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Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
early on i left an imprint for me to remember,
kinda like 2 x 2, equating to 4,
not as simple with words:
i like this dialectic between Dionysian and
Apollonian attempts to express aye arr parley!
shake the pine trees to get the toothpicks
like you might get a mojito, onward! toward
El Dorado! transgressing 24 hour hours
and you get the flavour:
first beer in in from dieting, oh ****, it's bitter,
second beer, mm, sweeter... then the headline
of whiskey and coke... Kazakhstan nice... yok sh'eh mash?!

three movements working their way,
those conquered and exposed to direct roman rule,
presiding over the "charm" with roads, western europe,
now they're so pride to reach that far back,
mention Boudica, one, more, *******, time!
i'll give you Britain that made Louis XIV
the peasant king at Versailles, and Charles II
wise with a Guy Fawkes firecracker... mm, guess
it happened here! in the yeast of a baker's
reincarnation via Malachi's heresy:
Elijah coming soon? Elijah not coming any time
you blunt sword of monotheism excluding
the chance of many, democratic influences!
either the fish or the aquarium...
the aquarium... a billion of them plus Islam will
be anarchic China, people never wish for better,
they only wish to better themselves,
including the social strata stampede that's necessitated
in the process... scientific positivism of Enlightenment
died, the absolute necessity (god) / the absolutely
necessary thing became trapped in the Bermuda
or the Copernican triangle, no good for crossing
oceans, just ably whirling east to no east outside
the atmosphere, try me with two thing:
Copernican vectors with a stable point constantly moving,
rather than sunny, constantly expressed economically
as usurper against usurer and the university grant
of simony, although worthy of an actor to spread
charitable work and paedophilia in Asia dubbed
Portuguese Missionary - well i'm sure the apologetics will
come, my neighbour hugging her dog watching television,
closest kin of the genesis story having secondary reminders
determining whether the lie was white or instructive,
a joke or seriousness - indeed entombed in treating these
words as a holiness worth for all the present religious attire.
absolutely necessary Kant said,
he also said: you said omni- etc., indeed you're on a
roundabout of intellectual yawns, there's nothing new here!
i need god as a concept of vectors and cursors, mediating
more than the caging of man's affirmation of himself
with Freud... the sounds and equally shared optics
need to accommodate a oneness, god is a predicate
of essential function: a. the triple affirmative:
i, thought, existence... something to concern myself with,
b. the duo affirmative:
denial, thought, existence... the arithmetic goes further,
i am writing quickly hence i will not brood over,
except a comparison in cinema, the film *hostel
(2005)
and pretty much all of Hollywood's 1970's grit output...
take for example Al Pacino in the panic in needle park,
you know what i see? modern american interpretation
of what eastern europe represents, the farts
leave flamboyant Amsterdam hopeful for Slavic ******,
they come to Slovakia, and it hits them,
the passive lack of jealousy and need to impress
building a chrysler building, the oddity like landing on mars...
but it's already been done with, New York in the 1970s,
the same slavic grit, even the way the cinematography looks
like the colours were shaded with a peppering of sand...
new york in the 1970s is like Eastern Europe in
the horror set in 2005 in Slovakia... globalisation's paranoia,
there are still people out there who we can't ascribe
metaphors to being exclusive: no iron lady lifted the
iron curtain, the iron lady had an iron skirt, and she
couldn't lift that up either... Churchill puffer a cigar
and a million bees emerged heralded by Edward the Confessor.
that's the relation though, Hollywood's 1970's urban grit
and what the tourists encountered in Slovakia in 2005,
a sleepy kingdom, 2nd Mongolia, second to none,
which i beg to differ with, given the Scots were tight
stretching 2 pence copper coin to invent copper wire
and the Swiss (also in hilly surroundings) have us
elaborate paedophilia via Nabokov catching butterflies...
hardly two mountain ranges and hardly two plateaus.
it's called exotica these days... yep... the dissection of
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth and the emergence
of both Lach, Ukrainian, Lithuanian, Latvian, Estonian
and White Russian is what the Czech say made them
speak both cesky and saksonski... tseba! holy roman
prague ****, disintegrated into the Austrian intervention...
very much as if: thank you for defending Vienna from
the Ottomans, Jan Sobieski.
but the Jews got reparations at the end of the ordeal,
and western Europe received the Marshall Plan...
eastern Europe received Marx... too proud they said,
it's not exactly Mama Russia surrogate,
it's Papa Khan also... moon gall! no news from Mongolia
i hear, sooner a tale from an American zoo
where a retired silver-back dragged a baby from
drowning in an inch of water, hero shot,
where were the parents? a four year old can hardly
sit on a kitchen stool let alone climb over zoological
fortifications... ah the blessing given unto man
by Iblis to ape ably a delay he has no chastity over:
if Iblis defended his pride, then man can but
defend his chastity - Iblis was given a longer time-frame,
man was given a shorter time-frame, Iblis'
choice expands furthest into myth, man's choice
implodes further into repetition - for Iblis' mistake
was but one, when knowing of man's aplenty;
it is said that when a man is to become a father,
he relives his childhood - legality i say would have
obliged me, but pride took no notice of symbols as signatures
of such love, especially given the expenses,
or as in the supermarket today, the cashier invested ?
into the one buying the goods:
- where is she? you're not together any more?
- oh, she's moving to York, it's her work, she has to.
- you're not moving with her?
- well, it's only for 2 years, and then she'll be back,
  training, it will take her 4 months...
na'h ah... bye bye...                       she ain't coming back...
tell you what mate, keep a cat, the most selfish animal,
bestia ex solipsism - no necessary petting by constantly
showering it signs of jealousy and ownership and upkeep,
as if having to punch a gorilla to hold hands.
i love feminism for one thing only:
it made sexism a branch of Darwinism, *** warfare...
in relation to me? two girls chatting away:
- *******! how could he leave you!
- but he did!
- what ***** made him do it!
- philosophy!
don't get me started on those who read very little
and can't allow philosophy a poetic form, and necessarily
have to plagiarise Aristotelian stylistics to be considered
philosophy (albeit only in scholarly musings).
i'm sure it was something about the fruits of our
presupposed wisdom that bore knowledge that individuated
us, to the point of extremes, as hardly scraps for
vultures, to no animal nobleness, parasitic amongst each other,
defining the 16th century or such desires to keep
afresh, minted and pampered for the next cohort of dupes...
some find the memory of dogs towards us keener
than our fellow men should wish to share...
the animal domesticated and not eaten is seemingly our
prefect to walk toward a seize-less craft of un-exhausted thought,
only un-exhausted because of missing interaction,
say there, is that Hegel's mirror (master) and narcissus (slave)?
the emergence of these belittled nations is clear in
western europe, the bombing of Libya,
the usurpers of Syria, the once conquered having a taste
for empire and colonial rule think they cherish
the biblical conundrum when the resurrection was inclined toward
the lands Sven and Mietek - toward the lands
of conquerors and the ones converted -
four movements thus (sketched):
a. sonata: βορας ηλιος - μακεδων να ινδια
b. adagio: βιργιλιος ως καντηνoν -
                  μεσoγειος: μαυρος (ex),
κoκκινος (ex), ειρηνικoς (ex),
ατλαντικoς (ex), βoρειος (ex), βαλτικη (ex),
south a poet, north a philosopher,
from only one sea came two oceans and many other seas
to sustain the thirst for seawater among men!    
c. scherzo: Casimir the 3rd welcoming the Jews.
d. sonata: an die mitternachtfreude - more like a calm
before taking up the arms.
Max Neumann Dec 2019
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry
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Why? Because people from all over the world have found something here: a place of belongingness.

Please note that I am just a poet on hellopoetry who loves this website sincerely. I am not affiliated or personally related to the founders of hellopoetry.

I rarely ask to get my poems reposted, but I would encourage everyone to spread the message, possibly even outside of hellopoetry, for new active users and possible contributors.

It would break a lot of hearts if hellopoetry wouldn't exist anymore.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
i know it pacifies,
national socialism was experimented
in germany,
but national capitalism took over,
you have a McDonald and a KFC
in Slovakia and other places...
it's not killing people,
but it's definitely numbing them...
they have no chance of a cultural
uniqueness, this national capitalism
has america in BIG PRINT seen
everywhere, and china in small
print worn everywhere: MADE IN;
which basically means everywhere
starts becoming a lookalike alike alike alike
*******, hence the emergence of
internet shopping, everyone becoming
like the rich kids: pool, snooker hall
and all other social functioning distractions
enabling congregation under one roof,
with richy rich over here, having to pay
for a ******* too gluttonous to do it himself;
hey, it's just a muscle kid...
the clergy have a monopoly on the *****:
esp. if it's all girlie girl girls.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
winter is coming, it was bound to happen,
my fingers started their funny itch of cold,
little nitrogen piranhas with atom-speed randomisation
eating me up, on the face of it -
but there was me, a bench,
doing optic paralleism, in common tongue going
cross-eyed
looking at a street-lamp -
**** man, it’s not exactly blurry,
well it is...
but my left & my right eye is looking at the same thing
and it’s doubled-up...
meaning the other idiotic thing -
one eye explained means out eyes translate
things upside down... two eyes... synchronicity...
two eyes work on the principle of us seeing
cross-eyed, two eyes work on the algebraic principle of x,
"going cross-eyed" is actually optical parallelism,
as ever counter-intuitive...
when it gets real cold -
you got fire -
and that’s music to my soul -
when the lights get low - we burn brighter -
woah woe -
even in darkness -

well, i love walking the streets in the dark,
drinking my beer -
i get to cool it on my winded bends,
i get to remember the one suicidal girl
who talked me on msn messanger when we were at school
almost everyday,
in between playing multiplayer age of empires ii,
me chosing the teutons building in new york squares
for the idle place to grow organic cucumbers and raising
chicken abortions...
to be crushed by the persians with muhammad entering
with the elephants...
dude... my farms! my villagers!
i asked the girl to see a movie with me,
she declined...
i walk past her parents’ house these days...
pretending to smoke cigarettes in my ~37°C unit
breathing out the coiling cold...
watching the cold strata of the universe in constellations
hooded:
doing the opposite to narcissus, finding a god
in love with his shadow,
only because the shadow feeds less perceptive critiques
concerning body mass index...
the god who fell in love with his shadow
found it to be warm... unlike kant who found it as cold.
so yeah... tomorrow i’ll buy me a pair of gloves...
stop the speed of nitrogen piranhas biting me...
and execute a poetic non-linear explanation
of what newton might have said via pythagoras
away from photonos speeding in the equivalent
of a light droplet like in the egg-timer or clepsydra:
a single photon droplet is equivalent to a year in
our pentagram perception - light years away...
now the crossword:
κλεπτειν / kleptein, 'to steal' and φως / phos, ‘light:’
so we get the instrument of measure - κλεπτφως / kleptphos.
i had to do it, i did steal james merrill’s book recitative
to read it on the way through greece, macedonia, serbia, hungary, slovakia
and then to katowice in poland to see my grandparents...
originally prompted by the words of my father:
‘we’re starting the 2012 olympic village project, you’re starting tomorrow.’
i smoked a joint and got paranoid, flew
from london to athens before all the three graeae took
to prophecy, with me
shutting my eyes, pointing with my index to
the future drinking absinthe in the streets of athens
with the ****** junkies walking shooting up
with children in buggies.
well i saw belgrade enveloped by stereoid snow on the flat plataeus
of serbia, away from the macedonian mountains.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2018
Jack awoke in his usual pain, un-
daunted by it. We're all gonna die
someday is his morning mantra these days.
Isolate the variable, anything
you do to one side of the equation
you gotta do to the other. Practice
zen, eat less, an empty belly's holy.
These are the rules for old men waiting.

On the other hand, attachment to self
and to things to do. Clean the house, watch for war.
Count syllables, teach English to immigrants
from Slovakia or Syria.
Advocate vocational education
in the schools. Jack has much to do, a new
administration, low social security.
He goes slow as the day will allow.
--title from a novel by Peter Pouncey
Janna Smith Feb 2018
A week ago, you became part of the statistics called "The number of suicides of children and young adults in Slovakia". Girls aged between 0-19 years have always been the smallest part since 2011, and it happened anyway. And now I am reading your most favorite author and I can’t understand anything. You and those poems. And you aren't here in order to explain it to me, so I'm just reading and losing myself in a text that I still have maybe a chance to understand, unlike you.

I miss you, sweet dreams.
If you are interested how it looks in my mother language:

Už je to chvíľa čo si sa stala súčasťou štatistiky s názvom “Počet samovrážd detí a mladých na Slovensku”. Dievčatá ktorých vek bol medzi 0-19 rokov mali od roku 2011 vždy najmenšie číslo a aj napriek tomu sa to stalo. A ja teraz čítam tvojho asi najobľúbenejšieho autora a ničomu nechápem. Tebe, ani tým básniam. A ty tu nie si, aby si mi to vysvetlila a tak *** čítam a strácam sa v texte, ktorému mám ešte hádam šancu, na rozdiel od teba, porozumieť.

Chýbaš mi, spi sladko.
Breeze-Mist May 2016
America isn't purple mountains and prairies
It isn't 1930's New York City
It's not marble columns and domes
It isn't crazy politicians and gridlock in Washington

And it certainly isn't Red, White, and Blue. Australia, Russia, Slovakia, and Great Britain are all red, white, and blue.
Heck, they're the exact same shades of red, white, and blue

America is freedom
America is tolerance
America is acceptance

America is about taking your traditions
And mixing them with the traditions of people around you

America is about saying what we want to
And not what someone else wants us to

America is about letting the people take the reigns.
"We the people"
It's the first line of the constitution

It's why we have memorials, marble columns, and congress

It's why people died fighting for it

Don't forget it

America is an ideal
Not a place
Not a person
Not an object

America is as beautiful
As we choose to make it
*what do you want it to look like?
This is about what America is depicted as vs what (in my opinion) it actually is (or should be). I actually wrote this three years ago, but looking at it now, I realized I should post it.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
|
     brexit                                            |
             ­                                    visegrad group

both are parallel movements
   of kindred spirit -

    lay them horizontally
       calling the former (a) and the latter (b)
and you receive
   the algebraic definition
         that              a = b;

of course there's the difference in
                                       temperament,
as you'd expect -
                but let us count,

n. ireland   (slovakia)
       wales (czech republic)
  scotland (hungary)
           and england (poland)
...

p.s. notes, to return, post-pending:

heidegger's pondering V,
                   aphorisms 35 & 36...
     and the post-creative observation
concerning the germans,
   beginning with hölderlin (ö = œ) -
     i.e. how a poetic observation
concerning the germans within
the modern context of politics.

(a) aphoprism 35, ponderings V (page 240)

......
   ...... .......  ......
  ..........   ......   .......  ......  .

(b) aphoprism 36, ponderings V (page 240)

   )
         and to imagine, it was written in circa
late 1936...
                     given the current state
of affairs...
                the great thwarting toward
the paths of creativity...
           (this is not verbatim) -
where are the great sign of the thwarting?
  the clearest is in anxiety -
             in face of questioning -
  accompanied by a suspicion of all
   "anxiety": which translates itself
as the dreaful sign of impatience...
      i.e. avoiding the vocation toward
   translating an "anxiety"
           as the first stepping stone toward
a transition, akin to the first move
of a pawn on a chess board. (

and hasn't it come to this?
   the anxiousness of our modern youth,
for lack of a better word, i.e. youth -
                in accordance with some sort
of lack of a creative impetus -
         whereby anxiety can be seen as
an transitioning tool - to be creative,
is to constantly be anxious
-
              but to be creative, one has to treat
this anxiety as a flux -
                            hence heraclitus used
the river (if ever a metaphor were more
true) - rather than the sea -
        a man will always step into the same
sea, but in the same river?
                                           hardly;
it's hard to imagine that this observation
by someone coming out of **** germany
  in 1936... resonates as a "genuine" medical
condition in the anglophonic world...
         and that's to say, the superficiality
of certain alliances made -
   esp. that made by the act of creativity,
   and some mental disorder,
                         which is supposed to
be allied with an impetus to create -
         but can the other form of alliance
within the arts be rediscovered?
    i see one already, blooming -
take the invention of polyphony
                    by j. s. bach - and then translate
"polyphony" into literature?
   what do you get? well... the best example
           is w. burrough novel naked lunch,
and yes, the existentialist dittoing out a word
is a shortcut to a metaphor...
          but there's an essential component
allowing the two be comparable:
  namely? poly-   where as the former endears
a layering of sounds,
   the latter (known as the cut-up technique)
uses a venomous utility of layering
  by disorientation...
     with anyone who has an aversion to
the classical linear narrative, of say,
   a jane eyre novel... or has a.d.h.d. -
               they'll gollop the novel down like
      a turkey before christmas...
                    which then transitions into
painting, i.e. movements such as
  expressionism, post-impressionism -
etc.
Joanna Garrido Jan 2019
Countess Dracula

Was she a vampire or evil personified
Elizabeth Bathory the name turns one cold
Treated young virgins as toys to experiment
Bathed in their blood so she’d never grow old
In Hungarian castle she ruled as a tyrant when Hungary, Slovakia, Romania were one
Infamous serial killer gone down in folklore
No justice served for the crimes that she’s done
Solitary confinement, her rooms with no view
within her own castle so nobles saved face
For the 650 young deaths she committed
For the hundreds abducted, with never a trace
Sadistic in nature, her pleasure in torture
Accomplices ready to act on her say
How could a woman so cruel be nurtured
and ****** so many yet not seem to pay.
Four years in her room then the cold seemed to trouble her
Retired to her bed, and the next day was dead
Cold runs through my veins at the pain she’s inflicted
Her name sends a shiver whenever it’s said...... Countess Dracula

30.12.18 JG
Elizabeth Bathory, worst female serial killer in history.
HeWhoExplores Dec 2018
Hanka, my darling

I remember when we first met, a Wednesday Eve if I recall

The sky was dark and beautiful, so clear even when black

When I first saw your face, I smiled almost immediately

Giddy perhaps, surprised and shy more than likely

And in this moment I saw a girl-

So pure and lovely, it made me weep with curiosity––

How does a man bring happiness?

To a soul so rich and sweet, with time so fine and scarce it was now or never

As the days passed and the hours carried on, I couldn’t stop thinking about you

From Slovakia you had come, you had found yourself in a vast world filled with-

Opportunities and enrichment, I could only admire your strength and courage

You have a beauty, so admirable and great I can’t stop looking at you, and a beauty so-

Adorable and real, it makes me smile even when there is no reason to do so

I wish you luck on your next adventure, to Canada you will go, this country you adore so

But remember me, your Irish boy––As I will remember you

Like a beautiful memory; always there and never forgotten

Bye for now, my love
love
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
abandon those ambitions of the modern poetic,
poetry has not theological ambition,
even if it must, it can only skim these waters,
write me a history, a mythology,
write me of today: as it might appear and
be recounted of, a thousand years later,
and be said, to be untrue in a thousand years.

and while i was reading a book review
of the letters of sylvia plath, i stumbled upon
something unexpected,
like a fox in the suburban outskirts of london,
where you can end up running with a herd
of deer without the male to ease the traffic,
or almost get kicked in the head by a horse
who starts nibbling on your hand inserted
into its gob, thinking it's an apple...
i have what can only be summarised as
that which *clarice lispector
cited in dedication
to james joyce, forget what book,
all i remember the opening was her as a child
fused to hearing her father's typewriter,
like a woodpecker tucking into a tree
(and no onomatopoeia is necessary);
it would seem, thus, studying a woman's mind,
that i once had a lover, and now have a daughter,
and that's the hadean part of platonism,
that's ultra-platonism,
that's the most ****** you'll ever manage
as a man...
and you can't even imagine it,
unless you listen to music,
and stumble into shivers, or your heart
is a cage containing a kangaroo kicking
its way out from the confines,
with that awfully sounding thumping of
kickboxing...
poor choice of words, that, i will admit,
but platonism can reveal itself in another way,
not that a man may befriend a woman,
but that a man may be turned into a father-figure
and contemplate the fancies of a figurative
case of incenst, and yes: the marquis de sade's
book (as titled the act be) is his best work...
but while i was sitting in quicksilver
(moonlight) it all seemed to come together,
then apart, then back together...
you know how the astronomers debunked
pluto as a planet?
well... i had to debunk mercury as a planet
too...
to me mercury is a "moon" of the sun...
it has all the details of qualifying as a moon,
its rocky, it's not a gaseous giant,
why even bother calling it a planet?
and all it took was sitting at night looking
at the quicksilver layering on almost all things...
i could still see the moon from my window,
so i conjured upon a scenario,
and what if there was not a case to
argue that the moon could be akin to
mercury, if the earth represented louis xiv
in that geocentrism of a heliocentric man?
surely we have forgotten that even by replacing
the dogma of heliocentrism,
the geocentric model has not eradicated
the heliocentric man, that all revolves around
him, and him alone, whether the earth
be flat, round, triangular,
the heliocentric man always overcomes
the **** sapiens...
the rest of us are geocentric men,
farmers, brewers of beer,
but no matter what the scientists feed us,
there will always be the heliocentric man,
king louis xiv is the best example...
it might be a heliocentric model,
but you still need a geocentric model to read
a map, rather than listen to your g.p.s.
sat-nav... and never mind 3D,
the 3D comes when you're stupid enough
to drive into an ocean, and who said that
2D was outdated? i once read a map,
at wales, glasbury, we were divided into teams,
we were the second team, driven further
afield,
point being: the first team didn't ask
the question that i asked for my team:
where are we?
the quo vadis was in plain sight
when the finger dropped a point on the map,
i already spotted a shortcut, through some woods,
and a field of cows...
we beat team (a) by about half an hour...
again, besides the point,
i had to treat mercury like the astronomers
treated pluto...
i degraded it from a planet status...
and while sitting basked in
quicksilver of our dreamy satellite thought
about twinning the two...
the twins merx (mercury) & luna (moon)...
obviously a boy & a girl...
pluto? that was their pet dog,
neither transgender, nor bi-centric-cis-whatever,
it's trans, sure: but it's, a ******* dog!
in still can't get over the fact that i started
calling moonlight: quicksilver...
i hardly think i'll manage to keep it
repeated over & over until it sediments itself
into a pop lexicon...
but how dull can it become
if you call moonlight quicksilver,
and have not alternative for sunshine?
what would you call sunshine in the alternative
care for things?
there's no romance in changing sunshine
to any other descriptive parallel,
only nights care for eerie romance &
mystique... days are filled with work,
daydreaming, and suntans, and being late for
work, for commuting, for sweat,
crowded trains...
i account for claustrophobia as
a symptom of the day, rather than the night...
and no, i'm not a method poet,
**** me, did you watch that scotland
vs. slovakia match today?
one of the best matches i've ever seen,
two near misses on the cross-bar...
and then the irony of the own goal...
you think that they might just beat slovenia
away?
while in armenia it was 6 - 1 to poland,
and the support was so great that i almost
felt i was watching a home match...
come on: romance it great, mysteria all
the better,
but when push comes to shove,
you're still gonna take a ****, and think about dinner.
collin Sep 2016
so on this
abandoned
breathing
night
lying desolate
complimentary companionship
slovakia in fortune
uneasy with this future function
the ceiling laughs
it's easier to explain to myself
than anyone else
breathing
abandoned
Mateuš Conrad May 2022
502 bad gateway bypass:
chuckle baron,

mishaps at 0.5 degrees
of a circle.


picked up an unfinished cigarette from a jar i have
placed on my windowsill
instead of an ashtray and smoked it...
ooh: those ***** little pleasures...
    so ash on the filter... and in general:
***** cigarette finish...
                 sipping my whiskey...
   found a new band i can't stop listening to...
SJÖBLOM: which is a surname by several
Swedish people... the album? demons...
i always found that the Swedes have an incredible
pop sensibility...
a bit like Abba... a bit like Roxette...
it's infectious music...
   i don't care whether someone calls its "emo":
it's not... there are not screeching vocals of teenage
angst... it's melodic...
it's a bit like discovering Alt-J or the XXs...
or Porcupine Tree...
           then again: it's like trying to find the antithesis
of the major bands of the 1980s...
i needed to get something from that decade
beside only listening to the Cure or Depeche Mode
or Duran Duran... since that's what my uncle was
raised on...
turns out the 1980s were probably the best
decade for music: nothing mainstream matters
when you discover post-punk, dark-wave...
and no: not that pretentious indie music from England
from the 2000s...
   even Brit-Pop is bearable compared to that
strange movement...
   i was a child when Brit-Pop was a major force
to contend with American Grunge and Metal...
      to be honest: anything from the 1980s that wasn't
mainstream is... better than anything mainstream
that came out in the 60s or 70s....
   dad rock...
                well: progressive rock was never mainstream:
King Crimson will still have a special place
in my heart: i don't think there's a better album
than: in the court of the crimson king...
    it's my youth...
        well... Roxette's Joyride... that album is pristine...

tomorrow's F.A. cup final between Liverpool and
Chelsea ought to be fun... i'm already gearing up...
how long to stay up and doodle?
what time to wake up...
    eat something prior leaving?
shine my shoes... doubly iron my trousers...
iron a shirt...
     i already asked to be placed inside rather than
outside... near the VIP section... near the Royal box...
hell... i might even brush against the future
King of England...

i sit back and remember my grandfather:
how long has it been?
   2 years since he passed?
      he was a peoples' person... he could make
people work for him...
   i'm sort of growing into this role too...
even though: we're not talking: proper work...
in a metallurgical plant...
heavy duty stuff... Die Krupps - im schatten der ringe...
i still don't think this is work...
trying to make people not drink in view of the pitch...
trying to make people not drag their mobile-shishas
in stadiums... searching bags...
general security *******...
    i guess i don't think it's much work:
but it would have been... if something like
the Manchester Arena terrorist attack took place...
maybe i'll be made a supervisor again...
last time at Wembley i was frantic...
   a Tyson Fury boxing match... trying to tend to about
20+ people under my supervision...
this one guy... mental health issues...
broke down crying... poor mother:
i'd get slapped about for saying the stuff he said
to her: and she bought him the tickets...
the amount of time it took to calm him down:
panic attacks...

while he was running backwards and forwards...
insulting my stewards...
i had to step in... thankfully this black guy helped
me... a steward under me...
it's like in those 1970s movies about mental asylums...
all the orderly seemed to be black...
i didn't want a response team involved...
i hoped the two of us would reason with him...
and we did... he stayed...
he didn't know London: had no money
and as i sat down with his mother
she told me he was being a little brat...
a 25+ year old man needed my support...
cried in front of me... while i tried to tend to him...
touch... touch... hand on his shoulder...
   etc.: no need for the details...
i just said to him: you paid to see this event!
it's not fair that i'm getting paid to "sort of" see this
event too! look! bright lights! stay!

i still bewilder myself... this isn't work:
i don't treat it as work... i've already got used to
the infrequency of toilet breaks...
sometimes i come home constipated like a turtle
that only ate sandpaper...
   and it takes me about a day later to recover...
i don't even mind standing like a ceremonial soldier
at Buckingham Palace:
i swear... 4 hours on a bicycle is less exhausting
than standing still...
what's sometimes on the news?
ceremonial soldiers dropping from exhaustion:
because they're imitating statues...
which is more exhausting than... movement...

this is a "joke" of a job compared to roofing...
whenever i tell someone i used to be a roofer
they're like: what's that?!
Romford is the capital of roofers...
oh you know, tar work, hot-melt, waterproofing
roofs? on an industrial scale...
that summer of 2004 was probably the most
glorious summer... working, sweating on
a housing project in Beckton...
   shame that in the same year: i was on site
when we heard the news about the bombings in London
my ex-girlfriend was going to catch that
bus that exploded...

i think she missed it because she was running late
or some ****...

i miss those days: because tending to people is
hardly work if you are both an introvert
and an extrovert... although: i don't really know anymore...
i've recently come across this acronym I.N.F.J.
acronym: i watched some videos...
mein gott: what ego-stroking...
sometimes: no, all the time... it's a vanity project...
this sort of categorisation of people
is laziness... psychology is lazy compared
to philosophy...

   ooh! really?! are you that special?!
the term advocate? in the ****** language?
it translates as: lawyer...
   but it's true... i've seen people with these S.I.A.
badges that are trigger happy on violence...
i'm always certain any issue can be resolved by conversation
alone, by building a positive rapour
by standing your ground...

psychology is boo-ring to me... it's predictable:
it makes people predictable: cagey... caged...
superficial... psychology used to mean something...
it used to be theoretical: almost philosophical...
now... since it's pop culture...
it's useless... you better look into the underbelly
of psychology: psychiatry... after all...
psychiatrists are psychologists *** pharmacologists...
that's the ugly side...

or see a priest, or see a *******... or read some
philosophy...
         i might have been hurt...
but it was a sort of a pain mollusks feel when:
that ex girlfriend of mine that was almost blown up
in 2004... she once told me that as a child
she would pour salt on snails...
    
         yeah... and when i was much younger
i came across these two boys that caught frogs...
smear them with lipstick and then set them alight...
go figure...
  
to lessen suffering... i always thought that was best...
perhaps that's why i don't think i will ever
have to put up posters of: LOST CAT...
on trees in my vicinity... how can you,
for ****'s sake, "lose" a cat?! you don't ever "lose" a cat!
the cat has had enough!

just a little bit of tenderness... understanding...
i'm thinking: if this isn't work: crowd control...
i should maybe start looking into work related
to metal health... it would be sort of funny:
a guy, diagnosed with a psychotic disorder
starts working in a mental hospital...
    that would be kind of funny...

on a scale of 1 to 10... how mad are you?
10: mad enough to read Kant and Heidegger in the 21st
century... i think that's mad enough...

what a ******... only two days ago
people were complaining about traffic surrounding
Romford... what happened?
a 22 starling... a boy... not yet a man...
jumped off a four storey car park...
and a pretty pancake he must have made...
between 8:52am and 9:02am he was.... GONe...
gone...

when i was having a hard time during my "breakdown"
i tried to imitate Odin... by hanging myself
from a tree...
the noose was there... i was sitting on the branch...
i dropped... ******... the branch broke...
some of us are not so lucky...
even my godmother mentioned this story once...
drunks and madmen... we have all the luck in this world...
we're talking... 7 storeys... high...
in one of those Communist style living blocks
of concrete...
the guy fell... like a... ******* sack of potatoes...
landed in a bush... about an inch from
a metal ****...
got up and simply said: o kurva!
                           oh ****...
and walked on: for another dabble with some
***** mistress...
                                
i sometimes wish this was fiction...
but drunk people fall like sacks of potatoes...
there's no defense mechanism...
they don't try to pretend to fly flapping
their hands in the air...
i remember when i tilted back and fell down
the stairs... did a Lucifer's dive...
of being born: head first...

i don't remember any bruises: any plum tattoos
on my body... that other time...
when the summer was really... really hot:
unbearable in England... 2016?
i'd wake up gasping for air... run but naked
into the garden and lie on the grass in the shade...
but this other time i escaped my bedroom
and decided to snooze in the hallway...
i rolled from side to side... dropped about 2 metres
down onto the stairs...
like a ******* sack of potatoes...

falling to your death: it must feel like that "analogy"
in Salman Rushdie's the Satanic Verse...
one of the characters drops to earth: laconically...
is that the right word? while the other...
is hardly in a freefall...

this 22 year old darling was lucky: he died...
i would have thought it would take a much higher height
to drop dead like that...
at least he didn't survive the fall and have become
bound to a wheelchair and being fed milkshakes
of protein through a tube...
let's be absolutely frank about this fact...

but that's the luck of drunks and madmen...
i was about to start work on the Olympic Village
prior to the 2012 events...
i panicked when my father said:
you'll be drug-tested: he always ******* lies...
they do test... but not to the point of paranoia...
i was about to start the next day...
what did i do? i ****** off to Athens...
the next morning...

i've never been to Athens! i remember catching a bus
from the airport to some random hostel
in view of the Acropolis... on the mountain side:
illuminated... it truly reminded me of Edinburgh...
although... there's not much on Arthur's Seat...
by comparison... first night?

in Athens?! drinking absinthe... putting a hand over
my eyes... left? right? then spontaneously giggling,
laughing... pointing forward...
from what i later heard: it was the ******* district
of Athens... the philosophical quarter of Athens...
plenty of "bums": did i meet a Diogenes of Sinope?
nope... second day i met a few guys who i thought
were Syrians... i got into a car with them...
we drove far ******* far from where i was staying...
to a *******...

at one point: what's the policy in a *******? no touching...
i had two broads on either side of my shoulder...
mingling my lips with their collar bones...
elbows... that parts of the body men can biceps and triceps...
*******... running out of money fast...

escorted by one of the gorillas (bouncers)
to withdraw some more cash: account empty...
******* my pants... literally... i ****** myself...
over excitement or whatever...
sneaking out onto the streets of Athens:
a city i've never visited... we must have been driving
for about half an hour...
yet my drunken GPS woke up...
how i made it back to the hostel:
i will never want to know...

amnesia...

i return to this memory because i remember the coach
trip from Greece... via Macedonia...
Serbia... via Hungary... via Slovakia...
the snow of Serbia: just outside of Belgrade...
looking like a ghost when i encountered my grandparents...

it's a burning in my mind:
i was so cautious whenever i visited Paris...
when i went to Stockholm... i was always so sober...
but in Athens?! random strangers?!
*******?! **** it...

i remember this girl talking to me dropping a green
peg onto the table: insinuating:
i'd like a private audience with you...
i even remember what song was popular in Greece
back then: Rihanna's: only girl in the world...
it was playing on the bus from the airport...

but "we" freefall like a sack of potatoes...
there's no hands flapping...
that boy was lucky: thank god he didn't end up
in a wheelchair... being fed protein milkshakes
through a tube...
lucky *******...
   i sometimes wish the branch i was sitting on didn't
break and i managed to hand myself to
the eternal night of the gods...

but like drunken GPS: how it gets turned on...
don't ask me:
i must have migrating bird genes...
how do storks migrate back to central Europe?
storks... most associate with ****** mythology...
i must have a pea-sized-brain or something...
since... first time in Athens...
and... driven to a ******* minutes from
the city centre where the Parliament is...
**** my pants... and still manage to walk back
and get a good night's sleep!

it's a bit like when i first came to England aged 8...
what knowledge of the English language did i have?
maybe one... or two words... having seen them
written down...

you want to know the slang term for klawisz?
i.e. klaveesch? a button... a key...
on a keyboard... or a piano...
in Poland it usually refers to someone who's
a prison guard...
everyone: or rather, everyone ought to know
about the failure of the Stamford Prison Experiment...

i'm not a klawisz: in this "work" i'm "supposedly"
doing... i'm the mediator...
i never ask for assistance: those... sadistic little
busy bodies i could twist a wrist off if i wanted to...
talk... talk talk talk...
violence comes last: first comes metallurgy...
first comes roofing...
first comes: the art of judo...
first comes compromise...
brute strength comes last...
  but all these ******* i'm working with are:
technically: "rapists"...
i don't agree with their techniques...
talk... talk... we're civilised people... or: i hope...
i believe anything can arrive at a compromise...

i'm already working with people who have
complaints... made complaints...
like that one time against Liverpool fans
when they played the semi-final at Wembley against
Manchester City...
i had a woman from Liverpool walk up to me and kiss
me... she wanted to feel what ***** on a man's face
felt like... and when they were walking out
en masse... ugh... childish *******...
one started tapping me on my shoulder to my right:
i looked left... "no one"...
then some other started tapping me on my shoulder
to my left: i looked right: "no one" there...

i love that we can return to being children!
that's the whole point!
i know i' return to being a child by being
easily irritated!
but at the same time... this easily irritated me
understands that: it's archetypical!
i'm not serious about: whatever the hell this is...
but people can be... dealt with:
without employing: even the least amount of force...
with my own eyes i can attest that:
convo... mere convo...
if by staging this macho you create a subversive
allure of authority...
guess what... i'd rather **** than showcase a taste
of strength...
        
no no... none of this: you think you have authority therefore:
i have no authority to ****...
but i'd rather **** than showcase
a sputnik's worth of authority...
because this showcasing: this grandstanding is:
a load of *******...
it concerns people who never had
to wrestle with themselves to cycle for 4 hours...
who had to break themselves...

that's all it is...
it's just in plain ******* sight!
why didn't i get laid when i dropped round her house,
twice... when i defended her integrity on one of our
trips back:
on the way toward the shift the guys were
making ****** jokes...
i told her: i'm coming back with you: don't worry...
what did the boys talk about? ******* cereal brands...
she didn't have to posit her elbow on my knee
and relax... she didn't have to do anything:
drink my wine... laugh...
giggle... smile... sing in front of me...
she didn't have to invite me into her home...
she didn't have to make me want to drop her
Valentine's flowers in the middle of the night...

she really didn't require me to make her
feel the requirements of feeling protected...
apparently any football hooligan is immune
to the argument: imagine if i were you mother...
a different story if i just stand there and... wink...
oi oi... ups to two toe nothings, eh eh?! wink-wink...
wanna giggle?!
i know a proper rattle that even giggles me
about...
    i like to... put out cigarette buts on my knuckles...
you... want to try?!
it truly is a: transcendental experience
of "emotion"... well... more like feeling...
well.. more like...
              can i break your knee into cartilage?!

but she was so perfect! ginger 'n' all!
ah man... a ginger girl... just 4 years older than me...
a ******* bombshell!
she already mentioned that this guy wasted
20 years of his life to approach her with enough:
******* or... ego or... ****** or... unicorns...
and i was like: **** it: bungee!

   eh... no wonder... what a glorious shrimp: ginger: imp...
there's another one on the horizon...
but this one is less cougar and more: mousey...
but ginger and freckles is like...
cumin and coriander... powder... curry base!

well i get what i can get... alttürkischrabehaar:
old turkish raven hair...
i was born with a fetish for blonde haired girls...
sorry... the story twists...
gingers... Celtic gingers... time's up... the night's
most welcome.
philosophy: the slow-burn of experience... in one's last recollection: existentialism: out of every instance: an insistence: a preservation of the Hellenic PRO VIVO and not this morphed Roman: PRE VITRO: by sand: from dune to dune: by sea of dryness to the sea of: insurgent hills: boulders of salt: salt like chalk a rock given: enough time... i wonder why i find myself to seclusive and adamant only: by scorn and tear and moan of woman and the tenderness of a cat's lair... o harp and grunt and gurgle around the edges: torture my past last seen: of me, as me: and someone please have my I to switch me on and off on off on off i have sleep on my mind but dreams walking about and around them i place my campfire: rest: assist... auxiliary
that's:
             since the spelling mistakes: redone like a make-up video
with woman:            XI
                                 L
                                LI
                            ­          and that's a-u-X
                                      u-x-I
               ­                     10
                                       1
                                     1 1
                                    50
                        ­                                       51...

that's something special: like the devil's dozen:
matthew, luke, judas, simon peter,
nathaniel,
            mateusz konrad
mateusz konrad
                timothy uzeer
       john
                           Barthamalomew
Bart...
       Barthamoylew: loo! loo! boo! boo!

Q'y'i'y'e

                       and Kye:       Qatohha:
Kevin: *******:
must... sneeze: mustard?! Knaves! Chives!
Chimneys! Open Fields of Poppycock!

WWI: bis (2-chloroethyl) sulfide
in the fields: mustard a **** killer gas:

WWII: diatomaceous earth
             hydrogen cyanide...
Zyklon B: U-boats: Beethoven:
               Panzer: brigadier: BRZĘCZYSZCZYKIEWICZ
                                             ­   ж     ч  ы      Щ ы             ч
sgn: ЦAP


the game of football evolved:
not before my eyes
but when you're sitting watching
snippets of the Sandman
with your mother
with the skull of three mouths
and that's the Holy "the Corinthian"
Spirit to me:
Christianity can be scary
like all the Turkic furor in
Leipzig:
               with the Austrian scorer
and then the game
was on for the last 20min:
  
                 a proper football match:
Edie i love you
but i also love my father
and i also love my mother
and i know Reyla is an oprhan
but i also write
and i know it doesn't give me money
but it gives those around
me the chance to see a spectacle
of one: enamored by life
and finding pleasure in thinking
and abstracting emotions: rather than
using or feeding off of them...
emotions have pronouns
and sometimes they venture
into our minds
without brains like schizoid ghosts
of freezing winds...

Austria vs Turkey:

   not like Portugal vs Slovakia:
a beautiful match

but 0 - 0
probably the most tactical
of matches
with Prima Madonna of Ronaldo
i could comment
on the sport commentary on t.v.
i.e. perhaps Bruno Fernandez will
have a chance to get a kick
at a free-kick?

   point being: football evolved:
from a
4-4-2 or a 4-3-3
or a 5-3-2
               getting the ratios looser:

M. Gregoritsch: sign of the cross
because he was playing against a Muslim:
ahem: Turks are not Arabs
are secular bandits too

modern football formation:
two strikers is so weird: apparently:
as told by tacticians
so much so that even women
got involved and started playing
weird: 144 caps...
10 years: how many officiated games
are these women having
when men are proudest having
capped 100 international games...

like wow...

       3-2-4-1
       3-4-2-1
    
and now my own:

   2-2-3-3
                 2-4-2-1-1

  but there are some weird ones:
point being:
in the old days
you had games
where

4-4-2 clashed with a 2-4-4
game of football was chiral:
and no chiral too:

you did have 4-4-2 vs 3-3-4
and that was given to us "fans"
who played football on t.v.
and still do...
because the game can evolve
and now you have
these weird formations:

new: Portugal:
old: Slovakia:
almost the Cold War reignited...

then Turkey and Austria:
point being there's a siege
at the goal:
that never used to happen:
set-pieces and sieges of "confused"
formation no longer being so rigid
not fuseball fusball fastball:
not snooker or cripples...

obviously tomorrow
i will have to get my father an AC/DC
t-shirt and think about
an ever expanding family
i missed father's day with a present
but socks
and whiskey and sunglasses:

i just remembered that i've been
scribbling for well over a decade
and i have a trip to Hawaii to thank
me for seeking out the vampire
darkest ego and triad
but football has changed
and it's in the formation
and how games are also analysed
and should be noted of:
should their functioning in a recurrent
investment of interest fade:
so becoming deductive de facto: defunct:

blood sports of the Coliseum
football matches and concerts
of the Stadiums...
little Greece in Soho and the West End...
there's always a little Greece
and a little China
wherever Rome still remains: a whiff
of sewage and fresh air
and oranges and bay leaves...
well: no wonder Rome didn't invade
the Slavic peoples
while invaded what is the British Isles
a Germanic and Celtic and Wend
to Pict: conglomeration an Alice in Wunderbra...

the game has changed:
capacity of Madison Sq Garden: 18,000...
if i won't be able to stop
and one but one of my poems
gravitates to the capacity of Wembley:

just to love sport and be sober about
it: i can't imagine
being savage at a sporting event
having to invest in *******
like this is war
war of what? disparaging colors
of shirts?
flags: being burned?

            i have to be sober and critical
and fair and judgemental
whenever watching a sporting event
it's not a managerial investment
to the alternative to playing golf and
making deals and friends and profits...

to appreciate sport is to escape
the hellhole of bedroom antics
of video gaming:
yes: unlike those turtles of the toilet
literature 15min constipation over Proust:
but live sports is what gets you
away from video gaming...
you get to be a play-along judge:
critique: honing in on the Ethic:
the laughter at the devil with:

well i do know right from wrong!
you just worded it differently!
i spoke with the fox:
and he told me: double-sly
against you: being a mammal and all
and probably one of your lesser cousins:
i do know right from wrong:
but you said:
and you will have knowledge
of the difference between good and evil!

simple! math! grammar!
i do know right from wrong!
but if you serpent old peacock:
survived the dinosaurs: ha ha:
crocodile my Mammon and Moloch
with Beelzebub a bird beak pecking...
since: old serpents became
      hmm...

           confused woodland pigeons:
sometimes i see a confused male
unable to call to tell apart
the sexes
with the males less convinced about
flying away to safety:
no greater spectacle than the abandonment
of a pregnant woman...

it should be Shakespearean
but then those old social norms
would have had
two families waging wars against
each other...

            now so lazily: clamoring
to mean anything at all:
best confronted by the friendship of dogs
and it's just as sad to write
anything about these times: at all.
Russian soldiers in general
and Vladimir Putin in particular
perpetrate outright injustice
against Ukrainian population.

Impossible mission to comprehend
the mindset of belligerent, egotistical,
indignant, *******, tsarist
self anointed totalitarian zealot.

Gross violation of human rights
blatantly carried out
courtesy diabolical genocidal horror
directly linkedin to Kremlin
official residence of president
of Russian Federation since 1991.

Jackknifed world wide web
teeters on the brink
of economic collapse
as mayhem rents asunder
western country Ukraine
the general Slavic word
for 'frontier region'
and 'marches' which referred,
most likely, to territories
of Kyivan Rus'.

Violation of basic covenant
imposes life and death
decision for multitudes
to flee their homeland
forsaking personal property
and cherished mementos
irreplaceable treasured trappings
left for invaders to ransack.

Those very villainous vultures
(metaphorically speaking or writing)
namely enemy Russian soldiers
bolster weaponry equipage
with disproportionate advanced
terrorizing precision machines
such as warplanes and Kalibr
(Caliber) cruise missiles,
carried by warplanes;
and Iskander missiles

allowing, enabling, and providing
a range of up to 500 kilometers
(around 300 miles);
The Soviet-designed Grad (Hail),
Smerch (Tornado) and Uragan
(Hurricane) multiple rocket launchers
designed to fire a salvo
of powerful rockets
to destroy concentrations
of troops or military equipment;
Cluster munitions and
thermobaric weapons.

Mass exodus of population
floods neighboring countries
Poland, Romania, Slovakia,
Hungary and Moldova
dazed and confused refugees
making journey across borders
crammed analogous to sardines
nevertheless hospitable strangers
welcome them with opened arms.

Without question scads of people
vulnerable to psychological ills
oversaturated with melancholia
concerning countless losses,
albeit violently wrenched
out their homeland,
whereat sons and father mandated
to stay behind and
defend the motherland
against surfeit of military might.

Meanwhile daughters and mothers
the latter saddled, and encumbered
with small children and pets
trundle toward safe haven
instantaneous citizenship guaranteed
no holds barred, nor no bolds hard.

Contrast the above with other
persecuted peoples most
allotted with melanin
and insync with attendant
definitive physical characteristics
populating marginalized jinxed
African, Central/South American,
Haitian, Mexican... regions
suffer worse fate than death

beleaguered, destitute hardship linkedin
with cutthroat fearsome insidious
lurking opportunistic ravenous
United States agents ready
to deport and send them back,
where certain misery
and interminable suffering
predictable as Earth will
rotate along 23.5 degrees
from plane of its orbit
around the sun
come the morrow.

Though aghast at grave atrocity
within the killing zone of Ukraine
will subsequently reconfigure, rejigger,
and reshuffle the Russian syndicate
of extreme wealth including Putin
controlling, governing, and
manipulating the franchise.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
i don't know... at the onset: ooh... scary...
but once the propaganda kicked in...
sure... the 390,000 Ukrainian refugees
crossing the Polish border...
credible, however many to be suited
in tents in Slovakia, Moldova...
Hungary... i'm actually flying into Poland
on the 5th for a 3 day stay...
visit my grandfather's grave...
he's dead, i'm alive... so it's me primarily
stocking up on cigarettes...
    i'm sort of worried but i'm also more
worried: ****, i better not spill any of this
Jack Daniel's....
so i went walking into Bower Wood and
the Havering county park today...
it rained... i bemoaned to the trees:
why did Jeminah **** it up?
   o.k., fair enough... i got the loved-up
stomach cramps... not out of love...
but out of: get out of there!
and i thought i was bad...
i thought i'd be the one telling her about my
Russian ex-girlfriends...
turns out... my presence in Russian
is still unnoticeable...
but she was the one telling me about
her exes... while on the job
i spotted her swiping left on...
whatever App allows you to swipe LEFT on...
i so wanted to love her...
learn German with her boy...
           to be a surrogate father...
oh well... the stomach came first... back to the prostitutes!
i went into the forest... almost blinded
by the Twilight...
     twilight? is that just after the sunset?
or just before the sunrise?
it was just after the sunset...
     the forest stank of its usual
wintry goods of... later than the already late
decay...
         there's this one particular tree
in Bower Wood.. and i have particular stick
to knock on it... it's pale white... dead...
hollow... but with this stick of mine...
i might as well be playing the violin...
i make my presence known...
like a crow in flight...

i know on this pillar and make my presence
known to the other trees... to the air...
i make myself: be myself: apparent...
forever outside the realm of voyeurism...
of...  profiling...
                     it's such a sham of a gesture...
but at least i am the only person behind the sham:
and no one else.... or for that matter...
no one except for the birds...
and me... hears wood knock on wood...

    how strange... i used to remind myself:
you only amounted to seeing two crows in England...
in flight... Huginn or Muninn...
when you'd see one... it was always
the former: Huginn: i.e. will...
but today...  a messerschmitt schwarz-kreuze herde
of them!
    wow! how benevolent to be proven
wrong!
   the scent of decay in the leaves, retracted...
sorry... no no... not worm-food... chocolate...
wow!
so truly alone, so truly alive...
   oh Jeminah... why did you faux pas...
that wine, that banana loaf... those flowers on
Valentines day... i really wanted to bring a liquorice
record with me and listen it with you...
i spotted that vinyl player... girl... what a faux pas!

i feel ugly going back to prostitutes...
but... well... since last time...
my hands sort of feel... glue-e...
moisture-riddled... "clumsy"...
odd... does unprotected *** with a *******
do that to you?
in her own words... live dangerously...
well... if she's a *******...
but she's... i'm supposing when showcasing
my personal hygiene... like a Muslim about to pray...
she... not me... she decides to hafe
unprotected *** with me...
no one else is having: unprotected *** with her...
here's to me performing oral ***
on her... oh my god... my mouth has longed
for home... to tease at the head of little Lucy...
being born...
    i am dying to east a flower of flesh...
while watching her mouth contort toward
an onomatopoeia... of... dark theatre...

oh Jeminah... flaming red hair... it was going so well...
until you ******* buckled...
self-sabotaged the whole affair...
i went into Bower Wood and Havering County Park
with a wish...
do i drop flowers round her house for mothers' day?
i seriously thought about it...
what about if i just scissor off a few branches
of spring blossom? the pink and white petals?
oh... right... but she's my mother...
she already has an Oedipus in her realm...
         you want your life to be too complicated?!
no... i don't...
   so?!                don't you, *******, dare!

it was already dark when i found it...
   the most exquisite branch...
              having crossed from Bower Wood
to Havering County Park...
   looked at the horses... wished i had an apple...
or a dozen sugar cubes...
hey presto! a branch... i brought it home...
in the shape of a sword...
no... not exactly a BOKKEN...
                but... hell... had a backpack on me...
placed it as a... affirming presence of a spine...
a spine reemphasis...
i'm going to treat this piece of wood with great care...
i'm going to curate it...
sharpen it... paint it... treat it politely...
treat it decently...
    but... it felt nice... walking with it...
making a reemphasis to balance my spine...
i walked quicker... smoother... i didn't slouch...
but i'll make a sword from this branch...
finally... alone...
with the trees... with the crows...
with the horses... the rabbits... the shadows...
so alone yet so happy...
         my blessings come few and far between...
but when they come...
how savoury all these moments are:
i always pretended to like something sweet...
it's just a shame...
i was banking on Jeminah to wise-up,
stop walking about her ex-boyfriends...
stop swiping left on a dating app in front of me...
but it was all over when i asked her to sit down
next to me... when she suddenly got up abruptly,
sort of scared...
and sat... at a great distance...
well... at least her dog liked me...
licked my knuckle wounds...
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.dunno, i'm rarely hangover after a decent session, just today i found my favorite way to rehydrate... three glasses of water while munching on a rowntrees fruit pastilles lolly...

talking about lollies, i never succumbed
to twitter, but since opening a gab
account, i seem to get a *** workers'
following...
                         ah, the poets, the ******,
the mad and all that is ******...

- and whenever i'm in my cyber-punk
mood... i just put on some groove:
   logic bomb (computers & microprocessors
                       parasense remix)
             or some pantomiman...

to boot: hurt feelings? hate speech?!
whaaa?
         you have to be ******* me...
that's the biggest load of crockshit
i've ever heard...
                     listen... those are not hurt
feelings...
            someone just animated feelings
you didn't know you had before...
those are not hurt feelings,
they are new feelings...
              they're also overwhelming feelings,
but they're not hurt...
they're the feelings that, just prior,
you were unable to articulate by yourself,
because you couldn't reason with
yourself to unearth them from your
intrinsic and exclusive thinking patterns...
****, i have them...
   but they are bottled down where
they're supposed to be, concentrated...
the heart... and once they're there...
the heart becomes a rock,
  rather than a blabbering mouthpiece
of a ******* dummy who's sitting
on the lap of a ventriloquist.

like psychosis...
        when the body becomes animated
by a soul...
                     my favorite psychotic
episode was just a day prior to when
i was supposed to start work on the Olympic
village, London, prior to the 2012
Olympics...
                    for no reason apparent,
i traveled to Athens from Gatwick...
   took a shower at the airport,
bought new clothes from the fat face
shop, bought a bottle of absinthe with
Vincent's visage on the packaging...
  sat on the street drinking the absinthe,
turned milky green from the added
water, burned the sugar like some ******
***** in a spoon...
                 i remember laughing my socks
off, one arm over my eyes,
another arm extended forward,
apparently pointing at something
    (this was before Greece had the financial
crisis)...
   oh... and meeting up with some
strangers in a square's cafe...
             getting into their car and heading
for the strip-club...
             mm... the strip-club...
loads of fun...
          i don't know how other strip-clubs
operate, but in this one...
             i was actually allowed to touch
the strippers...
     well... had two either side...
giggles and what not... ran out of money...
was escorted by one of the gorillas
(bouncers) to the hotel adjacent
to take out more money...
                i was broke...
    i ****** myself... slyly walked out...
and... for reasons i can't even believe...
drunks... they have some magical
honing device or some ****...
some super-power...
             first time in Athens...
and i walked back to the hostel...
              photographic memory or what?
phoned my uncle the next day,
asking for a little bit of cash...
            then ****** off on coach back
to Poland to my grandparent's house...
Macedonia? beautiful, really hilly...
Serbia? flat as a pancake... loads of snow...
remember ******* in the snow thinking
about that Frank Zappa song...
   yellow snow...
                  Hungary... Slovakia...
   2 days or 2 days and a half on that ******
coach...
      middle of winter...
  scamp clothes... chattering like a slot machine...

so yeah... psychotic episodes
are great trips...
             even an L.S.D. trip can't match-up
to equal that abomination of nonsense
super spectacular...
   i was in Athens...
    and instead of going to see the Acropolis...
i went to a strip-club...
    but i mean: i did see the Acropolis...
from the street, way off in the distance...
      now, if i didn't utilize the energy
within a psychotic episode by fusing it
into writing... like most atypical psychotic
episodes...
    ah... the usual soppy story of
                             a knife and a rampage.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
only in the western warsaw bus station,
do i see this once,
this ever present feral nibble of
a cultivated world...
               notably with the ukranians,
but also the remnants of
                          mongol blood...
and i feel the least bit of being content...
but mostly...
                        aware...
                like i stumbled upon
a wasp crown not yet woken to take
to marking itself with
a million bites...
to pry open a single eye in
                          western culture...
                 then fat ukranian women in this
terminal used to say,
gluttonous:
                   polish-boys don't know
how to cry... or: polish men boys cry a lot...
sure...
                 and aukranian women:
really know how to eat,
when no civilised food is provided...
              how would islam even
fathom this godforsaken land?
                     leisuring tactics over
              the consumption of a beef stake?
and this is the central of warsaw,
which, gouges out the eyes of the people,
torusits, who try to forget the past
of these lands...
                       lucky i once had a russian
girlfriend...
      shame, would have kept her,
hadn't i known what matrimony rights
she made rues with
her pseudo-matrimonial-tie-itch...
           queen Slovakia...
                         *****-nerve-slip-up
when it came to Siberia...
                      thing just doesn't become:
calm without a cue...
          you allow the ukranian merchants
through...
    you just allow them
through...
             ****-washed english teen boys?
keep the argument,
put your hands on the top of your
head, say to them:
   *******, you don't that
i paid you more?
     and them watch them scuttle away
blessed
in trans-gender: the right ****-sure
would have ****** the ***** away...
           you gave me 10 quid,
i paid in 7 on top,
and you would have had a *******?
   and i was wrong?!
                 i'm "native"...
and even when i take to the passing
of reception of the town:
i... don't exactly feel like culminating
any experience past the hour...
                get all fidgety...
     sworn proverb....
                           cultish people....
oh god, i love the western
ivory tower intellectuals....
               can't get enough of them...
little retards running around
the confines of a colliseum?
   who could mind them....
                              but you come down
to the western bus terminal
of warsaw....
    and are not found feeding sparrows?
      just the odd sparrow tree,
the "usual" paupers...
                            i hope you see
me smile in the shadow of death
attempting to clutch to feeding a shadow...
       you know,
prior to noon...
                             big people in
little people places...
                          tectonic maneuverings
leading to:
                        the gulf of scoop and,
                                   hybrid devour.
Maternal grandfather of mine
long since passed among the living;
He left his Motherland
before onset of Holodomor,
a policy of the Soviet Union
aimed at the destruction
of the Ukrainian nation,
the 1932–1933 genocide in Ukraine.

The present doth bear witness
to repeated assaults upon
scapegoated innocent people.

Russian soldiers in general
and Vladimir Putin in particular
perpetuate outright injustice
against Ukrainian population.

Impossible mission to comprehend
the mindset of belligerent, egotistical,
indignant, *******, tsarist
self anointed totalitarian zealot.

Gross violation of human rights
blatantly carried out
courtesy diabolical genocidal horror
directly linkedin to Kremlin
official residence of president
of Russian Federation since 1991.

Jackknifed world wide web
teeters on the brink
of economic collapse
as mayhem rents asunder
western country Ukraine
the general Slavic word
for 'frontier region'
and 'marches' which referred,
most likely, to territories
of Kyivan Rus'.

Violation of basic covenant
imposes life and death
decision for multitudes
to flee their homeland
forsaking personal property
and cherished mementos
irreplaceable treasured trappings
left for invaders to ransack.

Those very villainous vultures
(metaphorically speaking or writing)
namely enemy Russian soldiers
bolster weaponry equipage
with disproportionate advanced
terrorizing precision machines
such as warplanes and Kalibr
(Caliber) cruise missiles,
carried by warplanes;
and Iskander missiles

allowing, enabling, and providing
a range of up to 500 kilometers
(around 300 miles);
The Soviet-designed Grad (Hail),
Smerch (Tornado) and Uragan
(Hurricane) multiple rocket launchers
designed to fire a salvo
of powerful rockets
to destroy concentrations
of troops or military equipment;
Cluster munitions and
thermobaric weapons.

Mass exodus of population
floods neighboring countries
Poland, Romania, Slovakia,
Hungary and Moldova
dazed and confused refugees
making journey across borders
crammed analogous to sardines
nevertheless hospitable strangers
welcome them with opened arms.

Without question scads of people
vulnerable to psychological ills
oversaturated with melancholia
concerning countless losses,
albeit violently wrenched
out their homeland,
whereat sons and father mandated
to stay behind and
defend the motherland
against surfeit of military might.

Meanwhile daughters and mothers
the latter saddled, and encumbered
with small children and pets
trundle toward safe haven
instantaneous citizenship guaranteed
no holds barred, nor no bolds hard.

Contrast the above with other
persecuted peoples most
allotted with melanin
and insync with attendant
definitive physical characteristics
populating marginalized jinxed
African, Central/South American,
Haitian, Mexican... regions
suffer worse fate than death

beleaguered, destitute hardship linkedin
with cutthroat fearsome insidious
lurking opportunistic ravenous
United States agents ready
to deport and send them back,
where certain misery
and interminable suffering
predictable as Earth will
rotate along 23.5 degrees
from plane of its orbit
around the sun
come the morrow.

Though aghast at grave atrocity
within the killing zone of Ukraine
will subsequently reconfigure, rejigger,
and reshuffle the Russian syndicate
of extreme wealth including Putin
controlling, governing, and
manipulating the franchise.
a day without meat:

last night i allowed a mosquito
to feed off me
while sitting in darkness
and a garden

of my own toils
when my next door neighbor finally
replaced her fencing:
the groundwork
began...

the groundwork began
i had to unearth so many trees and their
roots
their brains
dead from no light
the roots and the source of roots
like
playing Cards
me on the floor
by the couch
and my Father asleep
on the couch: Pb
the cards:
watching England draw with Slovenia
(not Slovakia)

i feel a sort of subtle Pan-Slavic-Theism
since the Germanic peoples
do not have members of their ethnicity
in the religious category of Orthodoxy...

kinda sneering at Catholics
this Protestant lot
these Schism that's Christianity
the Cannibalism:

i made a promise: testing it:
will it become religiously prestige OUS
NOUS NOUNS...
but just dawns on me while micro-dosing
hearing stories of how black
guys abused cannabis
and didn't see the MELANGE
the HERB to Dune's Spice...
we need the 'ERBERUS

but i see the parallels: perhaps Frank Herbert
was thinking about Lawrence of Arabia
and the ugly Turk:
my barber? yes: probably my barber
and when they say how much they smoke
and smoked
and here's me SHAMANIC micro-dosing
because i love the effect
of this gateway honing in on consciousness
making productive avenues:

ounces and scallops
and bags and bags
like bodies of the stuff
clearly the pink in pink
of the eyes
or the green in pink and brown and blue
in pink: unlike a blue in blue
her darkness a brown
around a black of pupil...

        but me and my poor 3.5g a month
and i smoke everyday: mind you...
but then i'm also
cogni-scient...
i know or should know the alternative
of that spelling
cogniescient:

    constant

my father came with me to the dentist
today
and my dentist almost lost the plot
unlike going to a barber
or a *******:
i just love how they now equip
you with sunglasses
and you relax
while someone puts their hands into your
mouth
unlike putting your ****
into someone else's or rather someone
wanting to put your **** in your mouth
like archetypes of octopii
snakes
                 lizards spiders foxes
bears and lions... hawks
kestrels: robins and crows... swans...
some variations of a dinosaur...
me talking mushrooms and insect brains...

i want to work so me smoking while
getting to grips with narrative i had
as sketches
and images and grunts in my head
now trickle to Loki and my handsfree
typewriter for Tom Hanks
or *** *** Rod Steward
and the model train set...

                   we need to understand something
about war and woman and wooing and woe
and we need to know something is not
exactly as it might have been
in 1960s literature...

                                       dynastic-slaughterhouse
because we all know the clue culprits
of World War I and II in the house of
Windsor
and from Victoria
Weimar and Versailles -
Chamberlain speaking - waving a **** goodbye
then Churchill being a nice doggy:
no dodge:
like i am no luvvie dubby...
                
time as nothing more than a:
day by day day in day out
what boring Time
but man invented Time
while God invented Space
God has no real definition of time
while man has...
God Created Space because God is Time:
but if God is Time
then there is no God as God
only Time as Time
therefore: this space: pockets of it: before me...

i'll test the hallucinogenic voices
when dementia props its ugly head
in the DNA gene-historicity
if my fellow sons, cousins,
fathers, uncles, great-grandfathers...
went down the routes so
hardly to be plagiarized...

                                       being and time
being and nothing:
nothing is not in the dimension of time:
time cannot contain the conditioning toward
a nothing-gravity
a nothing-burger
a nothing-water
a nothing-worm....

                       nothing is a space...
a pocket of space....
being is time: ergo Heidegger's youth was
about:

     to be and being...

          TO BE AND BEING
time and time:
being and being...

                                    hmm: the Missus started
flaking, texting...
jeez what sneeze what loose
what EH O: Nigerian: LO YO!
GINGERI BO YO
SUM RO LO................................
**** me the Missus calls
i can't be here having literary
ambitions
paying rent
blah blah
she a realist
gonna sort my life out
like i'll be having
a mommy mummy
a mo
      moo
    U A a mummy...

              like for 10 years...
great *** great *******
like older than me so more
flexible... older than me by 20
and like in gayworld crusader jargon
the bad seed of CIS CISTIC GNOSIS
reproducing evil
and the little goods...

— The End —