawning when
watching a boxing match... because... the spectacle
per se is boring... he has to take care of this
mental "******" having a panic attack...
i can't imagine being this abusive to my mother...
a ******* train about to derail...
    even she said... as i sat down and talked with her...
trying to comfort her...
in my scenario: my mother would be crying...
while i'd be the one making last judgement remarks
about the society i'm living in...
in her case... she's the stern one...
while her son is crying... having a panic attack...
while i'm trying to hug him... comfort him...
i'm the one who drinks half a litre of whiskey
and then gets a double hit from adrenaline
while cycling...
   thankfully i had this... i'll mention race...
once... i'll mention race... once...
thankfully i had this black steward under my supervision
that helped me sort this sack of **** out...
like... what's the ******* stereotype?
akin to: one flew over the cuckoo's nest...
that... all the head-cases were handled by black guys...
are they more tender? are they motherly...
lion-prone imitation? and i'm the ******* remains
of a Mongol horde... i too can be tender...
touch touch... but black guys are tender creatures...
i don't even know what that meme was about...
about them being Orc... what African tribe ever
left Africa to invade some other piece of land...
well... beside now... but now they are invited
by the masochistic ruling "elite" of Oops-orp-U...
        even at the Fury-Whyte match i was wondering...
why have these two gals walked out of the VIP
restaurant, the 1-20... 1-120 club... club Wembley...
whatever it's called... conversation sort of claustrophobic
in there? a great bake of ***...
mind you... i can get the same for £120 per hour...
i don't need to spend £3000 and a date for a boxing match...
Mammoth doesn't discriminate when it comes
to females selling their sexuality...
just standards differ... beauty in the eye of the beholder
sort of *******...
         sure... nice piece of bagels... but not worth
£3000... i can get the same for £120 for an hour's
worth... hey... that's how life goes...
    why i abhor the Madonna-***** Complex
and why i'm invested in the ******-Cougar Complex?
beside the grannies... i'd **** anything that moves...
or maybe it's to do with...
   oh... this story i heard... see... i was born
with a Chernobyl tattoo... a birthmark on my right shoulder
blade... a sort of mark of Cain...
later down the line i had it removed...
which implies: loss of muscle from the shoulder blade
area... now i have excess muscle surrounding my
shoulder blade...
        but anyway... when i was born... silence...
then the nurse that was taking care of me...
tried to choke me... **** me... which... translated
into an enlarged heart problem...
  i was also ridden with a hernia...
                blah blah...
                        if i have any animosity towards women?
it's unconscious... which translates as:
transactional, purely ******...
   to hell with looking for a Madonna...
that part dropped off... i just took the ***** part
and made it into a ******-Cougar complex...
            and i like tending to people's needs...
                                   but i'm also, strangely: misanthropic...
when i need to be... i am...
when i don't need to be: the recluse i become...
i just can't stress it enough...
  you know: when you've been hurt by women
on an unconscious level...
as a baby in hospital... because of a Chernobyl
strawberry mark on your back...
hell: if they hate you so much from birth...
what are you going to do?
hit them back with love... go to the prostitutes...
**** the priests and psychiatrists...
you want to touch... feel around the other's
body like a blind worm... like an octopus...
wrap the whole of your 6ft2 100kg around
them... make them as tender as an oyster...
gulp them up with ever kiss every slobber...
every plum tattoo of the pelvis as you ram them
into convulsions of mini-spasms of Morse-Code
ecstasy...
         but i hate Freud with a rare passion...
that doesn't translate to all other Hebrews...
                 i find revulsions when orientating myself
around his intellect... his supposedly
rigid... archetypical findings...
                   the dissemination of the herd...
                       **** me... i need the herd intact!
so few are the calibre's worth of being... stealth...
of being predatory...
             at work i'm always of this mentality:
there's no ******* psychologist's couch safety net...
it's the closest i've come to my daydream
of having joined the army...
          but... conversation comes first...
physical stress comes later...
          if at all... like only two days ago... with that
panic attack sack-of-****... being mouthful to my stewards...
appease this little ****** as much as possible...
i don't want to use force... hey presto! it worked...
he did eventually sit down next to his mother
and watched the match... even she said...
i lived in London for 15 years... i know where i'm
going after the match... but he doesn't...
he doesn't have any money on him...
so i said to my black: yes: BLACK steward...
good job... don't worry about it... he has a mobile...
she has a mobile... they'll be able to find themselves...
- but i hate Freud with an anti Semite passion...
even though i'm prone to the occult...
an advocate of the Kabbalah... because...
Ha-Shem has all the necessary requirements
of phonetic sense in Roman script...
   because Ha-Shem didn't destroy the Roman script
like he might have and did...
destroy the Egyptian hieroglyphs
                 and Persian cuneiform...
   since the Romans never enslaved the Hebrews...
the Hebrews which became the Yids in Germania
were allowed to flourish...
    even under Casimir the Great they were allowed
to flourish in ******-lack-lands...
   and that's because of, what? they brought us a
Trojan horse equivalence of a suffering on a cross?
subdued "us"?
         i hate: equally... Freud as much as Christianity...
kneeling... giving ******* to some concrete
emblem of... the biggest troll of hell:
the Lord of Mosquitos...
     Ba'al Yah'Toosh...
                          come to think of it... there's Israel...
so why am i still "thinking" about the diaspora
of Yids all around the world?!
  ****** was a vegetarian...
                    Eva Braun had Jewish genes...
   you think, her masterplan wasn't
    for the resurrection of a Jewish nation:
  to be finally freed from being subconsciously
"European" and... strike the hornets nest
of Islam?
                         Helen of Troy...
           Elizabeth Bathory...
                       ****** Mary... yeah... only men were
ever evil...
          i'm starting to think that Henry VIII
was a mild mannered man... until...
   he stepped into a pile of **** of ****...
                      best bet... with prostitutes...
i'm trying to understand why so many men are
hung up on women they can't keep...
me? i'm clueless as to why my cats like me...
and i'm still trying to figure out
how people can post adverts for their: "lost cats"...
eh... "lost"? cats don't become lost...
they just figured out: you're a **** keeper...

    gingers... Jemminah... ah man... when i cycled past
her walking with the most un-remarkable looking
man... sort of her height...
i knew something went terribly wrong...
intimidation... i must have intimidated her...
bringing along my own home made wine...
and my home made banana loaf...
reading her boy's poem out-loud to him...
like Frank O'Hara i hate the colour orange...
but i love oranges...
   and i love ginger haired people...
add some curls to the canvas...
we're talking...            no... we're not talking...
Jess Glynne... we're imagining...
                 i guess i wasn't looking for a Madonna...
and she figured it out...
that's why i hate Freud and that's why i hate
him by doubling up on coupling him with
a *** perspective on European matters...
that's why i once made it prominently known:
i'd rather drink my own *****: which i did...
than drink the metaphorical blood juice of red
wine... then i'd puke on the crucifix...
rather than **** on it...
                     emblem of too much easily
available fixations...
                        no thank you... i don't need
a woman attired in a niqab when i'm freely in possession
of a *******...
if i could: i'd take the snip... if i were guaranteed
a leash akin to a niqab on a woman...
but i still don't understand why it's
only called circumcision and not MGM:
male genital mutilation...
        is that some sort of a libido trick
i'm not "yet" aware of? does China or India
have the same methodology?!
   i think they don't... not with their population size...

my mother was never mothering...
i'm sort of lucky...
she cries before i get a chance to... probably laugh...
implanted in me... the archetype of a blonde...
that soon died... recently a hunger for
girls with ginger... curly hair woke me up
to a new pursuit...

if i were looking for a Madonna...
ugh... sick... Freud...
    i wouldn't be looking for a woman to tend
over me... if i had children... yes...
over them...not me... leave me: the **** alone...
and how it's framed: all the fault is relied
on man's existence: per se...
this per se: is crucial... without men...
you couldn't implant these sick: Semite ideas...
into crushing the European soul...
it's like these Semites are fighting two wars...
one with the Arabs: the actual war...
but with the Europeans... a spiritual war...
so... why ******* this **** far north?!

o.k. Kippah brother... you know what happened
to Balaam?
            you will not lead these letters into extinction...
you made your offering... of the crucified man...
now the crucified man is making a comeback:
let's change him a while...
redress him from a crucifix packaged into
an iron maiden, how's that?!

right now... i'm *******... and i'm rarely ******
off... but now i'm ******* fuming!
i'm scratching my nose... i'm pinching my lips...
i'm looking for my forehead...
all the more looking at the people
most oblivious to change...
            
                no! i will not be sexualised by someone
who has been deformed by genital mutilation!
i will not accept his intellect! ******* ******...
nein! nie! niet!
             i'll only accept uncircumcised intellectual
arguments... by now... yes! i'm a ****!
in the broadest sense imaginable... i love the uniforms...
god... give me a Hugo Boss schwarzanzug...
                  i don't hate the Hebrews...
i just hate the intellect of one Heb...
                         with a William Hazlitt follow-up...
i am not going to be pacified into
a **** **** of an Islamic invading party...
but i will fast with them...
like i told them: it's not for religious reasons...
fasting gives me a chance to concentrate
a little bit more...

                            but... honestly?
most of the people i'm working with...
they'd be better suited to an extermination camp...
they're so ******* useless...
you can tell they have been borne from
an uninhibited ****** thirst...
        they're useless...
   a space... a time... but function? no...
that's missing... like a head might be missing
on a worm... oh... wait... worms
don't have heads... just mouths...
         i pretend thinking that these Muslims
have eyes... or ears... but i mostly see heads
that resemble mouths...

well if the leftist media wants to conjure up Nazis...
hey! hey!     oi! oi!
                                     like my once known fwend
once stated: plenty of Nazis in Poland...
so... not in Ukraine?!
            whatever...
lazy-*** Somalis...
                      i think i'd be a good gas chamber
operator; because i've reached that point
where...
           people exist... for no ******* ulterior
reason... they are just rigid... chess-pieces types...
retards...
         or they pretend to counter authority
with some ******* scam argument...
                 it's simply for me...
                                       i'd be a great gas chamber
operative... i might blink once or twice...
but i'd most certainly yawn...
                   i can't the believe the animosity for humanity
stirred up in me...
             it's almost: godly...
i'd feel less if i were allocated the status of farmer
and required to keep company with a herd
of cattle... this isn't cattle...
this is a splintering pseudo-herd of a mix
of scammers... busy-bodies... sure... the large proportion
is compliant...
         but the rest? what could give either or them
more relief? shackle them... or gas them?!

i don't know... it must be an ancient curse of feeling:
when... people are uncooperative...
the whip and lashing sort of comes out in me...
the army-esque rigidity...
it makes me feel like i want to shave my beard
and just keep the moustasche:
   like some British Empire officer...

           i abhor thinking these thoughts...
    but they are, necessary, they are the required learning
ground in order to inhibit their execution...
to their fullest extent...

      i need to think these thoughts through
in order to not enact upon them...
i need to curb my impulses...
coupled with: showcasing them... better i show them
than hide them, ferment on them...
and later... much later... do the much
utter worst...
            
                      i hate Freud... seriously...
all he had was internalized masculinity? there was...
nothing... external?! all man... women
sort of "stopped" existing?!
women stopped existing during the 19th century...
which... made them non-accountable: primo!
during the 21st century...

                              no wonder, then... why wouldn't
Islam pounce! at the freely available
****! it's not "our" women would ever mind...

me? i'm just trying to clarify the collective
narrative... it's nothing personal...
         i'm walking with Horace... i simply don't
care;
   why would i care? for "western europe"...
we're the non-existent jokes of Alred Jarry...
"eastern eruope": via language...but geographically
we're CENTRAL-EUROPE...
   yeah: here's your *******, glorious: SUNSET...
you generous *****!
                        i think that's what always ******
off the Russians... that they were...
relegated as pseudo-Mongols...
                      even though: Kiev was founded
by Swedes...
                       that would **** me off...
                                 if someone kept labelling red:
blue... i'd get *******... on a microcosm level...
i would... i would become so *******...
i'd loose it! simply!
                                     i'd start a war...
why excuse the Iraq or the Afghanistan invasions?
seriously? this side of history?!
**** it... if they can invade Iraq / Afghanistan...
why not us?!
          any news from Syria?
                          
the world can ******* and be the world it
chose to be...
i'm just thankful that... massive lizards
were made erased and these weren't
massive insects.
It is not a confused whirr,
nor dumbish  agitprop poetry,
nor ramblings of a jumbuck
in guest for freedom to peddle
the awry science of antisemitism,
it is a poetic license of word-power
for him to  said what must only be said.

to sing cautionary verses and lyrics
against the flow of atomic warheads
from the America ,or whatsoever
on the western and Germany submarines
to the land of Israel, where Netanyau reigns
in terror and racist tyranny con Palestine,
or to versify a caution of this atomic arming
of Israel but not her neighbors like Persia
the cradle of Omar Khayyam the Rubiyatist,
or else to disarm the Arab world, as Israel terribly
arms her sons and daughters with nuclear and  Atomic drones
along with  hatred of the neighbours in mad avarice for land,
is not at all a crime of poetry but Gunter's artistic  morality.

Nobel reward cannot be a seal on your beak,
you Gunter, the brave son of  Bundeslander,
we cannot be lulled to sleepish silence
with blissful feelings of Nobel Laureatry,
cosmetic dignity , nonchalance or standoffishness,
when terror is reigning in the  Middle East
Israelis committing crimes against humanity
****** women, mauling children and shooting civilian Arabs,
that would be heinously wrong , punished even not
in the Hague of Holland but in the hottest place in hell
which John F. Kennedy saw Dante Alighieri creating,
for those who stand aloof , when evil is committed in the world.

Your communion in the Waffen schustafel or the Hitlerite SS,
is not impeachment on your moral history,nor reason for shame,
the poltergeist of Europe in the days of your youth was pure SS ,
in nature ,fibre and DNA,every European dreamed of a colony,
Britain and France cahorted to own Africa as their handkerchief,
****** bench marked to own France in 1943,  a colonial vintage,
******'s ***** was genuine government in Germany,
democratically ratified by the voters in Germany,
Your service to ****** was service to your country,
it was your turn of patriotism and love of fatherland,
like your contemporaries in other parts of the world
who prospered as the FBI,CIA,Mossadist,Kosmosols,
Gendarmes,Kanu youth wingers,or Colonial police
in Britain's Gulag in the name of African Archipelago.

i don't know what they mean,
when they call you Gunter the anti-Semite,
rebuking Israelis  terrible killing  of  Arabs
is not reason not even an emotion enough,
anywhere, whether on earth or in the ethereal,
to call Gunter an  anti-Semite or an  immoral poet.

wasn't colonialism a warped racial conscience,
was it not anti-negroism or anti-africanism,
persistent torture of black slaves in America,
doesn't it call for social phenomenology?
isn't it Anti-blackism or it is only  justifiable slavery?

Let Gunter Grass say what must be said,
let him sing what must be chanted,
Like Lenin and Gogol of Russia
let him do what must be done
let him fear what must be feared,
let him not fear the loss of Nobelite dignity,
Jean Paul Sartre won the Nobel Prize ,
but his clear socialist consciousness
made him decline to pick the cash,
in true service to his ideals,
he still glowed like a bush fire
in the Harmmattan wind
he never waned in glory whatsoever
even in his current realm of abode
among the living dead of the world
he still shines as a  center piece
when time for chance to voice of  reason
is called for, for humanity's sake,
Let Gunter Grass say what must be said.
in defense of Gunter Grass poem on Israeli-Persian relations, which has made Israel to be armed with Nuclear and Atomic warheads.Israel is not sensitive to global peace.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i still can't get my head around
one particular term...

   how can islamophobia join
the legion of other, irrational fears?

what is irrational about the
"so-called", "irrational" (fear is too
strong a word) caution with
regards to Islam?

what a disgusting term...
  i thought that Islam had some rationale
implicit within its marble mosque
walls?

       arachnophobia is a phobia
precisely because it is irrational -
and it's funny -
     first of all:
  phobia come with a reflexive
rather than a reflective position -
a reflex reaction
akin to someone who has
arachnophobia upon spotting
a tiny spider, or walking into
a thick, single thread of spiderweb
in the garden...

it's a double artifact of
a fear:
   it is actually irrational to have
an "irrational" fear of an ideology -
but it is rational to fear
cloning - esp. cloning that is
not granted to some Rockefeller,
who can clone himself,
and son his future "self"...

oh yeah: cloning was around way before
the sciences caught up...
after all: the genetic cognitive
structure / device was in place,
intact within / as the Quran...
now? plenty of ******* clones walking
about, spewing the same ****
most of the time...

  an irrational fear...
    "Islamophobia" is most certainly
a rational fear...
          it's not a funny fear either,
plus it has no reflexive potency -
i don't exactly experience
     a reflexive reaction of immediate
fear seeing a Muslim...
but i sometimes entertain
a reflexive reaction with a spider...

it's a reflective fear,
hence it's not automated, purely ******...
you know what:
i'm not even going to style this
as a goldfish argument...
i'm not into calling anyone stupid:
but paying attention
to certain grammatical restrictions
of words?
  is a bit like 1 + 1 = 2 restrictions
of logic...

   too much rationality of a distant
cousin went into Islam...
   i can't exactly call upon God to tell
me my irrational reaction
to whatever rationality went into
creating a spider...
             a spiderweb is no rational
argument as to why i'm not afraid
of four legged creatures much
larger than me...

               six legs is a bit whacky -
at least we know what exploration
looks like, under a microscope
of the insect / virus / parasitic lens -
not much fun, noting the fact that
outside of this world?
   things... of that sort of nature:
could sure as **** be much bigger...

ah...
   so maybe my arachnophobia is
rational after all:
  within the confines of the possibility
of reaching a variant of
this habitable planet,
and finding enlarged variations of
my irrational disgust for something
with six legs?
   or is it eight?

     so why am i not prone to a Semitic
phobia?
      quiet honestly i'm a
Semitephile...
   and last time i heard,
some Egyptian was telling me that
he was also a Semite...
   go figure... Egyptians are
the sort of wandering folk that
put their ******* pyramids into
caravans, brick by brick...
walk around the world and
rebuild their pyramids whenever
they go...
   notably in the Himalayas -
or the Alps... to compete with
those mountains' heights!

THERE IS NO, ISLAMOPHOBIA...
it's a fake term...
  and also a fake phenomenon -
what it is, is an incomprehensible
res per se: a noumenon -
a thing in itself, by people who use
the term to begin with...

    there is nothing erratic -
   reflexive about this phobia -
it's a meditated -
reflective fear as a cautionary /
anticipatory fear -
again: too strong a word -
apprehension -
   and the people who are,
"supposedly", "islamophobic":
have put in place measures
to not feel as constantly being
on the edge of their seats...

after all... some sort of logic went
into Islam...
some reason...
   some rationality...
         as interpreted by people
other than me...
   i can't call upon a God to explain
to me the rationality of
the irrationality i place in my
sometimes fear of spiders...
sure, there is a rationality of a spider,
however vague,
or mundane within the vector of
eat, or be eaten...

    but the rationality placed within
a spider, that explains my
irrational fear of them?
   funny as ****...

  as in that bible one-liner:
eat of this tree,
   and you will know the difference
between
              ∇HWH      &
    ΔHMH...
                          i guess no one in Rugby
really thought about the origins
of the sport in terms of the goal posts,
thinking of the Hebrew deity
in name (two names) only?

so... as a "Latin" man (evidently
the language might be dead,
but i'm not writing in ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛋ,
  most certainly) -
i can only be - either
antisemitic - or islamophobic?
  
      and Egyptians are Semites?!
the ****?!
             this topic has been drilled
into the ground...
   but as someone who has
bouts of arachnophobia,
i thought i'd move into a territory
outside the ideological
argument...
or the argument from the basis
of ideology...

       i thought it would be
much more productive to explain
the concept of phobias...
and... however you look at it...
no ideology is irrational...
   because an ideology that is,
irrational, is no coherent,
and has no propaganda...
            
what a load of crock ****!
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
.you should really see the two comments left, and the 700+ views to begin with.

mind you, i did write an ode to the gods
(yes, that infantile pleasure,
not associated with cosmopolitan new york
atheists)...
how the roman plagiarißm of the the greek
pantheon happened too soon,
how the semite god ate up ba'al
and beelzebub "too quickly"
   turning them into fallen angels...
      like how he infiltrated the roman empire
due to their close-up plagiarißm so early...
father Zeus, father Odin remained...
as did their phonetic encoding...
as did the glagolitic script turned cyrillic...
sorry... where was the african phonetic
encoding? beside the hieroglyphs?
  what's swahili for:
red earth, gave birth to me?
   nyekundu dunia, alitoa kuzaliwa kwa mimi!
see... that's african speech:
but what are the letters behind it?
last time i checked... there aren't any!
and i came from africa?
maybe the anglo-deutsche did...
i didn't... i source my origins
in india... after all... indo-european
is my higher category, the mongols...
i don't care if the germanic people "think"
they originated in africa, i've come from india...
people who minded phonetic encoding,
had an alphabet,
              i'm still stuck with germanic
people with african stereotypes not being
able to swim...
   heavy bones they say...
    **** that and the whole i.q. "conundrum"...
i still watch t.v.,
       after all, after prometheus
brought down the flame from olympus...
some demigod had to bring down /
steal the rod of zeus / electricity...
and turn the t.v. into the modern fireplace...
the b.b.c. had this 2nd season running,
killing eve...
             sandra oh and jodie comer...
there's this instance in season two,
when jodie comer, villanelle...
  is interrogated by aaron peel...
                and "kind" aaron is asking villanelle
all this philosophical quips...
anselm's ontological argument...
    occam's razor (i wish)...
            he has so many books on his
bookshelf...
   yeah... books you look at like comic
book strips, books you don't actually read...
books you look at...
            and what does villanelle do in the end?
she brushes aaron's nose with one of
these books "he's read"... what is it?
ha ha!   a dictionary of philosophy...
a... dictionary...
basically short-script...
                     cheat...
         you really want a dictionary
definition of philosophy? a philosophy dictionary
definition, a sound-bite?
you know... last time i checked...
i read bertnard russell,
kierkegaard, kant, heidegger...
not for a dictionary definition...
or regurgitating rubrics akin to
a university lecturer...
        i hate regurgitation...
                i read for myself,
  in the end, hoping, my narrative could
find expansive ground for work-arounds...
i don't like playing the happy
harpsicord dancing monkey...
    to give "proofs"...
              i don't like people,
akin to villanelle, when questioned
on a university entrance critique...
               like i might "know my ****",
or not "know my ****"...
                                       pretty boring...
i am starting to resound in the conviction...
there's no point in knowing other people,
there's only one person worth knowing,
yourself...
       mind you, i'm still waiting for the alternative
phonetic encoding system to come
from africa, as an alternative counter
to the egyptian hieroglyphs...
i'm not seeing it...

   tender skin: the moon does see...
     zabuni ngozi: ya mwezi haina tazama...

eh, chinese script is all syllables and no
letters...
        glagolitic - Ⰿ
        rune - ᛗ
        roman - M
        greek - μ
        hebrai - מ
        devanagari - म
        arabic - م
        hieroglyph - owl
        mandarin - 冊
        hiragana - ま(a) み(i) む(u) め(e) も(o)

didn't i mention this already,
interchangeable, between a letter and
a syllable... given the hiragana example...
depending on what vowel
you attach to the base sound (consonant),
the vowel modifies the base (consonant)...
five ******* variations of the consonant / syllable...

           ergo? no atomic reality in these languages...
syllable understanding...
the mendeleev table...
                He: helium...
             Xn: xenon...
                          Na: sodium... etc.,

            depends...
   after all... a base letter (consonant) in hiragana
looks like the following schematic:
i.e. no one really knows what M looks like,
like mmm-humming...
without an added vowel...

                                     ま(a)
                                      |
                   め(e) ----- "x" ----- む(u)      
                                   /    \
                                 /        \
                          み(i)          も(o)
                                                            
.Nietzsche was wrong about dialectics, he suggested that the non practice of dialectics, even the anti presupposes a polite society, he invoked that comparative tenet of a society in saying: a polite society does not engage in dialectics (finding the truth of opinions).

which is akin to the slander against Voltaire,
that not engaging in dialectics
one has a chance to have an opinion about almost
everything, there's no chance these days
to have a polite society as there is no chance
to establish a Utopia... the way dialectics is
avoided like some surreal horror movie
is to have many opinions, to not engage in
dialectics is to be opinionated, hence Nietzsche's
style of utilising aphorisms and as many
maxims as possible, without useful applicability;
it's like that metaphor for a venomous bite,
the carousel of the many many thoughts,
likewise, no truth are established, since many
truths are proposed - hence the paradoxical
venture into nothing, simply walking in circles
on plateau nihil, it's polite, well of course it's
politeness! politeness by having many opinions
readied for a quick change of subject or
the simple act of shame and shutting up.
all this? with regards to a woman writing about
her abortion: we, the great reverse-amphibians,
so she's writing about it... 4 weeks in she's ready
to erase the dot... they tell her to come back 12
weeks later (sadists... why not remove the dot
rather than wait for the geometry to construct itself?),
again... why not remove the dot and the abstract?
she mentions a dot... remove the ******* dot!
the tadpole outside the gooey yoke is fastened
to maturing in the fresh water stream or lake,
i can hardly be a human being inside the ******
if my **** and bladder muscles are not matured,
i'm an abstract in that sense, tadpoles ahoy!
now see how living in a "polite" society i can't
engage in dialectics but have to reverse the process
of discussion and engage in picturesque comparatives
using toads? it's called applying anaesthetics - well,
an anaesthetic, or a placebo - in polite society people
get over-excited, unconditionally so, over-stimulated,
unconditionally so, with having to muster having
many opinions, politics can become a circus de facto,
de facto as in: detached from rural England.
so if we'll never attack the status quo with dialectics,
will be constantly multi-opinionated, changing the
subject all the time, and when challenging, we'll
only feed an anaesthetic, an anaesthetic that will become
a confession booth in a catholic church:
a quasi-solipsism, the listener and the other person
talking, mono-dialectics, so well entrenched these days
that there's even a good reason for practising
psychiatry rather than a catholic confession in church,
psychiatry is, after all, a secular version of the catholic
practice - more intimidating though, since you're
facing each other, rather than sitting at parallel positions,
shrouded in secrecy of the wooden mosaic wall of
the booth... i'm just wondering if this attempt to feel
the naked soul does not intimidate the clothed body
more to later undress itself in ***.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
doubly toasted rye bread...
anything on it...
of course i'm not going to treat it
as a bagel: although i should...
some smoked salmon...
the mayo and cucumber and dill...
come to think of it...
toasted rye bread would work
better than a bagel...

        we're not having some brick lane
salted beef, and bagel...
salted beef... good that you asked...
what makes it so... cosmopolitan, i.e. pink?
himalayan salt... i was thinking of
prague salt... don't ask me why...
how? i heard it down the line...

again: larry tesler died a few weeks ago...
well "weeks"... 20th of feb of this year he
passed away... as reported...
larry tesler... it's not an everyday
name... but under the umbrella of darwin that
becomes darwinism:
a group-fire, a get-together, a come-together...
larry tesler is a bit like
a michael faraday...  

           somewhat of a "mystery"...
like... never... i was daring to confess:
those revisions of the cursor...
the phantom hand... of a 2D object in a 3D
object... those 2D ferns in the original
tom raider... moving rapidly when approached...

i can hear the bemoaning...
no new scientific "theory" has resounded true
in the past decade...
unless it's that Higgs': hiccup or... boson...
that only happened a few years ago...

don't... agitate... the... beehive!
i've finished one whiskey and ms. coca
ms. venezuela - ms. novella...
             but i'm still pretending to drink from
an empty glass -
perhaps agitating the whiffs of scotch
perfumes to come...

       how often do i use the larry tesler
method?
well... if i want some... braille...
some glagolitic... some runes...
pretty much all the time...

        toasted rye bread... i'm thinking of eating
some roasted rye bread...
the english being bewildered...
and that's because the former raj
brought with them the cinnamon the cardamom...
ever eaten a curry that listed
rosemary or thyme as a prime ingredient?
can i please just eat this
dogshit, then?

    sourdough bread... not pop enough...
  beside the zeppelins... rye bread galore...
pumpernickel bread... a german thing...
   the name changes... but...
there's only so much toasted white and brown
bread you can eat... before having
an ancient hunger become arise in you...
the baltic cuisine of piquant herrings...
plenty of dill... and rye bread...

- i asked the swabian about this windsor affair
concerning the saxon: the ants-in-his-pants
little brother saxon...
the german who needed to go outside of saxony...
burgundy wouldn't suffice....
had to see the world: become a semite...
a wandering "plague"...
the postman... the dove of "repose"...

this is still about larry tesler by the way...
               ⠓⠑⠗⠑ - larry tesler...
     ⰕⰖⰕⰀⰣ:             "       "
              ᚺᛖᚱ:              "       "        (ditto, as above)...

woman: a human female being -
          because she's not: woo man...
and she is not: woe, man...

               she's a human female being -
that's what everyone might had said...
when being stripped...
to the basics of grammar:
i, pronoun - definite article: the -
noun of nouns -
                        the in between cardinal nouns...
table, fox, wool...
in between cardinal nouns...
box, moon, whiskey and (conjunction)...
the royal pronoun: one would expect...
the other royal pronoun: we would agree to such
claim... given our entourage...
louis XIV very much liked such
pronouns...
             they are the disembodied courting
presence of ghost: where we should be...
to posit...
and what if i want to be known as: there?
can't a they become a there -
i know that's asking too much...
after all... there is an adverb -
perhaps i feel like... being an: ad- -verb
rather than a pro- -noun...

                          there said: it's a cul de sac
and the peoples are gagging for
lessons in grammar... this is still about larry tesler!
well... it's become more of a toasted
rye bread "analogy"...

to be less denoted by noun -
more associated with verbs -
               does that even matter what pronoun?
what if i want to be an adverb: base?
there is an adverb... here is an adverb...
why is BEING a noun...
and not an adverb?
               become is a verb...
   becoming an adjective: although it could
be stressed as a noun: could...
           i think of being... on the lines
of a "here" and a "there"...
nothing is a pronoun...
                          while nowhere is an adverb...
being is a noun but in all fairness it could
be treated as an adverb...
                                   being alone...
           if only it was as simple as...
turning on a lightbulb while at the same time
expenting falling pirouettes of snow...

all this words deserved to be archived
in trash...
     i'm not a betting man and none of these
grammatical arguments really probe me...
i have invested in them a pet-peeve...
and they're nothing more...
but whenever i hear about them being
stressed... i wonder why the counter
argumentation doesn't fall for talking about
this logic on a purely grammatical level...

to update the tabernacle of holiest of the holy
"pronoun" with...
something akin to... by adverb standards...
etc. -
          this is still about larry tesler, though...
and about toasting some rye bread...
nonetheless -
i'm not that old but i'm already tired...
i imagine eating custard as being...
somewhat alleviating...

                but not actually eating any custard...
just imagining eating it
and pretending to drown - gurgling it...
once more: this is still concerning larry tesler...
mind you... larry tesler doesn't exist
on wattpad...

            but all these other would be publishers...
allow larry tesler to exist...
along with that little gremlin that doesn't work...
i.e. ©... not even new york times has
obstructed larry tesler ctrp + c / ctrl + p...
© - yeah.... "copyright"... my ****** ***...
wattpad has actually made actual © "progress"...
you can't use a larry tesler "heimlich" on:
those most scared of texts...
poems by 16 year olds!

              just saying...
you don't need a bagel to enjoy smoked salmon
with a dollop of mayo some cucumber
and dill... rye bread works just as well...
**** i'm hungry!

- again... what (a pronoun) - sorty of © "copyright"
logo is that... when you can larry tesler that
with... export it via highlight and ctrl c / ctrl p?
wattpad doesn't allow you to ctrl c / ctrl p...
at its height it was publishing that
goldmine of one direction fan fiction by
14 year old cherries...
    
                       i guess you can larry tesler
wikileaks: back in the day...

                        so if not larry tesler... who was behind
ctrl a? does it matter - if there's no toasted
rye bread in my gob... just these words
congesting and subsequently constipating my head?
good thing i have earned myself
a bad back - the golgotha "wisening" /
humbling... of digging up roots in the garden
where trees and shrubs once stood...

these words are... hardly a compensation's
worth of balm... but before i gorge on some toasted
rye... they just have to do.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
pre-scriptum:
                no polyglot would experience this sort of "paradox", it's not even a paradox of a "paradox" off a 'paradox', bilingualism has its methodology, as Kant could explain, extracting his methodology off the page into a meticulous day-to-day activity... the sage / if not the clock of Königsberg... i can imagine this obsessive-compulsive mini-rituals that would always escape the throng on a Sunday... the Sunday eucharist wasn't enough for the man, there were so many rituals to take care of, having famously not married, while Kierkegaard having: infamlusly not married... i appreciate their strategy... reading them while also reading Nietzsche, these two gentlemen, by comparison, if not in work, certainly in life gravitate above the popularity of Nietzsche... why? Nietzsche appears as an incel... fan boy, are you? *******... but you need some sort of structure if you're not going to marry... Kant found his daily routine an eternal mass... so many routine daily tasks seemingly mundane to some, can enlarge themselves to become out of proportion pillars of preserving sanity in face of standing before god and a post-life scenario... hell is not so much a place of suffering... i can tell you of the most "mild" form of suffering... an extrovert becoming drunk... constant talking, lack of purpose as in: lack of direction culminating in: lack of concentration, pandemonium is the heaven of a flickering light for a moth... again... this always bewilders me... why did Sisyphus have to drag the stone up the hill? was there some overlooking demon with a whip looking over him? couldn't he just... sit, and concentrate on the stone, create pleasure, from thinking? is that really so odd... i suppose so... given the grand h'american export of the freedom of speech... few people will find pleasure in thinking... Kierkegaard, which Nietzsche didn't read... said: why do people concern themselves with the freedom to speak, when they already possess a freedom to think? is this, me speaking, because it's the internet and it's a public space... surely i don't have an eloquent speech, i speak too quickly, i sometimes mumble, this is an extension of thinking, it's not an invitation to speak... rhetoric is an art designated for people who joked about philosophy and took sophistry seriously... i don't like Nietzsche... i still think of the man as the esteemed bachelor... apparently being freed from women allowed him to write his Critique with the sort of clarity that comes, in a cascading form, at the end, in the methodology of transcendence... which reads, like a page-turner tabloid narrative... once the formalities / difficulties are established... i'm no polyglot though, but i do succumb to some eccentricities... as any entrenched bilingual might... notably linguistics... how there are no diacritical markers in english, but there are: in other latin script based languages of continent europe... how i've never heard of dyslexia outside of the realm of spoken english... how orthography does not exist in the english language, which creates all these silly english questions of: what is reality, what is perception... with no orthography: metaphysics runs rampant... and "another" thing... i really can't read a philosophy book in english, i always have to revert back to my mother tongue, to Polish... i can't read a philosophy book in english... i looked at Plato once in english... the aesthetic is lost on me... but the Irish know of the Slavic aesthetic when it comes to dialogue, i.e.:

(a) the english standard for dialogue weaved into a narrative -
"i want this," she said,
   "as i want that," he said...
(b) the slavic standard for dialogue weaved into
a narrative...
- so?
- what?
- will we try to speak without
   the reiteration of who said what?
- we could.
- no, we should.
smoother... James Joyce noted this,
casual - no point adding descrptions of
how the puppet-master lost power
over his puppets with " " ditto markers of
dialouge of a: he, he really did say...
no, not he, the narrator...

   i simply cannot read the genre of philosophy in english, too much easy access points of pop culture with that umbrella overreach... matrix, memes, darwinism, blah blah... too much focus on images and very little focus on words, esp. etymology, that other component of history that focuses on: a universal application of words, beside status king, or status pauper... both the word bread can succumb to the king's tongue, as to the pauper's... but with an origin story? anything beside **** similis, the monkey, will do me just fine... then again... there's no one strand of monkey to begin with... a bit like looking up your own *** for too long, you decide that there's a coherent, "bigger picture" and it begins with chimp- and ends with -rilla... doesn't anyone else just tire of looking up a monkey *** to peddlestool the importance of darwinism for so long? i mean... at least chemistry is a playground among the science... there's no worry for a beginning... there's only play... no... i can't read a philosophy book in english... i have to read it in Polish... which is also a... january, february, march, april, may, june, july, august, september, october, novermber, december... you'd think i'd be able to recite you the months in my mother tongue... styczeń, luty, marzec, kwiecień, maj, czerwiec, listopad, grudzień... english alphabet? a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j, m, n, l, o, p, q, r, s, t, u, v... **** gets scrambled... pointless rubrics... give me the practical! - i've just picked up a copy of Plato's republic... straight away i know that i'm finding my gensus in Plato rather than Aristotle...

    och ty, pijaku z psim pyskiem,
                  a za to z sercem jelenia...

    oh you, drunkard with a dog's snout,
                           nonetheless, with a stag's heart...

again, Nietzsche: Kant is an idiot, Plato is boring...
perhaps in German, for a German,
looking for Germany while roaming parts of Italy...
well... Plato, really seems appealing in
high slavic (western), the conversations breed
a sense of clarity, about fog, about darkness,
or any akin metaphor to boot...
                           between Nietzsche's maxims,
i'll take la Rochefoucauld succinct observations
before i succumb to pop-nietzsche modern
cult meme fucklords...
                          Roger Moore... prime example
of a bachelor, Kant, the same, Kierkegaard...
as for myself? if i married?
  would i still have the same sort of access to new
music, that i currently enjoy?
   for god's sake... i have to fall asleep while
listening to music, if i spend a day without
at least 5 hours of music on the headphones
   i start to lose the plot...
              my drinking is merely a side-note...
a p.s., given that now i'm a reformed drinker?
having cut my dosage in half...
     i'm still a music *****...
   women don't like music junkies...
                   and when my ex- started reading me
a qustionnaire from a russian cosmopolitan
magazine on the train to moscow from
st. petersburg... i thought i was going to shoot
myself in the head...
             perfect girlfriend this,
perfect girlfriend that...
             bob dylan saved me...
        but not for long...
                         women aren't feline...
at least with a cat you can ignore it...
                  he's pretending to be a solipsist and
you pretend to be: caring...
                 food on the table,
a clean litter tray... besides that?
                                                 fuckoffski!
     and i write this from a perspective of endearment,
nothing beats the zenith moments in a hetrosexual
relationship... the odd date...
                 talking impromptu... making food...
***, ***... ***... *** *** ***... ***... ***...
       but the petty arguments...
   the attention to detail...
                   god... anniversaries?
  i don't even celebrate my own birthday!
i fake celebrating christian holidays...
                    today is today, tomorrow:
that's tomorrow's concern...
           o.k. england winning the cricket world cup...
but that's a celebration with a calendar!
it's not regulated by hormones and
the impossibility for nostalgia...
                 i tried the relationship,
i tried the ***...
                       i had to visit a brothel for
the anaesthetic with regards to the past...
  i needed to visit the brothel to also visit
the butchers...
                               i needed to become meat,
to **** meat... and stop concerning myself over looks:
they only brought me trouble...
like i was walking with a "telepathic"
c.c.t.v. crow on my shoulder...
                             so i put on the weight i lost...
and... at that point? it was liberating...
mind you... if you want to lose weight?
  bicycle and swimming... no gym...
fruit for your last meal during the day...
eat anything you want...
  but losing weight? and all that bulimia,
classical roman bulimia:
training the oesophagus with first *******
into the mouth... then with no fingers
down the mouth?
                beauty... is not worth the trouble
when you really tempt yourself with the expansive
temporal canvas...
21 was my peak... after that...
                     voluntary celibacy...
                   a **** here and there...
            but no... it's not for me...
                    i guess i looked up to the right sort
of men... with regards to staying a bachelor...
to be highly invested in something,
   like Kant in a transcendent methodology...
like Kierkegaard invested in the arts...
like Nietzsche invested in waiting for
the fruition of his prophesies...
                      you have to be born to want to live
the simple happy life...
                  the "expected" life...
       the whole Hiob motto of: once taken,
can be regained blah blah...
                        it needs to have trans-generational
breeding involved...
                   a list of expectations...
                social-pressures and for that matter:
intrinsic socially-cohesive-stratification...
i'm a ****** in England...
             and... that puts as much social pressure
on me as... a chihuaha barking does
to an Alsatian's yawn... that's the stereotype...
the smalls dogs bark... the big dogs bite...
                 oh sure, when i visit my grandparents
back "home"... the older generation put
the pressure questions to the test:
even women from Warsaw...
   so where's your girlfriend?
to the old folk i reply: well i can't exactly force
a woman to be with me...
to the women of Warsaw?
   i'm practially a monk...
                        why?
          you don't really want to be aged 21...
forced with a scenario of:
happily dating, presumably reciprocrating trust
with regards to contraception,
being forced to reply to the scenario:
i think i'm pregnant... my my...
   and we were only 6 months apart after
the break-up, living in two different cities...
em...
                     on a lighter note...
what's the most fun you can have in Kenya?
   sitting on the balcony, in the shade...
feeding rascal macaques anything from nuts...
to bags of sugar... you, two macaque monkeys,
one balcony... the indian ocean frothing beyond...
it doesn't require a genius to figure out
what's worth cherishing without having
to feel obliged to the whole of humanity for...
offspring - many already figured this out before me:
you learn to give birth to your self (reflective,
and yes, not yourself - the reflexive)...
   which brings death to having to stand on its head...
... isn't Sisyphus the son of Atlas?
            couldn't Sisyphus just sit beside the stone
and... well yeah: think up the philosopher?

.em... looking back at the british empire, and the loud-mouth former colonial people... by god, i've never seen such leeches, i've never seen a people, so proud of being colonialißed! what's there to be proud of?! looks like in a post-colonial world, these former colonial busy-bodies had to, had to: step up and move their markers for Aladdin being performed in the West End... *******...  never in the history of the world, were post-colonial people endowed with so much pride, the whole m'ah bwee'dish *******... to counter herr zeppelinmann with the pakistani in the p.s. framework of the british empire... rotherham... ring a pakistani blue?! have a guitar on y'ah?! see... i don't like these former colonial states, with their people migrating to england, having their overlord say it now, say it clear bollocking... i don't mind a top hat, tux donning ******* giving me directions... but when a ****- does it?! sorry... i'm so sorry... will you please excuse me?! i just don't like *******, i don't like the sort of people who celebrate being colonial subjects, esp. after the whole post-colonial celebration of "libertion"... i don't like ****** / pakis who have to find their "past" by playing the cricket ball of, "the former" colony! i hate copper skinned ******* of ****- origins! former colonial raj-vizier... how can you breed these sort of people, who find pride in being under colonial power?! the **** didn't understand freedom, only understood it when being subject to its lack?! well... so much for english women... i guess they were only going to go for pakistani grooming gangs... drowning in the ganges... i have as much of jesus christ on the cross in me, as i have plenty and enough of pontius pilate's worth of soap to mind the next few years; never in my life would i have to witness the former colonißed to bribe their way, into an acceptance "speech" methodology... the ****- to fable the englishman for his, "tea"... no conquered people, no colonißed people should ever glorify their conquerers or colonißers... i guess the british achieved a double subversion... why do the ****- (stanis) still play cricket... i don't want to know... i'm new here... but... but... when a ****- attempts to displace a european from europe? that's my breaking point... i don't like being displaced from europe... the next ****- that will? well... the obvious target, a northern english teenager girl readied for grooming. i said! next ****- that tries to displace an european from europe... well... i guess.. given the power of the current politicians... nothing! ha ha!

well, with the e.u. article x, y and z...
herr zensor just flew over
London and dropped a bomb
from his zeppelin,
             because?
         two year ago,
       a teenager, girl, aged 13,
downloaded some materials
regarding self-harm...
              now the english government
is implicating regulations,
it will regulate social media usage,
mind you: ***** 'arry was pushing
the agenda all along...
   never mind the competent users...
just tackle the problem
with the addicts...
    oh look: no ******, no alcohol...
ms. amber: i'm sorry, we've failed,
we punched "the agenda"
of a blank canvas too far,
    we're going to have to double down,
for a while, so we can just
survive and have this sort
of a punching-bag of a blank
canvas readied for us...
               so the government will come
in and regulate,
       come on, 13 years old,
but the rising queer epidemic of
premature depression in the youth?
    while the parents do not
implement internet safety
   for their children,
        no block filters...
                like blocking pornographic
sites,
      so the infiltration came
            from within the supposed
safety-net sites?
           ****... i was exposed to
rotten.com by word of mouth at
school...
                           just when the internet
launched with that whole
dial-up modem,
    chris rock in lethal weapon
moment talking about old telephones...
and people bemoaned e.u.
articles...
         there have to be consequences...
people should / companies
should be taken into account...
     what about the *******
  who sold me chemically enhanced
marijuana?
            well of course:
   better a guilty man walk free,
than an innocent man become imprisoned...
that logic is still kinda flimsy
for me...
                 i don't know why...
   but it just is...
    surely there are parental filters
for what a child can and cannot see
on the internet...
                 when i was first exposed
to horse on woman *******?
       em...
         is there anything honest to think
about, at this point?
          maybe that's why i decided
to "ghost" around 200 fwends on fb.,
i figured...
        **** this pseudo-voyeurism
of what people want me to see...
    i've invested a decent amount of years
and settled for the 13K poem / doodle count...
and some pictures...
   none of them saved on a personal
drive...
         why would i stash the content,
hide it, when i want people to peruse...
'it's always dark before the dawn',
sorry, i don't know how much
of a ****-******* optimist i have to be...
before a stoic cynicism grinds me
to a halt of:
                   "branching out"...
              i came here for the punching bag
of a blank canvas...
              i never came for the fake
sycophancy or some count of numbers...
i came here, for an outlet...
      it was either this,
                     or a punching bag...
and you almost sense that this whole
farce of "national sovereignty"
is about to be dropped into the *******
and flushed...
       because... it will all become
                             "too inconvenient"...
oh they'll stall... until the european elections
take place...
                   and there's a u.k.
                        (probably the only time
where an N does't come between
vowels)...
                they're wriggling themselves
out... public: 1 vote...
                parliament: i've lost count...
it's not even akin to rats jumping ****,
more like a maggot **** in a pit...
                        that's what a cynic is:
a realist...
                         if i'm wrong, i'm wrong...
but...
              on several occassions
i haven't been wrong...
           and you just have to watch for
that glee in the eyes of channel 4 journalist
anchors...
     i know that glee in the eyes...
it's a glee of hope...
              a sly variation of hope...
               it's also a certainty imbued
               with a certainity-expectation;
thank god i didn't use the video medium...
no passive watchers,
      at least with writing...
certain sacrifices have to be made. / / / / / / / / / /
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

a "p.s.": well of course i'm not happy
with the news coming from today,
mind you: ever spot a woodland pigeon?
god, aren't they plump?
               bloated *******,
they always seem well fed by the forest...
a pair nested in a tree in my garden,
only yesterday, i picked up two
almost translucent offspring of theirs,
thrown out of the nest,
   the bride and groom
               decided they were sick,
weak...
                  they did look weak...
     death stared back at me,
          what once was animate,
lying there, among the stones, inanimate...
what a strange sight...
            do i believe in god?
            well... tell me...
   what is the driving force that coordinates
hearbeats, the functions of the stomach,
intestines, liver, kidney and lungs?
the categorical imperative split of the brain:
thinking, memory, imagination?
the bank of pathologies?
              tell me, what is the universal
1: nth term functions of the brain / 1 (divided
by 1),
                 the heartbeat / 1,
              the liver's function(s) / 1...
              the stomach's function / 1...
the pancreatic function / 1...
           i sometimes wonder:
  i own bones only in light of the thin
skinned extentsions associated with
fingers and tooes...
   sometimes this sort of thinking helps...
to "fake ignorance",
in order to rediscover awe...
         as if a genesis story...
to be the first...
        you never actually know what you will find...
sometimes there's no point being caged
in all the advancements of knowledge,
of certainity we are presented with
on the secular altar,
            ****! i can't even begin to comprehend
how i managed to clamour out from
beneath the eisenvorhang...
    a brief interlude... and straight back under
the siliziumvorhang...
            i guess i need to sleep the better dues
to pass this day...
           it was expected though,
i was, after all... sending out an S.O.S.,
     wattpad... what is it?
              teens wet silly with poetry
associated with no messy love,
mostly girls...
              YA novelties and novellas...
side projects...
               again: vampires, warewolves,
zombies, blah blah: yawn a year later...
         teen girls: sensitive as
daffodils, but as soon as a presence
comes along: little scheming modliszkas
   (mantises) - since daddy would not
approve...
              i discovered marquis de sade
in my teens: thank **** that i did...
i wished for an exoskeleton,
i moved past it, into lizard skin,
until my skin started resembling
an oyster shell hardness...
                     you snooze, you loße...
i only saw the trilogy once,
in the waterstones of Greenwich Village
in London, when i was doing some roofing
for a housing project...
i only saw the trilogy once...
i only bought Joris-Karl Huysmans's
Là-Bas once... i should have bought
the two other books...
  since i never saw them again...
  unlucky me... having succumbed to the sterotype
of the magpie stealing silver spoons...
the cover...
   artwork by aubrey beardsley:
                        'of neophyte and how the black art
was revealed to him by the fiend Asomuel'
   (the pall mall magazine, june 1893)...
on amazon.com you either get a chance
to purchase this book, or:
Against Nature (a rabours)...
    but there's a trilogy behind Là-Bas...
zee fwench: sorry, and not sorry,
the english can be grand poets,
but when it comes to prose?
                they're not even sniffing
the toes of the french...
                what happened to woodland pigeon
coos today?  wattpad.com,
2015...             the same for me...
an outright ban... because some girl
decided to be offended by me cutting off
a conversation with her: wish her a good life...
and i really out so much effort into that page...
zip it shrimpy: cut off, little richard
on the guillotine... cut!
                well... i was clued into
the world of 'olapoesía.com,
           hallopoesia.com
                       sveikidzeja.com (lithuanian...
dzieje? happenings, events, in ******)...
          and just my luck...
      leave a harmless comment in an in-group,
in a hive?
              how the nazis were not exactly
mongols, or the first christians who
burned down the library of alexandria,
when notre dame burned...
      when the blitz of london...
and how st. paul's "miraculously" survived...
and i said: i'm pretty sure the people
in command said to the luftwaffe squadron
about to bomb london:
you drop a single bomb on st. paul's:
firing squad...
           they were nazis: but sure as ****
they weren't the people of the siberian steppe!
so hellopoetry.com,
  2019, suspension from may until december 2019...
but unlike wattpad...
  i still have my account!
   and guess who's digging trenches, right now?
poetfreak.com and minds.com are
step-overs...
why did i delete my 200+ fwends off of
facebook.com and reduced it to
3 random strangers?
          eh?
                   as much as i abhor darwinism
poking its head through to give
every single existential explanation...
i have to side with darwinism on this point:
a defensive modus operandi...
lie low...
          pretend to be dead...
                   i knew the censorship storm
was coming back in 2015...
and this current banning of woodland pigeon
coos banning?
     i'm sort of happy...
but not for the sort of reasons stemming
from the ban...
     i can finally spread the "love"!
           i finally know what it feels like,
for someone who liked my work...
         being cut off from my content...
frankly... it feels great!
                   i can finally entertain my perspective
with a pinch of empathy...
sympathy is already here:
since it happened to me back in 2015,
and in early 2019...
         now for the 3rd time lucky
on the platforms i already mentioned...
but like this hindu woman said to me...
1st time is an honest mistake,
2nd time is a lesson in learning...
3rd time? there's nothing for you to learn...
and that's of course in reverse:
of me being banned.
                         after all...
if marquis de sade is still with us?!
                 marquis de sade...
                              i knew herr zensor was
coming...           but i didn't exactly
expect to climb from under the iron curtain,
to be draped over with the silicon curtain...
and these people know they're taking away
our former playground,
our youth center,
                       well...
                           but at least i didn't make
passive content akin to a video...
         if they really want to ban me a third
time...
       i'm glad someone took the effort
to read my work...
   saves them the time ageing toward granny
age, resorting to binging on harlequin
romance novels.

p.s.

you've actually caught me in my berserker
drinking mode... i'll just spew...
and spew as i must, i never expected
the "useful idiots" to comply to what my thinking
didn't prescribe them to do...
even hegel once pointed out:
something about 3D chess,
a thinking man, with pawns of willing
actors... i never liked hegel...

                  hegel has become too much
of a crucifix, a bookmark,
of what and where, "things" went wrong...
i hate bookmarked people...
kant isn't bookmarked...
         all the slander that nietzsche offered him,
as some repetitive jargon booster,
with the sort of a bachelor lifestyle
he greatly admired: rooted in Königsberg...
****** worked like clockwork...
his predictability was the great deception...
forget shuffling ideas and whatever
like a northern semite...
weren't the vikings the semites
of the north? restless creatures,
constantly displaced? weren't they?

mind you... eh...
     you know how many necromancers
actually exist?
   you ever read a book by jean-paul sartre?
james joyce? stendhal? dumas?
sienkiewicz?
      you sure you're not
a necromancer?
                it's not an exactly
illustrious title to hold...
             when reading the books
of the departed, aren't you invoking
their living presence, into the current storm
of affairs?
  sure as **** it's not a spectacular "title"
to hold, is it?
           to think: one is more likely
to cite the dead, having "risen" from
their grave, that one is to make
   "compensations" with the living...
   when journalism ****** politics...
and the sort of admired journalism,
akin to all the president's men...
died...
                a slower death than the traversing
speed of a snail...
   like that other quote beside
hegel:         the terrible...
                   has already happened.
the holocaust, chernobyl...
   that has already happened...
               awaiting what could ever be
worse: is but akin to the sword of Democles...
it's hanging in the air,
   blood-thirty,
  like the talking heads of
the french aristocracy, once the guillotine
chop happens... gagging for "free speech"
in a basket...
what is mary antoinette just said:
let them have croissants?!
    fat fake cake binges would...
with a snap of the fingers... be over...
still... the english crumpet...
      tyson fury vs. manny pacquiao
    (the obvious choice of crumpet,
and the croissant getting battered...
akin to a french toast,
               soaked in beaten eggs)...

you read any book by a dead person,
you're a necromancer...
             i'm a necromancer...
                 you're a necromancer...
the dead arrive at your head,
have a ******* with your thinking,
then leave,
you continue,
   in your own right,
and in their right: of mutating their
original thought...
          that lost ambition of narrative,
transcending any and all
moral 'oughts...
                    try me after an hour
spent with a ******* doing nothing
but kissing her:
just, because, "on a whim",
i forgot to trim my ***** hair...
                stealing kisses from prostitutes
isn't exactly easy...
all that pretty woman dogma...
     **** above a kiss...
          well... "yeah"... in reality?
                   i'm thinking about three things
right now... growing a heard long enough
to reach my heart...
   bonsai: in both the tree botanical form
and a feline form of a shrunken tiger
akin to a maine **** cat...
   and a pagoda...
                      don't ask me why...
i'm good at su doku puzzles... mahjong...
really **** on the crossword puzzle scale...
hence? random words just enter my mind
and i need an ars poetica impromptu
to lodge them into.

p.p.s.
i already know what the inquiring man would
or could ever do with a child,
to inquire about his own development as
a child, to find the: dot dot dot the missing
answers, to see for himself as he developed
into an adult, or, worse, to project his own failings
onto the child, child genius tiger mums team
alpha-bravo... child prodigy gehennah...
it's almost a psychological fetish for some,
to bind oneself to the canvas of a child,
better off with a cat, or a dog if that's your
"thing"... at least you won't be hurting anyone...
worse still: the marquis de sade ******
scenario... i still have memories from when
i was 4 years old... Ganesha must be looking
over me: the stereotype? elephants' memory,
which is as long as its trunk...
      "conundrum": if an adult male can fathom
his child: himself at the age of 4...
if he can fathom a metaphorical foetus,
why would he have to procreate,
to produce a d.n.a. mongrel to satiate his
curiosity further?
      besides that... if society was once overtly
religious, moralistic...
today's society is overly-psychologised...
i hate psychological stereotypes,
everyone is this part-time hobby-psychologist...
             i don't exactly require a biological
part-replica of myself to preserve at least
one thought with origin and end within
the confines of my self...
       i'm not exactly prone to utter patriachal
proverbs that encompass whole ethnic groups...
maxims or categorical imperatives
cater for individuals...
                   not the masses...
i'd have to be a patriarch to utter proverbs as
a way to gather the brood of my own
sow and subsequent harvest...
to be so obscure,
    to be so... concerned with lineage...
                   you have to be born with the facets
of necessarily ensuring that future generations
are to make the same mistakes...
           that's why i would never trust western
neo-atheism... d.n.a. as the only future blah blah...
         sure... if you can lodge a thought
into d.n.a. and receive the token of finding both
self and consciousness within such claustrophic automaton confines,
"somewhere down the line"...
      much older generations would have told you...
that's in the fables, the mythos, the temporal crux
and crossroads... time doesn't give a donkey's *******
about your "rational", scientific materialism's worth
of continuum...
                         etc.
Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
Sloane swallows.
***** is ****!
I execrate extraterrestrial.

We are all kaput to conk out.

Pollyanna is singular hanky—panky.
Little green men are unpatriotic, perverted and naughty.
I verily don’t grease a *****
Oojakapivvycum.

If you are amphibious that means you are an effervescent ventriloquist capable of
Cannibalism, cannibalism and cannibalism.
The fluid inside the android is so gothic and naff
It is knock—kneed in the face of flashing *******.
I do not feel that I am on the shoulders of cobber doggies.
I am protoplastically lassoed abutting penetrating vampire and pervert
That penetrate ***** creature.
I have pricked little green men myself and taken pleasure in it.
It is only with the help of bad hair days of groupies that I have not been in Sing Sing.

We are all sadomasochistically decomposing in a heap of our own meconium.

I bore stiff to outstrip yours truly as much as I have room to swing a cat from Ku Klux ****,
But I am as complicit in the android’s ****** abuse as it were android ***.
Little green men ***** me as I ***** myself.
I ***** bug—eyed men’s ******* types as I have perpetually vomited Molotov cocktail.
I smell little green men’s filth televised on their ******* types.
I feel like I am inside a crust of cancers who delight in smelling others bonk upstairs,
Ad hominen id.  Ex post facto,
I am too much of a dastard to throw cold water on myself.
I coagulate gungily to my menstrual gibbering ******,
Castrating anti—Semite to flash me abutting crème de la crème.  
Strenuously, my ***** gluts under one’s nose because that is all there is.
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire—nil nisi divinum stabile
   est; caetera fumus—the gondola stopped, the old
   palace was there, how charming its grey and pink—
   goats and monkeys, with such hair too!—so the
   countess passed on until she came through the
   little park, where Niobe presented her with a
   cabinet, and so departed.


Burbank crossed a little bridge
  Descending at a small hotel;
Princess Volupine arrived,
  They were together, and he fell.

Defunctive music under sea
  Passed seaward with the passing bell
Slowly: the God Hercules
  Had left him, that had loved him well.

The horses, under the axletree
  Beat up the dawn from Istria
With even feet. Her shuttered barge
  Burned on the water all the day.

But this or such was Bleistein’s way:
  A saggy bending of the knees
And elbows, with the palms turned out,
  Chicago Semite Viennese.

A lustreless protrusive eye
  Stares from the protozoic slime
At a perspective of Canaletto.
  The smoky candle end of time

Declines. On the Rialto once.
  The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
  Money in furs. The boatman smiles,

Princess Volupine extends
  A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand
To climb the waterstair. Lights, lights,
  She entertains Sir Ferdinand

Klein. Who clipped the lion’s wings
  And flea’d his **** and pared his claws?
Thought Burbank, meditating on
  Time’s ruins, and the seven laws.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
.english colonialism used to be passive-aggressive, english post-colonialism is a strange dynamic of former colonial nations playing the endgame of colonialism with non-affiliated nations of the british empire (affiliated by trade anyway, although not based upon origins of the ruling elite's extending arm), there's a hot topic in england between the irish and the polish, the irish are provoking the polish into racism so someone else can look smug with a pakistani friend on the london tube.

you know the amount of pain i see writing my father's
invoices of manual labour with the irish *****
apparently running
the show protecting northern
irish outputs of poetry and cigarette smuggling -
keeping us migrants "in check"?
god the loathing,
i try to improvise each invoice
with an excess knowledge
of the english tongue to break through,
but my sole considering comforter
is still death,
**** this *******, i rather die
than see my father's eyes eye me
hurtful hopeful of seeing my "bright new life"
when i was nearly murdered by
an egyptian school-friend / childhood friend
and later told: boy you better pretend you're
mad... boy my ***, your father is just
an x-ray technician... go back
to the northern africa of your
pretending to be a semite and build
another pyramid... *******, **** all of this,
days of casual pretentious squeaky clean
non-offensive poetry are over...
gentlemen - let's broaden our minds... swear a little
take up oaths with truth...
we were born to down a pint of concrete before
ireland was born, rushing out of pubs
when the call was made: concrete has arrived!
run, run run run! break legs and whatnot,
because in an irish pub talking to a homeless
person in akimbo giving him a cigarette
is cause for argument with an irish girl
trying to get, familiar;
unlike the sword, a stick has two ends...
you can smack someone with it,
but then someone can rebel and grasp the same
stick and smack you with it, for a suckling
taste of a kiss in memory of reprimanding manners.

- and i do remember the good stuff coming
out of h'america...
    i once owned a copy of blue valentine
by tom waits on c.d.: scratched that record
from over-playing it...
found a vinyl copy in the shop today...
splashed out a staggering £20 on it...
lucky for me the mp3 record comes free...
     £20 is a lot?
       well... better that £20 which played
in the background as i finished off decorating
the kitchen...
   rage 2 deluxe edition for ps4 -
      £44.99... so sure... i splashed out...
          thank god i'm not a gamer...
with games it's like with movies...
   notably? vikings season 1...
     i thought i could watch it a second time...
couldn't...
   a bit of a hit and miss...
    with games and movies...
      when the narrative gets exhausted...
and you're still honing in on the narrative
whether a passive spectstor or the role player
in the game...
but investing in an album?
       background background...
and an almost infinite array of the comeos
against the record...
   one cameo decorating a kitchen
another cameo finishing the day off with
some cider on a windowsill...
   but once upon: that's what h'america was
about... united we stand,
divided we fall... blah blah...
           and it looks like that right now...
the cultural export zenith peaked and it isn't
coming back...
   not for a while at least...
now we only look at not the united
         but the balkanized states of europe...
the states pulling at each other:
where once there was a cohesive collective
      export of pure cancan h'americana...
tom waits' blue valentine...
                          now i'll am getting
"culturally" is a bunch of vlogger content...
export of problems,
existential qualms without support on
existential pillars from continental thought
of 20th century europe...
   19th century doesn't count:
   not even nietzsche does: but kierkegaard
doesn't.

what are those lyrics from that vomito *****
song enemy of the state?
we shall send you, in ever increasing number:
ships, planes, tanks, guns: that is your purpose
and, our pledge
... (1941 state of the union speech
sample)

most americans are not aware that soon
the primary export of our national economy
won't be cars, or food, or microwaves.
instead we'll be exporting death.
instead will be exporting death.


   perhaps, once upon a time...
now the export is quiet different,
   at its cultural zenith of exported values...
it would seem h'america choked on
a bitter pill... h'america no longer provides
the sort of culture worth exporting,
notably in cinema in music...
                               in literature...

the behemoth lost all of its juggernaut
momentum... and stumbled into rehashing old
ideas... it's not plagiarizm as such:
more a plagiarizm ex per se...

norman davies: god's playground -
   1795 to the present:

the Belweder is a palace in Warsaw...
(belvedere: a beautiful view)
constructed in 1660 -
  the White House in Washington D.C.
constructed in circa 1796...
by god, what a similarity!

   polish emigration to the u.s.a.:
in social terms their educational and communal
organizations are less effective than those of
the ukranians,
   in political terms their problems
command less notice than those of the blacks,
chicans or amerindians...
in the vicious world of the american ethnic jungle,
the 'stupid and ignorant Pole' is a standard
stereotype... once the noble lord...
reasons no doubt exist: like the irish and
the sicilians... the greatest influx came from
Galicia containing a large number of
the 'wretched refuse': people so oppressed
by poverty and near-starvation:
supressed linguistically, religiously...
the instinct of mere survival...
accepted the most degrading forms of employment...
exploitation: 'industrial *******'...
they were the gangers of the great american
railway age...
a canadian textbook can be cited
(j. s. wordsworth, strangers within our gates,
toronto 1972):
'it is hard to think of the people of this
nationality other than in that vague class of
undesirable citizens' -
   very much like to today:
   to think of canadians being a people
beloning to the making of mankind -
    without the canadian concept of mankind
being: peoplekind...
even woodrow wilson (then) prof. at prince-ton
deemed the Poles to be 'inferior'.

- but who was to ever to keep grudges...
grand torino - the movie, starring and directed
by clint eastie-boy-sparking-wood...
waldermar kowalski... dumb pollack...
why do poles no integrate within a community
bias as such?
                   the proverb:
if you want to succeed within a framework
of immigration: steer away from your
fellow countrymen...

                     almost all other cultures that
come, but the host's nitty-picky:
oh look at our asian labradors...
why can't you lick our ***** like they can?
etc. one example out of the many...
some people, i guess: prefer to be in
the background...
post-colonial powers need tokens...
akin to a sadiq khan:
papa was an immigrant bus-driver -
quick step up from daddy being a bus driver
to the position of mayor of london...
browny points!

the english are smug like this:
you hear even today -
WE WON'T BE SORRY FOR OUR
FATHER'S AND FOREFATHER'S SINS...
not for our colonial past...
they say that consciously -
but subconsciously they are scoring
brownie points...
        i can't say they're doing this
unconsciously: since if they were:
there would be a unanimous concensus
and no: "diversity is our strength"
agenda...

             besides... you can't exactly
conquer an island...
the norman conquest of 1066? it wasn't really
a conquest: for a conquest to actually take
place you'd require the native population
to be displaced / replaced by the invading
force - akin to the saxon invasion...
'don't touch, their, women...
we don't breed with these people...
what sort of people would you think
that would breed? weak people... half people'
(king Cerdic from the film king arthur 2004)...
proof being?
when the normans invaded and "conquered"...
they simply replaced the ruling saxon elite...
hence? the domesday book...
the ruling elites were being replaced
and the new ruling elites wanted to have
an account of who they were going to rule...
it was less a conquest and more:
a change of guard... since...
            the locals were first investigated
and subsequently left to their own devices...
there was no conquest:
               as such...
                but you can get on with your
day-to-day life on an island with natural
fortifications (the ******* sea)...
and produce your little whizz-kids down
the years...
   but imagine being squeezed by:
prussia... russia, the ottomans,
                  the mongols...
                             the swedes...
                and subsequently by the austro-hungarians...
matka królów (the mother of kings),
i.e.: Elisabeth von Habsburg...

   in conclusion... oh to hell with the whole
"incel" label... you have to pay for something
in the end... why not skip the *******'s worth
of pleasantries: the dating masquerade
and not get into the nitty-gritty with a *******
in one smooth stroke of a count worth an hour?
no hard-on shyness that way...
no ****-teasing...
whatever is an erectile dysfunction outside
of the brothel... doesn't seem to bother
whittle wichy while in a brothel...
so go figure...
                and relating to the stories of incels...
hmm... maybe it's the fickle women...
last time i checked...
i picked up a thai bisexual in a park,
a random stranger...
                took her home,
some beer, some jazz...
                  ****** her in the garden...
        i don't even think it's the case of
"i can't get laid" with these incels...
     english women: nuns on the outside...
latex gimp suited **** black boot licking
*** fiends in the bedroom...
   the madonna-***** complex...
the only aspect of Freud that resonates with me...

you know what, never mind...
      i'm just happy i collect vinyls...
free mp3 copy to boot...
and instead of spending 40+ quid on a game
that will become exhausted after one sitting /
completion (these are not arcade games,
nor are they the "free" new wave of games,
the ones where you play "superior"
opponents with a handicap -
since you didn't pay any in-game updates,
patience is a virtue,
   and someone people invest real money
into these games, but are still **** at them,
plus, these new wave games never really end...
i'll be dead and i won't be able to finish them,
added bonus? there's no NPC dimension
to them, added strategy: with a complete loss
of narrative / story-telling, genius!)
plus... how much does a vinyl player cost?
you can get one for under 70 quid...
sometimes vinyl bargains: under a tenner...
this one though, for 20 quid...
1 vinyl worth 20 quid once every two months?
oh yeah... i really splashed out on this one!

woman is a grand idea though...
    there is so much of woman i would be able
to love, if only the practicality of woman
wouldn't be associated...
alas: reality bites...
                       regrets...
                                  aged 33 and i feel as if...
i have managed a good enough sample
where both sexes can coexist within the confines
of me entertaining them:
as if they were to never meet and "preserve"
the "fate" of "humanity"...
      i'm pretty sure there are plenty of people
who have been bullied into this trap
associated with the otherwise "intelligent"
dodo mentality...
                          besides, i'm about to find out,
whether or not, they sell liter bottles of whiskey...
using my braille tally:

            ⠁ ⠃ ⠇ ⠧ ⠷ (⠿)
            1  2  3   4  5  (6)
             a  b  l   v  à  (é)

                        from what i drank yesterday
for that lullaby... i'm starting to supect that:
what they label as a liter... is actually more -

    if after ⠷⠻ ⠷⠻ (i.e. 50ml  20x) i'm not left
with an empty bottle... well then i'm not left
with an empty bottle.
Jacob Singer Apr 2010
I wear white
I wear white

I wear white and stare right back at
the other end of the world

The hems of the loosely fitting traditions
Barely touch the ground anymore

I wear white
I wear white
White like the chalk on the blackboard switched from
right to left.

Aimless and bereft of the desert I once called mine,
I walk alone

I wear white, I wear white
As I have done for 14 hours
and 14 years

7000 miles on the screen and 2 more up there
to be precise. It faded for every mile
Just as it has been doing since the day Darwish died

I wear white, I wear white
A different breed of Semite than they're used to

Not walking but flowing almost
as contradictory as "poutine Arabesque"
The routine wears my jaw out
as the vowels twist from right to left

I wear white, I wear white
Not just quite there yet
Not even close
Not even halfway to the surface but then again
I suppose we've always been at ease at the depths of the sea
Pearls and black gold abound

I forget that sometimes in between
intermittent bouts and doubts of "3arabiyun ana"
As if that's what makes up the anatomy of an Arab
As if that's enough for you, Khaled

I wear white
I wear white
Or at least I tell myself I do
Leave myself open to the prospect
of life starting anew
Forcing myself to see it through
See life through your eyes
Or are they my own **** you ?

Tell me for the love of Christ
Call me by name and don't
bury me under the empty discarded photo frames
that you stockpile

I'm calling to you, Walid
And will keep on calling
And trying and burning and aching and failing and dreaming and irritating
like a bad itch

I sink under it all and push it all off step 3 repeat as necessary

I scream in the tongue that you deafen your ears to and pull at the beard you've tried to shave off
I pluck at the horizontal heartstrings you've tried to mute

Above all, I wear white...
And I fight.... I fight.....

I FIGHT
Ahbengo Nov 2013
You read the books that are made for men
And call yourself a feminist

As you recite paragraphs
Making gestures with your right hand

Sprays of self-righteous spit
Accompanied with your confident loud words.

Your knowing worm eyebrows
As the cherry on top.

I wonder if you would be ashamed
To know that Hemingway was an anti-Semite.

Or that Sartre thought there were two kinds of women.
Poor Simone was just like you
She went along for the ride.
Susana means lily of the valley.
Shoshanna, curled petals for hair and a bridged nose,
pollen specked and running.
I was named for Abuelita Susana,
she was a leather belt and anti-semite,
stinging my dad with welts until adulthood.
Abuela did not mean her name
until her stem shook down to dementia.
curled petals for a mind, bridged heart,
pollen specked and waning.
The only thing she remembered
was her grandson and a record player
and Chiquitita.
I am not like her.
She was harpooned, jagging,
never the lily of the valley.
I am glad I have a chance to redefine Susana.
A lily in a valley
of infinite Susana’s.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
י / it's semite... there's bound to be a semite-adventure... not a lot of semitic poetry what with jesus... if i sober up... i'll post you a sober copy of this poem... or why i'd rather wash the planks of the flying dutchman, going on and on, forever and ever.... and then realising: i really do not have much to say... but that's the point of music... you want the butcher thinking he's a surgeon attempting to dissect your heart... you want night, you are gagging for fakes or real exponents of sadism... i'd live for an eternity is everyone suddenly became platitude... and all i heard was the sound of music, that couldn't ever possibly become vivaldi; just plain macabre... a creaky chair, something hollow, horror-imbued, rickety... youthful christianity; goth... an agitation of islam...

i picked up a gemini pair of serpents... and twisted
and boiled them, until a shadow emerged....
and i called it man.. and then i tried to tenderly
tenderly believe in it, and conern myself with fear...
  and then i could not identify with
that infernal thing that tears might be
shed on...i feared, i wept, i feared, i wept,
after a while i just wanted a nomad's island...
and *****, and a friend called Friday...
and like... nothing apart from that...
   i called it an a space of / for music,
or at least something of necessary dialogue
pertaining to it being necessary...
tender once you think your own it,
a bit of a *****... once you actually own it...
ha... the dutch sail to nowhere, tonight!
o might of the night, i hail you to be!
at least preoccupied with providing me a moon
to see!
the sole precursor and the sole of
all that might be taken into
worthy account! whip and stern!
for what requires worship!
thinly... deja vu...
a sorta... drifting away...
                like one might ease a fetish
for a music box...
and in my wish to clean the basis for there being
one in the first place...
who are we? simpletons of the heat?
are you not keen to the keel of
taking a ship to the tides of fake war that's
the ocean? are you, the simple tone for what
you could have wished for?
   am i not the depth of an ocean
that needs to speak to you?
am i not writing blind?
                            then what am i?
five blind men and an immaginary
elephants...
  about as much as five mexicans whether
deaf or blind and a ******* piñata...
this heart? this ****? you take to,
the grave. you take as much impetus as
impetus gives it sway for a care,
like a holocaust... this ****...
you take to the grave, along along with all
the jews that come with it...
you don't joke about certain things...
you certainly don't joke about love...
no wonder your western marriages are a sham,
karma knocks on, but only one door...
how the need to juxtapose punctuation
really gives emphasis on the lack
of diacritical markings in the english language...
then again, if the language actually had them,
we probably wouldn't have seen so much adventure;
right now?
i'm thinking about living in little village
in *pomerania
(or at least the faroe isles)...
          yep, on the island of rügen....
the part of the world where nothing really happens,
because nothing really happens in it
because you don't have adelle singing about...
    turtles, jelly people... and fake imitations of angry
sharks.
Andrew Springer Jan 2013
Yevgeny Yevtushenko*


No monument stands over Babi Yar.
A drop sheer as a crude gravestone.
I am afraid.
            Today I am as old in years
as all the Jewish people.
Now I seem to be
                a Jew.
Here I plod through ancient Egypt.
Here I perish crucified, on the cross,
and to this day I bear the scars of nails.
I seem to be
            Dreyfus.
The Philistine
              is both informer and judge.
I am behind bars.
                Beset on every side.
Hounded,
       spat on,
              slandered.
Squealing, dainty ladies in flounced Brussels lace
stick their parasols into my face.
I seem to be then
                a young boy in Byelostok.
Blood runs, spilling over the floors.
The barroom rabble-rousers
give off a stench of ***** and onion.
A boot kicks me aside, helpless.
In vain I plead with these pogrom bullies.
While they jeer and shout,
                         "Beat the Yids. Save Russia!"
some grain-marketeer beats up my mother.
0 my Russian people!
                   I know
                         you
are international to the core.
But those with unclean hands
have often made a jingle of your purest name.
I know the goodness of my land.
How vile these anti-Semites-
                            without a qualm
they pompously called themselves
the Union of the Russian People!
I seem to be
            Anne Frank
transparent
           as a branch in April.
And I love.
          And have no need of phrases.
My need
       is that we gaze into each other.
How little we can see
                     or smell!
We are denied the leaves,
                         we are denied the sky.
Yet we can do so much --
                        tenderly
embrace each other in a darkened room.
They're coming here?
                    Be not afraid. Those are the booming
sounds of spring:
                 spring is coming here.
Come then to me.
               Quick, give me your lips.
Are they smashing down the door?
                                No, it's the ice breaking ...
The wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar.
The trees look ominous,
                      like judges.
Here all things scream silently,
                               and, baring my head,
slowly I feel myself
                    turning gray.
And I myself
            am one massive, soundless scream
above the thousand thousand buried here.
I am
     each old man
                 here shot dead.
I am
    every child
               here shot dead.
Nothing in me
             shall ever forget!
The "Internationale," let it
                            thunder
when the last anti-Semite on earth
is buried forever.
In my blood there is no Jewish blood.
In their callous rage, all anti-Semites
must hate me now as a Jew.
For that reason
                I am a true Russian!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
you learn it the hard way, you actually can drink warm shots of *****,  provided,  you have a brisk, Icelandic chaser, notably white European Bison *****, and apple juice infused with mint...

pije, pali, konia wali...

it has been agreed, a drunk man is half
the miserable sight of a woman...
no wonder a woman *******
is more appealing than a man,
who shines.., like Louis XIV,
******* in a lightbulb...
            ha ha... ******* want *******...
and there I was, thinking that
bottle of alcohol also ought to have
warnings about any *******,
other than oral with a pregnant woman...
wonder... does alcohol really harm
foetuses, or does the constant banging
of a cockrel do more harm than
awaiting sunrise good?

hence the question, i don't know.

pije, pali, konia wali...

as a drinker, in company?
i can have a social drink,
my grandmother had a nostalgic
hallucination of a taste that
provoke memory, so I bought her
a porter beer...
and we drank it together...
książęce: aromas of honey,
coffee, rührkuchen und
bitterschokolade...

grandfather simply replied:

koniec świata;

now the IVF part quest for ****** chills...
citation granny, is no citation
worthy of the urban lawyer,
frozen egg + spe4m donor factory...
the part where I'm cited as "******"...
urban mongrels contra
                  rural pedigrees.

pije, pali, konia wali...

there are but three ways to clear the head
before the excavation of a blank
page... rarely it involves addressing a delayed
slightly constipated dump...
but sometimes it does...

pije, pali, konia wali...

           then it also takes doing no.
1, no. 2 (as mentioned above)...
and no. 3...
                 i have no idea where ****
additiction comes from...
i'm more of a claccisist in this field...
moving pictures do not really
stimulate the mind to work off
a stattic picture...
    if you never did no. 3 i. e.
****** off on the toilet...
                 because you never bought
a ***** mag with your casual take
on the metaphor of smithfield market...
or you've never been,
driving to it at 1am in the morning...
coming back with half a porky corpse...

pije, pali, konia wali...

I think people are confusing objectivity
with ***** subjectivity...
like any clean cut of a scalpel...
or like eating a soft boiled egg...
you crack the shell, leaving the papist
yolk, intact...

pije, pali, konia wali...  

at leat objectifying a woman
does not subject her to the cring worthy
labyrinths of emotional men,
or whatever the hell cheating is...
   or juggling...
        ****** off at fine art,
only once did I bother to explore
the ****** extension of latex...
a kinda of bedroom niqab fetish...
but most of the time...
static images, blood down below,
paths of imagination in the head...
not to mention that ***-mad mongrel
that **** my leg...
luckily I didn't kick him,
but politely asked... are you finished,
and ready, to hunt a mare?

pije, pali, konia wali...

******* what?!
   classical *******...
whatever happened to the tabloid
page 3?
   apparently men with recoding hairlines
have more testosterone...
apparently watching a woman's breast
releases, whether dopamine
serotonin, or... as the cigarette quote
goes... Oscar Wilde?
    the most pristine five minutes,
that leaves one (mm  hmm...
a royal pronoun,  both singular,
and plural, for a pleb that's minus
the entourage of leeches...
mind you... why not the common
slang of sycophancy in syco...
that Y... not tree not serpent splits...
hollowed out... to differentiate
from the other,  crude grafitti of
******pathy, shortening)
    most disatisfied...

pije, pali, konia wali...

perhaps j. c. is the king of kings,
but i sit on the, throne of thrones...
no. 1, 2 and 3...
    no scented candles,
no... god... cursed the theistic joke...
a woman has to *** squatting...
a man just stands...
than again: bigger bladders?
*******, easing analysis muscles,
jerking off to static nudes...
how is it on the other side?
moods, scented candles, lying back...
literature that ought to be
read with one hand?
        d'uh and the *****...
sure... g. i. Joe of a boy aged 8
when Barbie burned in th stash...
out comes Ken 2.0...

pije, pali, konia wali...

easier for a man to stomach a hand
as if it were done ****...
than explore beyond the floral pouch...
than... getting a manicure...
and... not using the Vizzz...
the Vizier... hardly a comparison to
encapsulating... snoring...

i always ask the intrigued relic of
dating... so... you want to hold
my hand, or is male maturation
so grotesque that it has no...
voyeuristic appeal?
   well... thank **** for that!
with my little finger I served
poached, a former hydra behemoth...

the knowledge of, good and evil...
                                                X
which isn't exactly a mistery of +...
   the conjunction translates as X,
cross-eyed... not +...

pije, pali, konia wali...

                      it's easier calling it
the no. 3, considering how...
sitting on the throne, apparently
masages the prostate...
hence the stigma it would seem...
no scented candles...
no grand whizz of faking headache
and snoring of excavating dodos...

pije, pali, konia wali...
    
ah... back into the syco contra
****** and the hollowed out
Y question...
                         σý-co...

         'sigh-co...

hence not so much the hollowed-out
Y... but rather, akin to gnome gnostics...
the particular instance of
surd letters,
not being clothed in surd attire...
     elsewhere diagnostic...
otherwise in the already given example:
   'nome...         'nostics...

yes, i know, the borderline 'sigh-co...
psst... as happens, when letters
ignoring greco-semite
        stubbornness,
remain syllable amputees looking
for torsos of words....
magnetised limbs mechanic...
letters primitive, bound to syllables...
not the greco-semitic
construct of names...
       shortcuts with the NATO
alphabet is the curse of 15...
   a ******* worth of a telephone
conversation will not craft
an originality of either Aleph,
Omicron, Ayin, or Omega...

       may i remin you the greco-semitic
stubborn ram... ploughing
constants in science?
aha! ****** music thought...
no one really heard of
rotting christ or
         mícháel greilsammer...
last of the Roman sons...
sang arias of castratos!

pije, pali, konia wali...

     finally! ad the title implies...
what's the diffrence between
a man buying shoes,
and a woman buying shoes?
probably the packaging,
or more to the point...
a man walks into a shoe shop
wearing old shoes...
he buys a new pair,
buys them, puts them on,
packs his old pair into
the newly bought pair's shoebox...
and walks out with
his new: economic sketch
and the concept of recycling...
primarily because i've never seen
a woman buy a pair of shoes,
and walk out of a shop
wearing them...
   not once....
      and thank **** it rained hail
and razor rain today,
after post-noon greenhouse
suffocating toffee sun...
and the sky was painted a continental
grey & plum as the earth gave
its first, authentic breath of spring...
not once, have i seen a woman
buy shoes... and walk out
in them, putting the ones she
wore walking into the shop,
among the moosehead trophies,
skinned furrs,
and her, other,
      hunting expedition catches...
into the insomnia and iron
forest, of foraging for sales.

thank **** i had an existential
****** looking at me,
as I put the newly purchased shoes
onto my feet, and the old shoes
into a carrier bag...
    in those rare instances,
as true as: mould the iron while
it's lukewarm...
          come to think of it...
this is french existentialism
in the open... unable to encompass
a voyeurism with a guilt
of a peepingtom or Cambridge Analitica...
pure existential voyeurism...
guised Edenic...
     out in the open...
       bound to the habits of
man shopping, for shoes...
                 rather than a woman...

hell, hades and the high-water mark
of a tide...
      
     (he) drinks, (he) smokes,
   (he) smacks the monkey...


     if you didn't know, already.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
it the new year, and only into February have i finally returned to my modus operandi... which was? well... it was the pre-Christmas period in the supermarket, and 1 litre bottles of whiskey were on offer, marked down from £19 to £15^, so it was usually that, a bottle of coke, and a bottle of beer and walking home straight away... perching myself on the windowsill, watching youtube channels of uninspired people talking about being inspired... it was never going to work... i was bound to experience a writer's block... but as of today... it's back to my original "strategy"... (a) drinking expensive alcohol can be depressing, well, it actually is depressing... i don't mean drinking cocktails in some urban hot-spot... by expensive i mean something akin to Jim or Jack... that's expensive... in comparison to high commissioner, it is expensive... so having said that: it's the effect of alcohol in relation to the effect of alcohol in other people: that has to become expensive... a van gogh moment... say: writing a poem or "poem" (depending on the levels of your pedantry). (b) the modus operandi... going to a Sri Lankan offlice... buying three canned beers, a 70cl bottle of whiskey... and going for a walk with the beers... head clearing... and yes: rain or shine, winter or summer... out there... looking into suburban houses, with some people asleep, others still watching television... men at their roadworks posts... taxi drivers returning home... in general the motorway insomnia... it's good to return to my seemingly lost and forgotten ways.

^the most annoying thing about buying a computer in Poland for a mere £100 is that the keyboard isn't what it "should" be... i have no £ within shift+3... and the ditto marks are not at shift+2, but at ****+@... so yes, i have to copy+paste it from the public space of... the internet - and this is where computers become equivalent to a piano... sure, there's the black and white keys... by black i mean shift+.

it can begin with as little as,
well... it will quiete a lot to begin with...
bilingualism
       is more complex than stating
your polymath ability to learn
    7 languages... evidenly one is superior
to the other, in that bilingualism
can be regarded as something akin
to digging trenches...
     what i mean is that
psychiatric terms can be poetic,
   for example schizoid (split) phren (mind)
         is brimming with metaphors...
Brautigan, Burroughs, Bukowski...
      all of them were labelled as such...
i can't quiet understand it as anything
other than a metaphor,
     but in cases of genuine ordeal
with the symptoms, it's anything but that.
the American linguistic notation:
      [oz-moh-sis, os-]....
the British linguistic tradition:
                                 /ɒzˈməʊsɪs; ɒs-/ -
and this is my linguistic notation:
     \ o(h)-ßmo(h)-sis / -
    by the way... most denote the (h)
                        as '... i.e. o'-
   frankly... i like to laugh and sigh...
because?
                   well, it's what happens when
you originate with a language that has
diacritical marks, and inherit a language
where diacritical marks are completely absent...
   i and j do not really count...
   even though it's evident that i begins as ι...
   so it's there: foreced almost... with a diacritical
marking...
   oh yeah: i forgot to mention the word...
osmosis* -
                       hardly anyone says that word
with the first s being soft...
       hence what english did to the world
and globalised it, so unto english the world must
give an answer, and given that english
is a language written without clear,
educational distinctions, a blank canvas
in terms of diacritical markings...
   i guess we can start to see how we can write
english, once again, with a "world view"
incorporating as many deviant examples as possible...
   a bit like bird-watching, or what darwinism
is in reverse, as ****-centric and beyond this:
nothing... so that's a german example having
a say in this example...
            and it really begun simple...
   and this is how the slavs differ...
    žiž      (well, given the ι already has a mark)
        that ι already has a mark,
southern slavs differ from northen slavs
in that they couldn't mingle the too together...
  so-half a caron on the zzzz / snooze (ź)...
      or how lazily we call it sleep, or snoring...
imagine all that effort into the onomatopoeia
of a woof! or a meow! and indeed:
probably the wise choice to call it zzzzz and sleep...
and leave the snoring to the harp
   (snoring in Polish? hrapanie...
the verb? hrapać)...
              the southern slavs will not spot this,
and if that's the case that žiž could be written
by a Yugol... it wouldn't be written by a Pole...
             and given that ž = ź
it just shows you that the southern Slavs's excess
is a complete disrespect / automaton stance
            concerning i...
  the Russians are Greco-Slavs... don't know...
  if they were introduced to the Latin alphabet first
they wouldn't be a competing super-power
  with their pseudo-Grecian alphabet (Cyrillic) -
   and thank god... no good, no evil...
     it would be a bit too much...
        like th
     at question is usually asked:
why do bad things happen to good people?
well... why do good things happen to bad people?
back to ž = ź
   and there's Hegel... castrated with his i = i / i am i...
well, i can see that...
          plain and simple... no wonder Marxism came
from Hegel... dumber than a hammer...
  and the subsequent nailing in of nails into coffins...

no. 1
(evil bladder, evil bladder! hence the interludes...
but hey! it's a collage)

... and this promenade in the night and rain,
really has a kabbalistic beginning,
well... kabbalistic meaning: you've really become
ridiculous with your numerology -
numerology is the lazy way to upkeep mysticism...
  i can't see it as anything more than indolence...
i begun this meditation
with two letters...              z           &             ι
and that later gave me the variations
                         the Libra is heavier on the z side
i know, but that's for now...
i.e.
                                               ι
                                                     (i)
                              &

               z
(ž    
            ß     ź)

that's how it looks right now, it's good that
i didn't mention ż so far....
so unto the examples...
      a southern slav will write ži... (ž= ź)
but a northern slav will not...
    e.g. ziemia (earth)
         ziemniak (potato)
   ziarno (grain)
    zima (winter)...
             and only in this particular combination...
(this has to be more interesting than numerology,
i.e. not substituting letters for numbers
   i.e. 1 = a, j, s, / 2 = b, k, t / 3 = c, l, u
ergo 3,848 = hello using something called
a decimal base 10 arithmetic... i don't know)...
     as other diacritical acute insertions
    also prove to be the case, respecting
the enforced diacritical mark above the ι,
esp. when there's a squeeze...
    ściema (faking it)
                 nagość (nakedness)...
  this is language slowed down from its
supposed everyday quick usage...
               i'm looking for a word when
the squeezed snooze (ź) appears as it does...
       http://tinyurl.com/zvur8qb
well.. może = maybe (Goran)
   write morze = maybe, and you get
the orthographic nazis onto you...
                 it's an aesthetic that has transcended
aesthetic in that it has become as rigid
as a rubric, or a "universal" appreciation of
                  Michelangelo rather than a Damien Hirst
shark in a plastic aquarium...
     and given it's a diacritical mark on
the last possible alphabetical letter: how
hard if not now to find a suitable word?
       it's really hard to find a ź example
once you realise that z+i are so coupled...
   you only realise at first the alpha-
                  / beginning of conjuring an example
that doesn't really arrive...
       such is the ź example given that z+i are
so entwined...
                   i could easily write the caron z
   and the roman enforced diacritical marking over
iota easily... ži...
                           but i can't... the Pandora is
hovering above my head, and i can't think of
a word with ź in it... given that i'm only thinking
of an alpha- / beginning the word with a zi
                       that's equivalent to ź
should no i be present within such close proximity...
       zakon (monestary)
                 zagoń (round-up,
                           the pronoun is self-evident...
        contained within the word, and it's gender-neutral,
   and if the pronoun is not the bothersome bit...
then it's the latter instructions of: those sheep...
    aport! / fetch... you can say that word (zagoń)
in your sleep, and you wouldn't need to be in a place
where there are sheep, or sheep that need to be rounded-up).

interlude no. 2 - no comment.

      well...
  it's no mere accident that when i go on
this little walks with beer that i find the odd thing
lying on the pavement...
  today? a rain-soaked joanna cannon
book, the trouble with goats and sheep...
and yes, i finally found a Polish word that provides
an example of ź...
      before the enforced diacritical ι
                              the acute above the z disappears...
given zielony (green)...
              but after the enfroced diacritical mark
over i... acute symbol has a tendency to appear
like a necessitated after-tea mint...
     e.g. kraszewski's god's wrath, page 158
(ludowa swpółdzielnia widawniczna edition, 1973 a.d.)...
znaleźli - they found...
      zło - evil...
                  źli- evil ones...
                          and it is such a rarity to find!
  a bit like a narcissus flower in a field of wheat!
     or a jasmine concentrated to a perfume...
             whiffing about its airs against the tennis with
the wind...

i wish they might call this:
    against the cantos' fascination with the chinese
ideogram...
or... thanks for using emoticons...
   language had to retaliate against the :) and :(
                    hieroglymphs of the digital pyramid...

interlude no. 3 - still no comment

also known as the Libra and the pivot

                                               ι
                                                     (i)
                              Δ

               z
(ž    
            ß     ź)
  
   and yes _____________ the sea-saw...
humanism can really compete with the science,
if it get its act together...

    and since the Greeks already adopted
adding diacritical marks to their beautiful alphabet...
i wonder how θ will fare
   when i write the word thought (θought),
and subsequently write the word:
   weather....       oh **** on me! it's an acute θ!
that magically turns into a V!
   weaver...
                 and saying that: only one consonant
made it to a vowel status of a grapheme æ / œ...
first to come was ß... the grapheme of s and z...
   a bit of chemistry goes a long way... chiral
as a pair of siamese twins, those two are
(you can put on a cockney accent saying that
sentence, yes, you can, i say so)....
  well... it's complicated because you're not german
and german to you is like quasi-Zulu...
ß looks like β (beta)... but it's a grapheme...
an sz that never actually meet... or entwine
like a and e might in æ...
   which makes it very difficult to follow...
just like the grapheme i wish to invent for
       TH  
                         namely that it's akin to  PH...
φilosoφy.... θou(gh)t....
                        g(h)ost...
                 ­                                look how pretty
it looks though: the ****'s F doing here?
     this an **** or a a ******* or a happily
married couple, or what?
    Φ and Θ.... almost looks like a keyhole
with a key lodged in it, and then turned...
horizontal in... reaction of unlocking the lock
mediatory with Θ and then back out into Φ...
             i.e. Φ + I = Θ = Φ + I + ...an open door...

interlude no. 4: this Russian chic at uni really
loved the doors... we watched a movie together
about them... with val kilmer playing
the dead man key role...
  is that door enough for you honey?
                       you got the шock and ßakes?

and if i mention hekhalot rabatai?
or the talmud, or the sefer yetzirah,
                              the bahir and the zohar?
twelth century and thirteenth century rabbis...
      will i also hear of the two Adams
of Eden, the (alpeh) fffא and the (ayin) fff
                    alpeh is a tame ******, feminine,
the mystery is not in the siamese H
   of the tetragrammaton, but in the aleph and the ayin...
    clearly i can't write ayin down without
semite d'uh on the digital canvas...
           writin left to right doesn't do much
justice... unless i write ye י‎,                                                            
f­ff.
ffff   fff        ע                  י‎
...pfי‎                         ­                  י...
there... you should really look at
the behaviour of ayin in the digital form,
the ****** wont't budge! you have to tell him
of the yodh to get off his *** and
make way for a pregnant lady...
        and since this is the 21st century...
i'd like to say: i'd like to write
a pentagrammaton.... yep...
a pentragrammaton... the ayin is gay,
and alpeh is a heterosexual...
     but the pentragrammaton now concentrates
on vav - or a vw beetle... v = w = ł...
       that's the moment you realise
that western linguistic mentioned o' not as
o(h) but as ' = yod...
         bad move... it's no silent (y)...
obviously this can exist in a non-pentragrammatorn
relation...
                            עואי­
Alan Black Feb 2015
"Palestinian boy chucks rock at Israeli soldier.
Sixty-seven unarmed civilians killed in self defense,
against these evil terrorists. Prime Minister Netanyahu declares
'These continuos violent aggresive terrorist attacks against
the kind, freedom loving, law abiding people will not be tolerated.
If necessary we will **** countless more, until these monsters cease their terrorist attacks.' Senator Mccain, when asked about what he thinks about the situation said, 'I think Israel has every right to take justifiable military action against the terrorist government of Syria.'
Man on the street wearing a **** all ragheads tshirt says, 'All these heathen moslems are all the same. We don't need any reason to **** them, other than the fact that they hate us, and want us and Israel to be wiped off the map. These sandn*#@ers, are all irrational, racist, anti-semite, violent, camel ****** savages. I hate them, and if it wasn't for my extreme cowardice, I'd go over there and wipe them off the map myself.'  This is the thousandth case of Hamas terrorist aggression in the last year, and many experts believe that war against Iran will be necessary to stop the violence. Coming up after the commercial
'Are Prince Harry and Emma Watson seriously dating!?'
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
my father yearns to aid those too eager and audacious
to match-up and meet me:
be kneeling and weeping before my presence,
imagine seeing a father kneel and weep
before his son... what armageddons would arise!
no friend or foe is distinguished in my father's words
for the implant of said: you think yourself the messiah?!
i think i'm not worth a dust throw into crass of your words
extended; but a son who has seen his own father weep
and kneel before his eyes, of such son is there a relation
among other men who still wrench the salt from jesus' maxim
about ending the relation between father and son with a sword?!
elsewhere a father constructed a cellar to hide his son
and ensure honour protect him as honour not entrusted with heart
but a prosthetic ***** of shame: the pyramid;
my alms of grief are not with you, father, but with the world,
for this world made you kneel and weep while i stood upright
and had none of your uprightness to consolidate old age with retirement economics.*

before nero there would have been no magi v. saint,
had appropriate measure gestures solidified the handshake,
but while the babylonians had the humbled king
the egyptians had the arrogant pharaoh; i mean, jesus could
have been an arch-magi - he wasn't, he was an aztecan discovery
by the conquistadors; the lamb the ***** the anti-semite blueprint
of vocabulary; while those caring for post-colonialism
eagerly sentenced man to rifts in nouns,
man revoked such culminations asking
for a pardon with words: i, citizen of the
free democracies of the western world
unlearn my vocabulary in order to stitch up to
middle class belief of where evil is sensationalised
good is anonymously serialised in the tropic of forgetfulness
reminiscent of a blue moon only,
i'll see it as: good and evil i'll oink you know,
there's no danish kindergarden thinker in me
to choose a rubric of grammar from a rubric of arithmetic;
i will not be dictated safeguards of class
between censoring the oath word **** and the pleasantry
of self-imposed censorship of a god's name;
because i care for i.q. censoring the tetragrammaton
rather than censoring the oath word ****
for some genital mutilation in **** lacklustre longshank walkies
as tango does me bitterer for a laugh:
sounds like? oh we can't allow people seeing *******
but we can allow the peeps an **** or two oiled up
gargantuan breast-sized fitted ******
suffocating a *****: logic unto hell,
we see many a young man dried up told to imagine more
with a sound than imagine less with the image
and the unspoken -
and in either case, the sound is curbed for reasons qualifying
en masse insanity.
c quirino Feb 2012
Belle Dame, II

you wonder if you would have looked good
with finger waves in 1922.
it’s pointless to think about,
but it still floats languidly toward you,
one of the frequent gondolas that scratch,
and ****, and drift wandering semite from shore to shore of your skull.

the sun never sets on it, after all.

the other ships,
ancient and moaning,
lean and bow according to waves of a life-heavy sea,
its tides divorced from any semblance of reason,
rhythm  doesn’t lie next to it any longer,
its shape is just an aftertaste now.

your throat is in flames, by the way.
no one took voice this time.
she left of her own accord,
and she’s planned this for weeks,
every gesture, forward motion, and utterance
that would enable her escape from inside you,

this time, it’s pointless scouring the corners of the empire to find her.
you have to remember she’ll come back on her own.
that the harshly lit fluorescent reality will validate her,
or it won’t,
and it’ll reject her like your body is currently doing to the reattached finger you almost lost when you were three.

i need you to pray she makes her boat on time,
and don’t think so much of where she’s going.
Yenson Aug 2019
Bring down Jesus Christ
the Son of God Himself
and our Socialist Anarchist Brigade
would start spewing their toxic biles

The would write He is an Anti-Semite
they would accuse our Blessed Lord of being gay
fancy going around with twelve other robed men
they would say he is cruel to animals for wearing leather sandals
they would say He is a cross-dresser for wearing robes

Our Toxic obsessives would call Him an Alcoholic,
oh yes, remember Him Drinking wine - all that turning water to wine
Ah, the nutcases will write that he was a con-man and a magician
all that rising people from the dead and making cripples walk
restoring sights and all that Penn and Teller stuff

His Love or all would have them brainless oafs call Him a stalker
off-course they'll say he was megalomaniac asking all to serve Him
He loves His Mother so to them, He has an Oedipus Complex
And when he heard God stating 'This is My Beloved Son'
the nutters of doom would scream Our Lord was schizophrenic

By not sinning and partying, they would say, He was boring
a po-faced preacher who thinks He is better than us
Fasting and going off into the wilderness means He's a Loner
just ripe for bullying by the weak simpleton cowards
and being crucified serves Him right for calling out all the robbers, thieves and wrongdoers

Yes, we're brainless, blind, dumb, confused, jealous and frustrated
just pond lives,  wasters and pointless mediocre s
our job is to disfigure, destroy, lie, fabricate, twist and smear
we're shameless and pathetic but we don't care and why should we
we are only human, not God...........
Ryan O'Leary Feb 2019
Angela Smith has been
de voted, no, not to,
but by, her constituents.

So she should, all of
them in fact, this is a
pro semite conspiracy.

Indeed, Just as Corbyn
pulled Labour neck in
neck with the Toe Rags.

"Stand down, stand
down, stand down-
  for your wrongs"
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
i don't get inspired... i get prompts,
e.g.?

one in particular...
her name? sam leith -
the saturday the times weekend
magazine (july 29th 2017) -
the usual load of *******
from the ***
of west london...

sam? why not samuel but
samantha?
  what sort of man cites his
father as the guiding beacon?
me? you?
s(he) - ah, transgender perfect,
armed with a rifle, and a bra
stuffed with scrambled eggs -
she he he she, she she he she,
it dot, tag, you're it! he she
she she he she, she she he, he she,
she she, he he, shish kebab,
samuel beckett's watt:
bonkers, boing boing boing,
apache heli-copter! trampoline!

slap in the face seriousness...
she-******
quotes her father citing
ecclesiastes (oof fra fra in essex,
high-brow y'ah tellin' moi?!
   neece... nice? n'eh ce pa?
tortoise mangetout peckam, n'es pas?)...
dog ****.

         to, every, thing, there, is, a, season,
     and, a, time, to, every, purpose, under,
the, heaven.

and then ******-he goes on to add:

        post-60... never pass an alleyway
for a wee... (not little, down south it's
called the glaswegian pish-soother),
     *******? no, thank you,
   i do mine almost daily while taking a ****...
for some reason an eager **** always
provides the ***** with some mexican
"artist"... milk that cow boy! milk it!
         boy milk it!
                         ah sweet maritza...
hombre in ex hombre... y'allah...
                                                     im'she!
(camel talk, spit and gnarl at toon poond
uh'xtra!)...
                      point no. 3: farts are boring,
unless in a tight space,
where all solipsism disappears...
   there is a proof for solispsism,
but it doesn't come from either head or mouth...
psst... comes from the ***...
    the argument for solipsism comes from
the ***... evidently the theory stands on the proof
that: everyone enjoys their own stink...
  and i believe that's a universally accepted
logic... you can smell your own ****,
but dare not to gag at someone else's,
     there, solipsism, proved via farting.

no man cites his father unless he be a semite.

so this bothered me... she-******-it-he-it-she-ooh
the following (age-limit requirement in brackets):
- not knowing how to cook (30)
- long hair for men (20)
- wheelie pavement transport (35)
- having one-night stands (26)
- posting selfies on instagram (35)
- long hair for women (50)
- jeremy "che" corbyn t-shirts (30)
- going clubbing (37)
- saying you're a d.j. (30)
- tattoos (age limit: never!)                  huh?
    - not being able to drive (20)
- baseball caps (36)
- going to festivals (50)
- wearing shorts (40)
- cleavage (40)
- showing other people your
poetry
(16)....
   that's what got me, **** the rest...
what are you?
   spank-the-monkey-tiger-mommy?!
you the whip the ****** latex c.e.o.?!
the **** is this ******* rambling?!
    oh look... what's next...
an article!
   let's see:
           post-cougar, pre-pensioner -
it's a.... "tricky" stage by a 57 year old...
sure, i'd **** a granny... if i were african
working in a care home...
  as the headlines read only two days ago...
no... it's one thing philosophy attacking poetry,
but it's another when journalists do it...
no you ****-****-faced-*******....
you're not going to get away like the so easily...
******* leeches of conversation...
       barren wastelands of introspection!
i know my patron... at least this ****
german appreciated the craft...
   you? you?! you're a pathetic waste of time
trying to replenish a taste for
ancient greece... and all that pederastic education.

poets? masters of listening to
silence,
   within hearing sound

                (vacuus in vox, papilio in turba columba).
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
i really don't remember buying
ice cubes...
i really don't remember;
there's nothing mysterious
about it,
it's not mysterious...
it's hardly memorable...
         it's hardly the taj mahal worth
of memory sacrifice,
well **** me: with the acid errosion
to boot...
             can i be the lucky one?
what's that, ****, indi or
bangladeshi?
   what do you call these people?
what's the sanskrit for ******?
i stress:
a fetish for finnnish?
   you know, i don't mind,
not with's coming...
   i can't be bothered with
wind farms and solar panels...
i seriously can't be bothered...
    for some reason people think
i might cry with the dodo scenario....
no, not really...
copper skins? i hope you enjoy you
mecha world...
  i can't be bothered reducing myself
into a jewish affair of
a minority...
        i'm not really bothered...
whoever is bothered about
the tactful retreat of the white race
and is agonised by it:
it probably jewish;
only jews, a minority
ethnicity,
with a majority vote or
opinion leverage
might care...
  esp. what they did to spinoza...
i really don't give two squat
quacks' worth of ****
whether it's finnish
or english... no, *******...
take you barmitzva and
sell you kippahs elsewhere!
what?!
    anti-semite what?!
what?!
      me glorifying the tetragrammaton
better than any jew?
what? anti-semite what?
3 quarters of jews don't know
what i'm talking about in the first place...
so take your quack's worth of a tongue:
and imitate licking mt. sinai.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
you know you're drinking,
and find yourself closed off,
with a traffic incident?
yeah....
           a van carrying pulls up...
stops at
an intersection
to curb speeding?
and the navigator of the van comes
out...
but you say:
i have this...
and then you navigate the vaan
past the barroerss?!
i was really only about to drinkk
a Bacardi breeze.....
or rather...
          with wnere this naguage
comes from...
i#m pretty sure
a Cuban afternoon...
is a million loight years away.....

let me know...
i said some ackward
slur...
       wigs becoming the bn niqabs
becominv the next
new norm..
talk about eatiug pig
and M.GM.: mle, genital,
mutilation..
  
   savvy?!

you weren't circumcised?!
you eat pork!
period!...
you haven't?!
yeah, sure,
the extra *****...
but when it comes to pork?
sorry... bno!
i can't welcome
people who have been circumcised,
but also revel in pork...
you eat pork,
but aren't circumcised?"
no!
       #foreskinforpork!
you heard me!
             #foreskinforpork!
come near me...
i *******, dare you!
             come near me!
you ******* ***!
             come near me!
i want you to come near to me!
i want it!
i want it, i am the one to dare it!
just like the ****** Jews said
to the Poles before
the Nazis invade:
nasze kamienice, wasze ulice....
you want that in English?
yes?
our tenements... your streets....
oh... pity...
i am supposed to bear the grudge
cited by  *Amon Goeth
        about King Casimir?

the *** made home of Eastern Europe?
how does it look...
when cutting into the American flag?
Monaco face down..
Poland face up...

              what a trade...
monarchical democracy...
            with a king of Sweden being
the ruler of Poland,
overcoming the Ukrainians...
         tirade, my faithful, a tirade...
                    
i can understand the missing skin...
when it dominates the exercise of
engaging with women...
   circumcision is like a ****** clause...
all the ***** in the world...
but not pork...
             your "bet", "extreme"...
*****... or pork...
             your choice...
there's an alternative monotheism...
to the origins story...

there's:
  the Hebrew male genital mutilation,
there's:
tye Islamic male & female genital
mutilation...
or?
    or?!
               there's eating pork!
fine meat, fine animal...
the most ergonomic to date!

funny the terminology...
it's not unhealthy...
aren't we dealing with  a jealous god?
didn't god become jealous
because man...
             engineered a creature
so pristine...
so ergonomically pristine...
that he had to make an
argument with both
Judaism and Islam?!

  the logic belongs to the pig...
the pig is the pristine
ergonomic animal...
    and...
we know the deity is jealous...
no wonder!
the pig made the deity jealous...
the boar was never intended
to be engineered into
the form of a pig...

the wolf was never to become a dog!
no...
i'm not outsmarting a deity...
i'm outsmarting
an orthodoxy rubric...
god emerged as...

oh ****... i never expected a wild
boar to become a domesticated animal,
that... ergonomic pig...
which man would claim to be edible,
from the extent of the snout
to the pinnacle of the curly tail,
with a missing oink...

                 because was could be
evil about pork, to begin with?
                like already stated...
the deity is jealous...
it made a boar, but man domesticated it,
and fathomed a pig...
    why do you think that
there are restrictions on pork?
  dumb dumb dumb dumb...
     the deity is jealous...
                 hence it emerged being critical
of human ingenuity...
load of boar... not a lot of pig...

               because how can you explain:
a meat...
that also comes with its own
barometer of applying salt?!

rule no. 1:
you have already compensated eating pork
by becoming circumcised...

rule no. 2:
you "think" that pork is an unholy, *****,
meat, or rather, naturally salted...
because what i find M.G.M,
and F.G.M to be insults to nature...

rule no. 3:
  pork is wrong...
just as M.G.M and F.G.M is...
sure... circumcise the male...
readied for the ***** of...
******* the kangaroo pouch of excess
woman genital skin...
like some... variant of ******...
well done...

rule no. 4:
you **** in the way you find agreeable...
i'll eat what a Chinese person gives me...
give me dog, coupled up with a pig...
it's the most pristine ergonomic animal!
you don't eat pork, sure...
but i don't eat ******* either!

rule no. 5:
whenever an Egyptian claims to be a Semite,
i.e. an Arab...
quickened-mode...
the affair of Semites is best compiled
by Mongols...
the shortest migrating excavation
that is applied as history...
known to man...
  
then of course the Huns...
  you know that these barbarians,
were the ones...
who actually invented the stirrup?
yeah... me neither... wouldn't have known!
barbarians invented the concept of
the stirrup,
which probably involves the concepts
of a ******* saddle!

curse all you want...
Jew or Muslim...
you can't eat pork...
because you've already, "eaten"
the ******* of your male's genital parts...
i eat my pork...
because...
hell...
    pretty sad....
your men can't *******...
needing to ******* against
a kangaroo pouch of female
***** skin...
                  but you can't eat pork...
because?
no! ha ha! it's not because it's
unclean meat!
mad cow disease!
angry beef!
   you can't eat pork...
because you've been circumcised!
so.... so?
*******!
natalie Oct 2014
was the sort of kid who would have enjoyed dissection
in high school, savoring in the permission to cut
a once-living creature open and scrutinizing the
parts that made it function,

would draw swastikas on furniture and his toys and his
body not because he was an Anti-Semite but
because he thought that maybe it could start
a conversation or two,

mixed different sorts of alcohol in his bedroom and claimed
to have brewed them himself because he
thought he could impress the friends whose
palates discerned the lie,

wore heavy black clothing even in the drought of August
or red-colored contacts and a black eye
eye patch because he thought this made
him intimidating,

carried an immense duffel bag packed so tightly with
dull-edged katanas and worn flasks
and umpteen lighters and extra shoes
it could not be fastened,

always smoked two cigarettes in succession as if
to say to everyone: smoking is
cool and now I am twice as cool
as the rest of you,

was so captivated by explosions that he poured
drain cleaner into bottles filled with *****
of tin foil and claimed to be creating a
recipe for ******,

did not believe in moderation and always ate until
his gut distended or drank until his pallid
skin greened or smoked until the bag was
empty and the room a thick haze,

never cared that his name was simply Rob and his
ever-changing group of friends insisted
upon adding the ‘Crazy’ since he had been young,
never hesitated to share his time or money
or material possessions with every person he knew,
never made apologies for his outlandish and
off-putting behavior because he was comfortable as
himself and was committed to enjoying
every moment of every day with unabashed gusto.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
ever find yourself,
perched on a windowsill...
amid the spectacle
of the night,
having forgot to play
video games,
   waiting for the mating
calls of foxes,
the moon being
in full-bloom...
and how,
having cast your
eyes on, otherwise,
unfathomable
  objects,
of disgraced telepathy...
come the blooming
illumination
of, objects, at night,
screaming: quicksilver
from the depth of an
unseen demanded
vibration!
             it's almost like reciting
a litany of Milton,
with Moloch,
the egregious fallen angel:
another semite god,
befallen to succumb
to the spell...
the caravan
of the tetragrammaton
not taken-in...
                you really want
me thinking to purpotrate
the vector?!
        curb my tongue....
    i implore you!
                you made an innocent
act of *******,
into a riddled
    receiving end of
being "forced"
to give birth to...
                  how about... no...
you are no voice
of a -crat...
   now überlegenmutter...

jude mit die hauseland...
the jew...
has finally become
replaced
to fathom a home...
a land...
                    i will just...
leave the jew play
the yiddish ****
among the arabs...

                 out of europe,
beside kazakhstan,
australia,
and israel,
in the eurovision
song-contest...
   you just leave
the jews performing
the solid part among
the arabs...
       me?
                  just make sure
the jews remain
      out of europe...
what... calling poles
both nazis and...
whatever is left to call them?

happy holidays to tel aviv
via the florida
bunker core...

   do i?
do i?
              no... not really!
like the british:
i just don't like being
made dictum people...

    no... you're right...
i never felt inclined
to feel anything of
Lawrence of Arabia...
to feel... associated
with the camel jockeys...
i guess, i forgot...
       oasis hallucinations
came between us...
   rich people of Mecca...
something i wished
Shakespeare would have
lasped up,
countering the merchant
of Venice...
with a merchant of Mecca...

i tend to forget the camel jockeys...
should i, or shouldn't i?
jihad and the Iberian
reconquista...
but... a jihad only happens...
when you have previously
owned the land?
no?
               no...

       so... the land you're trying
to claim... was never owned by you...
was it?
        **** me... the stigma...
surrounding the Germans...
but not a revision of the treaty
of Versailles...
or pope Urban XIII's announcement...

  how the French get away from
any guilt,
because of their pastry...
  and kissing technique...

     **** a French girl:
be a ******... Napoleon:
short man, bad!
                 moustache man good?
you can't win!
forget winning!

i like seeing the origins
in hebrew with no
european past...
  which basically makes
all germans polacks
and all polacks germans...

hell... if you want to play
that sort of game...
             sieg heil!
                          etwas heil!

happy, now?
no, i'm not here for a safety-net
of anglo-saxon risqué
humor...
    the kind that requires
canned-laughter...
           for a t.v. show...

i seem to have forgotten
to laugh...
when comedy...
became...
too... explanatory...
too... excuse-worthy;
basically, too... english.

so... it's still funny...
when it has become
1970s stale...
                no-man's land
"refreshing"?
    it's funny...
   it's funny because it's
obvious...
or because i have
              to explain it?

the latter format?
that's not funny...
          that's just the basic
for a bankrupt language;

if i were a narrator
at the nadir
of the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth...
i'd be one and the same
with...
   i still remember
the dying embers
of the British Empire...
when Hong Kong was
given back to the Chinese
by Tony Blair;
how similar...
               i would be among
those who would cite
the same sources of
decadence
being exacted upon
the to and to tow a
lost amass of the heaving
earth toll.
wordvango Oct 2014
If I see a word hysterical should i laugh or pause and think
of historically used meanings?
Should I shy from Jew and say Semite, I exodus from meanings.
time is evident or sedimentary
grandeur, I leave it all to linguists, cleverer than I,
I change daily, accent
acquire meaning etymological like
Knight is a servant?
Lady a kneader, Lord a provider of bread?
And bread, It has new meanings, as does green, several.
Logos, is still what you hear, an example,
to justify, I apologize, for saying?
Graff1980 Dec 2018
White haired head
leans in
to his hands
to hide the tears
that threaten
to swallow
the last bits
of his resilience.

An American tragedy
all those families
crying out loud,
what a shame
for America the proud.

An anti-Semite
takes another life
tonight.

Another,
skin head,

another
neo ****,

and the president
panders to them
with hidden
nods to
the ideas
they salute.

Makes me
want to puke,
or drop from a plane
with no parachute
because these dudes
have no compassion,
and smashing
my body into the
form of a pancake
might make
people take
anti zion is not anti semite
anti israel is not anti jew
anti hypocrisy is my only viewpoint
anti you doing unto others as was done unto you
when your existence depended upon charity
when you were granted what your god could never gift you
when the door swung open from your hell to your holy land
you were blind to the fire
in the light of self righteousness it burnt into you
shalom
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
and we are said.
the trouble with dealing with
semites...
النهاية (alnnihaya)
- we, are, dead! you ******* hear me?!
we're, dead!
take your nomad ****
and craft a new bible....
*******! off you go, run along!
go... run crying!
       ******* wanks...
like i might yiu yiu tear ****
and say allowance for Hebran....
   there, dead still... a fathom
of Scotland;
tear, ****, and the last
bitter quack for pepper...
are we all seemingly semite?!
are we? last time i heard
macbeth was a story
born in fog.
we die in this murk;
we don't originate from it!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
i acknowledge that some of this is a delusion, but if it's only inscribed in thinking: and hurting never hurt anyone... if thinking doesn't translate into action... it can come: it can go as it pleases... as long as that feral creature: ego... can be tamed awhile... i'm all for it... then at least i know some of its needs are met... i guess the feral creature: ego... is best fed delusions...

the time of year has finally come to make wine...
this year's harvest has been terrible...
my vines seem to be stricken with a disease:
a botanical parasite of sorts...
it's not exactly the cancerous growth of mistletoe...
but the vine started to outreach with its sickness
to a nearby plum tree: and the plum tree grew
sick...
it wasn't the same sickness when "translated"
but at least the plum tree came out with
a good yield...
beside all the usual garden requirements
i managed to render in... circa 10kg of grape pulp...
which equates subsequently to:
circa 2.5 gallons of worthy juice...
finally! autumn! and finally! winter i'm itching
for! have come...

i've lived in her vicinity for almost 20 years...
but i've only learned her name today...
Sophie...
                  which i learned from my mother...
who learned it from the father of Jack...
who's she's dating...
i've seen her grow... become a woman...
then again: i didn't really see her grow:
now that she is a woman...
one memory most piquant...
seeing her seeing me sitting at the desk
proclaiming a presence in the window
with last night's circus freak Halloween
make-up... less hangover and more...
recovering from having drank a spiked drink...
some ****-art at best... it almost made me fall:
i had to pick up a slab to balance to get home...
but she saw me in my clown make-up...
and that smile... hmm...
or that time when... her older sister
would parade in the bedroom mermaid naked...
plump *******... then the mother would walk
in... likewise... such mature forms of those "things"...
and the added flab of the torso...
mermaid... half-naked...
then she walked in... how old was she then?
still in her teenage years...
   she just lived across the street...
circa 20 years... she has seen me...
aloof creature...
             still pretty much the most pristine form
of single...
if only i started using those dating apps...
i wouldn't be the one
spending £120 at half a decade's stretch
when prompted by .......
                              a female cat... no... no pandering!
ah! grooming... with her raised ****...
i had to revisit the brothel...
would i be using those dating apps...
isn't social media already: cancerous?!
it's a profile outgrowth of a parasitical nature...
it might be an investment for the future: at best...
at worst... it's a meta-mirror...

another muse... i've had a few...
now she's moving away...
from across the street... to... two doors down...
her boyfriend's father is a builder
and work is underway to recover the structure
from the previous occupant:
a single mother with an autistic boy
who would sometimes take 5 minutes to cross
the street...
a proper carousel lady...
sometimes there might have been
         a man every single week in that house:
but did he fix anything?
no... apparently it will take... 3 weeks to revamp
that house of horrors...
******* beta orbiters...
  would any of them fix anything...
beside probably abusing the kid
and ******* his mother... the boy beefed up...
stopped barking... now they're far away
about to start a new life in... Chelmsford...
somewhere in Essex...
         at least in the brothel you have a sense
of a working environment...
am i living with savages, for, ****'s sake?!
in a brothel you're... well...
there for only an hour...
there's the hour's keep...
         it's not like you can: eat where you take a ****...
i'd summon the moon to the forest
and **** there than keep my house in disarray...
where i might: read... a... ha ha! a book...
eat a meal...
it sounds even more demeaning when
listening to some medieval chants...

oh dear Sophie... she's moving away...
from across the street: two doors down...
this is where the delusional part of me says...
it's because she wants to be close to
her mother... and her boyfriend Jack is doing
the white-flight left available: from East Ham...
to Romford... not much longer...
soon there will be a white-flight from
Romford too... but not yet...

i have experienced women strangely though...
they're still a phenomenon...
i was walking out from my ex-girlfriends house
in Hackney when a "bearded lady":
a woman dressed in a niqab went past
and... unveiled herself...
perhaps i have a bad memory...
but i saw what would be best described as:
too little butter... spread over too much bread...
she looked mutilated...
i stood still and... follow her?
round up all the white knights in the area
and save her?!
eh... then this little quickie... cycling down
oxford street... this one oriental girl flashed herself
on the junction been oxford st. and reagent st.
again: perhaps i need glasses or my memory is
all lies: did she have knickers on...
or... were her ***** trimmed as... imitation
of knickers?!

to borrow from a people that gave names
to their letters: whether the greeks,
the northern men...
hebrews... or the arabs...
perhaps when a people give names
to their letters: something can become of them...
all the greek letters that became
scientifically-mathematical constant:
but not in Latin: as one might /
be expected to sing... or to write with greater
fluidity...

aleph: mim: shin...
    A: M : SH...
mind you... shin is a "doubled" consonant...
since it asks an Islam...
a harsh "Islam" of a consonant H...
to be submissive to S...
when... when coupled with A...
is the genesis of laughter...
-leph -im -in
                   Sophie could have moved far far away...
meta-relationships: investing
in the uncertain future of: from death do us part:
                Jack...

all that's happening is para... phrasing...
sense & sensibility...
pomp & circumstance...
              
  dearest Sophie is moving away...
the day Jack saw me rooted walking back
with two bottle of cider i sort of knew...
i wish i could lend you a cushion to sleep
on... Jack...
but... hey... a woman's fickle mind...
if she's not ensnared and made comfortable
to even adorn the niqab...
i'm your lucky loser... Jack...
if she is allowed old again: and i'm allowed old
age... even in my presence
she'll turn into a budgie:
reading Harlequin novels...

        i'd play a tugging game: i too want
to relieve myself of this life...
on the other hand...
it is SUB-LIME...
ha ha... not sub... lemon?
ha ha...            how words are conjured...
from... prefixes and nouns...
later arrived at...

Sophie is moving away... from across
the street to: two doors down...
might she want a better angle of me...
sometime... toiling in the garden...
psst... let's keep me and you...
a mystery for her...
otherwise... boredom...
expectation... recurrence...
same old... same in... let's become forever
"un-attainble"...
              but i hear whispers from the past...
how courting can happen in the modern
day almost unavoidably...
poor Jack... all the trades: beckon...

IF YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE...
YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE... MOVE...
YOU'RE NOT GOING TO MOVE
ACROSS THE STREET TO BE CLOSE
TO BE CLOSE TO YOUR MOTHER...
MOST DAUGHTERS ABHOR THEIR MOTHERS!

huh?!

i'm delusional! i'm even an adjective prone:
delusionaly 'appy!
poor Jack: he owns a car and works
the Docklands...
i own a bicycle and sometimes the night
and sometimes the forest...
because... i'll walk bare torso into it
and ask for the callings of the owl...
to sooth my drinking habit...

meta-relationships happen... when...
there's an invested hope in...
no death do us part...
         there's a rejuvenation process...

oh to hell! the self-proclaimed wine-making
process can wait...
there's all thought-exclusive...
thinking about the girl: woman
to be...

were diu werlt alle min...
i'm delusional.. of course... of course i am!
such tender lamb!
such impostor i!
                
we're here concerned about making wine.... whine(s)...
wine not whine...
and for that it would: most necessarily require....
a yeast compound:
dried yeast, bentonite...
yeast nutrients: diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid,
magnesium carbonate, thiamine hydrochloride,
zinc sulphate, ferrous ammonium,
sulphate, biotin...

to get things moving...
fermenting... eating itself to give new life...
i won't get into the stabiliser stage
where you'll need sodium metabisulphate
& potassium sorbate...

drink any bottle of alcohol...
it will contain a disclaimer as if vegans
are to be necessarily minded...
it contains... sulphites...
i think i'm excited about making my own
wine...
it only happens once a year...
and i think: if i were only allowed to
make... wine once a year...
i'd have a carnival!
i'd have an ****...
so much so that we wouldn't sip the ******
sip throughout the year:
faking it... seasonally!
we'd eat fruit in the summer...
apples and pears in the autumn...
get ****** mid-way through winter...
while the rest of the year would be:
could be: would be... spent... sobering up...
but only after that **** of drinking and *******!

how it is... so readily available...
for the lowest of man and the highest of man:
likewise... given the same circumstance of: now...
my heart is already broken:
my mind too... what else is there to throw
at the "unexpected"... "surprise" stampede...
boxing my liver into a cubist shape?!

                  i drink some cider: i feel... hungry...
i combat that with drinking some whiskey:
i'm full...
sober, sane, people... if not workaholics...
have so much time spent for / off of them...
i'm drinking hoping that someone
sane diagnosed me as insane...
but... there's little chance of that...

i walk in canoes: size shoe 10up... 11...
i have canoe feet...
people tend to stumble over my shoes
sometimes barricading the most shortened
space between stairs and the civil room...
the living room:
if the t.v. is to be implied as fireplace?
i'll pick up a book to find my eyes: burning!

picking up a book via someone who
wrote about: numeracy of... ******... not ******
partners... talking to someone on the phone
for an hour...
when was the last time i talked to someone
for an hour... wait... i can't remember...
last time i checked i was sending someone
the equivalence of braille...
not my first love... not her...
i was in love with her sister...
in this supposed heaven
there's not *****: no menopause...

so... i turn all crazy at the fold: this...
is... all... that... ever is... or will... be?!
post-science... post-news: fake...
adolescent acknowledgement of the rules of:
hide & seek... rekindled...
it's not like too many people know
how to play the game...
some of us made it so difficult that the rest
of them found it boring...
we turned the game into a war-game...
sharpshooting their presence...
climbing trees and roofs to aim with
imaginary rifles...
the game was lost... everyone lost
interest...
we were beginning to be snipers at
the battle of Stalingrad...
no fun in that... the world moved on...
bored... as ever...

Sophie... what a pretty name...
she's moving...
from across the street...
two doors down...
i just can't wait for the horrors...
it's not like i'm writing this from the perspective
of a perfect husband...
i'm a proper ****-up i never used
a hook-up bribe of app...
submerged myself into:

what came first... the chicken (consciousness)...
or the egg (sub-consciousness)?
i'm pretty sure h. h. holmes was
merely a con-artist...
with a few naive lambs to slaughter...
albert fish though?
needles pointing into his pevlis
while he died: ******* into an electric chair...
another: altogether...
do you mind?

the slaughter of world war I: for kin!
G... the son against the grandson!...
the Hebrews turned into... cattle...
come world war II... willingly they walked
into the slaughterhouses!
said quote: the Jew is what the Arab
now sow via...
a non-important quote...
why lever... thise Semite from a Semite...
such a kippah-tease-of-the-north...
              believe me when i say:
i have venom's worth of eyes for the niqab...
i'm yet to hear about the future
guided by... anti-usury...
i'm not going to hear much from
that "tabernacle"... am i?
                  forget it... you push along...
push forth... you settle down...
have your children...
Darwinism is... primarily applicable
in the anglo-sphere of the zunge...
i'll sleep...
                    Darwinism will never be
French or German equivalent of
existentialism... it... hasn't arrived yet...
it's still basic... form focus...
it wasn't fashionable in 19th century
continental Europe... it's still not fashionable
in 21st... continental Europe creeping in on
the islanders...
                  
the ancient Romans looked at the ape too!
and they too said: well... maybe...
similis!
                     there's nothing ******* new!
the WASP attack on Copernicus...
suggesting... the ancient Egyptians knew just
as much...
well then... given that Darwinism
is so ******* obvious...
the apes knew too!
so they allowed men to conjure up
their pyramids and their coliseums!
while they remained mute...
and via mute: giggle...
pity man...
pity that he might think himself
to remain.

how's that?! i hate Darwinism...
               i don't need to accept it...
it arrived in the mind of one man...
"originally"...
in my mind it arrived as either POP
or plagiarised...
otherwise... exhausted...
i still retain the observational luxury
of keeping: ape...
no? you revive Darwinism with keeping
a man in a cage...
i might respond... then.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
that history happens in america -
it's hardly a history as: historicity and more
showbiz...
        such that there's a trickling down...
it must be a dilution...
            nothing as spectacular
as: all eyes on h'america...
                                and elsewhere:
"elsewhere" the hobbits as such:
the whittle people of whipped cream
and croissants...
                   even france in the anglophone
context looks like a pompous,
powdered and pampered cuckoo and ape...
or germany... a somewhat feral
elevation...
             but it's not like in the realm
of the english-speaker there's any outside
influence...
          say... reading an essay by
milan kundera -
                              the: this, that and the other...
for a spectator - it's hardly
belittling pointers...
            after all... to expect a harvest
of something irish...
                         dunces and collateral...
not the irish...
     the figment of my imagination people...
the sub-membrane of tick-tock
glue and societal prospects of oiling and gluing
together...
       in the advent of the current "crisis":
but since this is not ancient rome...
  but it is given the replica coliseums of football
events...
    hardly a concern for: bread & circuses...
oh the bread, the bread is plentiful...
the circuses... well...
              fear is mighty entertaining...
as i walked through the labyrinth of outer-suburban
streets at night i had a thought:
which didn't evolve into a narrative...
or a river or how... the very large
could ever fit into the very small...
that there could be some mundane pickpocket
of detail...
     it was only a grand:
how best to return to our own little hell...
   to the pickled juices...
to the softened tendons and cartilage...
to edible sinew...
  to ****** at marrow cooked tender...
                 this personal little hell...
with a heaven a grand scheme of loosely
associated democratic pillars...
kept in tow like apparitions of formerly
used dog leash and muzzle...
   however: to be best reminded
about the disparity between the french
and the talk of ***...
                   the english and...
                                    the puritans...
but moi humpty-dumpty...
          sitz on zee fences among the whittle
people making concessions
to the: beside the altar...
              rather... the confessional cubicle
of mother russia's 'oomb: dangle the W
or the apostrophe and: extension...
  i.e.       wording: 'omega...
                      or... 'omicronomicron...
         woe in the wooing wool tangle...
   or at best: label everything erotica!
             call arachnophobia... erotica!
                the clickbait cider bubbling style...
mania-tripping at seeing numbers
from a grand void of 0 views
prop themselves like... elder judges
of the republic of mushrooms...
              teasing the project of investing
in hallucinogenic-will gangrene of
ingested: soap-water gurgle...
                    passing into the aether!

words more words and no great story...
hell... bordering on borrowing
a greek letter / two...
culmination?
          to have to jest at america...
given... the predisposition of knee-****
reaction of the upcoming event...
it's a teasing...
            in summary:
i believe that there's an america...
that only happens... in america...

i have to reiterate this...

i believe that there's an america...
that only happens... in america...
   which is: beside the cultural export
machinery of the film...
and the... well... perhaps the music...
perhaps a book... or poem...
but not really...
            the film... most certainly...
ford & film...
                   but it's hardly a mercedes
and a heidegger...

forever america: the church burden...
    and for such a protestant sensibility...
nearing a return to the outdated
               catholicism...
because not of the ritual... to be taken seriously...
it's that the ritual is a prop...
so to... take thinking seriously...
which is a complete inversion
of values of the protestant guise...

the lack of pompous rituals to make
thinking a serious affectionate prefix
with no real borrowing of a definite noun definition...
that the protestant has no...
lax in the ritual: sleeze out a seriousness
of "thought" - or rather...
this overt self-consciousness
introspect...
                     but to hide behind
the "taking it seriously" eucharist...
this blanket of metaphor...

       or... american high schools...
                   casual clothing...
                          otherwise in england...
a "catholicism" of...
less the schooling and more...
       uniform binding "******" & "bistro"...
metaphors no metaphors...
best: misnomers...

                              in between:
a solo and cross-"country" roadtrips of
the american youth...
                     from the outside in...
well... it's hardly a country...
         croatia the size of Illinois:
hypothetically...
            cross-continental...
and leading toward borrowing something
from... so anywhere to go...
anywhere to be...
it's hardly reverting back
to some proto-lingual dutch... lisp...

all the world in the cusp
of your hand...
but the inability to revert and find
a return to... the zenith period
of ol' merry england... dickens...
here outlasting the empire: morphed...
barren land with a continuum
of a loot of souls...
once the barbarian local have dried up...
which is... unlike the story
of the spanish tongue...
which was never going to be
a competition with the french...
who merely nibbled at some variation
of elsewhere...

         of the little people and the little
places...
beside the whole mongol-esque
landmass of russia...
                  which is a quickly equipped
revision of mc'edonia...
            
the odd promise of: only via new york...
we congested european rats...
but in the open country...
and to travel to america for the fetish
of a road-trip?

       what about pablo coelho...
notably... it would take... a bilingual...
knowledge of dickens and cervantes...
and laughing at aztec bones talking
backwards... rattling...
then the pristine "impossibility" of not
moving anywhere... expecting...
telekinesis and telepathy in a *******
town... aspiring to a prayer to IT...

        i'm a very simple person...
notably when i speak...
but when i write?
language tends to... over-complicate itself
without my wish...
perhaps i would like to tame...
expand... peer at a pop-sized audience
of a harlequin romance novel...

i've been to russia...
trains...             trains...
all the way from st. petersburg to moscow...
there's no concept of a car...
there's the train...
siberia is allocated a mention
of a train artery...
   i'd like to visit the faroe islands...
and... the kamchatka peninsula...
             alaska...
          given: what is stockholm, venice...
paris... athens... barcelona...
tying myself to a source of story-making...
story-constipation...
       cosmopolitan bravado...
              but... in the giggling recluse daydream...
of somewhere like...
            
     why this forever not... settled...
tongue tangle of lost geographic extension of detail:
to the ******* moon?!
now: nearing the impossible...
no wonder the nickname of english cricketers
is... tourists...
which they are...
                      but not for the love of god...
would i want to start of
a railway line to replica artery and veins
in africa...
      this... malevolent philanthropy auspice...
tour two:
i have more regard for
a misanthrope than
a philanthrope... given the categorical
imperative: Kant mingles with Tao:

maxim: the best way you can aid the world...
is for the world to forget you...
and for you to forget the world...
which is somewhat a conundrum...
                i.e. by some famous taoist...

i much prefer: tease at the world...
to play a commitment to a body
with a toying of an overburdening shadow
"suitcase": thoughts bent toward
hades...

  how the russians never invented
a narrative tied with a car...
or a horse... or a train...
given... that "enough" of siberia...
i guess... the nature of english...
it has to be exhausted prematurely
with inhibitions of...
island genesis...

             ants in your pants:
to the moon and back...
by way of bystanding...
the hebrews are shy nomads...
the arabs are wannabe and camel jockeys...
the hebrews are shy nomads
and the english... am i to be guilt
riddled by learning / borrowing /
not speaking in tongues / accents...
anglo-whale and the hebrew glitterbox
of details...

and i too took to a road-trip in
an adventure bias of taming the impersonality
of the ego: that automaton
of grieving a collected
           shy and shadow fancy of spew
my numb prospect of the disused
muscle... stiff coming
as with the prospect of a snake making
me be startled...

            always darwinian a priori...
like some copernican heliocentric primordial...
SONST-WOHIN

      some variation of the fwench "other"....
sonstwohin is a dasein...
beside a fixation on the golgotha...
  mirrors and mirages...
frogs and testickles...
                           tatar stakes and Kiev
contested between proud Muscovites
and sorrow-riddled-Pruß...

who could have been traced back
to the concept of shoelaces
with the Lithuanians, the Estonians...
the Latvians...
if there was a lessening of pressure
from the Scandinavian tribes
to excavate a modern presence...

can't we call the english the ulterior
semites?
if one prefix is in play...
toying with a definition of semite:
anti-: an argument against
heb' marx or some arab tailor...
  but the island dwelling folk...
the ulterior-          prefix beginning with
the atlantic sea: and the myth of atlantis...
lend me your rubber ear...
lend me having invested in...
the precursor...
having from an invested rome...
some wouldn't question...
metaphor celtic england an Afghanistan...
that Rome teased the germanic
people...

but because of the Huns...
and i am somewhat...
borrowing a sorrow with a term
like etymology... vandal?
it has to be so cheap and so easily
stolen...
             for the worth of goth
and spain and later... north africa...
a people and a "place"...
                
         greek seems unchanged...
tickling a sound akin to spanish...
but that... latin is... dead...
and how italian isn't... nowhere near...
the ordeal of concubine and church
monstrosity...
          well...
                 i must be! new h'american!
              and the old...
                        in that... perhaps i could
visit these colonies and never...
      best second attempt expat stature
within a combat of Tokyo...
                        
a car...  a car... a crayon! a crayon!
my horse! my hoarse inability and...
shooting practice with debility angelic!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
/because you could really get a square, or any coherent mundane geometric narrative of re- re- re-... out of a *******... or tell someone with a size 11 shoe, that a size 9 will be, just as comfortable... and while the English language goes to ****, thank **** it has no mother and has no son in the guise of me... with the current lexi- of non-cis non-binary yadda yadda abracadabra... a return to stern, dog breeding terminology... pedigree, mongrel... hybrid... can't really as the semite for an authentic opinion, came from a people that sat on their ***** for long watching chickens walk down a village dirt road... anything to redefine, those half-***** screaming into a tin-can tied to a string... after all, Greenwich... outside of the English speaking world, we like to call the natives: Greenwich bellybuttons, or rather,  bellybuttons of the world: pępki świata... as a person of acquired tastes, it's turning into a heartache, seeing english so deformed... perhaps by both technology and youth... a Frankenstein to behold... and when in Paris, did I speak any french? not really, but I had the audacity to cling to an Italian girl who could, and a Russo-Canadian girl, who also could... but you still managed to meet people who understood that english,  not french, was and is the lingua franca of tourism... obviously not so much when it comes to commerce... and banking, is not exactly a commerce... neither is the media... e.g.? re.: Münster... on the first day 3 people (not including the attacker) were killed and 30 injured... on the second day 2 people were killed (including the killer) and 20 injured... who the hell still thinks that the media juggernaut is a trebuchet to fling a Meursault into the limelight? it's naive to think that such people are seeking fame... a ******* butter knife and a glass of beer will always be more "famous"... and the man who discovered beer, well... good luck reading Plato... comes the staring into the abyss, and the abyss not staring back, whispering a words: ad absurdum counter ad nauseam...


too much love poetry, too much love
poetry that isn't risqué,
plain mundane out of fear...
a fear of being found dead 2 weeks
later...
not mundane to say the leat,
just: a zoological observation
of a lion, rather than stark naked
on th savannah...
or thereabouts...
                but to have to exhaust
poetry for love? this sort of love?
i prefer the memory of candyfloss
sitting on a stump of wood...
        maybe that's why i find the current
movies exhausting,
           bankrupt writing,
or rather,  current movies an modern
art, minimalism, minimalism,
large open spaces replaced by
   strobe c.g.i.
point being, when did the fallacy
of subjectivity come into
contact with dialectics?
   just asking,  because i somehow
cannot conceive an objectivity of one,
in that,  not having to cite
a bibliography, third part sources...
can't a subjective opinion
be just as true as an objective
herd nod?
    mesmerising that
     subjectivity should be deemed
as sub-dialectics,
           bellow engagement...
somehow contaminated...
are pronouns in that respect
subjective? silly question...
chess pro noun: or solving crosswords...
pro nouns, meaning:
in favour of remembering
  names of objects...
            and further into the exposed
muddle of atomised grammar...
objectivity is when you stress
   pre nouns...
   otherwise, someone is to be found
vehemently stressing a pivot
word, and that gives him or her away?
all of a sudden objectivity is
regarded with more respect,
      objectively, perhaps talking
about things with a blank canvas,
orientating oneself where
you're not allowed to use nouns...
the closest you can get to asking
a co-worker for a hammer on
a construction site is to hum a hmm...
is that objectivity?
        hence the classically mundane
narrative...
   because i just wanted to say
that a richness of one's own memory
creates a cinematic void...
i can't estimate how many hours
I've sat drinking, more entertained
by my memories, than any recent film...
just like today, having refreshed
a pale nectarine kitchen with
lemon peel... i already started thinking
about the corridor...
                  but before that, during
the day...
    why is spring in England,
why is summer in England...
  so... ******?! i wish there was
a better word for it...
     god i've missed continental spring...
i haven't experienced, continental
spring for... 22 years...
                  deep continental spring,
past Germany,  above the Balkans
below the Baltic...
      22 years of 22 springs,
spent on that bog of a sinking ship
known as England...
rain... rain... more rain...
     dampness and 21 Beehive Ln.
Gants Hill just across the synagogue
above the estate agent...
    dampness and those *******
   woodlice...
          22 years having spent each mid
April to late May under
earl Grey the ******* ponce...
                     no one I sleep better
in this part of the world,
the body has synchronised itself
with the fauna and a heritage past
and the mind seems revived...
to the scents of waking trees,
   to the sight on national news
of bears waking from their wintry
hibernation in the Tatra mountains...
ecologists testing mosquito repellents,
anti-rabies snacks dropped into forests
for foxes to eat...
         and only the one direction
traffic of English... comes a headache
having to listen to it, comes easier writing
about it...
              hence the old woman decided
to take my case of the presidium...
tomorrow i'll have my photo taken,
take my British passport,
declare myself as myself before
a bureaucratic piece of paper
with a signature, wait less than two weeks
and get my Polish citizen identification card...
plan B...
       just in case...
          just in case it becomes normal
for spring and seeing so many
children playing outside the 2nd level
balcony overlooking a graveyard...
boys as old as 6 / 7 playing with
wooden swords...
     teenagers sitting on benches
in the cool night till 10:30 pm...
                               and everything else
worth living for, lived in a small town...
far away from the London rats...
     far away from a country that understands
bilingualism as schizophrenia...
              maybe i am mad,
but the ones who think I am, are no more
sane...
                than me...
                                first thing's first...
with a snap of the fingers,
i can retain my dual-nationality,
and perhaps, after a while,
after I stop finding the study of psychiatry
by studying psychiatric blunders
a bit boring...
            and say auf wiedersehen to
ol' ***** 'n' Charlie Ambrose...
                                                 honestly,
england's worth of its very misery...
    its hardball when attached to the mainland,
a nation of thespians,
     hard this, soft that,
                   nuns instead of frisky youth...
or at least: for the joy of life
at first, prior to the sentiments of
adulthood, and shackles,
as was once done in a spring field
or on top of a hay stack;
              which... makes it doubly
uncomprehensive...
     ad to why someone's father might
force himself to forget his mother tongue. ..
with his son not being able to speak it,
suddenly reaching for
         a bomb making kit, a knife,
a car or an assault rifle...
            that sort of grievance?
as the old testament ends with a hope...
not till the heart of the son
turns to the father, and likewise
reciprocated...
                       shame for the collateral
damage... truly, shameful...
but you'd think that a son could
realise his beef,  is with his immigrant father
and not the host nation...
            because a return to the past
or, the body to the land,
the land to the mind, and mind to
the tongue, and the tongue to the breath,
and the breath to the soul,
   and the soul to the forefathers...
          kinda amrican, wouldn't you say so,
Herr Jefferson?

— The End —