don’t tell me “I love you” ~by Roxanne, for Cyrano~

<>

that’s a verse I’ve heard many too times before,
that’s a curse of low majesty, a quatrain too plain,
if that’s your best sally, retreat, say no more,
too simp verses, or ungolden silences, agents of dissatisfying pain

I need the best of your taste
the finest visions that you eyelids occlude,
make haste for my mouth grows exceedingly
impatient for the other senses to do their tandem wooing

slap only my face with the creature comforts others savor,
words of diamonds and pink pearls mined from your breast,
the bejeweled words that will decorate my evergreen,
that never dies, lest, unless and until,
you want my mortal affection suppressed

give me your linguistic promiscuity, wake me from the stupor
of ordinary, arouse me with thy tongue coiling, a bee sting delivery,
a wet poem that makes all my orifices!|offices weep, your mouth,
my souls recouper,
your wizardry bewitching,
answer my inquiry with unbounded festivity

then and after all, the plain simplicity of an “I love you,”
will be edged with sublimity, my mercies, your mercies
our jointed, sharp pointy, introverting, interlocking,
our futures becoming
our pasts

11:07am
19-9-30

<>

https://thenewgroup.org/production/cyrano/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwz8bsBRC6ARIsAEyNnvoENpdnWyqeUEwq0avNStgWCf4CocB1i2­39c2mHdNSFF8gOlWZtfjsaAls4EALw_wcB

I miss your eyes on me,
And I can’t sleep,
Your voice in my head,
Unable to think,
The mist and the tears,
I can’t decipher between;
And another glass sits empty.

I’m blank of meaning
Without any ideas to say,
Just tell me if I’ve been pushed
From your mind already
Because the silence
Has taken me to an asylum,

And when I yell to the breeze against my face
Barely alive and disregarding speed limits,
I wonder if the lyrics I speak
Tear you to pieces
As they do me,
Since they speak truth better than my own.

When did you forget me?
It’s degrading to only know
By feeling,
And not by telling.
I can taste the sulfur
In the air tonight.

Why didn’t you warn me?

I was known as the white knight
the king that could smite
a man that would defend all women
if an other man offended a women I would kick his head in
not  literally
I could never do it really

but now they have changed my name
it is really a shame
I am now known as a simp
I could have been a ****

of all the e-girls
they are the only thing that I care about in this world
from start of belle
till she fell

but only if they are attractive
and I will wait till there boyfriend is inactive
that's when we come
but we don't do it for fun
we do it for the women
and also jimin

I can do this too, when I'm not au naturel
And trying to beat all of your @sses with how well
I make the gentleman, how excellently I am the imp,
How swell I step, dancing, aside, how terribly I simp -
Sometimes catch me getting back and giving the barman a chance -
I heeded their call; I washed off the day, and stepped into a trance
Of raspberry, rose and sandalwood; I donned my blue and pink silk,
And my black boots, tights and blazer - She's got style; And in that ilk
I also painted my face, with blues, whites, pinks, blacks, golds
And it was late when I stepped out, and in the very holds
Of the night that a lady like I should find terrifying, but I walked
The quarter of an hour to the Silk Mill; talked
For something more like four or five,
Face sharp, hair artfully mad, alive
In every sense, aided by the fine cocktails in this student setting
I could enchant all in four languages, and I did, forgetting
For a bit that another one of my faces I believe to be repugnant:
Because it begs for attention; and my current, commanded it
Because I came expecting nothing, and asking nothing,
And I quite frankly didn't give a d@mn about much of anything,
But if I wasn't very much a part of the room, and very much she
Whom every boy needed to speak to, and would ideally keep the company
Of, if that wasn't I
Then every lie's a truth, and every truth, a lie.

When first thou didst entice to thee my heart,
      I thought the service brave;
So many joys I writ down for my part,
      Besides what I might have
Out of my stock of natural delights,
Augmented with thy gracious benefits.

I looked on thy furniture so fine,
      And made it fine to me;
Thy glorious household-stuff did me entwine,
      And ‘tice me unto thee.
Such stars I counted mine: both heav’n and earth;
Paid me my wages in a world of mirth.

What pleasures could I want, whose King I serv’d,
      Where joys my fellows were?
Thus argu’d into hopes, my thoughts reserv’d
      No place for grief or fear.
Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,
And made her youth and fierceness seek thy face.

At first thou gav’st me milk and sweetnesses;
      I had my wish and way;
My days were straw’d with flow’rs and happiness;
      There was no month but May.
But with my years sorrow did twist and grow,
And made a party unawares for woe.

My flesh began unto my soul in pain,
      “Sicknesses cleave my bones;
Consuming agues dwell in ev’ry vein,
      And tune my breath to groans.”
Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce believ’d,
Till grief did tell me roundly, that I liv’d.

When I got health, thou took’st away my life,
      And more, for my friends die;
My mirth and edge was lost, a blunted knife
      Was of more use than I.
Thus thin and lean without a fence or friend,
I was blown through with ev’ry storm and wind.

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took
      The way that takes the town;
Thou didst betray me to a ling’ring book,
      And wrap me in a gown.
I was entangled in the world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.

Yet, for I threaten’d oft the siege to raise,
      Not simp’ring all mine age,
Thou often didst with academic praise
      Melt and dissolve my rage.
I took thy sweet’ned pill, till I came where
I could not go away, nor persevere.

Yet lest perchance I should too happy be
      In my unhappiness,
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me
      Into more sicknesses.
Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making
Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me
      None of my books will show;
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree,
      For sure then I should grow
To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust
  Her household to me, and I should be just.

Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek;
      In weakness must be stout;
Well, I will change the service, and go seek
      Some other master out.
Ah my dear God! though I am clean forgot,
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.

you complain about how people
can hardly see the difference between your pupil and your iris,
because your eyes are so dark
but i love the way
i can see my reflection smiling after your lips turn up

you call me hot, babe, honey
i call you ******, loser, simp

you have to leave me in two months
when your future catches up to you
but i'm the one with 'goodbye' hovering on my tongue

i'm trying to make up for three months of love poems
that i couldn't bring myself to write
but i can feel my bitterness leaking through

i can’t immortalize you now that i can count the days until you leave me on one hand

and you tell me horrible things like
“i’ll wait for you” and you say terrible words like
“i promise” and i cant seem to do anything but cry and need you

consider this my goodbye
it’s the only one i can bear to give

The young poetess^ writes:

Sitting on the edge of brilliance,
that cuts my youthful pride to shreds,
are the verbal shards of bards,
poets, beyond my experience.

Expelling their lifeblood,
I can, but only,
place my hands upon
their open wounds
murmuring hopeful platitudes,
praying that their blood spilled,
is not their excellence drained,
their wisdom wasted and stained!

The old hoary replies:

Wishful thirsty drinkers
from the cups of youth are we.

We 'presumed' ancient bards
have lived to regret the
burden of our accumulations,
the weightiness of our pages,
owning insights, steeped,
fermented, wine-to-vinegar,
spoiled by age, time-wasted.

Our words, product of visions
grown dim and simp,
under no duress,
we-eager confess!

Better poets were we,
when possessed of
blood hotter, skin smoother,
brow clearer, innocent of fear!

Your eager cuts run
zesty red and freely,
Ours, clotted ones,
anemic, yellowed from
the curse of the boundaries
of too much experience,
purchased pricey rules,
murderers of our uninhibited courage.

You cogitate with
passions unlined, unruled.
We shuffle, bemoan
our drizzling days,
waiting for relief,
and yet, rue
our inevitable conclusion.

We curse our fate, our slow dissolution.

You bless the opportunistic rising sun,
enervated by energies unbounded,
You animate for answers, solutions!

We sit caned and quiet, acidic,
damning Solomon and his caustic words -
There is nothing new under the sun.

Perhaps we know a word or two more than you.
Gladly we'd trade that for youthful hands
that pray, point and scribe, with the eagerness
that sets words upon paper of spirits enflamed!

Time, our master, has shred our writs to pieces,
yet, you young poetess, greet the morn, confident, saying
**today I will give birth to the first of many, masterpieces.

I have never been published
or won a prize,
except, yeah, yeah,
the one in the
Crackerjack box

but from that cheap plastic surprise,
much was learned even as a young boy

cull the chaff of life
from amidst the wheat

plant it well and deep,
then forget all about it,
except where,
t'was seeded

when eyes yellowed,
hair turned a color Disney repackaged as
frozen
white,
normally a gift of a hairdresser,
called mother time,
and your pink skin scaled smooth
now kin and kith of the kitchen grater,

then time is in,
cull your plantings

go back into that yards,
pull out the weeds,
uncovering what only time
can provide -

poetry planted and born from
the summary addition of thousands
of days of life,
well felt,
well received,
well recorded,
drawn from earth and water,
well lived

sometimes my nyc sidewalks uneven,
cause a toe snagging tripping,
this loss of balance,
adrenalin hot flashing,
similar to tripping upon a new poet

every time I say no mas,
I must choose tween
left or right,
one can
read or one can write,
but not
both

a voice on I stumble,
making me ever so foolish,
ever so humble,
ever so confused

so at 12:31am
at it again,
reaping what others have sowed

this woman by her own confess,
Trouble with a capital everything
T.R.O.U.B.L.E

only a grownup chile
writs me a poem
re crackers in her vegetable soup,
a naval battle akin to that of Midway,
that makes me crackers with delight!

saucy, that poetess
you better love her well,
she tells you outright
or she'll sell you, the reader out,
for the next one cruising along,
hence this poem, her good graces sought!

but to get certain memories I want,
but can't recall for I never had them,
she, for me doth record:

Imaginary space within a dream
floats in a subconscious sea.
Our affection grows from
tremulous beginnings
its dramatic unfolding
vestige of the soul whispers
and lingers in twilight and ice

Shared breath,
in time our leisured rhythms
savored sweetly match kiss for kiss.

Words in parody drop,
one by one.
enmeshing me in rippling sorrow,
once again you've moved
just beyond my reach.

curse the teachers and the genes
and my plain vanilla simp vocabulary,
that don't let me write like this,
but to my backyard I go,
where I cull what other's have planted better,
and harvest the new fruits of
crackerjack superior poets

I know nothing about
The semblances of affection,
Or the pretension of passion;
I only know one kind of love:
The one I can't part from,
I really cannot, I really don't not.
I suffer ultra extreme separation anxiety.
No psychotic weird stuff.
We don't want to be apart,
But we do, for years at times.
I'm not a simpering wimp,
Or a wimpering simp.
This love lasts a lifetime,
A sane lifetime.
It makes me want to live.
I'll succumb to prayer and hope,
Whatever to never have it end.
     (I do mean never)
One love shouldn't have to subscribe
To the same cruel rules as everything
     (I do mean everything)
Else.
Something serious is askew
When one love leaves and love
Lives on in the other.
Our love lived once,
But died twice.

Falling quietly into your arms,
still the loudest echo of falling love
Swept of the ground;
as closely to my steady feet, I can't brush off feelings
Or find a reason not place volumes of my pride,
announcing who you are to me
But I often feel as a selfish sinner to say,
"you should belong to me"
And I am like a mirror in your room,
reflecting on your beauty, as the first to see it in the morning,

To be a night-gown that covers you in warmth and comfort,
a resting pillow to the dreams still twined in your hair
And you being a thought resting on my head, of a brain chair;
feeling rude to stare, as you climb into my eye's sight
of your beauty step by step, of your glorious stairs,

Despite you not seeing me, above all those others chasing,
their desires of power they wish they could own, to own you
To enthrone you; those who once sat on their own thrones,
they have polished themselves, for you to sit on top of their heads
I doubt you care; as like a child with someone else to worry
responsibly for their younger's responsibilities,

Still would you ever consider to indulge in me,
with the dews of my eyes and sheering shy smile
I do try and try, till my tired is tired of being tired,
and my spark dies out for the night- lit again by seeing
you another day, and I continue on being fired,

But in the eyes of a looker-on, I'm fried;
spared no sympathy for showing such a simp in me
In the pits of my emotions, falling deeper and deeper,
and I pray in the end that someone would pity me.

Ill, my white lies lay
along black-truth's way,
attracting the stranded
eyes of idle watchers.

Dropped so indifferent
in hands that lead up
to one man's simp'ring god,
our antique worlds meet

and shake. His wired head
sits uncomfortably
near us, and spits words
by life left unspoken.

They feed the moon full
with dwindling day, to flesh
out love and make our steps
half-brothers, again.

Once I feel a little comfort
I'll start blabbering about my dreams in progress
She's so supportive
thinks I'm a renaissance man
for all I find important
all the albums and paintings I've planned
Young da Vinci to a T
Little she know I don't dot my eyes
So I'm just sitting there
looking at a bland pole
with blurry vision
She's too great
so my childish totem's fade
cause all I want is you babe
Streaming binges on the couch
I sense the boredom bubbling up
So I start sifting through that rolodex
of perfect dates in my head
Walking through the naval museum
I still sense things are out of step
'cause a flawless Connery impression
just fell flat
I double down
beat the dead horse
of course, of course
So we sat down on the bench
across from the U.S.S. She don't give a ****
We talk about us
and I'm hit with a brick
"You used to wanna be a rock star
write books, teach college
and travel far
What ever happened to the "Will to Power"
you never used to shut up about
You're just content to be a hobbyist simp
that talks big and likes to hold my hand
I fear I'm holding you back
You've gotten so lazy since we met"
I wipe the brick from my face
and explain that my mind
is the only chains
that stopped me from doing those things
I was never even happy with those lofty dreams
She got me outta a dark place
and I'm content with just
strumming chords on my front porch
and exploring Western New York
So long as it's with someone more gorges than Ithaca
And you'll be my Penelope
She says she doesn't deserve me
but as she stares at Lake Erie
I know she means that I'm not the man she hoped I was
I used to rap about snatching power and holding gold
while beating myself like an opus dei catholic
just for being too lazy and not doing enough
I'm sorry you made me comfortable and happy enough
to live a modest life
(Oh good tidings of comfort and joy
comfort and joy)
Now I'm alone again
and it's opening day
Wreck myself with unachievable goals
just to reel them in
Get secure and balanced 'till
they'll throw me back into the mercury waves
I'm an ancient treasure in the making
don't excavate me.

Si   lent
             fig   ures
                           un   der   a   du   vet
I do not know them
                            the pic   ture is not clear e   nough
                            I simp   ly can't
i  ma   gine   the   breath
              on a   no   ther one’s skin
                             crack   le be   tween   fin   gers
and so - called sparks
                             but I would dis   cover
                             the wi   res that con   nect us
und   er   stand our net   work
              like a be   guil   ing lab   y   rinth
                             quick blink - touch   es
qui   et   ly
                            crad   le your name
                            as if it were
a snow   flake

Reclining ****...

                        For a scribbler in that art magazine

             “…bodiless heads, green horses and violet grass,
             seaweed, shells and funguses...conventionally
             arranged in the manner of Dali.”

           -Evelyn Waugh, Put Out More Flags, pp. 31-32

Making messes is but poor huswifery
Tie-dyeing creativity into
A finger-painting school of assemblage
Asymbol’d: “Reclining **** with Pet Frog”

In praise of working people and, like, stuff -
Your comrade cleaners whom you claim to love
Could tell you what a simp you are. They won’t
Because they need their jobs, dear precious ****

So, disappear your selfies into your ‘phone -
The 1960’s are over and gone

I love you
Even when I’m battling the powers that be
The very powers that lead me to you
And you to me
I love you
Because I’m only human after all.

Green shoots,
little shocks of brilliance
from mouths so oft distracted
tis a wonder they’re not more malnourished

the courage to give an opinion
on long dead white kings of literature
who speak Christ knows what but it ain’t English
is, as they themselves may say, lit

my tired soul has read the lines so oft
I feel peppered for all this,
so finding out Romeo is now a simp,
has the hot blood stirring again

i'm ch _ o _ ck  _ ing
^On ^It
the glass
lodged. in. my. chest.
you / need / some
' '' '''  time
you're not | ready |
For.
This.
yetmydarlingdearestlove
>ask >ing
this to
#stop
is like [[holding onto]] eels;
& trying to find brakes
is like trying ~to ~chew  ~steel;
& i know you mean
the best sweetheart
& i-know-that-time
₩ill  tell
but the be(   space   )tween
the }now{  & then
    is
simp    ly
£iving
h€ll

Drawing a real scene is hard
Remove details keep it simple
Scientific rules are complex
Reduce unknowns turn it simple
Life on earth is getting tougher
Forget excess, be more simple
Human relations are involved
You do better, being more simple
Express your thoughts effectively
Avoid wordiness it’s better simple
You have to work hard to achieve
What you needn’t if you were simp

I used to think I knew what to think
Reading too many books and stuffing my opinions
Never having lived them

But then you'd meet me in my basement
And you coyly asked me how my day went
Shyly loving the attention

I'm tired of playing chump
Every time that you hook up
FOMO as God's playing favorites
From my place down in the pavement
I know that nice guys finish last
Chivalry's best left in the past
While you SIMP for all them
I'm a shmuck but a gentleman

I give you my coat
Hold you close
Provide you comfort when you're crying
Let you get drunk
Drive you home
Each time you break up with that guy again
I'd jump out the shower
Just to buy you flowers
When he forgets your birthday, he's no gentleman
You deserved better than him

Since we were 17 we were always such a team
Just like Buffy's Scoobies
or too many John Hughes movies
And over the years when we'd lose touch
I just wasn't friend enough
For both of us to keep up
With all our changing scenes

I hope you don't feel something missing
With your second husband and your children
You don't find a missing laugh
When you cant find that photograph
I was just a place and time
Best left only to my mind when you've forgotten me
The gentleman, your best friend

I'd still give you my coat
Off my back
In the middle of a snowstorm
I don't even know you now
I'd still pick you up when
your car breaks down
Deliver you safe home
From wherever you roam
I'd jump the next flight
If you call and say you need me
No matter how far we may be, I'm still your gentleman

Hug your husband, kiss your kids
You are still a piece of me and until my end
I'm your gentleman
I wish we were still friends
Some cliche about lost time
Another dumb story or bad rhyme
Insert lame joke here, my dear

Darker lines
Less and greyer hair,
Maybe I'm a little more distinguished
I got this far
Because you were there
I took too long to say I still care
I'm soaking towels every hour
to stop my burning bridges
and I am missing you
my friend
Signed, your gentleman

it sort of breaks my heart, but at the same time... it sort of doesn't...
oh, i'm good in England...
only today i went for a haircut...
Vicky? Nicky? a proper bleached blonde bombshell...
- so those two hours alone must have been nice,
with your parents away on Jamaica?
- the best time of my life...
but i only had one problem... cooking for myself...
oh... no... not cooking per se...
but cooking for only one person... i find it incredibly
impossible to have to cook for only one person...
i cooked a mango curry... ended up eating it for
3 days...
oh my... she's doable... she's ******* doable...
she's all curves... all woman...
i came into the salon in my usual: Karl Lagerfeld attire...
i.e. wearing the same clothes...
with a baker boy cap... here for a hair-cut...
she started to **** herself up... put on extra lipstick
on... pulsating red...
i sat down in the chair before the mirror
and closed my eyes... we talked...
god... she's a plump blush of flesh... i'd do her...
sorry... i would... she might be in her mid-50s...
but i'd still would...
that's the thing... i later walked into a cafe
to buy a coffee... sure... 17? tight ***... petite...
but she cut me with eyes of a shy doe...
i don't do scared... shy...
i do longing... i'm more into that sort of sensation...
i must be an oddity among men...
young women don't really... don't really
pressure me with attractiveness that might
want me to stick... around...
n'ah... it's boring... the canvas is blank...
sure... it looks great on paper...
but our music tastes would be mismatched...
or our taste in books...
at 35 i'm looking... in the range of 35+ 35 - 55...
if there's a child? that's a bonus...
little Frankenstein monster experiment...
maybe we might learn German... Greek or Russian
together?
it just had to be necessary to not get rich...
to have a choice of young women...
my own age... that's better... or older...
i'm happy... burned by Jeminah...
even after giving her the wine,
the banana loaf, the flowers on Valentine's Day...
struck down on my last turn on my bicycle...
oh man... she burned me... but she shouldn't
have lied about me drinking on the job...
so much for dating alcoholics...
wait... i am an alcoholic... but i'm the sort that
puts out cigarette butts on his knuckles for scars:
i'd hate to get a tattoo...
someone who has punch-ups with his shadow
and ends up with a plum-hue mascara under
his eye... that's me...
i tried to reassure her: my grandmother was married
to my alcoholic grandfather...
it's not a sixth sense... you can't smell alcohol
no more than you can smell ****...
of a donkey: a mile away...
but you know how women are... when it comes
to drinking... those stomach cramps
and my faking of loving-up... well...
chances are... she might have thrown a knife at me...
or punched me... and men drink because?
the women are subservient Turkish galls?
in a society where men are men and women are women?
o.k., sure, she burned me...
i don't need to have my time wasted...
to the brothel i went... ah... she's not Khadījah...
the name of the first wife of the prophet Muhammad...
KHEDRA... well... lucky me... ****** Valentine's day...
wait... wait a minute...
are all these English trying to suppose i believe
they're these ******* nuns?
or are the nerves getting the better of them?
even if they are single mums?!
what, a, waste, of, time... i'm not waiting...
i'd rather get the full-on with a Turkish ******* than...
wait for these... ahem... "nuns"...
i'm not waiting... the bus has already left...
KHADRA... not KHEDRA... which means:
green... verdant... quick! quick!
what's green on the Turkish leash of the tongue?!
my eyes are green... coincidence?
what's the word for verdant?
i need to tell her that my irises are the colour
of her name... in Turkish... i hope the grammar is similar
and i don't come off as *******...
hey... if single mums can shun you...
young girls are in it for the gynocentric: whatever...
while the prostitutes are honest...
3 days of her sending my selfies...
today... a picture of her exposed torso... with an emoji
of open lips covering her belly-button
and an emoji of a kiss on her underwear...
if the prostitutes can be truly human...
why bother the rest of the women?

mind you... sort of funny... my hairdresser remarked
something on the lines... Aryan...
you look Aryan...
well... historically... there was this tribe of Iranians
that arrived on the platitudes of Poland...
they were known as the Sarmatians...
Poland was once known as Sarmatia... Sarmaci...
well... it's not an interracial slur...
it's more an intra-racial slur: Moskiewskie Gałgany...
Muscovite... hmm... what's? a 'gałgan'?
well... closest approximation is: bałwan...
snowman... funny, that... the Germans of
the mid 20th century pretended to be both Aryans
and... mythological Norse folk...
can't play two "etymological folk"...
the "Aryans" invaded former Aryan lands of the Sarmatians
to the east... ****** land...
if... an English girl in the 21st century describes
you as... having Aryan features...
you're getting credible information...
the Russians and the Ukrainians...
what? former Swedes...
                  sure... Кaцaпы... KATSAPY...
all intra-racial slurs... historical grievances...
i guess that slur was derived from the word:
PAJAC... clown...
  
now i have two songs deafening me...
dua lipa's love again
and mabel's tick tock...
   although... when i see her next...

now for that lesson in Turkish...
                   hey... there's not time to sort of shy away
from touching from kissing from *******
in general...
i'm no donkey... that English nun type can pretend
to be dangling a carrot in front of my face
until the point i go all cross-eyed...
i could... sort of simp-it-out, but...
n'ah... i'm going for the alternative...
and there's always an alternative...
next time i see her... and that'll be soon...
i don't listen to her music choice...
i want something spectacular...
it's 18 minute of pure bliss...
                Jordi Savall... el cant de la sibil-la...
catalunya... montserrat figueras...
la capella reial de catalunya...
why? she really doesn't have to talk during
*******... it's enough that her
onomatopoeias and ****** contortions are
apparent... i don't need "god" or god in
the bedroom, there is no need for words...
i don't need an instruction manual...
            i want to keep it as animal as possible...
vowels, vowels and consonants coupled...
but no instructions... no ***** talk...
i want the eyes to speak... in myths...
                       i'll get my way: i'm sure of it...

now, of course, it might not be the perfect Turkish
grammar...

sen dedim: inshallah...
Khadra... hangi en anlam: en Yeşil... Jannah...
sizin isim: renk benim iris... yeşil

you said: god willing...
Khadra... which... who am i fooling?
i'm trying to translate like an idoit...
   i don't even know the basics... of... Turkish...
bacl to sq. one... throw a bunch of nouns about...
green is yesheel... Khadra is a name given
to girls... the green grass of paradise...
oh... she's most certainly the green grass of paradise...
give me two more of these and i'll tell you
to stuff my former fancy of having 72 Alsatian shepherds
for company for all of eternity...

the western woman will not have a Monopoly
on my libido... to hell with it....
i've seen what canvases are already "taken care of it":
most? interracial: fat... ugly... seriously... ugly...
beached whale types... pink hair and... running
on steam... or whatever it is that they're running on...
i'm trying to think: orange juice?! please let it be
orange juice? no orange juice?! ****...
go figure... pink feminist hair...
i wouldn't touch that **** with a mile long stick...
i might get herpies... i'm pretty sure i wouldn't
get any with a *******...
oh, i know who's banking that ****'s worth of an
"account"... the African fresh off the boat...
the gene pool geniuses...
i would be forever barking up the wrong tree...
nature: harsh reality: as long as i get the right
sort of ****... Western women's arguments:
oh... but these women are being exploited...
are they? £120 an hour? i'm working ****** shifts as
a security guard... travel for 2 hours each way...
get paid for 5 hours...

i don't we're at a time to: bargain...
Western women are not that much... to think about:
or subsequently engage with...
mad dog ladies... Dubai prone...
sorry... there's only so much time you can waste
on pretending-it nuns...
i think i'll rephrase that: throw some nouns at
her like hieroglyphics... since i can't find the appropriate
conjunctions...

my god, what am i going to do about Monday morning,
that coffee date?
sure as ****, Sherlock... you'll go to the Turk
for a beard trim, either either tomorrow or
over the weekend...
you'll make this weekend epic...
you'll cycle to either central London
or to Epping... either trip...
you'll do more push-ups... you'll lift some extra
weights... beef up... puff up...
you'll do that...
you'll also think about how you'll spend
your first earned money.... in a long long time...
sure... i'll spend it in a brothel...
i don't gamble: lucky... it's not like i have
*** regularly... it's worth spending money
on art galleries, brothels... alcohol...
after coffee, oh she wanted to meet up:
i know why... 10 or so scrambled messages later:
you have a physical copy of your book?
i have a physical copy of my book?!
it's not merely a pdf file?
it's not merely a pdf file?!
oh, right, right... yeah...
no wonder she wanted to meet up for coffee...
it will seriously take a miracle
for me to become loved up like the teenager
i once was available / able to...
who knows...
   my heart is hardened... yet it's not forever lost...
it will take a miracle...
it would probably require dating a woman
with a child... whereby i could turn my affection
onto the child, rather than stress it for a woman...
that would be so much easier...
a bit like petting a cat... i think loving a child
unconditionally would be so much more easier
than loving a woman within the confines of her...
ahem... expectations... conditions...
yet somehow still "unconditionally":
what a load of *******! seriously...
i was feeling slightly existed, slightly stressed...
hell... one stone, four birds...
took a **** while taking a **** while jerking off
while subsequently taking a shower...
on the throne of thrones... later to the sea of Galilee for
my "baptism"...
me... at the brothel...
what do i see? the worst kind of *******...
honest to god, is it really this easy these days?
this simp: cough up dough?
for what?! a picture?!
no touchy-feely... no *******?!
no feel of the *******... no sniffing of the hair?
no conversation face to face?!
are we talking about men... or ******* pseudo-eunuchs?!
at least eunuchs were put in charge
of the Ottoman harems...

i pay for what i can get... i'm not paying for some
****** video of a girl ******* of showing
off her ****, her vaginal region...
i'm paying for the entire body,
i rub my finger-tips prior to entry to the brothel
against concrete, to rough them up...
to subsequently touch something... soft...

and with the current climate, socio-political and
what not...
oh... oooh... some of us diagnoses as having
a psychotic disorder, complex...
diagnoses as schizophrenic...
how we wait for the S.J.W's...
i'm gagging for some blood sports...
the whole victimhood mentality:
i'm waiting...

over 10 ******* years in a de profundis hell-hole...
no help... helped myself...
i feel... resurrected...
no friends... friends ****** off... **** 'em...
better for them that they did...
better for me...
i could become myself...
will i leave traces of being an arrogant ****?
of course i will... did i break any law?
last time i was hand-cuffed was for *******
in an alleyway...
the police-officer cuffed me, shouted at me...
arrogant little *****...
a female officer was noting it all down...
i was un-cuffed and waked home
scot-free...

oh **** me: i'm charged... my heart is raging...
if the coffee is not enough,
where to? no, not a gallery...
i'll tell her: Havering County Park...
SEQUOIAS... over 100 example of these
gentle giants... just off Havering-atte-Bower...
a village that remembers days prior
to the Hastings invasion...
i guess i'd think about ******* her in the woods
all the ****** time...

perhaps she's like me...
she like the smell of horseshit in the morning...
perhaps she likes the scent of... frost...
an entourage of trees... mud...
sickly sweet mush of...
the gravity of winter... the exiled insects...

ooh... in this little dynamic of victimhood...
where do i lie, on the spectrum?
will they come after a schizoid?
these femnist-fashists?
these trans-gender critical-race-theory
inclusivity coaches?
after a schizoid?
oh... little ol' me thinking that we're off-limits...
i have reached a pinnacle,
now i just hallucinate my name...
when i do... it feels like the wind is speaking...
it's actually very pleasant...
i become doubly aware...

it really wasn't a mistake having to take 2 years off of
my 20s to read Heidegger's Sein und Zeit...
working as a steward at public events...
believe me... dasein?! being: there...
i know where i'm supposedly to be...
i have an added focus...
                my role is only minor...
but it's the optics...
i look the part... and... oddly enough... people
respect me for me looking the part...
i'm not a manager...
i'm just a pawn... but... like Louis XIV said...
appearances guide all fathom-ability
of undercurrents... non-verbatim...

that word should not exist as a hyphen compounding...
fathom-ability ought to be one...
are these English ******* going to keep up with
their forefathers, the Swabians, the Pomeranians...
or are we going to get more of this...
*******... shrapnel?!
conjunctions, definite / indefinite articles...
personal, huh?! pronouns?!
you sick or something, or just ******* *******?!

it truly takes a supposed madman to tell all
the supposed sane people to:
get the **** back in line... to return to a collective
sensibility, to stop appealing to
the irritations of minorities...
no... i'm done...
i'm not here to entertain one minority status
above another minority status...
i guess the S.J.W.s "forgot" to fight for the rights
of... people like us... diagnosed as schizophrenics...
sorry... did you forget?!

i'm not even role-playing... i'm prescribed not working
more than 16 hours a week...
although... i could kick-*** for about 15 hours more...

from under the yoke of ******,
from under the yoke of Communism:
and those ******* Russians...
to... ahem... this?
letf-oids?

*******: hälftenmenschen...
no... not half-people: no, not halbmenschen...
halves-people...
i already employed a verb within the confines
of the noun...
love received: is the love given...
if i'm to be deemed schizoid:
above bilingual... love received:
is the love given... simple, no?

godsmack: awake...
i just want to trap this one little... fly of a lefty
in my architecture of a web...
then again... being a spider is no fun...
this one little rabbit... a dark forest:
and i am a fox... ewignacht!
dehnbarschatten!

       erweitert pupille: ich sehen!
blut mischen mit adrenalin!
   ja! freude! energie! zweck und arbeit!
ja!

bring them my way... i want to eat something...
ich wollen zu schmausen!
(itchy teeth) juckendzähne!

my archetype? Diogenes of Sinope,
i love people...
love them to bits...
esp. when... they don't engage in
giving me their.... ******* opinions!
come one minute, gone
the next!

- guess what, though...
they want to ask me about diacritical
marks in Latin,
Haguel (south korean)....
katakana "vs." hiragana?
sure, i'll reply...
but not here, not now....

Expressive as onomatopoeia,
Come in with that boom, bang, clash.
That assalamualakum ****.
A dismissive villain with mad ideas,
Make these bad divas act up like Madea.
Rebel and find out *****!
When I lay this piece upon ya sis!
Nobody ruthless as this!
So dark and faceless, ya would think…
I was made in the abyss.
Made something out nothing,
Big bang up in this!
I sustain, pull the clip.
Like Rick James, I’m the ****!
Cold blooded, **** the simp.
Yes I made it, I admit!

Coked out chollos,
Cringe when I hear em say yolo,
Sirens ring out,
Uh oh here come the popo,
The supposed superheroes,
That is till they be tempted by dinero,
Eating out the hands of monsters,
Whose the real bad guy? Al Pacino.
Want protection pay the mobsters.
Wondering the difference between that and our tax dollars?
Don’t kid yourself brother!
Politicians are the real Godfathers!
Where God is replaced by the almighty dollar.
That could turn a scholar,
To a Rottweiler.
A sharped dressed deviant that wears a white collar,
But instead of being arrested they are honoured.
Left feeling sick to my stomach,
Watching this union between cops and robbers.

Living in a reality where dark knights get annihilated.
Matched the profile,
So, better prepare to be violated!
Don’t matter if all your life you’ve been docile.
That **** don’t matter when it comes to hatred!
Where tragedies like the green mile,
Happen every other day!
Justice is dead,
If it ever really lived in the first place!

"you seriously didn't just use  ' vantablack ' , that's  too modern , harshly modern infact .",

"amateurish

"we all have phases of great sensitivity and heartbreak"


"that is why criticism is painful to take and hard to digest"

"sometimes when certain people exit our lives, so does our motivation to write"
"every poet really is their own harshest critic you know"
"we can see when our work is not exceptional"

"we arent so opposite  after all"

"someone's poetry is their soul naked in ink ."
"when they leave it becomes a bitter reminder of what is lost"

"I'm the guy with the "kitty queries"




"everything's better when it's  brief  ."
"every thing except love perhaps"
"on second thought im not sure"

"god knows we are eternally short of good people"

"we shall see if your self deprecation is baseless or not"
and how would you do that

we shall find out along the way



are you a late sleeper or an insomniac
the latter


particularly because I'm sick so
sick of?
dengue apparently, but life if you will
I am already dead
this body moves but the soul is dead
interesting affliction you have there


a self proclaimed simp
  rare indeed
you are never letting me forget that right?
never.


"it's kinda self pitying  ,   the things we did for the obsessions we gave up"

"there is no risk , i can do it wherever i feel like"
"enjoy your freedom o wild one"


you're quite the mystery arent you
am I ?
you do seem to be
I am nothing
nothing is nothing,
him everything is nothing
her and nothing is everything
so you're everything by the same logic.



him
"no i am not interested in love or any kind of demanding relationship at the moment she is just another online friend."


"btw you look so cuddle able


him "i would give anything to be anywhere but here.


"you seem so at ease
in front of the lens
i am comfortable behind it."



her - one day you'll think differently
him- i have thought differently and now i think this
her- and it will change again
him- "it wont,"i will just wait till my  forever buddy comes along in my life"

"and then that's  it ."



"your and my eyes are exactly the same by every aspect"
her- show
him- shape, size and colour

im becoming fond of your honesty"

"i haven't been held in 3 years"


"whats your favourite time of the day"
"night"
"what time"
"4.20"
"its 4.30 in the morning it's always 4.30 in the morning \n- charles bukowski"
or 3.03"
"what about you ?"
"5 am"
"best sleep and my name means dawn"
"and when i slip out of the house at 5 am"
"everything is silent"
"and its freeing"
him- the silence can be deafening
her- its refreshing to me
because my own thoughts drown me out


her-"you have nice hair"
him-  "you can cut the fake praise **** please"
"you have a  cute face  , now ****"

"ayo no obligatory reciprocation ****"
"not obligatory reciprocation , had been j thinking of when to say it and this seemed the prefect time to"


"he doesnt seem to be fighting for it"
"so why on earth am i fighting so hard to stay"
"not everyone means what they say not everyone is like us

him-"people are like shadows"
"they disappear in times of darkness"

him-"no one is worth the effort"
her- you really believe that?


"the haunting of bly manor, ep 6, 39:16

"for all this world stands for you could be crying at this very moment and i will never know"
"i wont go today"

its just words
words and words
i have a hundred more if that's what it will take to make you believe


him "love  has been known to blind even the greatest human beings"


flood out your sorrow , oh fair maiden"
"thank you for letting me"
"oh gallant knight"


"warm , fuzzy ,  dreamy"


her for when if we fall out"
him we wont


"i haven't cut my nails , otherwise i would have showed it and you would have fallen in love


"what are thr first three colours that come to your mind when u think of me"
how tf do you come up with these questions



him - "i am immaculate"


"i have to do 75 question of differentiation and indeterminate forms of limit to show my tution teacher to when i go today"
i am speed
"okay lightning mcqueen"


him - "that cap looked so warm and you had been wearing it all day was worried you might melt your brains out",


before you go , whats your biggest fear
its a sad answer
tell me
save it for the night



don't use fullstops
they intimidate me
him- they are definitive.
him   - like that.


him -can i save that?
her-  sure
keep your memories

him "i am a mirror
i am who you are to me


her- you're beautiful
him -  my mind or me?
her - you
him - who am i ? my body or my mind
her- that's for you to judge
both and neither

... a whimpering simp?
NO.
A simpering whimp then?
Nnno! Close though.
A stable...
     Absolutely not.
                                          ... genius
It'll come,
and when it does
it'll be like a blue bolt
from above;
the dark will give way,
the house on the hill will light up
like a prison escape.

Karen took the kids
and all the jars with lids
she was upset
that I gave are cat ket
it was spaced as ****
it started to cluck

it was foaming from the mouth
it started to eat all the door nobs around the house
it was a strange little ******
I preferred the dog it was a little sucker

Karen called me a simp
even after I gave the cat a limp
she told me to leave
and so I heave
and I refused as I had 8 kids
but the she took them along wit the lids

Baby boy-
I am not nearly
THAT big of a simp

You may be cute,
But ain't nobody
THAT ****** cute