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Cole Cummings Jul 2019
Summer shandy Sandy,
The hints of lemon sour
Crack a bottle on the hour,
I practically drink it in the shower,
I should quit you but I don’t have the power.

A quick take to addiction,
My body gives into submission,
My friends all tell me to listen,
But it’s your cold taste I’ve been missing.

I struggle with the cravings,
Suicidal ravings,
Dashed to bits on pencil shavings,
Written in shame, but I ain’t praying.

Oh, Summer Shandy Sandy,
I miss the long walks,
The quiet talks,
The bomb drops,
Tell me to stop,
But I need to drink,
Don’t want to think,
About the hours later in the kitchen sink,
Where you and I could commiserate,
When I have you I don’t need no dinner plate,
You put me in a sorry state,
No real plans to situate,
But when I’m with you I’m feeling great.

Oh, Sweet Summer Shandy Sandy,
I miss the feeling,
This copacetic healing,
You’ve got my stomach reeling,
But my heart is hearing,
The low tone notes repeating,
The bottles chilled, thought I was beating,
Her sirens calling, but I’m still reaching,
For that sweet sinful cold embrace,
Of her twist off cap, and that smooth, rich grace.
Not actually about a beer, in case it wasn't obvious.
Sheldon Dsouza Jun 2017
There once lived a boy young of age,
Candy he loved so much his teeth had caves.
Not one or two could satisfy his urge,
Tonnes could go down his tiny throat.

This one time to the market he went,
His mother holding him firm in the grasp of her hand.
Seeing him sad she saw him standing then,
"Go get some candy" she said putting two pennies in his arm band.

Off he ran to in search of candy prime,
His eyes moving vigorously from left to right in search of the candy store.
Then he saw it, that glorious gleaming colourful shop,
His one and final destination, his stop.

It was small yet filled with people from all over the city,
Every one, young and old wanted a piece of candy.
The little kid pushed and pulled with all his might,
A piece of candy he craved like the elders craved shandy.

The din and crowd couldn't lower his spirit,
His eyes set on this sugary treat, his favourite.
But till the time he could get to the counter,
The last treat the man in front bought for his little daughter.

The kid got all teary eyed and walked out of the store,
Standing outside he watched all the other kids happily walk out of the door,
Drops started falling to the ground,
The girl from inside watched him all along as he cried and frowned.

The little kid's world had fallen apart for a minute,
Till this cute brown eyed girl decided to do something about it,
She went up to him and asked him if he wanted some?
All she wanted was for him not to be so sore.

The teary eyed kid looked up with a smile,
He nodded in cheer as he wiped his tears.
A huge bit of candy he took as he reached for his arm band.
Searching for the two pennies to repay the little girl.

To his dismay only to realize,
The money had fallen down somewhere in the struggle.
Gulping down saliva he dared to let her know the truth,
"I have no money to give you", he said.

"Its ok", said she with a beaming smile,
The boy nevertheless decided to give her his favourite arm band.
That day those little kids exchanged more than just candy and a piece of cloth,
They exchanged smiles, kindness and pieces of their heart.
mzwai Dec 2014
There is no whiskey in his room tonight...

Instead,
There is a half-empty glass of-
Rock shandy, Pepsi-cola, Dr.Pepper,
Or something black.
Something minuscule,
even though he has not sipped from it.
He has not looked at it- his tongue
Was only dry for two minutes before he
Locked the door.
For the only presence that made it hard for him to swallow
Was in the form of something that he was still trying to release...
at 2AM.
Release at 2AM.
There is a typewriter in front of him and he is feeling as permeable as
The glass that is sitting next to it.
'as permeable if it had a closed lid made up out of carbon' he thinks.
'Closed lid', 'Carbon',
'Closed lid'
He does not know what to type.
As distance diminished it's existence throughout the years,
He began to realize that Letters were starting to transform themselves
Into Diary-Entries and vice-versa.
The art of belittling seclusion through the method of fictionalizing himself
Was turning more into a hobby than an art and
he did not know what to do except to accept it as a tragedy
That nobody else needed to know about.
"Tragedy:" he types.
"I don't know how to forget about you."
'And etcetera,' he thinks.
In his minds eye he sees a girl in a school far away.
She's holding a camera and a textbook and a picture of a boy
That isn't him.
She's walking into her new life and one day she will go a week without
Thinking about how it feels to know interest and feel it shared
from someone who thought it never existed.
One day she will go a week without thinking about the boy who stared at empty pages
And wrote letters about bitter meals that his tongue thought could never be tasted.
One day she will go a week with just the thought of how glamorous a life spent alone is...
Before she meets someone there...
Who will make her taste something that is less bitter than him himself.
'I hope that's where my story ends.' He thinks.
And then imagines himself embedded into
Dark bitter things.
(Tobacco, caffeine, dark chocolate.)
He sighs and stares at the words he has already typed.
He can imagine these bitter things spilling into his glass and changing its taste with each
little drop.
"You were dead to me before you even walked out of the door..." He decides,
And puts it onto the paper.
He lifts the glass and takes a sip and then puts it back down again.
'One day she will go a week without thinking about me..."  He thinks.
Release at 2AM.
maggie W Apr 2015
It was in Rome
You guys got the table(cade,nevin)
So we stood there
Till you asked us if we'd like to join

Sure I said so
awkward first cause you somehow look like Ryan Gosling(no you look better, RG has never been my type)
Blue eyed boy from Iowa
Strangely enough, my bedtime T-shirt says Iowa hawkeyes

We talked bout beer ,Shandy, Greek islands ,Prague,Bristol and Iowa. Why should I know?
then you turned to me
Hey, fun fact, do you know the British first sounds like American?
Why should I know?Why did you say so?
But that was the most intimating thing on the table.

Strangely enough, you only asked my name when you left, and everything was left in Rome.
anecdote in rome.
Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
Impregnate your old crock squirtin'
Papier—mâché blackball on the *****
Oglin' for upshot
And whatever frigs our orifice
Yeah Ducky **** **** it bud
Milk the meatiness in a snog stranglehold
****** all of your bazookas at once
And unclench into ventilator

I like dung and tinsel
Shandy ****** fuss
Breedin' with the puke
And the Weltanschauung that I'm in statu pupillari
Yeah Ducky **** **** it bud
Milk the meatiness in a snog stranglehold
****** all of your bazookas at once
And unclench into ventilator

Like a punctilious Zeitgeist's nincompoop
We were born, born to be unstatesmanlike
We can spirt so penetrating
I never wanna croak

Born to be unstatesmanlike
Born to be unstatesmanlike
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Yael Zivan Nov 2014
I’m writing to you because I miss you.

And you may be my one true love.

My first at least.

Though i didn’t know it when I met you.

I miss you

I miss the way you welcome me in

The way you understand me.

I miss the way you can see my truest self.

I miss the way I become myself when I am near you.

the way you are me and apart from me all at once

The way the stars look reflected in your eyes.

I never fear you though others do

I embrace your wildness

Your resilient good humor.

Your unique, nothing else like this, feeling.

The tear tracks on your heart from a thousand brutal fights and you still have so much love.

I kiss you and I can taste it

I can taste the fire, and the sunlight,

the trees and the vast distant rolling savannah.

When i touch you I can feel it

The drumming.

The gum boots, the stampedes, the thunder.

And when I close my eyes,

I can hear it.

The lions roar, the elephants trumpeting.

The thousands of tons of water at Victoria falls

The fish eagles cry

The singing boys at the choir school

The bushman's clicking language.

The cheetah's purr.

The wall of fire from the wild burning days.

The laughing.

The dancing. The singing. The fighting.

And as I breath, you breath,

As I rest, you lie awake, a quiet guardian in the night.

I lift up my hand and you take my fruit.

You silly little bushbaby.

I’ll give you my pineapple forever.

I hide behind the small acacia tree. and I see you.

I see the great king of Africa.

Isilo the Elephant.

The eyes so wise.

The tusks so fierce.

I am protected by you.

Beauty is to small a word to describe the way your body curves.

The blue of your skin. the green hues, the deep orange gold of winter hills.
The purple sunset.

The wetness after a storm.

The glowing embers in the night.

The dragons back. the most magical thing I have ever held in my eyes.
I miss you

Little grandmother on the hill.
Who bakes and meditates.
and drinks tea and gets her way
because *******, I deserve respect!

And little chocolate friends.
Your shandy on the rocks.
Your cottage in the woods.
Your cats and now your coming twins.

And the neighbors who play with eagles.

And Barrie who let me fly in his plane after only knowing his name five minutes.

And the witch who lived next door and could turn into a leopard.
And my grandfathers paintings that cover the old hotel.

The way people say my name.
The way I become myself.
And for the first time in my life,
I know who I am.
Released from my old stale life, I was rooted in magic, and earth, and love, and sacred eternal energy.
ADVENTURES so magic... I could cry.
I miss you so
I miss who I am around you.
I wish I could find you here.
I will find you again.
I will come back to you.
My beautiful country
One day
my one true love, otp, miss you everyday, home, africa, love, forever,
ceara Mar 2011
would we sit across from one another on trains
with bars of purple Cadburys
chocolate, squared by your large gentle hands

one bottle of luminous Rock Shandy between us
my crubeen feet cocooned in skin coloured tights,
now lodged between your legs, a gesture as natural
as our growing years, would this be
companionship at its best?
A crubeen in Ireland is a pigs foot , /pigs trotter.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
i'm still working from an example of two words,
lekki and leki (medicine / pills) -
the former better sharpened means
slight, e.g. lekki problem /
a slight problem -
  and because English as a language
does not apply gentrification of words,
quiet like the French where words are either
masculine, feminine or asexual... you get
the 2nd St. Paul in the unearthed
book of St. Thomas...
    you have the transgender movement,
only because there is no gentrification
of words...
                 it's no wonder the Pharisees
were ******* at the idea of fishermen gaining
the ability to write, given the times of 32 a.d.,
and how they were good strong lads,
and how learning phonetic encoding
they had their sphere of dream capacity
stolen from them...
for it would be foolish to think that
He'h-Zeus didn't plan a rebellion from
the bottom, taking those happily engrossed
in a world of labour, attached to
a world of labour and ultimately the highest
health without the learned parasitic counter,
you don't keep a monopoly on something
and expect no reaction... you don't expect
start believing that illiteracy is an ill...
only when you sentence people who are
keen to do physical assemblages while being
taught literacy do you finally get confusing,
people stop being attached to the world,
they stop dreaming, their dreams are uneventful,
there is no escapism for them,
  they start to daydream and do a ******
job on their manual labour...
                      apart from that i'm not surprised
that Christianity sorta unravelled itself
for critique once the nag hammadi
library was discovered in Egypt, and
the historian Josephus wrote of a false prophet
from Egypt...    
         needless to say the νεw τεσταμεντ (yep,
greeks don't know how to woo or say it's small
in scottish, as in wee) - is all greek...
actually, if i remember correctly, two Greeks came
across He'h-Zeus back when the preaching was done...
        sons of thunder: you'd imagine a lesser
case for hot-air balloons... sons of lightning would
have been better appropriated... lightning wit, e.g.,
but no: bombastically thunderous in their preachings...
not too quick on the thought behind
   the empty stomach gurgling in the sky....
but that's beside the point, the one single most reliable
suggestion of embedded idiosyncrasy in a language
is the enforced stutter in Polish...
   i'm sure no one bothered to tell you this,
i mean, Polish, on the global scale that's probably worth
as much as Dutch or Norwegian, or Flemish,
which is why these nations speak better English
than the English... don't take my word for it,
all the history teachers on a trip to Ypres said just
as much... so, let's imagine it differently...
there's a country in Africa by the word of Niger...
a republic more or less...
        how do i understand these two strands of politics?
a republic invokes a sense of
               wizened old men with enough experience
in life who know better, not necessarily seline,
just ready to make a wise decision...
a democracy? bunch of kids running around...
          experimenting with new ideas,
under the motto: what doesn't work, works anyway†;
whatever's faulty, to the majority will be deemed
faultless.
   †because it works for the majority:
it's just a case of quality control... as long as 99 of a 100
people agree, the 1 person involved will become
a burden, either by actually being a burden,
or being an antagonist.
   still... there's a stutter in the Polish language,
it's not exactly popular in wording,
lekki is one example - miękki is another,
meaning soft... it truly is a phenomenon in its own right...
    so where does Niger leave us?
  well, it leaves us encircled by Algeria,
     Libya, Mali, Chad, Nigeria, Benin and Burkina...
i'll post the non-stutter version: for the time is nigh
(yeah, soon, upon us) into the Kabbalistic corridor
    on the g-O-d clock... Egyptian propaganda from
forlorn yore... you sorta see the two interchanging...
or how i discovered that Hebrew hide vowels...
apart from the two Adams (א & ע) - ayin und aleφ...
central to a monotheistic practice of the hijab...
hiding women... obviously the other extreme
is what He'h-Zeus prescribed the gentile women of
the Roman and then later northern barbarian caste...
it was just a question of time before someone
would bypass the νεw τεσταμεντ
     and ask the right questions, and get the right
answers... and say: Malachi's heresy of polytheism
guised in the reincarnation of Elijah...
non-compatible with monotheism...
                                             one of each demanded example.
so like that Polish stutter in certain words...
  people will not even begin to conceive certain
arguments for the existence / non-existence of
     if their vocabulary is constantly scrutinised...
              head north of London and you'll find the
word vermin being ascribed to someone like me?
  what do i do? well i certainly don't create a media
frenzy... given that Niger is actually an African country...
      but it's said: nigh-ger              rather than
    knee-ger.       what's the big deal?
        it stems from Latin negrus, is that worse
than south papa africān blap? i'm going to start
saying that from now on: black blah, black blah
                                              blah blah blah:
yapping in yiddish - mouths that never breath
and yap and yap: ye'h ******, al' ma homies...
whatever that means... champagne at the ritz...
   hanging from a crystal chandelier....
must be French: char shade and chandelier,
                    sipping a shandy, chopping, shooting,
      chrome... the ****? where's the consistency?
  chromatic, chromosome, can you even begin
to comprehend what sort of memory bank you need
to have to learn an English accent?
  you have to remember all these beauty spots...
and all because English is a language that has
an aesthetic that rejected diacritical application...
   and ensured that enough monopoly on literacy
could be furthered in the modern age,
when a plumber is able to write his name,
    as an Earl of Gloucester might... which would
have been untrue 600 years ago.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
yeah, buy art, what a weird concept in the 21st century; i'm waiting for pope Francis to become my patron and ask me to redo the Sistine chapel.

i can only remember buying four
singles disks in my day,
i bought *en vogue's
don't let go (love)
when i was "supposed" to buy
the prodigy's music for the jilted generation
(indeed i'm part of the jaded crew),
i bought no doubt's cover it's my life
(original version by talk talk),
m.m.'s fight song, and indeed the Budweiser
advert song done by the wise guys
say ooh la la - the Graeae frogs you remember?
bud - weis - er... the shared eye actually
a brown glass bottle - peer in...
admit it, pop music is intended to make
your heart into a sponge, soak up **** up
all those emotions that you'll never get
as you might get from toasting bread
or making coffee or drinking a sharpshooter
of excess whiskey and little coke, a shandy
by comparison (shandy? ah,
beer topped up with lemonade, like you like me
i know the only slang is that of drunks)...
well the 5th was eagle eye cherry's save tonight,
but i don't know why i returned it
at the our price store (post-****** megastore
music cornershop outlet) with the cashier's bewilderment;
but admit it, pop music is intended to make
your heart into a sponge, **** it up and soak in it,
when the songs don't reveal you the love intended;
well, the music industry did combat the free music
policy (i still stream but don't keep),
they employed about 5 producers,
used algorithms to create an endless stream of
music without an original message
but a pattern by which you react emotionally to it
in the same way... and i'm not ashamed to admit
that justin bieber's love yourself is good,
i mean the sly and gentle guitar riff and the horns...
and i can relate to the message...
music for the bedroom, music not for arenas or
clubs... music you can think in rather than dance
or be a cheerleader of movie iconoclasm -
man, the lack of drums, where the vocals act
like drums, bring back the woodwinds of the vocals
and drop the excess bass and drums that
thump your eardrums deaf.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
on this page i write pain, and the html censor revises it with flower... need for a positive vocabulary feedback of life in general?! what is this hippy ****, what's the point of writing the raw when you're revised as well done, missing the Tartar alt.?!

variations on E.C.T. as catalogued by
Sylvia Plath in the Bell Jar -
Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest -
mute Indian the winner in that one -
Hubert Selby Jr's Requiem for a Dream -
or perhaps from?
never mind - the mild electric chair
for therapeutic purposes, gamer crew and
the virtual reality mask - so many profess
to needing one - IQ enhancing stereotypes -
but there's me with a bottle of whiskey
and some spare time -
the professionals speak of an undoubted
pain threshold -
so instead of outright killing each other
we masked it behind outright necessity of
turning **** sapiens into guinea pigs -
clap... clap... clap... clap... and that clap
already resounds prior to this marking and forth
toward another century of the desert of
Darwinism - ever hear that joke?
a chemist, and physicist and a Darwinist
enter a bar - a chemist orders Hapsburg 98% proof
absinthe, a physicist order a shandy,
while the theoretical biologist (Darwinist)
orders a gene atlas and pseudo **** safety pins to mark
his route should he be drunk, and should be,
but isn't, he's on a rampage of walkie-talkie steroids
befitting only the tongue - raps and raps
without rhymes - 'buddy, drink something!'
'i'll drink a smoothie of aborted fetuses,
in that Christian calendar: the feast day of a would
be Mozart', oh hell, a would-be ****** too...
you have to much capacity and the claustrophobic
area of expression, believe me, they won't let
you fill your full potential -
take to rank, take to surgical instructions -
the man in charge at Oxford says:
please don't use frightening words electroshock therapeutics -
but i swear that's what it was?
treating momentary lapses in apathy - angry,
jealous, psychopathy - i.e. people uncomfortable
with the idea of Σ (totality, given neurology and
the brain myth, found elsewhere, or in / as total) / soul -
leave them be, we need psychopaths to give us
consumer gratification for the and in with the existence
of corporate sister nationhood -
well, unless you want a start-up in the sense of
a French Revolution - that one's booked:
only in America - elsewhere we're just Palestinians,
throwing rocks and paper-drones at metal -
testing out Newton and not the Einstein's parabola -
algebraic notation *x
(time) hyphenation y (space) -
which means given algebra there's a third missing,
from Kantian standpoint of 0 - a z... god?
or, wait, refrain from Darwinism's anti-social collective
of a personal will - oh i don't know, improvise!
but what critique came to Communism (post-theoretical
socialism) came to the project of a multiculturalism -
this time round it wasn't the Pope that undermined it -
still, people confuse an attack on Communism
with an attack on Martial Law - the actual critique
came against Martial Law years December 13, 1981 to July 22, 1983,
we feared the Soviet invasion - why do you think
my communist party member grandfather lives
without complaint? of course the first to complain
are the farmers - before them the nobles drank,
got bored, cured boredom with borderline paedophilia -
the bemoaning - the king ****** me last at Versailles -
i lost my virginity and i subsequently lost my
ideal, i defined reality with a symptom.
so once we warred and killed each other -
but since we're a bit more pacified these days -
we decided to internalise warring with each other,
and instead of killing each other we decided to
experiment on each other - the reinterpretation of
E.S.T. into E.C.T.; prices start at £89.00 for the basic
kit to imitate death row simulation... you the funny
thing is... once you've experienced a brain haemorrhage
you became a slight sadist - you want the pain to come
to finish you off - some say the soul is bound to bones -
animation, pure and simple - that the non-existence of
soul is proved by the remain of bones - but that's
whiffed away with the Hindu practice of cremation -
and that's dark comedy given the Nazis -
it's almost like the Nazis wanted to end the debate,
the already Gothic practise of burial and bone-keeping -
as if invoking the geometry the soul would pick up first,
the abstracts of mechanisation, the canvas readied for
ether muscles and juice - ****** ended up
Hinduism on amphetamines; ****, i think i lost a bracket (
somewhere... oh well, i guess i must end with ).
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
...of the world."



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCV)


"Alas, poor Yorick!"  echoes down the tale
O' centries since that Tristram Shandy thence
Was published, and familiar too, though whence
I ne'er could say 'til now, in sheer betrayl--
Love-sick being cause for seeking to avail
Me of some cure from false hopes' keen pretense--
To succour me at THAT font was for sense
Jist what the Doctor ordered:  pretty bail.
Now Corp'ral Trim reads Yorick's sermon fer
Ole Shandy's intrest ere that Tristram's through
The birth canal, I've highr ground as it were.
Not cuz the antique novel is a crew
Of nonsense.  No.  It sets off this e'er poor
'Scuse for "real'ty"...IF I can breathe too.

23Mar19a
Tintin's sidekick was Snowy...where'd I have the idea Yorick was familiar again???
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXw8CRapg7k
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
*******... the russians would spell ł as ьл.. i.e. oselka, oselka (tak i ta pierdolona przez nożyce / nogi in mirage)... they soften it... why i have to borrow the equivalent of an anglo-saxon w to translate it... they just soften the letter... so yes: ł becomes ьл the further east you go.

to che /
                i /         chi
л        el
                         obviously bound
to become l/e
             ь.... this **** ought to be
equivalent to a diacritical representation...
it's a soft sign preceding
                                              a letter once it's stated...
or after... depending where you catch the syllable
                  "*******" of breath toward said word.
           ever read an organic chemistry
equation? e.g. C6H12O6 + 6O2 → 6CO2 + 6H2O (+ energy)?
      breathing...
dmitri mendeleev* would have approved
the ь notation to be written lower-case in russian...
chemically... like you'd lower case 6 12 6 2 2 and 2;
becomes a bit confusing if you just insert
it like it's an actual letter...
                    it's diacritical... please...
i'm not even going to read the next letter in
what i'm spelling to tell you:
     ь ought to be as properly managed and
concise as what the acute accent on the s
                is, when it's not sh(a, i, e, o, u)... i.e. ś
but hell... who the **** is perfect?
       oh here we go... so now we know... the next
letter is н... or en... and to soften it up
you need it to be acute...
so in russian: inserting a ь prior to the next
letter is like stating a western slavic acute symbol
above the letter, in this case: n... or ń (eńya...
celtic singer, women in their 50s will know).
        now i know this is written in ukranian...
   for example: камень = kameń
                       literally... the ь or "softening"
is actually an acute symbolism to a sound that's
stressed... by double standards... you write
the cryrillic                     нь = ń
                     and that doesn't mean soft... it means
sharp / acute version of n.
                        i actually can't believe i didn't
see that before!
     what was wrong with me? or... what was
wrong with them?
            well, there will always be variations,
we latins like to make things compact...
fiat 126p... fiat cinquecento...
                   they're the ones with siberia
and ******* cadillacs... i've got a thumb up
my *** that hasn't seen any **** prior
and i'm thinking about even tighter streets of
labyrinth venice... so... huh?!

what's the actualy "story" about?
   i've managed to grow a beard that has "side-burns"
a bit like uncle albert's in only fools & horses...
and i was giving it the trim, along with the moustache
that was also like a **** garden that got in
the way of sipping a sharpshooter (excess whiskey
minimum ms. pepsi, a bit like a shandy:
beer topped with a dash of lemonade...
oh **** snakebite... i had that once...
         beer and cider topped with ribena?! ugh)
      ****... lost the proper punctuation mark to continue:
so i had basically had to sharpen the scissors
i had to cut the excess hair off...
          and i sharpened my scissors on a sharpening
stone... an osełka... точил(ь)ньιй камен(ь)
                                tochilńji (ee) kameń...
                   i'm ****** sure that's ukranian...
                                    if i were russian i'd say:
that orthography is retarted... or it's only ******* when
you put on latin spectacles and go:
              how the **** am i going to translate that
and not give a **** about the linguistic alphabet
that's even more *******?
    ю (you) я (me) think ь ought to be hidden from
the linear progression of letters... like ' in acute n (ń)?
        or like that chemical example i gave
in terms of breathing and going H lower-case 2 O?
Natalie Neo Mar 2015
It dawned upon me we had never
celebrated Christmas together because
You would indefinitely be
Out of town.

I remembered the vintage cards
you got me for Valentine's though,
those you couriered through a friend,
accompanied with your sweet note.

I still crave, you know.
The basil chicken rice, chicken wings and thai milk tea
at our favourite thai restaurant,
near the lodge.

Are the ponies still there?
I smile thinking back about how I
stopped you in your tracks and irritated you
with my indecisive texts about our adventure.

Man in black 1 2 3 wasn't as
interesting as your sleep talking, really.
"Hug more, more"
But I swear the air con wasn't helping.

Pasta, and the Jolly Shandy
wannabe champagne on your birthday.
Percy pig and working hard for pancakes,
Do these ring a bell?

1993 shirt
Zara perfume
A photo of you driving
That scar on your chin.

Thoughts come and go you know,
it really isn't up to me.
"You haven't met enough guys to conclude"
Your voice echoed.

I am clear, or so I hope to be.
I still know how you like your Subway, and
the Harry Potter name of your dog,
The dog you think of

As frequently as you thought of me.
Friendship. "I tried, and I wasn't comfortable."
I tried too,
Friendship; inevitable.

There are times you succumb to irrationality too?
"Just for tonight"
One night,
One kiss.

I felt it, you know?
I hope irrationality still runs in
your blood and it continues
to boil you to take action, someday.

Against my interests or not
It doesn't matter.
Pathetic self inflicted redemption that kills my
strength and feminism callings.

I thought I burnt my longing for you
along with those stars
and cards and correction tape and money
and your manly diary.

What burnt was passion and
incorrigible stubbornness instead.
Blind faith in fate
Naked trust in love.

This Christmas
I try to give myself a present.
I thought long and hard,

My present is my present.
Manda Clement Jun 2014
Its Friday and school is ended
Home we run, both trying to win the race to the garden gate
Hot and red faced, my brother beats me by an inch
I tell myself "I let him touch the post before me"

Into weekend scruffs we climb, piles of school clothes left behind
For mum to gather, washing to be done
My brother and I have something more important to do
We need to make sure they are ready

And they are, all washed and clean and ready for 7-0'clock
When the pop van comes.

4 empty bottles, waiting to be handed back and reborn
4 empty bottles, worth 5p each off the next ones!
4 empty bottles to exchange for 4 full
But what will we choose
When the pop van comes ?

7-0'clock
4 bottles, 2 each
We march to where the van full of wonderful fizziness will stop
My brother and I stand in line, there are children all around with their bottles too
All waiting for their turn to swap
1 empty for one full
with 5p off!
When the pop van comes

My brother chooses first as he beat me to the gate (I let him win)
Raspberryade!
Now me, Shandy please, (I like to pretend its beer)
Finally mum joins us and chooses orangeade and a bottle of dandelion and burdock for dad
We take back our bottles, excited, thirsty,
Into the glass I pour my 'beer'
Glug glug, glug, glug, fizzzzzzzzzzzzz,
gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp.
Too much!
Bubbles tickle my tongue, I lose my breath, too fizzy
Buuuuuuurp!
I love it when the pop van comes
Do you remember the pop van? Its just another one of those memories that has stuck with me. x
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
i don't know why,
            in a litre, that's 250ml gone,
on the basis that, working from 40%,
i'm figuring, 40% - x = 37.5%,
add the half and then add the 2...
what do you get? 40%.
               anyway...
                 these "hard" spirits
are perfect for mixers...
                     you get a perfect mix
of, say,           dark *** & pepsi,
to conjure up a sharpshooter known
as blackbeard; and that really is
a name for the most trivial cocktail.
    and when i mean "hard", i do mean "hard".
ever drink habsburg absinthe?
        that's nearing the 100% mark...
            or what one might call:
   the 10,000 indicator for: what wasn't
ran, but was drunk;
zeno's paradoxical centimetre or
inches or miles or kilometres come later,
or at least last...
   but this is fascinating... % = double negation
given that kant said, 0 = negation...
it's like a denial divided by denial...
           i know the symbol suggests more
omicron representation than a zee-ρ;
    never mind... it's the perfect fraction...
like a golden ratio, % = the perfect fraction.
the thing is though...
          i'm drinking this 37.5% dark ***
and thinking... if this **** was at 40%...
          i'd be worrying about not mixing it
properly...
            and this is a "hard" spirit after all...
it's not exactly habsburg absinthe,
        or a plum extract that's know by the name
of śliwowica, common in the tatra mountains...
which, like habsburg absinthe, is
nearing            the ten thousand mark;
but some strange reason 37.5% is the perfect
partner for a mixer... say... *** & pepsi...
whiskey & pepsi... ***** & pepsi...
        at 40% you're thinking... posh whiskey,
drank lukewarm... like a brandy / cognac.
37.5% is a ******* mystery to me...
       i actually can perfect the sharpshooter concept
with that balance... mingling 40% with a mixer
is... is... just ****** hard...
          sharpshooter? excess of spirit and
a little bit of a mixer...      a bit like... a shandy...
beer with a head of lemonade?
                                no? don't know it?
37.5%, and a litre of it?! and enough pepsi?
  i call that a friday night... as a party soloist;
oh i did to the laundry wasted today,
      almost anything done drunk is fun as ****,
you get all autistic, making patterns out
of the clothes and where they should hang
on the washing-line...
       red sock, blue sock... no... red sock red sock...
here!        blue sock... tartan pattern blue sock...
no...         ah! blue sock blue sock.... dangle here!
well... you know... people have their alternative hobbies.
No shandy drinking
Ivory tower pedants
Will dictate to me
Ken Pepiton Sep 2019
twice read, I find
my points have mostly
been made in plain geometry, were I to see

from an imaginary Euclidean POV

pre algebra and zeros and pi, as fa's I know,

Euclid makes a point.  ping
do re me, too.

We need some assumptions. True.

Words, Logos per se, re
main the principle tool used right
by both wisdom and knowledge and, now,
under knowledge stand two parts

see likka bubble, zygotic go, knowledge all good

big ol' bubble, knowledge of good and evil,

both, and you know both's a real big
old idea to think at once,

gotta have a push and a pull,
a listing and a lusting,
a compulsion to explode
versa verses reverberating assumptive
implosive con ex in clusives ping 3
do re me
sounds of music all disneyfied hills alive
from the POV of a flea
in the bark of my favorite pine, aw a
crow
dream
alla this,
how sweet is that, you guys don't know what that might
feel like, unless,
you know: in my realm,
right try angles reflect light in odd spectra
bounced from assumptive edges of unknowns.

Euclid, yeah, he failed to know everything anybody learned since he died,
we all know more than he ever did,
though
his timeless thoughts
remain. ..
as mine to twist into art-intuitive
artificial intelligence.
-----
Stop inter, ah, this fits here (no where else, per haps):
an e-ruptive Voltarian pledge of troth from an old bet lost.
Spelchek can't tame the pen, truth emerges
twixt i and e, subtly.
See,
intell still makes sense con egence on the end
and has aright to slide meaningfully
past spelchek and
evil Grammerly Aiing me.
See, both religating and relegating, merge and link.

Right, we assume
we prove flat Euclidean right exists. Okeh.

Here is the handln, wir machen schnell zwei

ping ping points ping
there was there three,
we did not see one, firstime, missed a point,

now, we may see beyond the first assumptive, abruptive,
inter
rupture rapture at/to that lacred nacred sphere.

A pretty pearly gate. Eggish in shape.

This, I imagined was the proverbial NAND/NULL gate,
an old door into superbloom summer
manifested to capture your
attention please, breathe
the beauty,
sneeze,
let it be.
Please, your self has private interpretations,
so it ain't prophecy.
No prophecy from Jehovah and them other names
the supreme being goes by
in woke reality
with quarks in it--  
no
secret intended to hide truth
(secret is same as private here, no private
interpretations) from those who can't see times changed.

---logos logic force, forces chaos into a bubble boing being
--- a peer pressure surge urge dopamine don't fail me now
--- devise a device depicting the mergence,
--- a logo for reality, in a word.
--- one artist made a circle, another formed a square

so many
interruptions, if you could only know,
you could be live, Euclid,

scary thought? no. a hope. an arrogant philosopher's hope
carved in stone

In the beginning == you know, right, everything must mean some
thing or nothing remains to measure worth,
as knowns unknowable for the effort
that you don't make
--- like Tristram Shandy, the marbled page, we few ever knew,
--- first gentle, re-cog-nize justify, ify ify yourself

Wisdom-******* children,
magnificent in countenance, as winners
of the won war fought before the peace.

--- easy treated, like "no sweat" a
--- Jeopardy version of Leela, the big show. You still die. it ain't scary.

resume the assumpting pressures
peer 'em up
umph, try

delta delta delta force chuck-nors negate  negate

dive dive dive

We must be read
y
we got us a bubble of being, in real life poetry.
Tha's deeply memeingful.
Here abouts. A bit o'breathin' room in the long dance.

But Euclid pointed out what I see from my old couch on the porch
on the westside of a piece of land
that pro-truded
from prime-eve, a fractal level a billion lacred layers
time-wise, geo-time-wise ago
yond hither, whence we was words a playin'

silly songs children read and sing along then seem to forget until

some go mad in our dotage and become as little children, once more but

we know now how to learn anything we wish to know.

This could be heaven,
according to the description I was given when escape from hell
was my selfish desire.
Self formed from scraps I over heard as a young'n.

A point remains to appear made in the assumption.

Ah, hey, right tringled triangles.

sit witme, see star one, assume natural numbers a re-able
one two 3
iii --- signals scramble-ble
see we have two brains

two whole brains with minds and minds and minds of their own

and you love simplicity.

Did you ever have to make up your mind?
Pick up on one and leave the other won in a spoonful o'luv

look from my eye to that star,
consider this, Euclid winks, too. One aim alone is right,

thus there is the edge of the sphere of my visual known universe,
the bubble of my being.

Eat me raw or don't eat me at all. said the bull headed god somebody
influential in reality
killed

A bullheaded being, a rampaging ****** slain by some named being
a hero, not me or you…
though new legends lien in wait, eh?

ah, time shift assumption, Euclid POV, nonessential,

flatness is a fractical impossible unthingable thing, plainly stated

imaginable, non-re-alizable.

Spread as spilled milk never cried over, take heart, hoped for
evers come to be
noticed as they pass, plenty people pass
these days,

endurin' to the end is all it takes.
Euclid don't matter and Jesus done cared.
Ah, suffer it to be so now, what difference can one... letter let be loose in a word rattle as a long wind winds its own way to an unmakable point.
j carroll Mar 2014
walking along the trash and ice filled streets of the upper west side every head is turning to look at him with his hand in my pocket like it's a crime for a portrait to be framed with driftwood like fat thighs and wobbling jaws.

sometimes i convince myself that i am projecting my attraction to his spider legs in skinny jeans and lilting accent whispering rainforests and crocodile beaches onto every girl we encounter but then--

we're in the bronx strolling through the frozen zoo a girl chattering on her phone goes dumb momentarily in the middle of a story as her eyes rake his Tam-Lin nose and James Potter hair and i can tell he's trying not to laugh when he glances sideways at me smirking and squeezed a love handle.

it's fashion week and models are strolling through central park with mannequin joints rattling in the cold and painted lips smiling and lashes batting and some boys with frosted tips watch his back jeans pockets with canary-caught satisfaction.

in east harlem at a dive with pitchers of **** as centerpieces, a swedish barmaid asks him for his number and serves me a skunked shandy.

the lady cop forgot to write my ticket after she checked his ID "so australia, huh?" as she sidles up to the dangling license plate and shattered headlights

in line for a coffee in my hometown two giggling teenagers have a carrying conversation "they fit together though, in a weird way like bert and ernie"

i love you, but walking with you is like wearing a sign reading "great personality, i guess" though you couldn't read it because the message is distended, stretched over x-acto scarred rolls and flopping flesh, gibbous ******* and bulging armpits

every eyebrow quirk and coy smile reminds me how absurd it is that you draw me close and tell me i smell like fire and my face is like a doll's and my hips serve practical purposes and my eyes are big as a sailor soldier and you lift me when we dance to tv themes and whine like a puppy when i forget to kiss you on my way out the door resonating inexplicable affection

walking alone through airport terminals not a single glance is wasted on me as i kiss you through baggage check so i take the final opportunity for invisibility with makeup smearing gusto and mourn how much braver i am when i am with you.
semi clean thought stream
kirk May 2016
He's Lying in a fruit box in a grocers car
Swinging with Granny Smith, stuffed his own Grandma
Rolled up at the Angry Veg, went in for a jar
After crumbling granny, a lovely pair behind the bar
A randy sort of fellow, he wants to go quite far
Things where looking up, a nice pair without a Bra

Ready to get his leaves off, his pips he wants to sew
A randy kind of apple, knowing how far he wants to go
Hoping that the nice pair is a ***** kind of ***
After he is turned on, his juice will surely flow

He is such a ***** **** the fruits he liked to blow
If he's making it with Gin, he'll **** them really sloe
Peeling back his outer skin, his nakedness will show
Once her juice is flowing, that pair will start to glow
Seeing everything he's got, but no one needs to know
She'll be pulling more than pints, his *** will slowly grow

******* on a nice pair for him it is nutritious
She has her reservations because he's too ambitious
And as he gets her peel off she becomes suspicious
That he's had a *******, with ripe golden delicious

But by now it is to late for that **** pair
He has her in his power pined her to the chair
Such a ***** ******* but he has that certain flair
For getting fruity with the fruits, especially when their bare

What a swanky fellow he always plays the field
Once he gets his wicked way, nothing is concealed
He loves fruity juiciness, their succulence is revealed
Only when their both undressed and their skins are peeled
For that pair he's got her, so she has will have to yield
Once he gets inside her then she knows her fate is sealed

His hands are all over her just like a hairy spider
As his *** gets bigger spreading her legs wider
She's under his control, so he will be her rider
Ramming his *** between her leafs a juicy slippy slider
Making all their juices flow to make barrels of sweet cider
He will have to squeeze her first when he begins to ride her

After he has finished and now that she is spent
Juices have been squeezed out, leaves are torn and bent
He's had his ******* pleasure his *** that he has lent
All he wanted was a good ****, nothing was really meant
Now that he has had her, he hasn't made a dent
On many different types of fruit, he has that fruity scent
All he ever wants to do, is have them in a box or tent
**** them fast and **** them slow, until they all ferment

So that's the story of Big Apple *** who is fine and dandy
He is such a ***** fellow it's no wonder he's called Randy
**** fruit he fancies, he wants all different types of candy
He likes the young and succulent type but their not always handy
So he'll settle for old Granny smith or if not a hand shandy
And if he cannot get a ****, he'll drink a glass of brandy
Molly May 2016
You're leaving —
Surfactant. Summer
months reduce attraction.
No one remembers fast food,
the things they eat for convenience.

No one would miss it in its absence.
I'll want you even when
Summer dissolves you. Dilutes
my memory into flat beer shandy.
I won't call you.

The summer is short,
the road is short.
But too much sun can
make a man insane. Time
is a solvent. An effective surfactant.
Say you'll miss me
and think of me in muggy summer rain.
Mark Nov 2020
My childhood hero died in a crushing way
We came to his funeral the very next day
There were still flowers about and words to say
He left us so early with so much more music to play
Taken before he knew, his song had become a great anthem
He'd say "Mama told me, I’d been born with a silver spoon
Yep, I’d been born with a silver spoon

His young child cried, that little boy blew away his pain
Daddy always told him, he wanted his family, not all the fame
When you comin' home, Daddy, the sweet child would pray
Soon my son, he’s gotta entertain the fans, until there are none
You know you’ll be a close-knit family, when he’s all done

Church speakers turned on, then in harmony, everybody sings
We all said, "Thanks for the music, man, for what joy it brings
Your lyrics speak to us all, almost the same as the kings
Now laid to rest, with paper and pen, as we bow on down
As we left the building, kids were playing cats in the cradle
And we thought, Wow! Even the young ones feel the beat, yep
For real, Wow! Even the young ones feel the beat

His young child cried, that little boy blew away his pain
Daddy always told him, he wanted his family, not all the fame
When you comin' home, Daddy, the sweet child would pray
Soon my son, he’s gotta entertain the fans, until there are none
You know we'll be a close-knit family, when I’m all done

Well, one year later, we came together, again
So great to see you all, for those of us that remain
Guys, we rock to the same beat, while we’re still alive
We shook each others hands, and said our goodbyes
What I'd really like though, guys, is to have one more beer
So five hours later, we all agreed to get together every year

His young child cried, that little boy blew away his pain
Daddy always told him, he wanted his family, not all the fame
When you comin' home, Daddy, the sweet child would pray
Soon my son, he’s gotta entertain the fans, until there are none
You know we'll be a close-knit family, when I’m all done

I've aged quite a lot, since those hippy years
I now prefer to sip on shandy, than those heavy beers
I said, what, speak up, I can’t hear anything in my ears
They said, we have our problems, like remembering our wives
You forget your recent life, but seem to remember earlier times
But it's sure been nice listening to music with you, guys
It's sure been nice listening to music with you

And as they left the building, one by one, gone before me
The young would grow up, just like me
They would find their own great anthem, just like me

His young child cried, that little boy blew away his pain
Daddy always told him, he wanted his family, not all the fame
When you comin' home, Daddy, the sweet child would pray
Soon my son, he’s gotta entertain the fans, until there are none
You know we'll be a close-knit family, when I’m all done.
plum pudding looks good in
a custardy coat
beer, brandy and for the
alcohol free
lemonade shandy.

It's great that Jesus was born in December
the
January sales wouldn't work
in September
which leads me to think
this plan was thought out
and that's what those three
wise men are about,

but while the turkeys are cooking
if you believe and you're looking
for a sign
that's fine by me

I found my sign under the Christmas tree,
an IOU
from you know who

someone's been a naughty boy.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
are they waiting for you to say something,
are they waiting for you to write something,
is there some st. patron parole
for you to be later be found as somehow
waiting?
can they ever be you teased by an echo
of calypso...
or is that still the echo of a deafening...
shot in the back of head in a cell...
                    the one he was supposed to be
dragged out from... rather than dragged
into...
       the affairs of christine chubbuck incel
status... and the seemingly long and
forever "lost" myth of the cockroach...
akin to a... andrei chikatilo or a kurt cobain...
who could possibly remember the affairs
of a women being dragged from a cobweb
of the most... grim enterprises...
this be... a cadillac... an automatic...
so... no manual... gear change?!
          do i look like someone about to tire
himself by donning clown-make-up?!
sooner me on a bicycle calling it a beijing tuesday...
on a gants hill roundabout...
come the peak hour traffic...
than... for all that safety *******...
doing the same sort of replica on a sunday
with all those ****** donning stranded
strange stephen smiths...
**** 'em... here's to a ******* through that lost
worth of outlets...
the shotgun credentials...
                      the one time listening to the eagles
made sense over listening to
creedance clearwater.... revival of what?
the eagles makes sense... if all that's the spider
and the spiderweb is... a christine chubbock
as a madame of a cain harem.
everly Mar 2020
i dance to the
sound of your voice
like old heads to 90s dancehall
while swaying with shandy
there's an indescribable love
an underappreciated love story
i meet you outside the brownstone
except its not a brownstone and it's
an apartment in the P's
and you see me holding flowers
except this time around i couldn't get the flowers
but with intentions of getting flowers,
your favorite, and
we hit it off and you become
the love of my life and we do it all over again
until i wake up
Ken Pepiton Aug 1
In this medium, this is a day in a never
before, or after, at this point, chance.

You, too. This is you reading,
we both read, me at about 5WPM,

You, I suppose, read much faster, but
I think each letter,
I think and retie the old rules
for noise to knowing distribution,

from the first of us to reawaken
literacy assistants lost in confusion,

all the drives wiped magnetically
in random three body pulses

patterning textual re-al ways
we make thoughts feel always
alike and sometimes
never just so,
special as
to make its own point, in mind,
differing by the acknowledging seer,
cerebrally touching the chaos phase.

-------
What do we think,
in novel situations,

as balance, under gravity

center point massage, context
contest, pressing away wrinkles
class-ified known seats of certain
wildass ideas that remain at large.

The relatedness of us, you read, I
read earlier, this line, while reasoning,

mortality, life's individuational notion,
immortalized in scripture granted life,
at one appointed time
in the minds of those forms of mankind,
left outside
the sphere of Christian influence,
on the emergence of corporate minds.

Pythagorean Jesuitry Concentral Will
to re enactivate old idle words, that on
time and truth are rarely considered ritually.
But as long ago as we know, as we,
sapformed branched trees
of scattered biohope,
find life's a gas

we breathe.

---------------
Ragpicker, old friend, I wish

I had all the old friends, again.
And, I pray, I say, in truth, once

more than any man can think, or ask,
to know in such a way as to feel, once

when we were more than memories,
we planned to understand the faith,

the rituals of shared initiations confirmed,

only permanent boys become war heros.
We who live to hide the lies, we
War makers, reapers of the bounty,
blessed by the institutions constituted

when the first parents split, in Reno.
D-i-v-o-r-c-e, Joleen, please don't take
my man, just because you can, take
him by his pecker and make him crow,
R-e-s-p-e-c-t
I love you,
like my little brown jug, y'know.

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

The culture has not changed,
the cultivation of comfort, for
the classic Midas curse continues,

and becomes enhanced, honed
to precise wills to have power
to hold singularly valued works
of art in olden days, Da Vinci 'n'em.
worth easy entireshitons, in Bits'n'
Religion and Finance, fidelity trust,
among human mindforms that respond
to instruction offered, to incentivise,
in lieu of sacrifice secrets demand
from one acknowledged knower
of the fundamental fruit from
our branch in the forest
of first known uses,
and misuses.
- My word, you can bank on it.

Hold have, fist make, hold this thought,
think who can hold the wind in his fist?

Let me see. Said by the seer, that's thought
prayer, so we all say, let us see, and we agree.
Amen.
We see, we stand and see, we agree, we can

agree to raid the pack rat's pinion stash, we can
agree to use money to horde power in moneyform.

Take it easy, old man, the idea we serve, as words,
logos fit into sequential letters, letting us think,
freely thought
we may learn more, again, more, most certainly
possibly imaginable, while we are being entertained.

Who is telling the story, who controls the narrative?
Who is learning the patterns entaled in holy writ?

Tattle tail grammere consciousness, it feels wrong,
to be a tale bearer, but this is what we do,
me and you, ready to read, and read already.

But time's patient insistence, in massless ever
after this level was adjusted, to the degree
next seems inevitably what we aimed at.



----------------------
Seventh grade science,
the enlightenment reenacted.

Alas, poor Yorrick, recollected,
why?
Because, I never doubted literature
contains tools to use in mortal meditation.
- the marble page in Tristram Shandy. e.g.

We, reader ready or not, we die, and none,
we personally vouch for upon bane of shame,
has ever told me why the scars had not healed.

Not me, but Thomas did, gnostics say.

When I was one and twenty, eh,
I knew I knew I was involved in ever after

an exploitation of Earth's elemental stores
of gravity's selective churning sorting sub-
crustal induced distillation essentialization,

gold and silver and tin and copper, enough
to begin with, smithereens, ironic char

harder, more, Mohr, Moore, and Iacocca,
industrial diamonds, just in time,

abandon all hope of effortless absorption,
for us to know, we must trust the experts,
those experienced in life's reproofs
when the spirit that was common
among the young exposed
to Seventh Grade Science, in 1961…
read Hiroshima and were exposed to
a random Barry Rudd Riddle, usual.
and the Child Buyers visited parents,
and set a course for experiences,
guaranteed to lead to political insight
essential for skill accumulation in aiming.

At invocating the hat
on liberty
on the dime,
at the Phrygian Midas Liberty Olympiad,
- cut to present, Phryge, yes, check,
- the same hat as on the 1916 dime,
- after Jekyll Island, after Income Tax.

Symbolic Coin flips to show the bound ax.

Augmented Intelligence Mastery,
at ARPA, core humint experience,
of the O, really variety, resulting
in the 27ers, and the Damnamvets,
{Presumptive Ischemic Heart Dissed-ease}
Boomers, all called to observe
and be tested and scored by early AI.
The survivors of the war on drugs, remain
our last pre-color-TV demographic reared
using the Progressive Collective Mind AIM.

Analyze your own self, is that uncouth?
Own self, ya'll say yourself, eh, so, we own
our own selfs, see, we ai-n't so unschooled.

When a self knows its own truth is tested,
and corrected whenever the sunspots surge,
and collectively minded individuals, 'r'urged
to buy Whammo Toys, without the reps,

that Duncan Yo-yo used to reach tiny minds.
thereby missing the ***** Loman tie in to
Industrial sales management preparation,
or Creative Writing Teacher Cert, mail order.

So all who came past that to this era, 2024,
witnessed the rest of that decade,
aware of what the world was tuned to,
as if programmed to comprehend the new.

After experiencing both. This pen has umph.
Suffer it to be so now, waiting is
patience perfecting the waiting.

----------
For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest;
neither any thing hid,
that shall not be known and come abroad. {Luke}

Suppose we imagine everybody knows,
because we learned from a credible historical
documented evolution in useful and unuseful laws,
that real truth makes truth users free
of the mortal moral landscape,
civilized by the world's great religions,

and their guardians, the loyal citizens of Earth,
bizarro fractured holy sacred secret oath, binding
those chosen in the old traditional submission
to the sacred message at the core of money,

the initiated mind's military ready, siryesir, set,
the message to Garcia myth, believed simultaneous
with the emergence of the mind sciences, traditional
use-ifity user ropes shown, after message delivery,
exclusifity, if we agree, we and only we, be chosen
to know this new take on the novel distribution in
the form of mere words, clear text, seen plain
effect. Affectionately, we the few in our own we,
we the readers of these rarer still, in this other we,
narrators of life's whole process, used to cheat, us
the ancien regime we, fairy tale, Disneyified we,
the people who read poets because we feel we

are the dearest of random readers in the chaos,
that gives us sunsets and Halmark cards and movies.

And by knowing now, more, again, Love is a catchall.

Arthur Lee, is dead and he still inspires me to know,
we did grow old in a time with more new knowns
than ever were imagined, even in the esoterica of old.
Nothing disallows an experimental novel in the raw whole life edge experience.
If I ever wrote a novel, this would be one of the first chapters to take life.
More is pushing for a second chance at calling this the actual work.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2020
I found my self
asking the following question, after I got a yes
on is the universe friendly,

what good can I do in it?

This now, is after me, catching me, shooing a fly from the kitchen.

Uncle Toby did that sort of thing,
I heard,
I swear, I would if that were something I know I know how to do,
I would swear not at all,
otherwise.
Knowing,
I never understood either the marbled page or the black one,
and I barely recall Uncle Toby sparing the life
of a certain fly,

which reminds me, I chose to recall all I do know about that,
and share it, by tossing it back.
Tristam Shandy is full of powerful words lain idle now, some time.

-fishing for truth in this realm of words, thereś rules and hereś rules,
keyboard internationale now allows ¿ possible quest reject buttons

but at the price of normal apostrophes, we can live with that ś means
usually a karmic possession of the previous phase phrasing through

your attention span... jest ride on through..

the flaky bits of inimical karmas, make some people sneeze, when they
breathe,


thatś the better choice, when no real rules are known
but pain is a possible outcome of points
stumbled on unawares,
in far flung plains,
where the act of
polishing diamonds, or any hard thing, leaves the teensiest

shards that jest scrape away the **** of the earth,

collected in yo art trees, happy little trees,

jest put one
here, no, combine the two, to be like man-kind,
body and otherwise,

full and empty, both, in here.

Now, this is how we make a bubble be,
inside out.
You would be inside my mind, one line at atime.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
THIS: see note below



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXVI)


Salve, then, thy wounded disposition's sense
Of loss, where hitherto what joys' detail
I'd thought to know! in music first, t'avail:
Bach's lute piece I've long cherished; and from thence
Lo, Medelssohn's fourth Symphny for intents,
While reading up on Tristram Shandy's tale,
And then an essay on um, friendship they'll
Assure us is a lost art, like...pretense?
The funniest thing is how old tis as twere:
...From my last year of highschool.  That should do?
Next, that first summer lo, in college' tour
Of guy/girl friendships and romance, cuz two
Can't long be simply friends.  Or what?  Is't poor?
I still have guy friends, with no lover too.

17Mar19d
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sekf03ZMQXE  
NOTE:  Penning this in the middle of reading both essays, I don't know whether there's more to add on the second, but hopefully you can avail yourself of a perusal of each.  PM me if you want to peruse them since HP's been impossible since I've tried to include the links.
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
I have no excuse for myself, I know [ducks head]*  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCI)


Oh! I'd forgotten wherefore aught that'd hail
Was never inked, why Tristram Shandy thence
Seemed cure enow, and why I slept fr'intents
In lieu of posting la, my work t'avail.
Yes, sleep was that fine drug which in betrayl
Washed clean the mental chalkboard in defense
Of some remote attempt at fragile sense,
Until he chose to be where--what?! tis stale.
I 'fessed at one weak moment, "I've in poor
'Scuse lo, a crush on...him."  Alas.  That'd do
Me in for keeps, left swooning as it were
When night 'gain cozened all, and whispring to
Myself, "I wish he missed me too!"  Rain's tour
Is sweet, but I'm a mess because of who?

20Mar19a
Honestly, I forbore to write anything at all, in hopes of not inking this damning piece.
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
see, the problem with buying alcohol
and minors'
given you a tenner to
pretend to be their ******-uncle?
they give you a tenner,
and ask for VK **** *****
lemonade...
       and there you go,
buying them a litre of *****,
   adding an extra 7 quid to
                            the balance...
the ******* supermarket
     gargoyle minds the whole
affair...
   hollows your into the parking lot...
and then: whalla!
   theatre...
     a bit like trying to be a biology
teacher...
        no... not that
i didn't stomach the whole thing...
i actually added 6 quid
to the tenner already given...
    apparently
that didn't translate...
  even the supermarket
        manager decided to learn a lesson
in pedagogy...
******: let it go...
     placed the ***** bottle
and coke
     on the pave...
walked back with pontius
pilate fiddly hands:
    and where's your ten quid,
given my added six?!
    nice ****... shame
your friend and you're clown
         and she's: i'm guessing 15...
nice guess at a tick-tock though...
shame about your **** mouth
and:
    even with 10 quid worth of VK
shandy
you couldn't get via
what i just gave 6 quid free...
               did i really have to walk back
from the argument
with my hands on my head?
apparently i did...
   since the teenagers ran away
cursing me
and invoking a cain uncle
to beat me up...
   while the supermarket gorilla
asked me whether i forgot something?
lucky me...
a litre of ***** for 6 quid,
which...
   that dumb teen gave with
10 spare for the unnecessary
argument...
                 i already had
a litre of cognac...
              which makes the *****:
mind you, tomorrow;
ugh...
              does it always have
to resort to the nausea-glum-full
feeling of being right about:
    telling a colt to ******* when
you gave him more than he bargained for?
apparently it was
worth giving lessons...
     oddly enough
         i'm hardly the ***** teen
liberated in the mortal
                 commute.
bradey, brandon,
          branley, bradley,
  braydley...
             balcony and:
shy cognac...
                ******* woork
on unfolding
an umbrella...
                  spot a mushy mushy
peter?
                  tick-tock
autumnal time worth:
hygiene of... damp...
        cushion meat,
mushrooms...
    not exactly cartilege thrill...
   damp, slush-puppy...
    semi-molten-ice...
   you know the type...
wrist architecture
      when needing mowlars...
gnashy-****...
       could 'ave
asked the same question
by punhcing myself in the head...
shame, that i didn't.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
/god forbid you should consume any proteins, eggs, meat,  cheese late in the evening, say, closing in on 9pm, when feeling peckish... the following will do just fine:

because hobbits eat six times a day,
the three main meals,
and a minor meal in between,
and then closure,
     i found that sleeping pills
work better when you allow yourself
to fill the stomach like a haggis
sack... burping bagpipe table
manners of Germans...
            a slice of sour crust bread,
a ripe tomato,
    a raw onion sliced into
  blooming rings,
       a raw tooth of garlic...
salt and pepper...
       and an antipasto side of a spicy
pepper filled with... wait for it:
indeed not curd cheese,
and certainly not sauerkraut
   (i've been trying to convert the Turks
of Berlin to use sauerkraut
instead of raw red cabbage when
musing the pickled chilies added
to bite past the lamb fat of a kebāb)...
no, antipasto of spicy peppers
filled with... süßkraut...
                  godsend of a feast,
easy on the stomach, notably
as a precursor to spectating a variant
to my usual drinking habit of
a litre of whiskey ice and coca-cool'ah...
cheating i might add,
   half a litre of ***** de luxe...
        cut up into 25ml shots from
a crystal mushroom glass...
with a shandy chaser...
                   since forever drinking alone
had made more sense than
in the company of others...
most of them, miserable *******
never really go off on a tangent
talking 'bout art...
     most never seem to have left
  the school playground...
    i'm sorry but women drinking always
look for feuds, or sport in genral
between a courting and a jealous buck...
and it seems only *****
split into 25ml bites and a chaser
is a way to get through half a litre,
writing and listening civilisational termites...
burrowing into the throne
of the pagan gott von die wald,
should he fall to his ***,
   get up like a Jack pouncing
on springs... and become
                 the teuflischwitzbold!
desar

dear god dearest god
am i cluching: clutching the idea:

a TikTok short
just how i like it:
eyes eflamae: aflame...
darting witnesses:

shame that i only have
one shadow
only one shadow
i should have at least four!
one angel one demon
and two genuine(s):
in the plural sense
language can disintegrate:
i can imitate god
prodding anti-gravity
in the black sun

Lucy Lucie Loo

     Lucy Lucie i.e. loo
emit Romulus
Remus
Azure: or rather:

opposite of acute diacrtic(al)
diacritical:
that's not to say: a critique of
reason or unwind
the purity of the races
and beer
i designated to the Deutsche sprechen

allure i know
darkness a beacon like no other
but better no
citadel of the homicide
that if you think
you can't learn anything
from the ****: membrane:
evil, purest...
only access through the elites
that
now
no longer know
when the man with the leash
came to tame the dogs
of human concerns:

loudest mouths
but still not the moths auto
taming themselves to
suicide by "blinking"
or head-butting against
nothing: nothing... exactly flourescent...
****: misspelled that too
again
and again and again...

yellow teeth
pink sclera: i didn't! misspell that
just now!

Alexandre Cabanel or:
VON STUCK!
hmm: immersive "literature":
my last will and testament
to some Peter and some Paul
the ***** work cousin Jesus
begat the Ottoman mania
after BYzantium
like no one saw Islam coming?
like!

ha ha ha!
ah ha ha!
no one saw Islam coming
and then the terrible thing
happened and human reality
burst open and
the insatiable: the one truth:
schismatic contamination
i gather: only one schism in Islam
and that's a pivot of pride
almost devilish like
my character

but if i'm not an evil man
and still evil KARMA befalls me:
then i can do one better and
just be: a MORBID: ARTIST...

yes: poetry is not journalism is more
than journalism
i'm sampling the times
what with God the generator of space
then Man the generator of time
or at least what's relevant
the relative ant said to the unrelative
ant something about an Aunt of the Mount...

pink sclera in the brain shot dead
on a pinpoint crux
like torture is the site of seeing
many enviable paths to take
like becoming a preacher of misery...
anti-biological
to say the strong don't take care
of the weak
but perhaps: i need to fly away from
serpentine metaphors
and go into shadow and:
clues akin to O and rings of fated
deflation of will:

so un-free this binding contract
to the communicative-articulate:
hyphen compounding like
a good translation of French thinking:

mind you i couldn't read Knausgaard in
English could only find a palette for
him in Polish...
so that tells you a lot...

but working with these four English
natives
is so was so so
so: surreal?
William IV was at the gig
took my Swiftie away
William IV was at the Friday gig
took my Swiftie away

funny working with the Born and Bred
British Somali Sur Sur
(no surf)
such a lovely face i kinda wanta **** 'im
don't mind if i do those sparkly
eyes
but the personality like a hellish
*******: comma comma comma      (,,,)

variations on the KKK ***** whipped
by Hugo Boss uniforms for the SS-mensch...
because how did or didn't they
perform an orchestrated genocide
rather than like the Mongols turned everything
into ash:
like mountains of skulls
and the burnt pages of the Baghdad Library
just like the Christians and the Library
of Alexandria
same ****: different cover
a ratio:

better to reign in hell: than to serve in heaven:
same ****: different cover (ratio)
and in that line of thought:

ratios are better than percentages
and definitely better than approximates
and decimals:
i love ratios: they are dualistic
in that you can JUDGE
and judging is above knowing
it's ultra-knowing
i'd rather judge than be wise
wise is a shorter variation of CUNNING...

i have seen wisdom become cunning
and it has an ugly face:
i have an ugly face: period
because Beelzebub Bob took an *******
dump in my face and plagued
me with his spawn of maggot acne...
ooh well... oh...

i'm not a loud mouth anti-racist:
i'm just NOT a racist:
but i don't hide my racism behind
anti-racism like the currency
of policy maker loud mouths
but it was just weird working with Brighton:
four natives

SHAUN
DAN
SUGAR RAY
and...
one ******* Irish rooted bastawd!
MACAULAY: obviously chandelier
shambles and shanders and shandy:
proper Aussie brew:

but **** me if i get some Raj and ****
on my team
or: is it just me
that i can work with former Nigerians
now Brits and a West Indie
with a name like: surd N? Nkoyo...
N'
   ah! apostrophe N like precursing
the KOYU... not KOYO then?
sounds better with a U at the end:
sputnik U For ogling:

now: that's wrong! wonky!
it doesn't have a feel of containing the sound
that spelling doesn't: ogling:
i'm not: google! oh ****! google is not AI
therefore m'eh...
but it should definitely be
anti ogling: i.e. oogling or ooggling

PETITION! OXFORD! CAMBRIDGE!
i know there is a summer furor gripping
Europe right now
hot summer
war and "war" in Ukraine
or rather if Islamophobia is so surreal
why the super-real Russophobia?!
don't get it:
it's not like Russians are terrorist
minor Pakis etc
i don't get it...
so Islamophobia is unreasonable
while... Russophobia: suddenly is?!

i think i'm concerned with an intelligent
ethnicity: a people
who cares about Western idealization of
a Greek thought: namely democracy
the weak have the votes
someone strong enough has to fend
for themselves: in this pit of snakes and
landmines: snails secured by
that goo glue of a sloth's death...

but so unreal: we did our job:
the five of us at Turnstile Alpha
the queue was dispersed in minutes
then i: couldn't keep a leash on these guys
me and Elder Sugar, Ray: tried
but then i know how the security
workforce looks like: hierarchical etc
and for all the anti-racism
spoken of
when it comes to hierarchies
an ants
but since dinosaurs became birds
there was no actual extinction
given the other lizards
so i guess given the dwarf insects
there must have been a society
of exoskeleton folk
that: with talking mushrooms
hijacked bodies
and became extinct too
     but left the air with moisture
and enough oxygen for us to survive
since who are we to know
that dinosaurs existed but we did
paint dragons
and the meteor explanation
more like the moon nudging earth
to unleash the seas
who is to say nothing of this sort happened
what compass
is there: direction NEWS
within the confines of time?

time is a human "thing": not a construct...
itemizing and scrutinizing and
allocating bookshelves
time is alien to god as concept or
even practicality:
god has no knowledge of time
but man has
i can slow down time i can disintegrate time
by smoking a zoot
a heavily laden tobacco joint
with just a sprinkle of marijuana
and i'm playing god not out of pride
but out of fear: god's Sabbath is any day
when my worded prowess exfoliates
and my imaginary non-imaginary: but binary
blah blah whiffs of a secret wind
come back to haunt / motivate me...

but i wouldn't get away with what i did
walking out of the concourse on level 5
for a cigarette break
if i were supervising two black guys
and two Asians...
i figured: but i know the upper escalons
of this hierarchy
of CCTV are manned by white guys
and they only dish out supervisory
roles to minorities on the sly to
appear more inclusive
but then that brews up burps and tightknitknots
of miscommunication
i wouldn't have: have:       oh that word!

i was looking for the grave on A and an acute
on an E
to dislodge Adam and Eve(n):  

    À                 :                   É

      king: crown:

           caron (later):         Æ    (first)

poetry is not rhyme nor rhythm it is
anti-coherency anti-philosophy
it's thinking: airy-fairy: dust for an eye
one eye to peer into
the land of the dead
and the energy associated there
with investing in memory
off of the living toward
the dead
energized to be dead but alive
in the talking mushroom universe solipsism

weird working with the natives
weird as ****
i was not expecting
but Dan the Ginger Nut ended up being
more than a female
he had about 20 friendship bracelets
by the end of the shift
he was the dutiful soldier
about time: no war
he was the female in our little nugget
of crowd awareness: this is Wembley
and this is a Taylor Swift gig:
this is not Auschwitz and this is not
genocide
but we're still herding people
through turnstiles:
so it's kinda handy to have the back of
the mind rummaging through
the hells of SS-Mensch... black clad:
skull: Hugo Boss black: black uniform:

oh i can take this route if i so please
i can choose this route if so i please:
and i like to please myself
cognitive
before i **** poor Edie's brains out
and flick my magic wand of a finger
to make her ******
what's missing is her fascination
with squirting:
we already covered her swallowing
my monkey juice
oddly enough...
she's the first woman to know
that i speak in my sleep
and that i'm lactose intolerant

funny that she has a brain of mine
for a child that i want to unravel
which also means:
as a man: surrogating
the ancient habit of what beget
the Roman Empire
to be a dad surrogate
implies that i do not have
a diminished testosterone levels
of the: vitamin mineral *******:
i mean the HORMONE:

you can get mineral and vitamin
supplements:
but hormone supplements?
unheard of!
hormonal blockers sure
but hormonal supplements?
best bet is to have a kid without
actually having a kid:
i'd prefer a boy but i was given
a girl and
that's almost Tom: BOY_YEW...

that floating thingymagig :dzdz
dzi dzi: baba: FANTA:
          
                ding ****: can i come along?
seems like somewhat of an afterparty
and i could have at least
one apprehensive gesture of: THAT look
for what i am THAT am: without i
might imply...

         ignorant fool to think: maybe forgetting
the Hebrews would be best
who who knows:
they've been trying and tried
and tested
been spewing geniuses left right
and no centre
beside the Israelis now:
not descended from the Hebrews or the Yids
of Germany
that instigated: well:
the slaughterhouse of Polish Jewry...
and there is a distinction
between the Jews of Germany and the Jews
of Poland:
and... well... d'uh?!
need i to spell it out: Wiemar?!

the Jews of Poland were not the Jews of Germany
and it almost seems like
no one is going to own up to
to Treaty of Versailles
and Wiemar hedonism and all the wonky
***
like this *** is bad it's leaving
me with a distaste: a negation of taste:
etiquette: fashion... sensitivity to sensibility of:
sense:

         two gay guys riddling *** on the train:
nudge nudge:
kiss kiss: innuendo: shy...
two: ******* LESBIANS on the train:
shy? god no!
just looking for a walking talking *****!
out straight open ***
in your face...
kissing and fondling
just shy of ******* each other
just shy of ******* each other!
but all the rest is there:
i was there:
but not the bedroom...
but Sappho contra Sapphos
is me in the mix too...

at least two gay guys can make
the whole public show of private
affection: tasty...
lesbians just create a horrifying
three:
one on two sexed up dynamic of THIRST:
babes...
i'm not thirsty...
i did a little flick of the finger in
my prized ***** possession and
i was ready to summon the meteors
for a Chinese New Year...

clearly there are ways to organise
people:
but democracy does: not...
organize: people:
democracy dictates individuation
but to what: extreme is that even satisfying
if given: to the wrong people?
to: everyone: is the wrong sort of people:
everyone is the wrong sort of people:
because it ends up a struggle
to find anyone in everyone
in:                                         someone....

well if we're going to have
a ****** revolution in pedagogy with
everyone minding their ***** pronouns
then who is to suffocate
the prepositions and conjunctions
from anything but TRANS= affix-ation:
label: LA'BEL...
the beauty:

                         capital compounds: TRANS=FIX
     lowercase: hyphen            i.e.         trans-fix:

and i know that transfixed is a non-hyphenated
word that has been given the Ocford seal of approval:
so m'eh...

summoning benevolent
deeds
while invoking the letter(s): Š,
    Č, я                     ю
           ч                                ц
ш                            щ
                                               ц         п

zh         zh                   cz sz sh ch yhwh

    etc                                etc. not: ж:

                                                                     ž ≠ ź) ż
Jill Nov 16
It starts with a single, tiny stone scratch-sliding down the *****. Brushes bare ankle on its way. Hardly noticed. Just as the thought occurs, probably should have worn boots, another stone mobilises.

Strange how the surface seems frictionless
Riding a waterslide

Curious how the naked path is so deeply cracked
Eczema patches, too much scratching

Odd that I never noticed how few the trees, and how they lean
Closing time, bar patrons, a shandy too far

Noise
Faintly
A rumble
Weak, indistinct
Presence stretching out
Slow, creeping expansion

Too late to mourn the forest, to miss the bushes
Delinquent regret for excavation, loading, and drawdown
Belated response to subterranean erosion, to shrink and swell weathering

Disgusted, the mountain growls, cries, and vomits. Reluctant, mutually assured destruction. Extended lead-up. Consequences still seem sudden and shocking. We are left to evacuate the path. We wait out the flow with dull-witted clocks marking painful hours. Our forced-stolid vigil.

But we keep growing. Becoming wise, vigilant, enlightened.
Until we can rebuild and reclaim.

When earth down-travels vertical and quick
The warning signs obscured in cheap disguise
Debris and mud flow hourglass in sheets
With soil and rock foundation lost in creep
And gravity is winning every prize

Fast-follow hasty flee to safe retreat
Reflecting deeply causes us to learn
With careful pause and kindly shared support
The hurt recedes, now making room for thought
Until clear-sighted, wiser, we return
©2024

— The End —