Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Victor Marques Dec 2009
From my heart to all of you
May every wish of yours come true
Keep up right and tow the line
Enjoy life, friends and good wine


Deep sea , deep sea,, deep sea,
Care and love for you and me,
Slovenia sings a great song,
Come on , come on , come on!


Flowers and fields are happy and free,
Networking with the eyes, i will agree!
People, networking is a great passion,
My wines, you and me a great combination.


Slovenia has got charm and care,
People are educated and fair,
I’m a dreamer under Slovenian sky,
I’m you friend don’t ask me why...




Kindest Regards.
Victor Marques
Max Neumann Dec 2019
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry
Albania needs hellopoetry
Algeria needs hellopoetry
Andorra needs hellopoetry
Angola needs hellopoetry
Antigua and Barbuda needs hellopoetry
Argentina needs hellopoetry
Armenia needs hellopoetry
Australia needs hellopoetry
Austria needs hellopoetry
Azerbaijan needs hellopoetry

The Bahamas needs hellopoetry
Bahrain needs hellopoetry
Bangladesh needs hellopoetry
Barbados needs hellopoetry
Belarus needs hellopoetry
Belgium needs hellopoetry
Belize needs hellopoetry
Benin needs hellopoetry
Bhutan needs hellopoetry
Bolivia needs hellopoetry
Bosnia and Herzegovina needs hellopoetry
Botswana needs hellopoetry
Brazil needs hellopoetry
Brunei needs hellopoetry
Bulgaria needs hellopoetry
Burkina Faso needs hellopoetry
Burundi needs hellopoetry

Cabo Verde needs hellopoetry
Cambodia needs hellopoetry
Cameroon needs hellopoetry
Canada needs hellopoetry
Central African Republic needs hellopoetry
Chad needs hellopoetry
Chile needs hellopoetry
China needs hellopoetry
Colombia needs hellopoetry
Comoros needs hellopoetry
Congo, Democratic Republic is in need of hellopoetry
Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry  
Costa Rica needs hellopoetry
Côte d’Ivoire needs hellopoetry
Croatia needs hellopoetry
Cuba needs hellopoetry
Cyprus needs hellopoetry
Czech Republic needs hellopoetry

Denmark needs hellopoetry  
Djibouti needs hellopoetry
Dominica needs hellopoetry
Dominican Republic needs hellopoetry

East Timor (Timor-Leste) needs hellopoetry
Ecuador needs hellopoetry
Egypt needs hellopoetry  
El Salvador needs hellopoetry
Equatorial Guinea needs hellopoetry
Eritrea needs hellopoetry
Estonia needs hellopoetry
Eswatini needs hellopoetry
Ethiopia needs hellopoetry

Fiji needs hellopoetry
Finland needs hellopoetry
France needs hellopoetry

Gabon needs hellopoetry
The Gambia needs hellopoetry
Georgia needs hellopoetry
Germany needs hellopoetry
Ghana needs hellopoetry
Greece needs hellopoetry
Grenada needs hellopoetry
Guatemala needs hellopoetry
Guinea needs hellopoetry
Guinea-Bissau needs hellopoetry
Guyana needs hellopoetry

Haiti needs hellopoetry
Honduras needs hellopoetry
Hungary needs hellopoetry

Iceland needs hellopoetry
India needs hellopoetry
Indonesia needs hellopoetry
Iran needs hellopoetry
Iraq needs hellopoetry
Ireland needs hellopoetry
Israel needs hellopoetry
Italy needs hellopoetry

Jamaica needs hellopoetry
Japan needs hellopoetry
Jordan needs hellopoetry

Kazakhstan needs hellopoetry
Kenya needs hellopoetry
Kiribati needs hellopoetry
Korea, North needs hellopoetry
Korea, South needs hellopoetry
Kosovo needs hellopoetry
Kuwait needs hellopoetry
Kyrgyzstan needs hellopoetry

Laos needs hellopoetry
Latvia needs hellopoetry
Lebanon needs hellopoetry
Lesotho needs hellopoetry
Liberia needs hellopoetry
Libya needs hellopoetry
Liechtenstein needs hellopoetry
Lithuania needs hellopoetry
Luxembourg needs hellopoetry

Madagascar needs hellopoetry
Malawi needs hellopoetry
Malaysia needs hellopoetry
Maldives needs hellopoetry
Mali needs hellopoetry
Malta needs hellopoetry
Marshall Islands needs hellopoetry
Mauritania needs hellopoetry
Mauritius needs hellopoetry
Mexico needs hellopoetry
Micronesia, Federated States is in need of hellopoetry
Moldova needs hellopoetry
Monaco needs hellopoetry
Mongolia needs hellopoetry
Montenegro needs hellopoetry
Morocco needs hellopoetry
Mozambique needs hellopoetry
Myanmar (Burma) needs hellopoetry

Namibia needs hellopoetry
Nauru needs hellopoetry
Nepal needs hellopoetry
Netherlands needs hellopoetry
New Zealand needs hellopoetry
Nicaragua needs hellopoetry
Niger needs hellopoetry
Nigeria needs hellopoetry
North Macedonia needs hellopoetry
Norway needs hellopoetry

Oman needs hellopoetry

Pakistan needs hellopoetry
Palau needs hellopoetry
Panama needs hellopoetry
Papua New Guinea needs hellopoetry
Paraguay needs hellopoetry
Peru needs hellopoetry
Philippines needs hellopoetry
Poland needs hellopoetry
Portugal needs hellopoetry

Qatar needs hellopoetry

Romania needs hellopoetry
Russia needs hellopoetry
Rwanda needs hellopoetry

Saint Kitts and Nevis needs hellopoetry
Saint Lucia needs hellopoetry
Saint Vincent and the Grenadines needs hellopoetry
Samoa needs hellopoetry
San Marino needs hellopoetry
Sao Tome and Principe needs hellopoetry
Saudi Arabia needs hellopoetry
Senegal needs hellopoetry
Serbia needs hellopoetry
Seychelles needs hellopoetry
Sierra Leone needs hellopoetry
Singapore needs hellopoetry
Slovakia needs hellopoetry
Slovenia needs hellopoetry
Solomon Islands needs hellopoetry
Somalia needs hellopoetry
South Africa needs hellopoetry
Spain needs hellopoetry
Sri Lanka needs hellopoetry
Sudan needs hellopoetry
Sudan, South needs hellopoetry
Suriname needs hellopoetry
Sweden needs hellopoetry
Switzerland needs hellopoetry
Syria needs hellopoetry

Taiwan needs hellopoetry
Tajikistan needs hellopoetry
Tanzania needs hellopoetry
Thailand needs hellopoetry
Togo needs hellopoetry
Tonga needs hellopoetry
Trinidad and Tobago needs hellopoetry
Tunisia needs hellopoetry
Turkey needs hellopoetry
Turkmenistan needs hellopoetry
Tuvalu needs hellopoetry

Uganda needs hellopoetry
Ukraine needs hellopoetry
United Arab Emirates needs hellopoetry
United Kingdom needs hellopoetry
United States needs hellopoetry
Uruguay needs hellopoetry
Uzbekistan needs hellopoetry

Vanuatu needs hellopoetry
Vatican City needs hellopoetry
Venezuela needs hellopoetry
Vietnam needs hellopoetry

Yemen needs hellopoetry

Zambia needs hellopoetry
Zimbabwe needs hellopoetry
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.
Dina Zivkovic Feb 2016
How dare you reduce me to one race
how dare you judge me based on my birth place?
I may not be wealthy, but I am rich,
oh have I learnt that life can be a *****-
born to a Muslim father,
raised by an Orthodox mother,
but why I do I bother,
all you can do is smother
me with your negativity,
you won't understand,
that those two go well hand in hand,
I live in Slovenia, it all makes me Slavic as hell,
If you are willing to listen to the story I'm about to tell,
It all used to be one big entity
until they destroyed it, blurred my sense of identity...
So as a kid I was ashamed
'cause I didn't belong,
I couldn't be tamed,
my pride was too strong,
I was confused,
I didn't get it,
that three cultures in me were fused,
they made me hate it, regret it,
now that I'm older I can finally see,
all that **** was irrelevant, cos I am me.
As far back as the middle age,
then, Europe planted for our good;
directed wisely by the sage,
that all the places these trees stood,
would be for pleasure and for food,
for friendship, love and loyalty,
that we be not misunderstood.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.

The others, one tree would upstage;
brought Slovenia nationhood.
All meetings there they would engage
beneath its branches, when they could,
to benefit the neighborhood
and people came from far to see
the rulers of the public good.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.

The Linden tree, it will assuage
with blossom, root and bark basswood.
Cure you with a proper dosage
so take the tea just as you should.
You'll be filled with such gratitude-
drunk on flower scent heavenly.
Come circle round this fine softwood.
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.

O prince let joy be understood:
Come see the way we live so free.
Come to our homes, come to our wood
Come stand beneath the Linden tree.
Jake muler Mar 2016
My roots strong
Weeding their way all the way from europe. Humming thrumming from the pillars of Rome, to the sea walls of Greece, from Germany not far-off, France to the left.
Albania, Serbia, Bosnia, Croatia, Slovenia, Hungary, a stones skip to the right. Switzerland just up ahead, Swiss Alps the high life.
A side of the world where all things consist, different ideologies, different faces, Europe's best of the best.
Vernarth in the evening of his life is called again to raise his sword, perhaps following the paths of Paul of Tarsus, precisely here his Word would begin in the figure of a Hoplite who will redeem the oppressed, who will reinforce the growth of the seeds, that will give hope to those deprived of Faith when they have to face their own Apokálypsis that would allow them to take with them when embarking on this adventurous daring in pages of life that follow that for many will be unknown. The seer's paranormal experience in Patmos will vivify his commendable virtue of confessing himself as a defender of Life and Death from the same intermediate final point, to then reach the nexus of gratitude that compensates that leads to make amends when leaving his abode naked and return every six months to Sudpichi in Solstice, and Equinox in Spring to Patmos explaining the premiere of this final event.

Vernarth's distinctive and codes will swell an intertestamental Biblical event, made up of crude abstract and demonstrative images that from so much decanting could be assimilated to what the Mashiach did in the Siloam Cistern, more than water being the same Hydor that is born from the origin and reaches the end of the erudition. The desperate desire to limit the spirit of a soldier is clouded within his own microclimate, wishing for a possibility that lies in the impossibility and fruits of the fan that separates the Universe from the Earth. From here the Faith is professed by the reflections of all those who have lived in a body of Flint, as were their parents freed by Vernarth, letting rest the readings of the sunset to those who from Flint have become meteorites that wander through the universe. As possible Christians to re-convert after a pre-tribulation or a new order, separated from what deprives us of new incursions. The Apokálypsis according to Vernarth does not diverge from Saint John; rather it tends to seclude itself from all the windstorms of divinities that are intermingled in its mysteries from all the exuberances of an endless gospel, which moves the hair of the Yahweh with the scent of lavender even within the pantheon itself after three days. The mystery of not understanding that a common man bears stamped on his body all the signs that give observance of a Passionate John that is in all of us having to share his silence within us, as suggested by the silence of which we are fertilized by clairvoyance’s of Patmos more than the consequences of some supra desire of Vernarth to cover some hint of autobiography, but more generously than the doors of his Megarón or Dypilon, be clairvoyance that shows us that the doors are the unknown within what is and we cannot Observe, V.G. as is illustrative in Spinalonga when Marie des Vallées settles at the point of the salvation of Theus and Vikentios all behind the transom as a consistent metaphysics of the unfulfilled desires due to burdens of other souls in salvation entrusted to resplendent beings. This is testimony to buried or invariable enemies such as Edomites with the affinities of the Seleucids or Pharisees with the Primitive Christians in the channel of each word that interprets the opposite diameter adaptable to a prayer that circulates the course of what an exegete does well If the original word of Vernarth's testimony of never perishes to aspire to do as the manah on the flowers that well deserve to perch on the Xiphos, where the central nerve of its shoe is the Baldric, many times it turned only in the battlefield when Vernarth used both hands, what a mystery! Here is the glossary of what is double-edged and double-handed metal when its length is pointed to the edge of the world where the Sun at its tip let the Light penetrates. Each unknown hemisphere will be possible to slice with both edges of each Xiphos as interpenetrated bronze and iron until it dissolves in the light of the Spring Sun.

All the causes were weighted to a grandeur where the messages of recomposing all the patrimonial legacies that would be the influence that everything could decline in the grandeur of bloodcurdling screams from the temples, which remained in the dark because they did not know who to unbind from the co-responsibility of seven churches of the Hellenic Elegies; from Ephesus to Laodicea trying to remove from the jaws atrocious empires that sentenced policies with more than a thousand years without having any more than a macular century. Vernarth in the depth in which nothing bothers him incites his sensitivity with what reduces the pain in his compassion of the 1st century, which will never stop passing through the well-deserved waking time in all the streets of Greece in which all his traces are they shuddered in challenges that deserved to be from a great classroom that is oversized more than any possible Odeon to fill with spectators from a well-to-do society and satisfied as it seems today with a high price paid for an unworthy degree.

Also, his apocalyptic metaphysics flees by whole perverted societies, and not half due to points of tension of his overwhelming immorality, and defense of all nature that does not corrupt itself, perhaps from an echo locked up when converting from Laodicea to Ephesus as if he were to remake Vernarth's Inverted "V" as the initial contact point of these seven derivations of his decline. The barbarians are at the foot of the very door that enters rather by inertia, and decline from the extinction of the Sun to later redefine it through cycles from spring to winter as we will see that it will emerge with the Duoverse manifested, after trampling on the beast that feeds on of pain and ingenuity from which all our destinies are focused to be swallowed by the snout of a battalion of enemies that migrate from the beast, but they do not realize that this is how calls should be made to all the empires that leave to his abandoned combatants, left on burning pyres immune, punished by flames that will never consume him, who were dazed and with their temper will come out alive with bodies that do not belong to us, annoyed at not prospering because of this anti-divine ****, understanding that the harshness of our tears will not make us neutral or worthy of the joys of suffering together what belongs to us in a body already sacrificed, this is the Apocalypse of flourishing images that are directed in processes of slaughtering the lamb that I cannot and will not be able to identify with the apparent strength of knowing how to be forgiven or undermine the riches of a leadership that for long millennia hoarded riches and never delegated its feigned goodness to us where the grass grows and twists from its root, rethinking days to count and increasing the agony of counting the simulated strengths that never let us enjoy.

It must be understood that all the opposing forces merged with the numbered days of a new rebirth, with the cries of Vernarth from Hyperborea, the pre-tribulation from Erebus or Sheol, from the anguish of the pectoral or Lynothorax from which the days counted in the same distance of traveling in the Purgation or Katartirio of the total confinement of which could be mentioned shouting in the acoustics of the Valley where the last word will remain. We place ourselves in the extravagance of which the rays of luminance deliver us the entire body of credibility to reach the step of happiness that will flow from the first and inaugural vision that confirms the first of the first of the alchemy that has been positivist, even of what paradoxically resurrects not expecting to be who we expected it to be, but despair is cast down in an act in which Vernarth dares to let go of the Mashiach's hand, to go help his parents from being petrified by the Flint that It would be provided for the end of the world with the prompt assistance of St. Jerome of Estridon as it was for an act where the Dragon calmed down, and stopped moving its tail, perhaps from the Green Dragon of Slovenia or its offspring for spreading within the world expelling fire with scales, horns that could be trusted from the Ibex of Valdaine, the Dragon of the Stained Glass of the Cathedral of Avignon hitting with its tail the Portals of Saint George, stating that such time the Nibelung Ring Cycle with Siegfried or secular specimen of the Draconian descent of the Merovingians, of the very Greek Drakon that began to subjugate Patmos in the year 76 AD. C. in between and badly wounded between the rocks of the Wind Tunnel of Profitis Ilias or as the dragon could be welcome, and if it were Lohikäärme Finnish descent stopping Soviets on their borders of blood that roars fire from the deepest corner of their land. The Greek serpents were born in the seas for several miles around where there were no other species but them, because if they had they would have been devoured by the great Ha-Shatan with ten horns and seven heads, much of the literary inspiration of San John is in Greek, but it is more likely that he originally came through the Near East. In the embryonic Roman Empire, each military cohort had a particular identification Signum (military standard), after Trajan's Dacian wars in the east, the military standard of the Dacian dragon entered the legion with the Sarmatian and Dacian cohorts: a large fixed dragon at the end of a spear with large open jaws of silver and with the rest of the body formed of colored silk. With its jaws facing the wind, the silky body was inflated and undulating, resembling a windsock, the Dragon continues to travel along roads that are the marks of the chariots without any mercy to those who awaited them at their destination with legions throwing hot breath that only Saint Jerome of Stridon knew how to mitigate. This huge lizard will continue to lay siege to the evil that cannot contain it, just like the basilisk in the Raedus Codex to imbue the never-burning blades of fire from the Apocalypse of Saint John, by chance with the fiery semblance of a Wyvern in the dome of the cathedral of Saint Nicholas in Slovenia, swallowing his own fire. With a fateful language of birds that would codify Siegfried that the end of everything comes from the seas of Patmos with heated water.

That winged creatures will come copiously to quiet the world to the world of Miðgarðsormurinn perhaps in Jämtland, besieging the Soviets like a serpent more than winged in vigor that shakes the Celtic tree with its Birch and Beech in Solstice or a dragon that was not with wings glued with wax that crashed when falling before reaching Sicily as is the case of Daedalus and Icarus, or the Lindworm dragons that expelled fire from the Mörser 16 howitzers of the Second World War. All these wealthy treasures are fundamental pieces of all the paradigms that form the prelude to a History that has blinded us without giving rest to everything that surrounds us, not even lavishing Christian burial with evil eyes that are characteristic of the dragons that they spit fire from your back, stalking a Britannia Pendragon.

Much of the banners, heraldry, and heraldry bear this emblem of beings made up of male and female offspring to form as a family the antigen of Slavic Bulgarian humanity, as a dissident figure that was torn from the edges of the Apocalypse to protect the crops where probably Rains of gold would come for his crops if he were male, and female if it were a prophecy of bad deeds to denigrate the farmer's seeds. Strong-blooded dragon would be Zmiy, Ukrainian carrying a four-legged beast, and on each leg a Cornucopia for golden petals that are collected from other maidens who will never stop being lush, protecting the arteries that rain healthy blood from Ukrainian maidens like the Zmei. From Zsablas that carry the Polish Smok on their backs that will be reborn from this apology of the Dragon of the Apocalypse that freed them from the Katyn Forest, on the banks of the Vistula where Bogdan drank water with his Zsablas to go free the Heroes of Smolensk and each Polish officer who had a Dragon stamped on his forehead, and also on the Coat of Arms of the Cracovians in Piasts of Czersk, fleeing from the cellars of some Warsaw revolt.

The climbing of the Basilisks of the Profitis Ilías Wind Tunnel will reign throughout Hispania as a prophetic emanation from the mouth of San Juan in Asturias and Cantabria with the magnificent silhouettes of the mountains in the Dragon Saw, followed by gargoyles that come to life in the peaks as a young Hoplite who wears his Áspis Koilé polished to annoy the dragon, which is nothing more than the basilisk when he was tricked by the Raedus Codex by mistaking them for his own offspring, thus allowing those who went to the Investiture of the Himation. It will be the eponym of Sugar, a Basque masculine god, who is often associated with a serpent or a dragon, but can also take other forms. His name can be read as "male snake".

Marielle de Quentinnais shows us in Saint George and the Dragon in the era of the Antipopes in Avignon, of which Saints and Blesseds would fight with the powers of the Dragon as in this sub-sequence that was released from Forli, with great similarity to the Mercurial Ambrosia due to Saint Mercurial as the laurel of Christianity over the idolatry in which terrified people did not sleep because of the frightful tremors of Forli and Forlimpopoli. Possibly, Saint John, the Apostle helps them put the stoles around the cornered Dragon's neck. Every evil force that is not defeated is a postponement of that moment in which it will fall surrendered, as it was from the original of the Dragon Hunters like Saint John of Patmos styling in the acroteras, and ledges of the Megarón that points to the Aegean seas to see if some of them are coming regurgitating the intact body of Margarita de Antioquia, that burst from the black belly of the Dragon saying "Draco vivit in Homine, non in Legendis" "The dragon lives in Man, not in Legends"

Having established Draco Vernarth Apocalypsis liturgy "Apocalypse of the Liturgy of the Dragon of Vernarth" the message continued along the path of Hydor where precisely the defenseless doors will be protected towards the enthronement of Silence with the ardent hope of Salvation as evidenced by the Pauline message "Marana Tha” building the coming of the Eternal that with all its dimensions will transform the collapsed world, tearing the senses that can reach the trade that transforms the ritual that is entrenched in the genetics of eternity in the tail of the Dragons that have formed classes and subclasses of heraldry of the Black Templar Knights, who roam on the run, creating the confusion that the medieval feudal mysteries were the continuation of an antiquity even if hostilities did not exist unless the tails of the basilisk of Patmos are crossed with some science from Ephesus to Pergamon , with the providence of a god in extinction that s ea disobeyed by his troops, and is bloodily decimated by the suffered trances of evil from which the ill-fated Knight is transformed into his own Dragon bled and immolated.

The end is not made with a mere vision of a Draconian Liturgy, from the year 72 AD. the Roman legions of Palestine were uncrossing where voices were heard like an occupied face of land but free of religious authority, which in one way or another saw the contemplative passage of half kindness or benevolence of a Caesar that would later be followed by the chins of fire of the Dragon, always escorted by Vernarth who lived and heard everything succumbing to imperial systems that were attached to filings of Hebrews that burned on their backs, to corners not sharpened by Greek spears to corner the frequency of a detractor of symbols of the Apocalypse, that was embodied in Vernarth with sumptuous flint that adhered to the Áspis Koilé or smaller Peltas that became prosaic to arrows that adhered to the tin shaft to vindicate itself in the foliage, as a recurring expression of the apocalyptic mentality assumed by recognizing that the Apocalypse is lived inside, and nothing on the outside that corrodes more than its own entrails. Indeed, everything private and non-transferable exhorts us to the end of the melodrama from where we must share hearts for those who keep their manners, and make the opening of the Kassotides a tiny possibility of change after Vernarth realizes that he has the furthest possible the dung of the Human Dragon, creating a dominant culture that recovers what enables us to preserve in its own Identity, illuminated and reinforced by conviction.

Vernarth, a few steps from falling from the abyss, makes his prophecy to ask the sky, the Mashiach, and Spílaiaus to release the chains of Kairós, so that the genre of granting life revives the system of the flame of the omega point, which then is reversed in celestial spasm, strongly grasping the tail of the dragon that will transport him with three lightning bolts and trumpets with the seven trumpets that will leave them in Delphi according to the nature of the Cassiotis or Kassotides moat, as a praiseworthy insurrection of being reached by a metaphorical being in Daniel as an apocalypse that will indicate that rain of light and fire will flow from on high, but they will all be directed from Patmos to Delphi.

Vernarth joins the Maccabees to obstruct the Seleucids, as the two books of the Maccabees tell, who start a ****** guerrilla war against the oppressor, and the prophet Daniel chooses a totally alternative and non-violent path. This shows that the worst militia of an armed man is to break with the sovereignty of his oppressed soul, and then be batoned in literary artifice like books from the present to a past with leaders buried in the ruins of lost civilizations, as in the case of the Seleucids and Edomites in open bread on themselves by Mikaiyáh, Archangel Saint Michael. Behold Vernarth where each gloss of contracted episodes never disengaged from the muscular tail of the Dragon that evidenced his vision of St. John, in such expectation that it resolutely rose from the heights of the Iridescent Nimbus, subduing all empires in the tail of the Dragon. The dragon that shakes the resistance of the ungovernable walls, but not the law of the powerful who makes himself believe, but the muscle piece that is rooted in Tel Gomel, is nothing more than the Holy Scripture of the duality of Saint John the Apostle / Vernarth; both as a monosemic (uni-meaning) and univocal lexicon that penetrated with all the desire of the heart moving them together, to decipher after the year 96 AD, towards the unveiling of Sardis to Laodicea with the Iscaton that is subtracted from the Dragon's Tail.
Cauda Draconis
judy smith Feb 2017
It’s an annual tradition that London Fashion Week opens every February with the newest of the new—the bang-fizz of The Central Saint Martins’s M.A. graduation show. These are the people who are destined to shape the fashion world—not least because they are talents gathered from everywhere. The class of 2017 has students from China, Taiwan, Bulgaria, Slovenia, Gibraltar, and the United States as well as Britain. This is just normal in London, a city that has built its reputation as a creative capital on the strength of talents from all over: all backgrounds, all nationalities. In the face of Brexit, and its possible future curb on immigration, London has its Muslim mayor Sadiq Khan, the city’s elected representative, who stands up for the vitality of diversity and interfaith harmony every day with his social media campaign from City Hall, #Londonisopen. In his words: “We don’t simply tolerate each other’s differences, we celebrate them. Many people from all over the globe live and work here, contributing to every aspect of life in our city.”

Nowhere will that be better demonstrated than in what’s to come in London Fashion Week. In defiance of dark times, its youth and multicultural camaraderie is about to roll out the welcome mat. Expect to see it coming from all directions, in kaleidoscopic variety. On the Central Saint Martins’s runway, there’s Gabriella Sardena’s wildly decorative glam-femme collection to look forward to, for example (she’s the one from Gibraltar). Day one, there’s also the opening of The International Fashion Showcase at Somerset House, where emerging designers from 26 countries, including Ukraine, Russia, Khazakhstan, India, Romania, Czech Republic, Egypt, and Guatemala, will put forward their viewpoints on the theme “Local and Global.”

Stand back for a blast from New York, too. Michael Halpern, one of the latest Central Saint Martins M.A. graduates (class of 2016) will unleash his first multi-sequined disco-fabulous collection in a presentation that is being aided and abetted with volunteer help from Patti Wilson and Sam McKnight, held at a posh venue laid on for free in the heart of St James on Saturday.

Fighting gloom with glitter is a London thing. Ashish Gupta, born in India, longtime London trailblazer for LGBTQ rights, is the king of that. Given last September, when he took his bow in a T-shirt emblazoned IMMIGRANT, admirers will surely be packing his Ashish show to the rafters. These times demand a standing up for pride in identity. Osman Yousefzada, more quietly creative, with his strong art-world following, will be coming out with a statement about his British-Asian roots: “Before, we were rarities, trophies and exotics from distant lands…some of us fleeing famine, war, or persecution,” he writes. “We were thought of as good labourers, businessmen and women—hungry, reliable and eager to succeed…and then some wanted to close the doors. Today, I bring you colour, opulence, texture, tailoring, a modern woman in different hues who isn’t scared to stand out and have fun, and embrace the beauty and difference around her.”

London is open to more newcomers. The Ports 1961 women’s show has relocated here from Milan this season. It’s actually a homecoming of a sort: This collection, placed on a woman-friendly lifestyle-centric wavelength somewhere on the continuum between The Row and Céline, has in fact been designed by the Slovenian-born Natasa Cagalj (also a CSM M.A. alumna) from a studio in London’s Farringdon all along. Two more “returners” to the schedule are Hussein Chalayan and Roland Mouret, long rooted in London since the ’90s, who are repatriating their shows from Paris.

It’s a whole London creative community picture, in fact—one that makes a complete commercial nonsense on every level of the “Little Britain” xenophobia of the send-them-home faction in U.K. politics. Cohesion and creativity, the welcome and support given to the newest, from everywhere—that’s the flag that flies over London Fashion Week. Scotland, Ireland, Greece, Austria, America, Serbia, Canada, Syria, India, Germany, Pakistan, Nigeria, Turkey, Ghana, New Zealand, Portugal—come one, come all, says fashion. There’ll be protest and prettiness, resistance and humor—that’s a given this week. Here’s glitter in your eye!Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Malignant gangrenous political cancer
     corrupts, festers, and poisons United States,
     thus opposition cannot wait,
especially since Gospel in accordance

     with feeble minded Donald Trump
     implemented wrought ugly trait,
particularly obliteration, sans progressive
     human rights legislation

     more or less pronounced positive
     in every L ionized Nittany or cotton bowl state
and ratiocination inherent within
     mine Democrat oriented mind doth rate

this forty fifth president (defect)
     with sawdust packing
     his noodle oven egotistical pate
trophy wife (spouse number three),

     a Slovenia mate
donning "I don't care anymore"
     t-shirt rousing media firestorm of late
essentially silently corroborating,

     fostering, and illuminating hate
mutely bolstering the Trump anthem,
     viz make America great
again, which pathless,

     pithless, and pointless aim
     roars like an earsplitting runaway freight
     train oblivious of wailing soul asylum,
     that no era meets said criteria

     backtracking time machine before
     rightful indigenous occupants of this land
     got decimated as one after another
     exploiter did inundate

(comprising a multitude
     of indigenous variety of village people
indignantly subjected to Genocide,
     when first "discoverer"

     of new land didst promulgate
activation wrought deliberate sealed fate
vis a vis capitulation, demolition,
     and extirpation, cuz

     a scathing rebuke aye attest,
     those murderers didst equate
worthlessness of
     so called "Indians" on 1492 date,

and still remnants of storied tribes,
     now attempt to create
historical documentation operate
ting with limited resources to adjudicate.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Food methinks doth buzzfeed drumbeat agog
at pyrotechnics July 4th, 2018 shared as blog
posts, a falsehood prevails which dog
gone “FAKE” brewed watered down grog
posits that the majority of Colonialists stay hog

tied to strict task masters, and mainly the scant
upperclass experienced autonomy,
     no matter the under class didst futilely rant
and rave with the occasional
     uprisings over time did grant
minimal appeasement to stifle violent kant!
Native Intuition Nov 2019
But how do I tell you about the things I've seen?
From the most haunting and daunting
To the very fabric of dreams

I've experienced love beyond measure
Traveled the world to hold it in my hands
I lost myself seeking that foreign treasure
and returned home a different man

Moonlit dinners on Italian cobblestone streets
Ludovico Einaudi providing the symphony
I've climbed mountains in The Alps
Drank straight from the snow melt streams
I witnessed the Black Wolf of Val Duron
and kissed a Goddess on those mountain peaks

I've stood shoulder to shoulder
with ancient warriors carved in stone
I looked them directly in the eyes
and felt an honest worthiness in my bones

I've laid on the beaches of paradise
been cleansed by the waters of the Aegean Sea
Slovenia, Austria, Greece and Italy
I can no longer recall who I used to be

Synagogues, churches, temples and sacred places
but all I seem to remember is how beautiful her face is

Like a collision of galaxies
Moving far too fast to ever coexist
We changed each other's world
and kept moving through the eclipse

From the Earth that inward pulls
Like the song of the last wild wolves
For the optimal experience - Play Ludovico Einaudi's "Experience" while reading at a slower pace.
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.
Mateuš Conrad May 2022
i miss being a young man, in his late teens...
i don't know what happened to my 20s...
honestly: i really don't...
     i was out of the usual treadmill antics of
a boy's 20s...
    by the time i resolved all the difficulties that
can be associated with a psychotic breakdown:
women started telling their children:
mind this man walking past you...
man... man... i forgot being a boy...
        i was secluded in my boyhood of my early
and late 20s... i only came back to society: slowly...
cautiously... once i passed the mark of turning 30...
who said that they'd welcome the quick passing
on the tyranny of beauty? Plato...
   and who might add: the idiocy of youth?
    that bravado... that cockiness... self-assurance:
as false as they come? i guess i could be accredited with
uttering such words... there's this middle path
when life becomes bearable... after your 30s until
you hit 60... and then... those consolidation years...
  facing up to mortality...
                  not until then...
   but i miss the boy i was when i was 14 through to 21...
when women could and would mystify me...
when i wanted to pursue them...
           i was allocated the "tribe" of men:
women don't take a ****! women don't ****!
   don't be silly!
            they eat but they don't take a ****!
            don't be silly!
                     of the relationships i've had... ha ha!
"relationships": my grandparents (on my maternal side)
ended their relationship by sleeping in separate rooms
in separate beds...
   well... it was more of a fling: hell!
i had the chance to visit Russia for a month...
spend a month in St. Petersburg...
    visit the Russian version of Versailles...
         travel overnight to Moscow on the train
listening to Bob Dylan on the top bunk bed...
   managed to see Metallica...
      kiss the girl while everyone took out their
cigarette lighters when Fade to Black was being played...
i remember that song oh too well...
in my bedroom covered with posters of bands...
falling asleep to that song
   while dreaming of next day's commute with
the Ursuline girls... coming from... Hainault and beyond:
Debden... Loughton...
  
sure... she slapped me when she picked me up from
the airport... since that slap i punched
myself harsher... what was i going to do?
complain? she would have kicked me out of the house
and with as little of a knowledge of Russian as i had...
become a homeless person in St. Petersburg?
so i took the slap... i subsequently took it out on her
by ******* her for 7 hours one night...
i hope she felt a Spartan cohort of 300 having fun with
her... i hope i exhausted her...
i still remember that slap... i hope she remembers
those seven hours of bedroom antics...

i did behave in a "hypergamous" way... like a woman...
what are the chances of visiting Russia: these days?
i played nice...
                   i wouldn't mind returning to her to simply
slap her *** during *******...
but i was 21 and stupid back then...
i once heard a friend of my estranged uncle say:
slap her about at the beginning...
then she'll stay... i did that with my cats...
one of them was ******* in my bed...
i didn't know which one it was...
first time i saw **** in my bed i inquired
by slapping both of them...
the second time i caught the culprit! he was taking
a dump in my bed...
now? after slapping him...
       then washing him... then curling him into
a towel like a mummy and placing him in the sun?
we're the best of friends... he keeps slipping into
my bed from 10pm through to 1am...
i'd hate to do that with women...
     slapping a girl just to get some respect?
i don't need to: i don't want to do that...
i don't want to do what i did with my cats
to become translated to women...

              ergo? i miss the 14 through to 21 year old
boy's libido...
   i wish i could want that ******* Khedra more...
it has almost been 2 months since i last saw her...
i'm already due to get a haircut... and a shave at the Turk...
ergo? i need to trim my ***** hair elsewhere:
no, not the beard on my face...
   she stopped sending me selfies...
i stopped sending her pictures of flowers from my garden:
currently? the chives are in bloom...
pretty little purple flowers... reminiscent of
the Scottish thistle...
               it's not that i'm out of practice:
i just don't feel the need to feed the need for ***
anymore...
   i have lost the hunger for it...
     not that i'm impotent... but i just...
                 need it... sparingly: on a whim...
last time i was woken up from an asexual slumber...
god forgive me...
i was grooming my female cat... and she raised her
backside into my face...
i know! i know: *******...
ergo? i cycled like mad across the north eastern
part of London looking for a brothel...
i already knew where the brothel was...
but i cycled all the way to Tottenham Court High Road...
back to Stratford... £160 for an hour... pretty steep...
back to Goodmayes... £130 for an hour...

point being: when i was with this Russian girl...
oh man... sleeping in the same bed...
maybe that's why i never took relationships too seriously...
the sleeping arrangement...
it's already difficult sharing a bed with 10kg Maine ****
cat... imagine sharing it with a woman...
each and every, single, *******, night...
one side of me became: NUMB...
yeah... that B is a surd... it's silent: NUM' -
hello apostrophe...
                
because i couldn't possibly fall asleep not hugging her...
but by that "logic" half of me would
get cramps... and dead-meat numbing
effects...
   oh to hell with that!
why do all the rich people need so many bathrooms?!
you need at least three bedrooms!
one in which you sleep... one in which she sleeps...
and one in which you ****!

i miss being mystified by women, reading Stendhal...
that's not coming back...
too many practicalities came along...
me and a single mum?!
we're creatures of habit... before we are even
associated with politics or society...
man is a habitual creature....
by 30+? you have your habits...
and they are non-negotiable...
  
   personally? the most pristine distance to cycle
casually... i'd say... over the distance of a marathon...
so... 50+km... / 26+ miles... that's relaxing...
anything less is sort of boring...
that's why i forget the countryside from time to time...
and cycle into central London...
why?

a) i'm cycling in to... look at some girls...
   randomly... girls and architecture...
andy williams... music to watch the girls go by...
b) hmm...
           cliche, that point (a)...
    get ******* at traffic...
     being a traffic shepherd...
             elevated status of pedestrian...
   danger... leeching off buses and trucks...
leeching off ambulances... just the general
sense of commotion... people spotting...
bore and yawn and yawn and bore...
c) ah... spatial orientation...
if you start off at around Collier Row...
and cycle toward Barkingside...
and you take that B174 (Romford Rd.)
       route... you have that beautiful precursor
of a London skyline... and you start thinking:
well... i'll be there in about an hour and half an hour plus...

i found my favourite route "roundabout" today...
South London... i don't care what anyone says...
immediately: in the immediacy of cycling across
the bridge... London feels different in the south...
a little round around via London Bridge
and back up north again via Southwark Bridge...
and... whatever 20+ miles back home to do some
work in the garden...

****... no pretty girls along the way...
nothing that might stand out...

i know why i'm reluctant regarding visiting that brothel...
last time i wanted to perform oral ***
on a ******* she asked me to pay extra...
hell... if Khedra was willing to perform unprotected
***... because... the two of us...
are hygienic Nazis... i'm thinking...
slob... slob... the one time and place i can turn into
a slob... i want to pucker up my lips to those
other pair of lips...
but... i don't want to be paying extra...
i'm imagining... falling asleep on my stomach
and pushing my mouth into a pillow...

and hallucinating daffodils...
no... tulips! anything floral and the female genitals!
hmm... ha ha: yummy yuck!
maybe that's why i prefer to eat a rare beef steak...
lick, ****: but: if you're going to bite...
gently...

hell: if women can explore their sexuality...
can i, too, please?
i'll just word it... without having multiple partners...
but it's so much easier with prostitutes...
what dating apps?! never heard of them...
the money is on the table...
lucky for me i tried ******* for the first time
aged 35+ years old... and i was like:
i prefer coffee...

coffee an nicotine in the morning... first thing's first...
n'ah... nein nein... NO! i don't do powdered
crowds...
what m shift tomorrow? Wembley... play-offs...
whoever it playing i'm pretty sure i'll be looking for a
wife...
but i want my mojo back...
   i want to go back into that brothel and ****
like a 21 year old... i want to rekindle a hunger
for a female body...
          on the throne of thrones:
it really doesn't help... abstaining from all
that libido insomnia of over-exposure to *******...
sometimes... i tried a whole month dry...
it changed: **** all!
i need to be in the mood...
   i haven't been in the mood for about 2 months...

**** on me! cacas mihi on (take on me
variable wording ancients tongues etc.)
i fall back on something sinister...
Dante took Virgil as his guide...
    ******* from Horace! ******* from Horace!
he's mine!
i fall back on translating Latin texts...

Horace:

quid obserstis auribus fundis precces?
non saxa nudis surdiora navitis
Neptunus alto tundit hibernus salo.
inultus ut tu riseris Cotytia
volgata, sacrum liberi Cupidinis,
et Esquilini pontifex venefici
inpune ut urbem nomine inpleris meo?
  quid proderat ditasse Paelignas ****
verlociusve fata te votis manent:
          ingrata misero vita ducenda est in hoc,
novis ut usque suppetas laborisbus.
optat quietem Pelopis infidi pater
                egens benignae Tantalus semper dapis,
optat Prometheus obligatus aliti,
  optat supremo conlocare Sisyphus
in monte saxum; sed  vetant leges Iovis.
Voles modo altis desilire turribus,
                 modo ense pectus Norico recludere,
frustraque vincla gutturi nectes tuo
                    fastidiosa tristis aegrimonia.
vectabor umeris tunc ego inimicis eques
                meaeque terra cedet insolentiae.

an quae movere cerreas imagines,
ut ipse nosti curiosus, et polo
      deriepered lunam vocibus possim meis,
possim crematos excitare mortuous
desiderque temperare pocula,
      plorem artist in te nil agentis exitus?
    
you dare bring requests toward clogged ears?!
not so on the voice of naked sailors does the
deaf rock and not so during winter does Neptune
shakes his trident (three-tooth), like you with the word,
who so weighs himself by laughter serving up
Canidia's ******, slandering love, the holiness of
   Cupid.
               do you not call yourself the priest of
the Esquiline practices, you're not raving,
whatever the saliva will bring?
    haven't i overpaid the Paeligni(ne) witches?
do i no longer detect poisonous poisons?!
    even though the parks have extended your age,
you will feel death's pressure all the more.
Pelops' treacherous father Tantal(us),
emptied from the godly feasts, desires respite,
    Prometheus with an eagle by his liver lacquers,
without end, Sisyphus rolls the stone up the hill
endlessly - Jupiter doesn't allow a respite.
you're looking for an escape, jump from the highest
floors,
     with a Norico sword: a naked breast unravel
   (unravel a naked breast)
   or... tighten the rope, on the neck looped...
   chased by not-mind (misunderstanding),
with disgrace's stigma.
in the meantime: onto the back i'll jump on astride,
i'lll big back the earth - incredible joy.
wax(y) puppets will get up, into motion admired,
i will break off the moon from the sky,
    i will revenge satisfaction,
      i will, the dead and the burnt i will resurrect,
with desires' loving magic i will return tormenting,
these tears are for nothing -
      a phantom will enter the suicide.
are you still going to be able to
                               place resistance against art?    


of note:
- Cotytia - rendered Canidia in English
was the first witch of ancient Rome...
- Esquiline "practices?
   Rome was founded on the seven hills...
one of those hills was the Esquiline hill...
the other six are:
   Capitoline, Quirinal, Viminal, Caelian, and Aventine...
- the Paelignī? an Italic tribe - etymologically
associated with the words
    an cognate-mix of
       privignus (stepson) & paelex (concubine) -
most associated (wrongly) with the Sebine women...
mind you... step-parenthood was very prominent
in the upper eshelons of ancient Roman society...
- Pelops - a king of Pisa...
- Tantalus - father of Pelops...
- Noricum - a Celtic confederation of tribes
these days associated with the geographic region of
Austria and Slovenia

eh... language has changed so much...
how Latin didn't survive... i get it...
the modern tongue has many more prepositions...
a long time ago...
nouns / verbs could have inbuilt
conjunctions, prepositions... articles...
that changed with the atoms...
                oddly enough... certain languages haven't
changed that much... Kierkegaard mentions
this changelessness of God...
               English has changed beyond recognition...
******?! hasn't changed that much since
the 13th century...
how we managed to get Italian from Latin...
and... Spanish and French...
              well...
                      today i don't feel like being in awe...
Cedric McClester Oct 2019
By: Cedric McClester

This movie has played out before
And it’s one that we should not ignore
Where the Turks sought to even the score
By openly declaring war
Against a perceived enemy
Who only sought to be free
But were still made to bow their knee
As they did their best to flea

So we can’t call this paranoid schizophrenia
Though back then it was in Armenia
It’s worse than a bad case of yersinia
We’ve seen it played out in Slovenia
They are now moving in on the Kurds
Calling them all kinds of nasty words
But their rationale is for the birds
Who can be counted on to drop their turds

America left them in their lurch
With an alliance that we besmirched
Following a phone call that needs to be researched
By two despots who are clearly unchurched
Now there’s nowhere for the Kurds to hide
From the onslaught or the genocide
But they still fight for their land and pride
And we’ve lost count of how many have died

See the sad part is, it could have been avoided
Before our reputation was exploited
Because our president went and destroyed it
By removing troops that he had voided
To make a move that was so dastardly
Was more than a mistake, it was a catastrophe
And a moral failing if you’re asking me
That now the whole world can see



           Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Arek Jun 2022
With climate change all of us affecting
some countries are their names correcting
I recently heard that Scotland
is changing theirs to Hotland
Also nearby green Ireland
will be red fiery Fireland
and tiny small Slovenia
shortening theirs to Ovenia
but at least cold frigid Iceland
will be warm and balmy Niceland
but there's a country where I wouldn't want to be
with Greenland disappearing into a Green Sea
The 1st night: delirium...
just a spaz-o-me I made so many
faux pas impromptus
in the group's WhatsApp
that the owner, curiously only
sent the following reply: ???
the other days he would
just inquire without judging
my lingo quirky (my lingo quirky?
depends how you want
to express the same finite)...
2nd night was just a gearing up
for a plateau, third night
broke me... co wisi, nie utonie:
what hangs will not drown...
fatalistic and I think that's how
you can start to remedy
Nietzsche's angst...
if modernity is to be saved from
a lack of religious coherency
that works for the benefit of society
and society being an organism
and a city being a microcosm
of where the organic meets
the transformed inorganic...
truly... but wait... let me just get
my secular bible put and double check
the meaning of fatalism...
fatalism: hmm... I don't agree with
the premise that fatalism
is a stance of submissiveness -
in the vein of "argument"
it would be self-evident that Islam
is a variation on fatalism:
but submission is not in my focus
when I think about fatalism...
I'm thinking on the covert lines:
with coercive lineage to give...
to imbue the word with a new meaning
dissociated from the perceived-meaning
of submissiveness...
I implore fatalism as an attitude
to nihilism by giving it a meaning
best associated with the quality
of subversiveness... multiple tasks st
hand... the autistic 15 colt
lounging on the perimeter of
the premises I'm watching over:
where Hades becomes Cerberus:
Celt and the team Celtic:
no quits to **** a kaleigh without kilts:
garçon: ah the autocorrect spewed
a diacritical mark like a vowel
in Hebrew... I pity the English for
their love of classical music...
so far Friday is the best night of the week
to listen to Classic.fm
and I won't be a BBC RADIO 3 snob...
Jonathan Woss up to 9pm
then Sue Spencer on her own sort of
idiosyncratic wacky to Anractica
via Slovenia? The nuns did this to her...
I love the inverted voyeurism
the parodying the intact psychologism
of the radio that the t.v. just
cannot replicate...
given that the radio is audible
and not audio and visual...
you cannot forsake two senses...
next thing you know a t.v. will
not only provide a visual distraction
with the audible one
but also a scented ******* culinary trip...
but the radio is not a distraction
but a compliment, an accompiment
to a lo g shift (n)...

tonight I also discovered the potency
of Jamaican tonic wine... Magnum...
one label on the 200ml 16.5% read:
the name "tonic wine" does not imply
health giving or medicinal properties...
another label lists the following:
caffeine 12.0mg
iron 4.80mg
niacinamide 6.30mg
vitamin B2 1.20mg
vitamin B6 0.10mg
vitamin B12 0.48mcg...

hey, it's coming to 12am, I finish
this shift at 7am... then I'll refresh
my self, wash my ******* brush
my teeth, shave to preserve my beard's
shape...
solve the stale stink of armpits
put on a white shirt and a tie
and head to Wembley for another 12h
until 1am for the boxing match
between Joshua and Dubois...
duck's sake... I was initially booked
as a supervisor ringside with about
30 people under me...
instead I was rebooked as an external
quadrant manager...

mineral waters
bottling
Cisiowanka
Muszynianka
how many times of mineral waters
are sold in Poland?
Well in England
you have still and sparkling...
in Poland you have half-sparkling
mineral water...
Muszynianka is rich
and so different
with a magnesium-calcium complex...
water indeed has taste
when certain minerals are
either combined or there
was that trip to Bath with well...
**** water, high in sulphates,
volcanic remnants...
but bottling... the Magnum Tonic
wine is too sickly sweet to be drank
undiluted with sparkling mineral water...
and no it's not a conventional
wine, sour, so creating a kalimotxo
is a bad idea...

so say san pellegrino
is superior to a perrier...
subjective observation
based off of the label: no truth to it...
just a bias...
but... perrier is still sold
in glass bottles... while san pellegrino
is sold in plastic bottles...
milk used to be sold
in glass pint bottles
and I remember staying up at night
to get a whiff of the job
that was... being a milkman
driving an electric car before
this current supposed revolution
*******...
just like 40 years ago people
we're more green, more environmentally
conscious... glass like metal?
♾️ recycling potential: **** me d'uh!

just scrolling through the photographs
of all the classic.fm presenters
while contemplating the genius
of the English people
yet that forlorning of:
my my... no musical genius among them!
Elgar was not a musical genius,
Handel was not English
nor was Holst
and Vaughan Williams... well...
but for a people so appreciative of classical
music, it cries, the situation...
and with that vacuum came
all the pop sensibilities of the 20th century.
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...
Kafka Joint Oct 2020
I might be some illegal immigrant
From Slovenia,
For all I know.

— The End —