I like a whole lip-smacking smorgasbord of words,
such as preposterous and scrumptious,
sumptuous and curious,
roiling, rambunctious and trumpeting,
priapic, satyric and seraphic,
satyriasis and mimesis. Now this mimesis is the imitative
representation of nature and behavior in art and literature,
which is a pretentious way of trying to say what us writers do.
But hey, we don't just mimic things,
we can be sagacious and salacious, too.
Accordingly, I also like *******, which has a liquid sound,
and I'm not being facetious to suggest that
******* has a close connection to callipygous.
Then, for those who are suspicious of the libidinous,
I also like curmudgeonly and bodacious,
loquacious, precocious and pulchritudinous,
lubricious and fugacious,
scripturient, radiance, iridescence and magnificence,
lissome, lithe and languid (but not too limp),
shimmering and diaphanous, effulgent and evanescent,
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(although this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous, slithery, **** and glistening.
And when I include crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry,
I may as well add whipped cream
as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word
along with slurping and *******, too.
Actually, I'm very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon, low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds come from the chord of creation
which is a sort of reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which I would like to squish between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
But words don't even need to make sense,
because sweet nothings can say everything,
and heavy breathing can be ******,
even rhapsodic, ending in delirium.
Titillating should be in here too, because we all need
some tintinnabulation and tickling of the senses sometimes.
I've also decided that fecund is my second favorite word after love.
Fecund sounds abrupt, but it buds magnificently
in ******* and bellies to burgeon in absolute abundance,
everywhere. This brings me to *******, which I like, too.
I'm also partial to proud words, including bold, bulging and
brazen, along with a bit of swaggering braggadocio.
Then I like some big words, like brobdingnagian,
although I hope I'm not sesquipedalian.
Salivate is a word to celebrate as well,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and it's not being provocative to observe that
even weapons drool when they're in the wrong hands.
And I shouldn't leave out *******, as you would expect,
because ****** is a sort of rippling word
that rhymes with spasm. Both sound deceptively simple,
but by golly, they can be intensely gripping.
And really, it's alright to writhe to this occasion
because all of us writers should endeavor
to have some good writhing in our oeuvre.
Even some bad writhing can be lots of fun, too.
But I almost forgot to mention yearning and burning (with desire)
and vulviform, velvet and venerous.
Yippee, yee har and hollerin' along with other exclamations
of exhortatory exuberance should be in this index, too.
Now. The words I don’t like include no, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible and intractable,
unmentionable, ineffable, inexpressible, incoherent,
immutable, impotent and impossible.
Then I don't like importune and misfortune,
and I don't know who thought up unthinkable,
because this is an oxymoron.
Inscrutable is also a complete cop out,
especially when there's no such word as scrutable.
Gawping, gaping, cavernous and cretinous, obsequious,
grovelling, pursed lips, circuitous,
obfuscation and isolation, unpalatable,
cruelty, tyranny and hypocrisy,
should also get the heave-**.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Quitting doesn't get there either,
and shut the **** up and ******* should also be taboo.
Also, hopeless is, really, well, it's hopeless
because it denies hope, and hope is buoyant and boundless.
I mean, sometimes hope is all we have.
But the word I dislike most is ****,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word is astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love, and love is indomitable.
Indomitable
is the
mightiest
word
of them all.
Yeah. So there.

Mike T Minehan

There's a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire--
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there--
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.

Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock.

They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet.

They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up.

They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands.

They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways.

But then Monday comes...

Mondays are different.

He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays.

So he changes that.

He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her.

He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors.

He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her.

She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep.

He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently.

She smiles on Monday mornings.

They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up.

She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear.

It remains there ‘til night fall.

They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind.

Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.

Each body part
sizzled in pure pleasure
in the blissed wake
of your oral efforts
brought forth the waves
of rapturous delight...

                                       Spurs poetic inspiration
                                        in equal liberation
                                        of desires to please.
                                        Bodies transpose
                                        in fluid motion
                                        as brazen eyes meet.

        Savor the voluptuous image before you.
        Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo
        before they roll to the back of your head.

On all fours
knees between your thighs
tips of swollen breast
caress your chest
tasting fresh honey
upon lips in a kiss.

                                        Ripples of ardor
                                         hover
                                         by wet trails
                                         of sensual kisses
                                         suckling towards
                                         the apex.

Breathe in
the slow motion pace
that pulsates eagerness
to the fore tumescing bulge
leaking with anticipation
of viscous lava.

        Tickles of silken hair
        against flesh edges closer.

Emerging subtle grumbles
in deep resonance
betray your impatience .
Hands tightly twine
in tangled hair
to maneuver
the treasure hunt.

                                         Licked lips pause
                                         at the sight of fire
                                         burning in
                                         glazed gazes
                                         before engulfing
                                         the throbbing member.

Plump ruby lips
greet velvety texture
in a slow deep dive.
Tongue curls around
the flavor
in a dulcet embrace.

                                         Moans release
                                         as grip tightens
                                         in my hair
                                         settles the
                                         rhythmic pace
                                         to taste in an
                                         oscillating dance.

        The masculine aroma of heady musk
        lingering there, arouses my appetite.

With my enthusiasm
attuned to
your preferred rhythm
suckling, slurping
surface and dive
in measured unison.

                                          Break of breath
                                          allows tongue
                                          freedom to roam below,
                                          licking, soft kissing
                                          the tender hammock
                                          of testicles.

        Tongue and lips escalate higher
        to mount another assaulting dive
        deeper in the depths
        of the cusp in cavity.

Wetted fingers
probe even lower
circling superficially
as gasp escapes
your heavy breath;
flaming eyes lock.

                                          Finger dips in
                                          with expert finesse
                                          gorging hardened growth
                                          within a wrapped hand.

Thighs tighten
with rocking grip.
Head thrusts onward,
drilling forward
in each dive.

        Salvia slips
        fingers grip
        lips dip

Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity
of volcanic eruption ...

        HALTS
        assault

Pace retracts.
Loosened lips kiss tip.

“Soon sweetheart, your time will ***
inside me as we surrender to synergy."

She sits across from me sipping and slurping her fat free french vanilla.
While I'm pacing myself with cappuccino imitation.

"All I'm saying is, that if he starts calling me baby, I might wanna keep him!"

She says it with that cajoling tone.
But I can notice the glimmer in her eyes that tells me she longs for that.
That sweet pet name that would mean she's special to him, in her mind...

I never could get comfortable around those things...pet names.
Cutesy little endearments reserved for a child's affection.

What is wrong with me?

She's vibrating with unmasked giddiness, glancing at her phone.
They've been dating for only months but she is lost in him.

Him.
With his once a week date nights
and clean shaven face
and joking interaction with her friends.  

She's full of soft embrace and warm affection and vulnerable interest.
Wanting never looked so form fitting on a person.
Like a cup waiting for a refill...

"If you want, I could see if his friend is up for dinner next week? You know it's been months for you..."

I hope she doesn't choke on her millionth slurp with the glare of indignation leveled at her cherub-like face.

"Ah thanks, but no thanks." races out of my mouth before I even hesitate to pretend to consider her obvious proposal.

How is it that easy to just offer companionship like that? Do I give off a "desperate for love" vibe?
And what the hell makes her think I can't find someone on my own **** time?

"Okay, okay. It's just...I hate seeing you alone. Don't you want to not be alone anymore?"

I know she loves me but those kind of questions from her caring heart, make me contemplate knocking her in the head.

My alone-ness she says.
My singular existence.

I'd laugh at her if I didn't know it would hurt her feelings.
To disregard her feeble attempts at pairing me up with whatever half-assed man candy she could sway my way.

I'm staring at the ring left from my coffee,
wondering if I should just give in this one time for her,
for me,
for the over used batteries at home.

"I'm not lonely you know. I just, haven't felt that connection yet."

Looking pitifully back at me she wonders aloud, "You're always waiting on that connection but have you ever felt it before? I mean, how do you know it's even real, that body, mind, spirit...magnet pull you believe so fiercely?"

It's the first time I've given her a genuine smile today as I tell her yes I have felt it before.
Briefly...
Bitter sweetly...

I just never got his last name.

It might have been years ago but I can still recall with clarity that electric tornado that seemed to have surrounded us.

We had only been gifted ten hours together but it left a mark on me for over fourteen years.
His face is definitely matured I imagine and his body shaped differently.
But I'll never mistake those sea green eyes, haloed by dusty blue cloud rings.  

The only boy who has ever made me want to get lost and never be found.

"Well...good luck with that. But until mystery man crashes back into your life, for god's sake live a little huh!"

She means well I'm sure but like an eager pup I just tsk at her goofily plastered expression and finish off the grainy remains of my only afternoon delight. She's in a hurry to make her "honey bunny" a homemade dinner anyway so it's not hard to cut things short on our weekly coffee shop vent session.

She's floating out the door before I even get my coat above my elbows but I can't feel offended.
Mulling over the uncomfortable idea of boring interaction with another stranger I decide to grab one more drink for the ride home.

Alone.

Oh, wonderful...now she's planted that seed.

Shaking it off, I order my vice and move benignly to wait and resolve to not think about anything related to that anymore either.

"Seems outrageous they charge so much for imitation don't you think?"

The question's asked to me but I pretend I can't hear it. A guy hitting on me today is not what I want to deal with.

And he seems to be standing right behind me
making goosebumps scatter across my neck.

He tries again, "So I guess you like buying bottom of the barrel cappuccino?"

This time I've gotten a little itchy from his voice and want him to just stop in his tracks.
So I turn to tell him where, in fact, he can go...

But I'm the one stopped short and a bit flabbergasted.

No way do things happen to me like this.

Those coincidental, lucky, fated things...

I almost wish I was a liar right now with the things I just spilled to my loyally, encouraging friend.
Because there is no way the universe would be this cruel.

Finally I exhale and word *****,

"They're the only place that taste just like the ones at my grandmas' house every summer when I was a girl. I waited a long time to find that connection again, even if it is just coffee..."

The smirking face and broad shoulders that greet me aren't the cause of my temporary delirium.
Not even the wild hair and black rimmed glasses.

It's the sea green, haloed dusty blue eyes centering all the rest that shallow my breaths

Of all the places.....

Like a falling satin sheet his face morphs into a query riddled expression.

I hear the barista call out a name and he reluctantly steps away, never taking his eyes off mine whispering,

"I'll...be right back. Don't move...please?"

I'm nodding like an awkward parrot and he turns to grab his imitation coffee.
The same kind I'm waiting on.
And I start smiling after a second.

Not because of the similar drink order, which could be anyone...

But because of something I haven't known until this moment for over fourteen years.
All thanks to fate, or destiny...
Or perhaps the oblivious barista.

His last name...


*© NDHK

.before i come to the food topics, here's a pet peeve... language... how the pakistanis might / might not be offended by the laziness of the english, shortening their denotation to a prefix: ****-... and i'm like... is that really offensive? with the -stani suffix missing? o.k. o.k., iraq: iraqi... iran: iranian... pakistani: ****- / pakistani... so what about afghanistan? afghan, or afghanistani?! i'm pretty sure it's afghan... a person is afghani and not afghanistani... so what's wrong with ****-? it must be an english-****'stani thing from the 1960s or something... ******* as sensitive as french footballers... this has to be hard-pressed... this instance... because i hardly think it's a racial slur to stick to the prefix and not include the suffix, given the example from afghanistan - just like the "problem" of calling a jew a ***-, borrowed prefix from... yiddish! now for the food:

a. would you trust a skinny chef? i know i wouldn't trust a chef who's also a healthy-eating gym bro maniac, i bet he would never cook with lard or pork trimmings, with that calorie calculator lodged up his head that represents an ******* is not much to go with when taste is prime... 6ft1 253.5pounds, that's where i stand... i would never trust a health-freak to cook for me, let alone all the proofs rattling anorexic examples...

    b. "***** take your shoes off and get into the kitchen!" what a ****** joke, chauvanism rampant... mind you... who the hell said that women belong in the kitchen? they don't... i don't want a woman in the kitchen... i've had two dinners cooked by my fwends' mothers when still in my early teens... 1. over-cooked pasta... my fwends father would pretend to eat the dinner, before driving me home while stopping off at a sikh diner and took to the take-away (cooked by men), another example beside the over-cooked pasta? under-cooked spring potatoes - after all... the men on ships and submarines that kept the other men firing did all the cooking... men can cook... or at least: that's the least they should do... think: organic chemistry experiments...

eating a raw herring
in piquant mayonnaise
of reminiscence of a
granny-smith and pickled
cucumber tickle...
slurping it up into
a workout of the oesophagus
might remind many
of oral ***: but after all...
it's only a raw herring being eaten.

p.s. well perhaps gulping down
a raw oyster does feel familiar
to performing oral *** on a woman...
but since you're not really
chewing the oyster,
or licking it... but gulping it whole...
i can only compared performing
oral *** on a ***** to
                eating a raw herring.

            and why all of this talk of food?
well... what's on the menu for tomorrow?
a bangers & mash stew,
    old recipe from the days of the british
empire... mind you: why did they
call sausages bangers back then?
well, during the war, they put a lot of
water into the sausages...
and when water mixes with warm oil?
bang! bang!

                 'i was five and he was six,
   we rode on horses made of sticks,
he wore black and i wore white,
   he would always win the fight...
   bang! bang!
  he shot me down!
  bang! bang!
                 i hit the ground...
bang! bang!
   that awful sound...
bang! bang!
   my baby... shot me down!'
              (audio bullys ft. nancy s.) -

so obviously i had to take a walk
and buy the key ingredient...
   i.p.a.:
        and when they were stationed
in the raj, and the troops were receiving
provisions...
  the standard beer wouldn't last the trip,
going off...
     and dark port was too sweet...
so indian pale ale was invented:
   more potent alcohol content and brewed
based more on hops than barley or wheat...
bitter: but my god, what a strand of beer,
like your typical irish stout...
   which is why i never figured out
  the bud to be the king of beers...
   fermentation of rice? sure... it's crisp...
but also the sort of toddler **** you'd expect
from rice fermentation:
no body, no *****, no blood,
no palette...
      easy stew:
   sausages,
      onions, garlic, celery, carrots,
                  leeks...
     a bottle of i.p.a.,
   some to degrease the pan the sausages
and veg were fried on, the rest for the jacuzzi...
some water, bay leaf, salt to taste,
   tomato purée and 2tbsp
  of muscovado sugar to bite through
   the extra hops... mash on the side...
                  and an array of veg on the side too...

i still don't know where the idea
that women belong in the kitchen came from:
perhaps when the men were coal-miners,
and when the kitchen wasn't filled
with all the current day appliances
of convenience...
   when women worked as hard in the kitchen
as the men who worked in the coal-mine...
perhaps then, in the early part of the 20th
century... when spaghetti dough was hand-made
at home...
then a woman could take pride in her
house-keeping...
   now? now i guess: the same sort of melancholic
voice bound to nancy sinatra singing...
because once upon a time it was hard
work, running the house...
                       and then "suddenly"
everything became simple...
a man could walk into a coal-mine,
come back home and...
              make himself a decent meal...
  looking at what the english woman buy
in the supermarket?
      couch potato maidens...
       ready meal after yet another ready meal...
things have become so easy
that easy isn't enough...

      let me tell you a culinary ***** of a story...
the scurge of making homemade
ravioli! believe me... once a year is enough...
sure, it tastes great...
                  but once a year is enough.

You tell me that I am young
That life has merely licked me, not stung
That I do not understand, that I have not yet lived
Enough to grasp the substance

I have known disease
Slow tears, muted pleas
Pain that nothing could appease
I have known the smell of hospitals for summers
The beeping and slurping of machine in massive numbers

I have spoken to voiceless loved ones,
Loved ones with teethless mouths and twisted tongues
Distorted jaws and wheezing lungs.
We have spoken with little green charts
And broken hearts
From the inability to connect the mouth to the thoughts in the head
And I left without understanding,
What they had said
Because I eventually had to let it go
(I still don't know)

I have spent countless summer nights
In nature’s garb, floating silently in a river
So warm that my limbs, skimming the surface, didn't shiver
Under a clear sky, the stars like paradisiac lights
Without anyone ever finding out
About these wild and primal escapades

I've drank, I've smoked
I have burned my throat
With coarse lemon gin
Until I could no longer feel my skin.

I have been frightened
Yes I have felt fear, like a noose around my throat being tightened
Like a gruesome black crow, perched on my shoulder
I have often awoken affright at night,
Longing, praying, for the morning light
I have felt fear, wild, fierce and turbulent fear
More than anyone will everyone will ever know
By men, by life, by myself
Desolate under the sheets, like a forsaken toy
All by myself

I have seen Paris in the rain
Traveled the French countryside by train
I've woken up to New York window views
And seen New Orleans afternoons, filled with heat and blues.
I've swam the Mexican Baja waters, turquoise and clear
With snakes as sharp as spears

I have known humiliation
Causing my cheeks to turn carnation
A spoon, emptying my insides out
Like a gourd

I have loved
I have known the aching pain of a swelled heart
And the way it can tear you apart
I have gushed torrents upon my pillows and sleeves
Tears running down my chin like guilty thieves
From a lit-up house

I have known death, and grief
The meaning of "never"
Whimpering in the school bathroom
And cold, lonely nights

I have seen the works of Van Gogh, Mondrian, and Miro,
Modigliani, Cezanne, and Frida Kahlo
Of Monet, Gauguin, Matisse, Magritte, and Picasso
I have wandered through hallways of masterpieces
Holding tight to my grandmother's hand
And I have wept shamelessly for joy
Before Degas's La classe de danse

I have been diagnosed
I have undergone computer programs designed to shift my brain, to better it
To get me to be normal, to submit
I have had brain-altering medicine shoved down my throat,
Like stuffing a goose,
To make my brain run a little less loose
And I have submitted and gotten use to my brain being altered.

I have had kisses that were mere trifles
Frivolous, yet fierce and acute like shots from a rifle
Lips of mere flesh, not sweet godly nectar
And gazes that meant everything
That seemed to connect with an invisible yet indestructible string
Iris like distant galaxies and pupils twinkling like black jewels
Eyes that seemed enkindled by some ethereal fuel
Speaking of emotions far too secluded, cryptic and cluttered
To be worded and uttered

I know the way in which violence resides
Not in commotion, brusqueness, nor physical harm
But in silence
In the time that covers pain and secrets
In the slow impossibility of trust
In the way that some secrets become inconceivable to tell, time has so covered them in rust
In that dull, dismal ache
In all that is doomed to remain forever opaque.

I have read, for pleasure,
The works of Balzac, Fitzgerald, Steinbeck, and Voltaire
Of Bobin, Gaude, and Baudelaire
Of Flaubert, Hemingway
and good old Bradbury, Ray
Émile Zola,  Primo Levi
Moliere, Rousseau, and Bukowski
I have read, and loved, and understood

I have known insomnia
The way a beach knows the tides
Sleepless nights of convulsive, feverish panic, of clutching my sides,
Of silent hysteria and salty terror.
I know what happens at night, when sweet slumber seems so far away
The worries and woes seem to multiply and swell in hopeless disarray
My lips grow pale, my eye grow sunken
As a time ticks by, tomorrow darkens




I have witnessed horror
In the form of a blue body bag
Being rolled out with a squeaking drag
By two yellow-vested men
With apologetic eyes
That seemed to say "Oh god
We're so sorry you had to see that
Please, please
Go home
And try to forget"

But you are right
I am still just a child
Naive, innocent, and pure
I have known nothing dark or obscure
I have not yet lived.

i can't believe i came across this today,
but i am certain did...
   an experience so vague i couldn't believe,
i actually experienced dyslexia,
call it quasi call it pseduo... but it was very
much akin... from the book's narrative...
but not from the footnotes, i read the footnotes
at perfect cognitive speed, but perhaps
returning to the narrative i did experience
a slack of the + (add) of how words are
dissected and quickly put back together...
  yes, that other arithmetic with very little
breathing room, yes, that thing without
a soul... the word... or god...
    i turned custard brain, fudge...
     i felt like watching the gymnastics at
the para-olympics... and if i was going for a cheap
joke / english black humor i'd probably
laugh at that... but since this is the most
perfect ideal, i can't only make that comparison.

and so it was, i sat there doing nothing productive,
nothing... counting sheep to encourage
day-dreaming...
       so i said: 'i'll read a book', like i might do
on the whim in my grandparent's house
(one of the many reasons i decided to be "canadian" -
and establish a firm belief in bilingualism -
since if i didn't speak the tribal tongue
i wouldn't be rummaging in my grandfather's
library... and stealing books from him...
  well, exporting them to england, where he said
on my last visit: your library is bigger than
mine, isn't? well... it can fill a double-bed
   and be stacked at about 300cm up...)
    maybe the fact that being immersed in the tribe:
polish on the radio, on the television,
the fact that i can be without the internet for
weeks on end and have no quick-canvas outlet for
my earned tongue is the reason i could read
Kraszewski's* Dei Ira / bozy gniew / god's wrath...
    (there is too much subtle differences between
capital iota and little-town lambda -
   or why iota had to have the dot above it, anyway) -
so dei ira looks better... which is why i'm
not orthodox about using capital instances all the time...
   what a whirlwind...
         but prior to that i was watching
a david jacoby film - love is the devil: study for
a portrait by francis bacon...
                                         and all i could think of:
what marvel, to have a **** shoved up your ***
and speak so beautifully...
  have such a vast array of narratives...
     i can only assume that experiencing **** ***
gives you the other man's **** shoved into
your mouth that acts like a tongue and speaks
      so many truths as could be possible,
as in Freudian dream: when a woman wears a hat...
a talking ****** on her head from slurping
at the vaginal grotto of another woman...
     such a marvel though, homosexuality, esp.
the type of homosexuality that has art to express
rather than a civil partnership, civil rights...
  i mean, i could watch this stuff for days and never
yawn or need to watch protests and marches...
  just the image of what is best described
   john william waterhouse's
   painting hypnos and thanatos...
      i can't help but see it like that...
         francis plays the female role, his model the evident
dominant male... and sure, francis having his
**** punctured for what could be best described
as diarhhea either side of the equator does so...
it's as if he is eloquent enough / intelligent to allow
this to happen, for another man to speak through
him somehow... the model's phallus in francis' ****
becomes the model's tongue in francis' mouth...
    which becomes the stage for hypnos and thanatos...
in that francis' tongue becomes a phallus in
the mind of the model: and it whispers him nightmares
in his sleep... a vicious cycle indeed...
           that's the homosexuality that's highly regarded
by me, not the confetti functional type that
    exploits science and social norms and can no longer
lend itself to art, to transcending the taboo...
      with homosexuality divorced from art...
i can't see anything profound by gays from now on...
i really can't... if there is no art in this deviant
love, no art is worth being expressed by this
once glorious realm that has grovelled into the gutter...
so let's start once more: with Onan!

and everyday i awake wake with only one identifiable
fear: will i not write a single verse as of today?
it's not a case of a single day encapsulating my
fear, but that that crux day: furthered into a silence
that can't compensate the act of writing with
anything, other than sleep... i just can't seem
to smarten up concerning this very rational phobia...
    and having said that: here is the incision mark
denoting an interlude, and how: what are originally
intended to be of enso quality, cannot
   stand up to the biological tick-tock of needing
the loo...
     and do i think o'keefe's music foundation
by children is so much better than the original
done by tool concerning the song forty six & two?
yes, yes i do... just look at the kid on the bass guitar,
the fact that bass guitar is allowed to state a layer
of cake just above drums to set the rhythm
means the rhythm guitar doesn't have to solipsistic
******* and scale the everest of solo...
   it can remain in the rhythm section,
actually be worth a rhythm,
   the guitar doesn't need to overload into a solo...
the vocals belong to that domain...
   as long as the bass guitar is allowed to be heard
(unlike in metallica) - then i must be tone deaf!
revise me!
                    jazz knew the importance of every instrument,
and the need to be spontaneous, but also
the need to be anti-synchronisation,
  and therefore anti-muddle tsunami of:
all together now!
            n'ah, **** that **** (yes, the Vulgate is
coming along, i like the pooch, i don't care what things
i might say, the rude growl-bark is coming along:
so we can admire him licking his *****, and for no
other reason he's coming):
as in the birth of sexes... which the animals don't
seem to comprehend that much intently...
                 i can't like my ******* or **** one off...
but i know i can abstract a woman into
a hand and just pretend it's me doing the ****
crap with her... than myself included,
   or as i might add: never drink or *******
before the mirror... soon enough your reflection
becomes a bit odd, not because of what you do,
but because you hide so much perplexity before
you in Lucifer's daylight with which
  the moon Narcissus governs the moods...
that you start to look at your actual shadow
   with more clarity and fact...
  looking in the mirror is the reverse of looking
at your shadow under a street-lamp at night...
the mirror sort of becomes a shadow...
             the form becomes a bit (ha ha, what
an exagerration) vague... i look into
a mirror and i am but looking into shadow...
                   and i can't exactly recognise the eyes,
or make our geometric approximations
of a skull...
                      it's not even a case of a poor Yorrick
blah blah.
    or as the new governing body put it:
there are to be no mirrors contained within
the gates of Pandemonium...
        each to his own shadow, each to his own abstract...
   for the shadow will be deemed the new mirror...
   the new found glacier of, yes:
when salt water freezes, comes pure white floating
on the oceans... but must you freeze fresh water
and there's this matrix...
as in icecubes...
       dropping from a vendor machine...
and i knew i shouldn't have digressed so much,
but then again, if there was no ****** tick-tock
       rebellion, i probably wouldn't have revealed this much...
with ancient lore...
    who'd use the word Pandemonium these days,
if you're merely trying to call it: the Houses of Westminster...
well sure, accusation due: i prefer
a bunch of kids feeding me a nostalgia over a song
i heard aged 14... such is the power of the song 46 & 2
done to a... wait wait...
  i was talking about bass guitars and jazz...
(i could never get to like rap...
            i liked when the blacks deconstructed classical
music, but they did after: i'll never like,
mainly people of blackies and that general fanfare
of rap feeding tribalism) -
          the greatest aspect of jazz:
that on some recordings there's a chance to hear all
the instruments having a solo moment...
you'll hear a quintent solo:
  the piano, the drum, the saxophone, the horn,
the double-bass solo... each doing a solo...
not some erectile dysfunction of rock music from the 1980s...
i mean: each one will do a solo...
  and **** me, that's grand... and given there's no vocals
makes it all the better... but where, the ****, can i hear
jazz music being kept with such high regard as i
might find mozart pickled and even mummified
     to suddenly rise again and compose like i might hear
it on classical.fm... maybe acid jazz killed it...
   i can't seem to hear of one place where i can hear
the range of jazz music i have in my collection...
which probably mean's i'm lazy and don't fiddle about
with the radio fm and am channels... to "look" for jazz...
  i'm all applause though: jazz allowed for
deconstruction of classical music and paved the way
for the current state of polyphony in plateau...
    meaning: too much drum, too much ump-pst-ump-pst...
   jazz paved the wsay from orchestra,
   and yes, maybe because it was too impromptu
as it was necessary, that there was no jazz composer...
  there could have been no jazz script... no pre
           to what was otherwise alway and only: uno...
a once...
    sure Thelonious Monk did use an orchestra at some time...
  but if only someone decided to do a solipsism
and write out jazz like mozart wrote out
      concerto... but no... jazz descending from on high
and invoking african villages could never do to
its practitioners the deadly fate of breeding a jazz
composer...
                   it was the communal idea, the musketeer
unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno:
   you could never allow a silent dictator like
a mozart dictating to a throng of people contained
within an orchestra... which later made the once
silent dictators very very vocal... speeches in Munich
alike...
           the fact that jazz has no script,
and the fact that if someone tries to play a Miles Davis
from script... is completely an ***...
     put him on a donkey (backwards)
                     donning a sanbenito and lynch him
to the nearest traffic junction to **** louder than
a car klaxon... that will do the trick...
       they did bother to script led zeppelin though...
    maybe it was the stiff competition that did it:
jazz. airy... breezy... but what a quick moment it was...
i'm almost jealous of the beat poets experimenting
with jazz musicians... but then i'm not:
i like to think of them as parasites...
   you know... those things feeding of spontaneity...
parasites... or dare i say: plagiarising leeches...
plagiarisng what? well, not the content, the context:
feeding of jazz spontaneity... not working from
old composers like Milton or Dante...
thank god for Ezra Pound and Sylvia Plath.

seems i have a ****** for a larynx...

perhaps i just seem to mean: i am a firm believer
in bilingualism... perhaps that's based on
some sort of religiosity,
    and let me tell you: it's born with
a schismatic nature, siamese, but not like a
siamese twin, in that it really needs a surgeon...
  it's a nucleus that's inherently schismatic...
i can't blame the english nation being
so lazy in its multicultural ethos,
i quiet like it: i don't live in a ghetto...
but forgetting my native tongue just so i could
sing a national anthem with conviction?
na'ah, that's not me...
            we'll come to Kraszewski's rex piast
in a minute, and it really was a genuine
experience of placebo dyslexia,
the one on the other side: should i have written
zilch...
      i believe in something quiet Canadian...
i don't believe in isolated communities,
   or ghetto tactic... i am a firm disciple of the advent
of bilingualism: forget the *** for just one day,
your genitals won't suddenly drop off with
gangrene scabs... you don't need a doctor
to say that...
                i mean: bilingualism as a concern
for incorporated culture, and the culture you were
born in... why can't these people just care to juggle
three testicles?
                   oh, elaphantisis got in the way...
sure, two oranges and a watermelon: makes sense...
no!
      have mutual respect, you come to me sprechen
Piast i'll speak Piast to you...
   well: given that polish and polish aren't that far apart,
i'd feel inclined to utilise
           idiosyncratic lingo...
   lingua genesis...
                children are so much easier to utilise than
angels: they have yet to experience anything at all
on the Socratic basis...
            so if i talk Piast to me, you will know what
i'm talking about?
     it doesn't matter if you do... i chose to be
a library, rather than an encyclopoedia of immigrants...
    there's not need to test me on general knowledge:
the stuff i "know" already gives me membrane...
     i respect both the culture of my birth and the skin
i am sometimes told to make sure is called tattoo,
and what i see before me, and quiet frankly:
i see nothing before me... a turban here,
    a sausage & mash there, a pint of guinness there,
noodles elsewhere... all in all: globalisation
and the elements: earthquakes... torandos...
   there isn't much to see in a poly-ethnic society...
there are too many major changes taking place
in a pyramid of non-ethnic ascriptive
         non-this-and-that pawns...
  it's not even painful: just a bit disgusting to watch...
  and yes i have access to a voult of monochromatic
society:
   you know how many ethnic minorities i spotted
in a train station in Warsaw? three...
two asians and one black woman...
              i haven't experienced the cold winters in Poland:
but i knew there was a limit...
         only about three apaches in a crowd of
albinos... which doesn't translate as:
    i was somehow content, it just meant
that most signs in Warsaw are written with a bilingual
bridge of Polish... and Ukranian Cyrillic...
plenty of Ukranian Mecca-bandits, for sure,
     but that's the end of the line with what
western Europe is doing to itself...
        every time i come back from Poland
i'm smeared with a rainbow of variety,
   it's either: i want to **** all these girlies
or i want to **** them... mostly the former,
  but you get the picture of experiencing the alternative
of the western experiment: since marxist economy
was "doomed" or simply expected to fail...
the economy finally seems reasonable with safety
for the old and the pension plans...
that marxist-culturalism had to emerge... if we are not
on the same dough plan of being content with a table and
a chair: might as well say we're all prone to don
a ******* afro.
                ***** are naturally curly, no?
going back "home" is always a weird experience, i tend
to read books there... like Kraszewski (who,
even the locals **** as being an unbearable bore
and joke that Joyce is easier read)... with his dei ire...
my grandfather just dropped it into my hands
as an experiment, thinking i wouldn't read it...
    well, in terms of translation Kraszewski is a myth-broker...
no one would read him,
  meaning: i'm kind of grateful that poles
seem to sorta: not exist, when it comes to citing examples
that include modernity and the history being
formed... i could sorta believe it if i were Estonian
or Lithuanian, or from Liechtenstein...
          but we're talking about a place with a large
enough population to be a major player in some
wordly conflict... Poland isn't that small...
    but yet it appears like it appeared from
the 18th century onwards... a state partitioned...
    and what i love about remaining tactifully bilingual?
i can talk about my native in a "colonial" tongue...
hence the " " definition: self-acquired...
             that's why i became spastic-fantastic reading
Kraszewski's rex piast - nothing came in,
i lost all trace of syllable construction, i read the books
so slowly i had one page done in about 10 minutes:
prolonging my musing of world powers, thrones
and crowns on a toilet...
        *******... another interlude.

can anyone see the, dodo project? i really just see a dodo project, yes: eine dodo projekt... i'm white, i'm male: can i be allowed to express these nouns in a pronoun, or am i schizophrenic prone? it seems i c

MORNING HAS BROKEN
The men, in lines, ***** two by two,
forgetting all the women who
indulged them through a night of tricks
(their lips designed with crimson sticks,
their eyes a wild mascara mix)

and think instead on times ahead
when they’ll be gone, their bodies dead
(some rotting slow’, some mummified)
though once they were their mummy’s pride.

Attired bright in uniforms,
they strew their bombs in desert storms -
like melting sands, the sky deforms
with darkness, death - and doomsday swarms
through ravished lands where fires warm
the corpses, cold and puriform.

Their eyes flash forward towards the backs
of lucky ones who have the knack
of never being in the way
of bursts of bullets as they stray
(effacing phantoms faraway)
and dodging doom’s Redemption Day.

They’re wishing for a foggy morn
or best of all to be unborn,
and peering down to mark the sway
of wings in webs while spiders prey,

they wonder when their time will come
and they can cease their fleeing from
the sights they’ve seen, the deeds they’ve done,
the life they’ve lost, the death they’ve won,

then muse a while upon the child
they killed today when they went wild,
and when they’re finally reconciled
with broken bodies stacked and piled,

they ponder, does she have a kin
to curse them for their burning sin?

And if she does, will god reply
with tooth for tooth and eye for eye?

Or will her clan be mild and meek
and simply turn the other cheek?

2. MIDDAY MUSINGS
They’re counting steps to pass the time
and puzzle if they’ll reach their prime
or if instead they’ll serve the worm
their carnal flesh and aching *****

when soon, perhaps, they sleep in berth
provided by the chilling earth,
and fret about the fate they’ll find
below the stones that slowly grind.

And once or twice will come to mind
a sultry smile they left behind
(the distant past - a tepid trace –
another time, another place),
reflected in the gray grimace
that paints a frightened fading face.

And on they trek through guilt and gloom
to track their own and others' doom
and soon they’ll  grace another pool
with blood of other beings who’ll

inhale no more the evening airs,
unlike the wily Functionaires
who brutalize the fighting men
and send them far away and then

(relaxed, unwound, with victories made)
confer with sword an accolade
on those who’ve lopped bowed heads, with blade,
so someone bent must turn a *****

to hack a hole which then is filled
with all the cloven bodies killed
then cloaked with clay or loamy dirt,
as if to hide the pain and hurt.

3. TEATIME INTROSPECTION
Amongst the many are the few
who maim and **** and think it’s true
that purple war’s a parlour game
when really they’re submerged in shame
for crimes for which they are to blame
and can’t expunge with searing flame

while plodding through an endless time,
or pealing bells with holy chime,
or posing in a paradigm
where paradox and riddle rhyme.

And when they die (as die they must),
forevermore their putrid dust,
still soaked with gore and carmine lust,
will conjure thoughts of cold disgust.

And even though torrential rain
(which tastes at times like cool champagne)
can wash away the scarlet stain
which soaks the sands of god’s terrain,

it cannot ever cleanse the hands
that work the guns and burning brands,
or purge the throats that give commands
to him who never understands.

Nor can the raging hurricane
from blackened souls the white regain,
rescind the sins or void the banes
or loose the ****** from Satan’s chains
who line the pits of hell’s domains.

4. EVENING REFLECTIONS
When through the day to night they pass,
their eyes avoid the looking glass
displaying dim a pale phantasm
plunging deeper down a chasm,
surging through a blood ******,
smiling thin unveiled sarcasm

for the chances lost to taste
the many fruits that went to waste
when each was still a joyous lad,
who went to school and learned to add
and danced in rivers, barefoot clad,

attended church with mom and dad
(which tends the poor and cheers the sad),
to pray for good and curse the bad,
before, in war insanely mad,
he fought the fight (no Galahad)

by flinging flames and slashing throats,
immersing bods in  midnight moats
between the broken battered boats
where babes and booted bodies float,

and leaving bags of bones to bloat
in bullet-ridden overcoats,
and wondered if the goblins gloat
or spot (behind his eyes, the motes),

then strode away without a thought
that mortal lives had come to naught,
sedated by his conscience brought
to nothing more than dripping snot,
while Others sit upon a yacht
and pluck the eyes of fish They’ve caught,

for, when they die, fish seem to see
The Ones behind the tyranny
(with bellies round from gluttony)
in future dangling from a tree
(with leaves as black as ebony),
for that’s, They fear, Their destiny.

5. MIDNIGHT DREAMS**
At night the soldiers sometimes dream
of many things which make them scream,
like
                      floating down a gelid stream
             with burning flesh and cold ice cream
             upon their lips, which makes it seem
             as though their salt they can’t redeem
             when looking back at bold extremes
             of valiant warriors’ victory schemes.

Or ofter yet,
                      they sometimes meet
             a broken skull upon the street
             with gaping eyes, its mouth replete
             with swollen tongue that can’t repeat
             mere words of joy when lovers greet,
             or yell aloud or indiscreet’,

             or talk about the grand deceit
             of Those Who live on Easy Street,
             Who plot, destroy and overeat,
             while others bide beneath a sheet
             on bed of steely cold concrete,

             with final gift a flag or wreath
             that soon will wither like their teeth
             when once they’re settled underneath
             a mound of muck on mouldy heath,
             to lurk in Limbo Land beneath.

And ever more before they wake,
appear quaint dreams not quite opaque,  
like
                      upside down upon a lake
             keeps popping up a pregnant Drake
             who says “there must be some mistake,
             I only have a bellyache”,
             while high above’s a flying Snake,
             (a sight to make a killer quake).

             She cries aloud “for mercy’s sake
             your foresight’s blind, your wisdom’s fake
             the fragile bodies that you break,
             impale or burn upon a stake,
             then stack in layers like a cake,
             reflect a lust that death can’t slake”.

             And turquoise Turtles on the make
             (though taking time to overtake,
             each slurping down a chocolate shake)
             rev up to plead “let us explain,
             we think you men are all insane
            with morals thin as cellophane;

             for, peering through god’s window pane,
             we see quite clearly those you’ve slain,
             enough to fill the Dim Domain
             with blood and guts and tears and pain,
             Chimeras of a frenzied brain.”

             A worn and weary weather vane
             announces floods of claret rain
             that forty days and nights sustain,
             submerging mountains, raising Cain,
             while flushing mankind’s acid reign
             down nature’s evolution drain.

             The Serpent hails a hydroplane
             “because”, she hissed, “we can’t remain;
             behind the hill, the atom’s spark
             has vaporized the palace park,
             reduced to dust the Meadowlark
             and nullified the Rainbow’s arc”.

             And while the others hush and hark,
             a feline Toad begins to bark
             “This plane is certainly Boa’s Ark.

             Let’s flee the Human hierarch,
             forsake all Men to sate the Shark
             which swim within the Waters Dark,
             and purge all traces of the Mark
             in Eden when we disembark.”

             The beasts, in lines, by twos embark.

The dreamers wake, they’re staring, stark,
behind their eyes, a watermark.

Asians are identical; we all look the same to Western people
2. Asians have small eyes, sometimes a monolid and wear glasses
3. Asians have straight black hair
4. Asians are short, petite, whatever you want to call it
5. Asian women have small curves
6. Asian mums nag about posture
7. Asian parents want their daughters to dress conservatively and ladylike which means hair tied back and skirts to at least the knees
8. Asian mums thinks beauty items are unneccessary, saying "Stop wasting your time and money trying to look pretty and get studying!"
9. Asians have no fashion sense. A dress with runners? Sure. Crocs? Why not, they're comfortable.
10. Asians parents think fifteen is too young for a girl to be wearing high heels
11. Asian parents hate unnatural changes to appearance with exception to double eyelid surgery and tattooed eyebrows
12. Asian names are unpleasant when translated into English e.g. **, ****
13. Asian surnames have little variety
14. Asian eat rice every day because it is considered the meal i.e. side dishes doesn't make an adequate dinner
15. Asians eat strange things like duck, chicken feet and shark fin.
16. Asians love bubble tea
17. Asians find no shame in slurping
18. Asians must get A+ grades because A = average, B = bad, C = crap, D = Disowned, F = ******
19. Asians are maths brainiacs
20. Asians cannot speak engrish
21. Tutoring because 6 hours of school is for lazy people
22. Asians think holidays are the opportunity to get ahead of others in school
23. Everyday conversation includes "Have you studied yet?"
24. Asians should learn the piano or violin and preferably to concert level
25. Doctor is the best aspiration
26. If it's not a birthday party, there is little reason to go out when that time can be spent studying or practicing an instrument  
27. Asians enjoy Kpop and Jpop even when they don't understand the language
28. Asians take luvos and sticky photos with cute aegyo poses
29. Asian parents hope their daughters will not let any boy touch their hand, just like in Asian dramas
30. Asian parents ban girls from sleepovers, parties at night and outings with boys
31. Asian parents think their kids shouldn't date until university and even then, is still too young
32. Asians talk very loudly
33. Asian parents wake up the household with loud noises such as vacuuming or turning up the tv
34. Asian parents talk for far too long when they meet other Asian parents
35. Asian parents love to compare their children against other children
36. Every conversation with parents turn out to be a life lesson
37. Asians are stingy and will always hunt for money that's owed to them
38. Asians believe there is never a time when they should pay optional fees or full price for a commercial item
39. Asians are terrible drivers
40. Asians have some sort of kung fu power
41. Old Asians get together and learn tai chi
42. Asians wear slippers inside the house
43. Tigerbalm is their secret weapon
44. Asians have a piano in their living room
45. Asians go to an Asian language school
46. Asian mums tattoo their eyebrows
47. Asians use these emoticons: ^^, ><, O.O, T_T etc.
48. Asians use "la~" in instant messenging
49. Asians sing kareoke

eating the sludgy contents
of your beautiful mind's conscience
and dreaming in your thoughts
while choking on blood clots
slurping up tangled tendons
drowning in remembrance
tales of your history
have now become a meal for me
digested in your calculations
I am finally free of my frustration.

I simply cannot focus on my work
as all these animals have gone berserk!
Philippa, my darling girl, fill me in,
who on earth is making that awful din?

There’s an aardvark having a bath,
   and a chameleon rolling dice,
an eagle searching in the freezer
   and a goose hiding in the hedge,
an iguana eating our jam
   and a koala juggling our lemons,
a marmoset slurping noodles
   and an octopus carrying paint pots,
a quail wearing a ring
   and a squirrel making the tea,
a unicorn using the vacuum cleaner
   and a walrus playing the xylophone,

and finally Philippa, finally my girl,
   a yak fidgeting with a zip!

Where did they come from? I really don’t know,
but very soon they will just have to go!
I’ve had enough now of this awful din,
thank you Philippa for filling me in!

My name is Young Slug
and I write hip hop songs.
The lyrics sound as clear
as a lady slurping dongs.

Martin Luther King once told me
that my mother was a ****.
So I whipped out a baseball bat,
and ****** him in the ****.

I think he liked it too much,
cause he was moaning "colonel sanders,
stick it in my ***... and make me dry like the flanders."

even hegel read jakob böhme                   (boo m'eh) -
to keep the democratic spirit - obviously the Kardashians don't
know a hairbrush from a toothbrush - but that hardly matters -
what matters is how Pearl Harbour turned into karaoke applause -
the idea of an american in europe: spaghetti slurping  -
even that considering the "special"
       relationship of anglophiles -
    anatomy of antagonism:
        spaghetti swindlers of talk -
slurping that tangle into an easily sold
global affair would never juice up the idea
to think about my neighbour as someone
i'd care to be;
          and as common with the postmortem
childhood educators, the curriculum of such
people always stated: learn otherwise -
       no wonder their screened the
personal vanities of Versailles in the 21st century
coming from the 18th and 17th century -
learn the truths concerning the genesis
of the 21st century in the 24th century at least...
i'm under the righteous impression:
most of the people i live with have
been savaged by science fiction,
and the slowness of science in itself
that they are tattooed with a care for now,
but never tomorrow... imagine living in a society
that pays its workers in month's wages than
in week's wages... can you imagine it?
the two re- debate: again quick (reflexive),
and the again slow (reflective) -
if i'm glorifying the latter than the former?
oh, that question... you have to reply with:
usury and why the libido of old men
equips young girls to the same libido,
and why young men are worthy of a war memorial
and the mud of trenches...
and why young men can't with enzyme-fervour
bind of the satiated young woman sexually
compete... and why so many say: **** it.
one *** spends its youth barraged by usury -
and all other hamster wheels,
the other *** parties with the cocksure crowd:
and then you expect a withstanding human bond?
ha ha.    forget it... hey lady, how's that old man
treating you? he's the pope, i know.
                         forged from the Martian
        ashen heat cooling: in how she thought
the two would meet and raise a family in the mythology
of Eden... when she got paid her student fees
by sugar daddies, and he got spit to extract feeding
handshakes - that only turned into jacking off
                                                                ­      gambles.    
  she now the happy soul fathomed as the bigoted
              entrenchment in this world: as forever
  and if only trying: then at least expecting war
to solidify the point.
                just the other day in Camden Market:
she's complaining about her libido with older men,
   he's complaining: your problem is that you go
for older men... oh ****, then all the problems of
natural correlative assertions, and children to
masquerade the real problems... and pop culture
and what's being gagged (apart from the gimp,
forever caged and clad in leather, and a mouth
that's really an ****) -           the children suffer
    from would otherwise been a beneficial anti-evolutionary
suggestion: that i was recipient of the outside environment,
rather than the inside environment of some benefiting
sir esquire toff -                 give me my tail and fur back!
   i don't care for gymnastics or vogue! give it back!
******! this ain't an improvement,
                 who heard of primeval predators building
guillotine scaffolds (although, i admit, that's humane) -
or ****** Mary being beheaded with a blunt blade -
or gas chambers... when i think of tigers i think of
humanity greater than man with his apple i7 phone -
i think of vampires... i find it hard to believe
we evolved from what was already perfect...
                   to improve what? we were always outsiders...
    narrators - then again, if i'm the sort of
"creationist" scumbag, then i can just say:
Chinese and Welsh dragons and dinosaurs...
   and to be honest: history is obsolete given the
two timescales of the big bang (what a ****** name
to start things off... heard a bang in a vacuum?) -
              and monkey -
                                             which is no wonder
why history died given the timescales, and why we
are overly saturated with journalism, the 24 hour reels
and nothing really happening in those 24 hour counting
                   mechanisms:
which is no surprise journalism resurrected a pseudo-dialectics,
   i.e. an opinions section - and there they are,
like third world dictators, unchallenged, journalistic
freedom is the last thing to fight for right now,
   not when journalists don't have any journalism to give,
  and invoke the need to be opinionated,
and in thus being the above said: unchallenged.
                 Colonel Falafel? sign me up!

I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix)
Asians are identical; we all look the same to Western people
2. Asians have small eyes, sometimes a monolid and wear glasses
3. Asians have straight black hair
4. Asians are short, petite, whatever you want to call it
5. Asian women have small curves
6. Asian mums nag about posture
7. Asian parents want their daughters to dress conservatively and ladylike which means hair tied back and skirts to at least the knees
8. Asian mums thinks beauty items are unneccessary, saying "Stop wasting your time and money trying to look pretty and get studying!"
9. Asians have no fashion sense. A dress with runners? Sure. Crocs? Why not, they're comfortable.
10. Asians parents think fifteen is too young for a girl to be wearing high heels
11. Asian parents hate unnatural changes to appearance with exception to double eyelid surgery and tattooed eyebrows
12. Asian names are unpleasant when translated into English e.g. **, ****
13. Asian surnames have little variety
14. Asian eat rice every day because it is considered the meal i.e. side dishes doesn't make an adequate dinner
15. Asians eat strange things like duck, chicken feet and shark fin.
16. Asians love bubble tea
17. Asians find no shame in slurping
18. Asians must get A+ grades because A = average, B = bad, C = crap, D = Disowned, F = ******
19. Asians are maths brainiacs
20. Asians cannot speak engrish
21. Tutoring because 6 hours of school is for lazy people
22. Asians think holidays are the opportunity to get ahead of others in school
23. Everyday conversation includes "Have you studied yet?"
24. Asians should learn the piano or violin and preferably to concert level
25. Doctor is the best aspiration
26. If it's not a birthday party, there is little reason to go out when that time can be spent studying or practicing an instrument  
27. Asians enjoy Kpop and Jpop even when they don't understand the language
28. Asians take luvos and sticky photos with cute aegyo poses
29. Asian parents hope their daughters will not let any boy touch their hand, just like in Asian dramas
30. Asian parents ban girls from sleepovers, parties at night and outings with boys
31. Asian parents think their kids shouldn't date until university and even then, is still too young
32. Asians talk very loudly
33. Asian parents wake up the household with loud noises such as vacuuming or turning up the tv
34. Asian parents talk for far too long when they meet other Asian parents
35. Asian parents love to compare their children against other children
36. Every conversation with parents turn out to be a life lesson
37. Asians are stingy and will always hunt for money that's owed to them
38. Asians believe there is never a time when they should pay optional fees or full price for a commercial item
39. Asians are terrible drivers
40. Asians have some sort of kung fu power
41. Old Asians get together and learn tai chi
42. Asians wear slippers inside the house
43. Tigerbalm is their secret weapon
44. Asians have a piano in their living room
45. Asians go to an Asian language school
46. Asian mums tattoo their eyebrows
47. Asians use these emoticons: ^^, ><, O.O, T_T etc.
48. Asians use "la~" in instant messenging
49. Asians sing kareoke

you spread me like strawberry jam,
licking syrupy wrists and chewing on pips.
i will thaw leisurely, until my skin has saturated through
your insanity.
open me like a mango,
slurping, drops of juice upon blemishes,
sprinkling candy through open wounds.
bite through me, an apple hard and
mouth watering.
the pits of me will fall, searching for fertile soil,
and grow.grow.grow.

Coffee and tea at the cafe of Christ
The Bible for breakfast
Slurping stories from ***** and Samuel
To Ezekial and Ezra.
Start your day the holy way with Christ chex.
Ahh. The breakfast of champions

She tastes her tongue
-stuttering, spluttering-
and recoils -bitterness
and bile- slobber down
the side of the chin,
spitting it out.

She tapes her tongue
to the front of her
teeth -so that it
does not touch her
uttering buds going
down-

Slurping loudly
the syrupy silence
and its sounds
her thirst grows
to frenzy

Sacrificial  
blood offering
-trembling-
to the ancients
within her

Bullet-wrapped words
Spill from dangerous mouths,
nonchalantly slurping rumors
from fragile adolescence.
A golden-plated intention
wears a mask of gentle feathers,
but becomes warped with ignorance
and indirect self hatred.
Careless and trivial,
the public twists reality
into sweet butter braids,
melting into an oily confusion
that only small children dare to question.
It is I who asks for something more
and aimlessly wanders varying distance
for reasons unknown,
and I float on words of people
I’ve never heard of,  
and follow their fingers as they
carry and steal innocent piano keys,
as if they could truly open locked doors.
Though attempted and failed,
the insignificant longing
trails behind a broken consciousness,
wriggling between the wrinkles of time
and crevasses of awful brain matter,
allowing this to never begin,
never continue,
and never end.

What happens
_ to space_
between us
This is the
human race
Ah, Vey?
Just pray

Overly smitten
But not seeing
  clearly picture-prey
He or she runs!!
Little darlings
here comes the sun

The lime doing the time
Falling trees of coconut
Feeling- overloved
Deviant artist
splat coconut milk

No Security Cat
comfort box
So out of recession
Killer fox__

Chocolatey coconut
Cleanse my mind detox
Almond Joy concession
Rise up Face Botox

He cannot
read you
Haywire always
wired up his words
Hurried Hazelnut
coffee if you mind
Over-sugared
Increased brain
functions bitter rinds
So commercialized
The Cocoa Puffs
Going bananas
monkey ***
Lexie Vamp Vex

Mr. Ed overload
of Oz colors baboon
Going up Air Balloon
So many airheads
The  Rainforest
GQ  he's gone IQ
((Quarterly Neck of the woods))
Not orderly Outback
Steakhouse
Dinosaurs
******
Vicarious

No shortcut
The nervous system
The fast have a drink
furious
Cracking a coconut
Her Safe__*
6-6-6 combinations
Could crack her
Coconut oil neck her
City Girl call her

Intellectual brain
Singing
Gene Kelly
umbrella
Raining coconuts

(On Overload)
Strawberry Fields
This will be short
Yeah right forever
shortcake, not any sort

The trend of
coconut
Nearer because
of you I am
further
She was the
Brazilian Nut
With her
blind gut

((Coconut Houdini))
Island of Bali
Beauty of Judy
Somewhere so over it
rainbow

King Kong
Hairy chest banging
coconut drink slurping
Of girl talk
Strong New Jersey
Stamina


***** of Venezuela
Overload of
Prima, Donna's
Instant Karma
going to get them
Knocked them off
there feet
Where is my
John Lennon
He has the best beat

I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix)
Asians are identical; we all look the same to Western people
2. Asians have small eyes, sometimes a monolid and wear glasses
3. Asians have straight black hair
4. Asians are short, petite, whatever you want to call it
5. Asian women have small curves
6. Asian mums nag about posture
7. Asian parents want their daughters to dress conservatively and ladylike which means hair tied back and skirts to at least the knees
8. Asian mums thinks beauty items are unneccessary, saying "Stop wasting your time and money trying to look pretty and get studying!"
9. Asians have no fashion sense. A dress with runners? Sure. Crocs? Why not, they're comfortable.
10. Asians parents think fifteen is too young for a girl to be wearing high heels
11. Asian parents hate unnatural changes to appearance with exception to double eyelid surgery and tattooed eyebrows
12. Asian names are unpleasant when translated into English e.g. **, ****
13. Asian surnames have little variety
14. Asian eat rice every day because it is considered the meal i.e. side dishes doesn't make an adequate dinner
15. Asians eat strange things like duck, chicken feet and shark fin.
16. Asians love bubble tea
17. Asians find no shame in slurping
18. Asians must get A+ grades because A = average, B = bad, C = crap, D = Disowned, F = ******
19. Asians are maths brainiacs
20. Asians cannot speak engrish
21. Tutoring because 6 hours of school is for lazy people
22. Asians think holidays are the opportunity to get ahead of others in school
23. Everyday conversation includes "Have you studied yet?"
24. Asians should learn the piano or violin and preferably to concert level
25. Doctor is the best aspiration
26. If it's not a birthday party, there is little reason to go out when that time can be spent studying or practicing an instrument  
27. Asians enjoy Kpop and Jpop even when they don't understand the language
28. Asians take luvos and sticky photos with cute aegyo poses
29. Asian parents hope their daughters will not let any boy touch their hand, just like in Asian dramas
30. Asian parents ban girls from sleepovers, parties at night and outings with boys
31. Asian parents think their kids shouldn't date until university and even then, is still too young
32. Asians talk very loudly
33. Asian parents wake up the household with loud noises such as vacuuming or turning up the tv
34. Asian parents talk for far too long when they meet other Asian parents
35. Asian parents love to compare their children against other children
36. Every conversation with parents turn out to be a life lesson
37. Asians are stingy and will always hunt for money that's owed to them
38. Asians believe there is never a time when they should pay optional fees or full price for a commercial item
39. Asians are terrible drivers
40. Asians have some sort of kung fu power
41. Old Asians get together and learn tai chi
42. Asians wear slippers inside the house
43. Tigerbalm is their secret weapon
44. Asians have a piano in their living room
45. Asians go to an Asian language school
46. Asian mums tattoo their eyebrows
47. Asians use these emoticons: ^^, ><, O.O, T_T etc.
48. Asians use "la~" in instant messenging
49. Asians sing kareoke

I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix)
Asians are identical; we all look the same to Western people
2. Asians have small eyes, sometimes a monolid and wear glasses
3. Asians have straight black hair
4. Asians are short, petite, whatever you want to call it
5. Asian women have small curves
6. Asian mums nag about posture
7. Asian parents want their daughters to dress conservatively and ladylike which means hair tied back and skirts to at least the knees
8. Asian mums thinks beauty items are unneccessary, saying "Stop wasting your time and money trying to look pretty and get studying!"
9. Asians have no fashion sense. A dress with runners? Sure. Crocs? Why not, they're comfortable.
10. Asians parents think fifteen is too young for a girl to be wearing high heels
11. Asian parents hate unnatural changes to appearance with exception to double eyelid surgery and tattooed eyebrows
12. Asian names are unpleasant when translated into English e.g. **, ****
13. Asian surnames have little variety
14. Asian eat rice every day because it is considered the meal i.e. side dishes doesn't make an adequate dinner
15. Asians eat strange things like duck, chicken feet and shark fin.
16. Asians love bubble tea
17. Asians find no shame in slurping
18. Asians must get A+ grades because A = average, B = bad, C = crap, D = Disowned, F = ******
19. Asians are maths brainiacs
20. Asians cannot speak engrish
21. Tutoring because 6 hours of school is for lazy people
22. Asians think holidays are the opportunity to get ahead of others in school
23. Everyday conversation includes "Have you studied yet?"
24. Asians should learn the piano or violin and preferably to concert level
25. Doctor is the best aspiration
26. If it's not a birthday party, there is little reason to go out when that time can be spent studying or practicing an instrument  
27. Asians enjoy Kpop and Jpop even when they don't understand the language
28. Asians take luvos and sticky photos with cute aegyo poses
29. Asian parents hope their daughters will not let any boy touch their hand, just like in Asian dramas
30. Asian parents ban girls from sleepovers, parties at night and outings with boys
31. Asian parents think their kids shouldn't date until university and even then, is still too young
32. Asians talk very loudly
33. Asian parents wake up the household with loud noises such as vacuuming or turning up the tv
34. Asian parents talk for far too long when they meet other Asian parents
35. Asian parents love to compare their children against other children
36. Every conversation with parents turn out to be a life lesson
37. Asians are stingy and will always hunt for money that's owed to them
38. Asians believe there is never a time when they should pay optional fees or full price for a commercial item
39. Asians are terrible drivers
40. Asians have some sort of kung fu power
41. Old Asians get together and learn tai chi
42. Asians wear slippers inside the house
43. Tigerbalm is their secret weapon
44. Asians have a piano in their living room
45. Asians go to an Asian language school
46. Asian mums tattoo their eyebrows
47. Asians use these emoticons: ^^, ><, O.O, T_T etc.
48. Asians use "la~" in instant messenging
49. Asians sing kareoke

Number 7 in the ORLOK series and one of the best*

O how I relish the taste of blood
****** out from the devastated jugular
But there is more, much more
When the victim is a nubile ****
From a Transylvanian village
Where ****** morality
Is quite ******* thin on the ground;
And that is how I met my fate.

'Twas on an October eve
When I met plump Esmeralda
And (having fed my fill from her neck
as she slept in her hut
under filthy rags stinking of stale *****),
I sank my fangs into her naked belly
Ripping into her bloated guts
With my accustomed gusto;
My tongue slurping its way
Over her twitching ****;
And finally I descended joyously
To her odorous *****-encrusted *****
For the last rites,
Before the final curtain
To her worthless life of peasantry.

But then, as my excitement mounted,
And just as I was on the verge
Of pumping out my vampiric *******,
I felt an agonising, mind-blasting pain
As a major stroke swept through me,
Wrecking my synapses big time,
Turning my brain into guacamole.
And now I am a crippled ******,
Just a spasticated old vampire
In my second-hand rusting wheelchair,
Courtesy of Romanian Social Services,
Drooling helplessly
Into my swollen pissy crotch,
Waiting for another enema,
My sole remaining pleasure
And a stimulus to my jaded prostate.

But, hurrah! hurrah! new hope arrives:
A miracle occurs as I read of
The new wonder pill from SuperDrug
Available only in private practise
And guaranteed to rejuvenate the jaded
Or your money back, no worries.
Orlok will fly again to pursue
The pleasures of the flesh
And especially the botty-zone.

there was an audience... there is still an audience...
i wonder about it...
i'm such a conservative deacon in the comments
that... i leave very little traces of interaction...
i tried getting ****** into the whole affair
of leaving comments - like i might have left
grafitti tags on the pillars of bridges...
                   there was an audience... there's still an
audience... i imagine...
or i rather: translate with metaphor what i'm:
trying to imagine...
              three moths have attempted to fly into
my room to spend the night free from fear...
i caught two in my hand... put the clenched hand
to my ear... no... not the sea trapped in a seashell...
close... sound effect of... rain on a tin roof...
a moth trapped in a cage of a hand...
it hasn't rained for days... weeks even...
       the most... bountiful of springs in england...
and everyone is... supposed to handle the affair
like the 2nd coming of ribonson crusoe...
          i can: because i'm used to it...
                    peacefully anti-social...
                     it's hardly bragging but:
there's an audience... there's always an audience...
here's to me: getting regularly milked...
or... laying some eggs with the sunrise and the moon...
i am... at a stage of maturing from...
a phase where... i did... once upon a time...
care about what i wrote... for my own gratification:
but... not any more...
         i've reached a point where...
i can join the ranks of the 4 Dada Suicides...
     'the four' (who) 'took nihilism of the movement
to its ultimate conclusion, their works are
the remnants of lives lived to the limit and then cast
aside with nonchalance and disdain'...
Vaché (overdosed)... Rigaut (shot himself)...
Cravan and Torma (disappeared)...
        the latter two... probably lived a life in
approximation to what might have happened
to... Richey Edwards...
born on...                  disappeared aged 27...
death is the last clue...
    not that i'm going to imitate what's already
claimed...
but... a mile from my home...
i can... find... ample resources... hemlock...
the stems are poisonous...
      i've tried... lilac mushrooms... dog mushrooms
they call them...
i don't know whether i ate a poisonous
one or not... it wasn't...
    a muhomor... amanita fly agaric...
           but... when the circuses have died and
the bread is still there...
no new movies... no sports...
what can beat: the old tease of mortality...
the grain-of-sand per month's worth of movement
added... to the tally and
the curriculum vitae of vivo per se...
                   the theatre of death...
     if i don't think about death with a joke...
i stop being... ridiculous in life...
                   i like the thought of death when...
life doesn't preserve any... sense of...
any... alternative... "light" entertainment...
it's not like i'm planning an escape...
rich and about to clone myself...
   and teach the clone "me" to be: a "future" - and me...
i almost can see how someone must
have tried to cheat death with the available
avenue of cloning...
but... the subservience of the clone...
the clone being what?
       someone must have learned the hard way...
i just interjected the question as an: and...
which is a conjunction...
          but if you're gonna go...
hell... seal a room and yourself in it...
and buy a... metaphorical tonne of lily of the valley...
go to sleep... and never wake up...
death... even death has to become entertaining:
in thinking terms - at the very least...
the only real eventuality among...
half a dozen of impossible things to think about...
daily... and here's that apple...
   if nietzsche... sentenced the source
and future disease from the 19th century...
well... so much for overcoming nihilism...
         nihilism... after all... is not... apathy...
   and even with the death of nihilism...
                              at least nihilism still asked
for moloch-esque sacrifices of will...
     apathy? what does this slug ask for?
it asks of you to... well... wrestle with yourself...
hence that "overlooked" quote:
if a day has many pockets...
       yes... those pockets of self-realisations that
provide a glitch of proof...
a proof of... having to find dominion in
settled dust... oh to hell with grand metaphors
of staging revolutions brought down
from mountain-tops!
- and i'm literally drinking my way through...
what 19th century nihilism became:
a 21st century apathy hangover...
      i'll spare the 20th century the rites of...
a mythical new beginning... a year 0...
        100 years give or take... each side of the end
of the 20th century...
but... nihilism is no longer... the standard:
to overcome...
             as much meaning can be derived from
a peanut as from a falling star...
to be this: subjective sanitiße everything -
                       i hardly think... a dickens would
require an objective reader...
what is an objective reader?
someone who studies: rather than reads...
newspapers...
someone who probably proofs reading...
by also ensuring citations are... made abundantly
clear... archives... etc.
well... better contemplating the theatre of death
than... say...
"normies":
    ahem... the critique of china...
       point: can you imagine... if... communism...
was thought-up... when...
the french revolution began? the only revolution?
rather than the russian oopsie?
well... and communism began...
when... engels and marx... went to the north
of england... and... prior to the manifesto...
wrote of the details of child-labour...
this is not my thing but...
it gets to the point where:
you can criticize china all you want...
but there's no smart... or dumb way...
to go about... pretending to be at war...
with a population of a billion people...
that... if push comes to shove...
could be conscripted instantly...
              to point out... is to exhaust the argument:
to have an argument for:
"western" principles of democracy...
here... have some balloons... here's a keg
of helium... 'ave fun...
by now... saudi arabia is secretly planning
a jihad into the Xinjiang province...
saudi arabia: the vatican of the islamic world...
is secretly trying to... blah blah...
no... the saudi princes are strapped to their yachts...
the bangladeshi slave labour blah blah...
yeah: but whittle ol' england needs
the Neds of Lahore and their tier up from
the chimney top: crescent moon-lick... slick...
- but to be this... fired up...
                it's simply exhausting to have:
a freedom of speech for such high demands...
not need to hide behind the ideals of love...
or being misunderstood...
             in no defence... but... under the guise
of that grand word: capitalism...
the sub- thorough: made in china...
                and what now? the jaw dropping
counter to the very delicate status quo?
it's beyond nihilism... when such upheld
values allowed for artistic rebellion...
to the moon: been there, done that..
europe the old man... h'america the newly
acquired *******...
       you want politico jargon ******* squeezes...
sure thing...
     stoic india... always the stoic india...
to **** off the competition - cheap soviet steel...
the soviet union's nuna 2, on 13 september 1959 -
in between: frank sinatra's:
fly me to the moon - 1963...
and thus... r.e.m.'s yeah yeah: 20 July 1969...
it's hard to compensate / compete with
that sort of a trojan hard-on ***** of
the elgin marbles...
                              at least the germanic peoples
played and understood the ping-pong
with the slavic peoples -
the hungarians on the side...
but not this... african trash for beijing...
the mongol capital of crimea...
and golden hoarding project: typo...
   when they came riding in... smeared
in **** and week old **** and horse blood...
to make... the labyrinth of the baghdad library...
a pyramid of skulls...
squeeze me: to this tired state of lost
the head to a guillotine chatter-box...
even the events of napster unfolding...
and all that's being streamed and...
now's the time to kiss and cuddle prostitutes...
and wet mr. whittle dicky for second
chances of a lost digestive... in that pond
of brew...
                easy fools to fool: those camel back
rich in dino-blood: soul black...
like espressos of mecca... flowing rich
and dying with a soothing...
from amnesia and diabetes...
and amputated limps when... sugar ingestion
leaves them... dancing ballet on only one foot...
because: porky pie and ms. amber: ha!
all bad!
                so much for... what's waiting
the white girl pornstars...
the liberated afro-h'americans and the service...
of beijing shrimp ****...
double edged sword... the height and...
all those attaches... of a fine... fine...
procelain piece of ***...
no-man's-land... the middle ground:
of... mercedez-benson-and-hedges...
        on my way out... the apache / sioux /
dodo / aztec / mayan / dodo (again) projects...

semi-closure...
   gary glitter - rock & roll part II
     ian watkins (of lostprophets) -
                      shinobi vs dragon ninja...
sorry... that one was a paedo...
              toddle-****** for the latter...
and it's not like... i enjoyed the music
to begin with...
i can't see an ad hominem argument
for the former...
                 toddler-******: esp. if the output...
well... it's not trash...
   it's: dad mantra... it's dad claustrophobia...
my take on:
mahler contra pergolesi....
            counter: invest in 100 years to come...
of which... you will...
find a future reader: being alive...
not having re(a)d you...
1986... the reader is born...
1997... you die...
you are discovered... come...
2K and 7... 8...... perhaps 9...
  a time-reference of...
         13 years from the readers birth to your
death... it's Glasgow... a very rare...
sunny... afternoon...
psychosis of the reader...
         1997 through to... 2008...
              that's 11 years... so...
what matters most is... how well you walk
through the fire...
that one about the crow and the madmen...
and each: having his niche:
his "social distancing" clause...
writing was fun when one could
stomach the: in the background...
when people lived their: very troublesome:
important... surgical precision...
nobel prize winning type / typo lives...
writing via a sense of voyeurism was...
well... hardly the self-evident blatant it has
become...
escape into fiction (lies you tell others)...
escape into imagination (choking ties of
tier-a: as above... with tier-b: as below)...
or escape into memory (lies you tell
yourself)...
but i rather the memory...
the cinema of it...
i forget to blink when: blinking is akin
to... signatures... autographs of famous people...
bull... shyte: philately...
         lepidopterology... half closure of the semi-
closure... a brilliant metaphor...
      when the **** or the latex gimp suits
are not available...
there's always that 14 year old "idea"...
of... a tamed *******...
well... if you imagine it as... love at first sight...
you're 16 she's 14... and...
you're dating her older sister at the time...
and then... she disappears...
within the confines of her first and last
unflowering...
but the pristine first-impressions become
less metaphor and more: idealism...
it's fun... when there's a concensus of it being:
forbidden... it's what drives both the hunger...
and the feeding...
that it's never actually realised is beside
the point: made... in... lars von trier's
nymphomaniac...
          too catholic of me: born into it...
but... repressing the urges... is as much as...
delighting oneself in them...
ergo: the necessary *******...
so much for... *****-******* and oyster
slurping... when... you have been...
ahem... told to **** it up...
with the: "excess of skin"...
excess of skin / chemical imbalance
in the brain...
how about... i allow... a triatoma infestans...
to quicken my: dementia...
the myth goes... along the lines...
a horse with a grain of sand...
via its ear... will bash and ram and ram and bash
its head against a brick wall:
in an attempt to rid itself of the irritation...
conformity:
cul de sac queers and kwerks...
i lampoon on a sunday...
the rest of the days i'm free...
clued into: cwown...
which is... somehoo: velsh... in parts...

- by death i imply a riddle...
                 by death i imply:
          freed from the cinema of highly edited
pseudo-living...
not even among the stage of the theatre...
but at least...
cinema got one thing right...
   the suicide of christine chubbuck -
the urban myth goes along the lines of:
a cockroach was found... alive... 2 weeks...
after its head was guillotined...
       it's like that... bane quote:
and... the andrei chikatilo... reality...
non-verbatim:
                 'perhaps he's wondering... why
someone would shoot a man...
before throwing him out of a plane'...
rephrasing:
   'perhaps he's wondering...
why someone would shoot a man...
after throwing him into a prison cell'...
unless... he wasn't... expecting...
to wait for him... to die... of a urban myth...
2 weeks if not more...
brain-dead: heart still pumpking...
horrors from Kiev... Chernobyll the *******
icing cream topping the gwand:
godzilla: pie in the sky...

     i cared... once... once... that was:
upon a time...
these times don't really require much focus...
the space itself poses enough
liberty... no need to look as far back
as there's to look forward...
     the 20th century killer: zenith...
****** and ferriswheel of events...
                waking up to the new mandarin
plateau... it's like...
waking up from... the refreshing cain
mythos relatability...
always from h'america...
otherwise... bullet to the head...
king soldier: human rights...
   yeah... nice... the shame of homeless people:
there's an alexander the great...
a a diogenes of synope: with a hippocratic
oath... loitering around the corner?
hell! go wit' the flou...
                 jump-start a prison adventure...
less... high morality ****-pants
asking questions on the way...
people of high morality
and high: low social status importance...
**** someone...
better than becoming philosophically
homeless... blah blah...
                         i'm so little i actually
define myself as:
at liberty to preserve the lives of moths...
yes... well that's nice...
for anyone asking to: ride the easy... roulette.

Mmmmmm......Good Morning Honey.........

Delightedly awakened by your lingual dexterity
Opening your mouth to engulf its fullness
******* and slurping, hastening its juices
From escaping and running down your chin.

Its tangy nectar making your fingers slick and sticky
A tighter grip you employ when it slips within your grasp
The sound you're making is so ******, the fullness of your lips, so enticing, .....so....so
Ah....ah............ahhh..........................a­ahhhhhh!!!­

I do so love it when you eat sweet peaches in the morning!

Fancy a napkin?

-----ChawzzyScript

I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix)
Asians are identical; we all look the same to Western people
2. Asians have small eyes, sometimes a monolid and wear glasses
3. Asians have straight black hair
4. Asians are short, petite, whatever you want to call it
5. Asian women have small curves
6. Asian mums nag about posture
7. Asian parents want their daughters to dress conservatively and ladylike which means hair tied back and skirts to at least the knees
8. Asian mums thinks beauty items are unneccessary, saying "Stop wasting your time and money trying to look pretty and get studying!"
9. Asians have no fashion sense. A dress with runners? Sure. Crocs? Why not, they're comfortable.
10. Asians parents think fifteen is too young for a girl to be wearing high heels
11. Asian parents hate unnatural changes to appearance with exception to double eyelid surgery and tattooed eyebrows
12. Asian names are unpleasant when translated into English e.g. **, ****
13. Asian surnames have little variety
14. Asian eat rice every day because it is considered the meal i.e. side dishes doesn't make an adequate dinner
15. Asians eat strange things like duck, chicken feet and shark fin.
16. Asians love bubble tea
17. Asians find no shame in slurping
18. Asians must get A+ grades because A = average, B = bad, C = crap, D = Disowned, F = ******
19. Asians are maths brainiacs
20. Asians cannot speak engrish
21. Tutoring because 6 hours of school is for lazy people
22. Asians think holidays are the opportunity to get ahead of others in school
23. Everyday conversation includes "Have you studied yet?"
24. Asians should learn the piano or violin and preferably to concert level
25. Doctor is the best aspiration
26. If it's not a birthday party, there is little reason to go out when that time can be spent studying or practicing an instrument  
27. Asians enjoy Kpop and Jpop even when they don't understand the language
28. Asians take luvos and sticky photos with cute aegyo poses
29. Asian parents hope their daughters will not let any boy touch their hand, just like in Asian dramas
30. Asian parents ban girls from sleepovers, parties at night and outings with boys
31. Asian parents think their kids shouldn't date until university and even then, is still too young
32. Asians talk very loudly
33. Asian parents wake up the household with loud noises such as vacuuming or turning up the tv
34. Asian parents talk for far too long when they meet other Asian parents
35. Asian parents love to compare their children against other children
36. Every conversation with parents turn out to be a life lesson
37. Asians are stingy and will always hunt for money that's owed to them
38. Asians believe there is never a time when they should pay optional fees or full price for a commercial item
39. Asians are terrible drivers
40. Asians have some sort of kung fu power
41. Old Asians get together and learn tai chi
42. Asians wear slippers inside the house
43. Tigerbalm is their secret weapon
44. Asians have a piano in their living room
45. Asians go to an Asian language school
46. Asian mums tattoo their eyebrows
47. Asians use these emoticons: ^^, ><, O.O, T_T etc.
48. Asians use "la~" in instant messenging
49. Asians sing kareoke

I think if I should be more aware
Of the peeling of a banana,
And all its slightly muffled, sticky sounds
I could call it music, and
Become, myself, a profound cataloger of all things   noise.
For words are only structured noises,
We mold like clay. Well, why don’t we simply reign in
The noises that are already out there?
We’ll learn the nuances of a peeling banana,
Call them words: it is a banana saying, I’m peeling.
We’ll call them poems, call them song.

The sound of a cardboard coffee cup, for instance,
Gently returned to a desk after sipping
Multiplied by a classroom of
Caffeinated percussionists would be
Aptly called an avant-guard symphony! And I perhaps,
A modern-day maestro, conductor at the front of the room
Flapping my arms to the beat, up, down! Up-down! –Only pausing
To write down the tum-tum-tum, furiously capturing this rhythm
On paper for future readers to come.

But I fear, it is in this act of writing it down, that
The banana forgets how it sounds,
Or I forget to sound the banana, and
It all starts to become a sort of cacophonous din of
Slurping children, left by the wayside by the
Education system and adopted by Starbucks,
Who doesn’t serve this sort of poem.

So we must market this to the young folks;
It will be a movement of ultimate vintage-chic,
(Recalling the days of our wordless hairy brethren,
Who could only rely on grunts and noise)
                       To imagine Man without clothing is possible,
                       But Man without poetry is simply absurd.

The rapping and tapping,
the hitting and slapping,
sipping and slurping,

The munching and crunching,
the snacking and slacking,
hunching in a darkened room,

Facebook steals your youth.

I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix)
Asians are identical; we all look the same to Western people
2. Asians have small eyes, sometimes a monolid and wear glasses
3. Asians have straight black hair
4. Asians are short, petite, whatever you want to call it
5. Asian women have small curves
6. Asian mums nag about posture
7. Asian parents want their daughters to dress conservatively and ladylike which means hair tied back and skirts to at least the knees
8. Asian mums thinks beauty items are unneccessary, saying "Stop wasting your time and money trying to look pretty and get studying!"
9. Asians have no fashion sense. A dress with runners? Sure. Crocs? Why not, they're comfortable.
10. Asians parents think fifteen is too young for a girl to be wearing high heels
11. Asian parents hate unnatural changes to appearance with exception to double eyelid surgery and tattooed eyebrows
12. Asian names are unpleasant when translated into English e.g. **, ****
13. Asian surnames have little variety
14. Asian eat rice every day because it is considered the meal i.e. side dishes doesn't make an adequate dinner
15. Asians eat strange things like duck, chicken feet and shark fin.
16. Asians love bubble tea
17. Asians find no shame in slurping
18. Asians must get A+ grades because A = average, B = bad, C = crap, D = Disowned, F = ******
19. Asians are maths brainiacs
20. Asians cannot speak engrish
21. Tutoring because 6 hours of school is for lazy people
22. Asians think holidays are the opportunity to get ahead of others in school
23. Everyday conversation includes "Have you studied yet?"
24. Asians should learn the piano or violin and preferably to concert level
25. Doctor is the best aspiration
26. If it's not a birthday party, there is little reason to go out when that time can be spent studying or practicing an instrument  
27. Asians enjoy Kpop and Jpop even when they don't understand the language
28. Asians take luvos and sticky photos with cute aegyo poses
29. Asian parents hope their daughters will not let any boy touch their hand, just like in Asian dramas
30. Asian parents ban girls from sleepovers, parties at night and outings with boys
31. Asian parents think their kids shouldn't date until university and even then, is still too young
32. Asians talk very loudly
33. Asian parents wake up the household with loud noises such as vacuuming or turning up the tv
34. Asian parents talk for far too long when they meet other Asian parents
35. Asian parents love to compare their children against other children
36. Every conversation with parents turn out to be a life lesson
37. Asians are stingy and will always hunt for money that's owed to them
38. Asians believe there is never a time when they should pay optional fees or full price for a commercial item
39. Asians are terrible drivers
40. Asians have some sort of kung fu power
41. Old Asians get together and learn tai chi
42. Asians wear slippers inside the house
43. Tigerbalm is their secret weapon
44. Asians have a piano in their living room
45. Asians go to an Asian language school
46. Asian mums tattoo their eyebrows
47. Asians use these emoticons: ^^, ><, O.O, T_T etc.
48. Asians use "la~" in instant messenging
49. Asians sing kareoke

I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix)
Asians are identical; we all look the same to Western people
2. Asians have small eyes, sometimes a monolid and wear glasses
3. Asians have straight black hair
4. Asians are short, petite, whatever you want to call it
5. Asian women have small curves
6. Asian mums nag about posture
7. Asian parents want their daughters to dress conservatively and ladylike which means hair tied back and skirts to at least the knees
8. Asian mums thinks beauty items are unneccessary, saying "Stop wasting your time and money trying to look pretty and get studying!"
9. Asians have no fashion sense. A dress with runners? Sure. Crocs? Why not, they're comfortable.
10. Asians parents think fifteen is too young for a girl to be wearing high heels
11. Asian parents hate unnatural changes to appearance with exception to double eyelid surgery and tattooed eyebrows
12. Asian names are unpleasant when translated into English e.g. **, ****
13. Asian surnames have little variety
14. Asian eat rice every day because it is considered the meal i.e. side dishes doesn't make an adequate dinner
15. Asians eat strange things like duck, chicken feet and shark fin.
16. Asians love bubble tea
17. Asians find no shame in slurping
18. Asians must get A+ grades because A = average, B = bad, C = crap, D = Disowned, F = ******
19. Asians are maths brainiacs
20. Asians cannot speak engrish
21. Tutoring because 6 hours of school is for lazy people
22. Asians think holidays are the opportunity to get ahead of others in school
23. Everyday conversation includes "Have you studied yet?"
24. Asians should learn the piano or violin and preferably to concert level
25. Doctor is the best aspiration
26. If it's not a birthday party, there is little reason to go out when that time can be spent studying or practicing an instrument  
27. Asians enjoy Kpop and Jpop even when they don't understand the language
28. Asians take luvos and sticky photos with cute aegyo poses
29. Asian parents hope their daughters will not let any boy touch their hand, just like in Asian dramas
30. Asian parents ban girls from sleepovers, parties at night and outings with boys
31. Asian parents think their kids shouldn't date until university and even then, is still too young
32. Asians talk very loudly
33. Asian parents wake up the household with loud noises such as vacuuming or turning up the tv
34. Asian parents talk for far too long when they meet other Asian parents
35. Asian parents love to compare their children against other children
36. Every conversation with parents turn out to be a life lesson
37. Asians are stingy and will always hunt for money that's owed to them
38. Asians believe there is never a time when they should pay optional fees or full price for a commercial item
39. Asians are terrible drivers
40. Asians have some sort of kung fu power
41. Old Asians get together and learn tai chi
42. Asians wear slippers inside the house
43. Tigerbalm is their secret weapon
44. Asians have a piano in their living room
45. Asians go to an Asian language school
46. Asian mums tattoo their eyebrows
47. Asians use these emoticons: ^^, ><, O.O, T_T etc.
48. Asians use "la~" in instant messenging
49. Asians sing kareoke

We visited an art museum today
“The Guggenheim” with it’s white spiraling architecture
I felt slightly cultured as I flipped through a book detailing an artist whose last name I vaguely recall started with a Q
Conveniently forgetting the very reason for my presence in that room being to charge my phone
Feeling educated as I recognize the names Matisse, Lautrec from my brief intro to art history courtesy of our overly enthusiastic design teacher
Basking in my elegance, taking petit little bites, of a macaroon in a cafe outside the museum
...Before noisily slurping my blood red ice tea

Crunching crispy cornflakes
Gangs of pebbles bubble

White water slurping
Its early morning edges

As waves deliciously lick
their sweet vanilla sands

Man bobbing in a canoe
Ocean swinging him like a baby boy

A  bouncing ball stretches
Across the waters view

Like a picture on the wall
For a moment time stand still

The scenery seems so surreal
like plastic or cardboard

Adding a friendly familiarity
Making me so sentimental

About
a place

I LOVE

Called Home

I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix)
Asians are identical; we all look the same to Western people
2. Asians have small eyes, sometimes a monolid and wear glasses
3. Asians have straight black hair
4. Asians are short, petite, whatever you want to call it
5. Asian women have small curves
6. Asian mums nag about posture
7. Asian parents want their daughters to dress conservatively and ladylike which means hair tied back and skirts to at least the knees
8. Asian mums thinks beauty items are unneccessary, saying "Stop wasting your time and money trying to look pretty and get studying!"
9. Asians have no fashion sense. A dress with runners? Sure. Crocs? Why not, they're comfortable.
10. Asians parents think fifteen is too young for a girl to be wearing high heels
11. Asian parents hate unnatural changes to appearance with exception to double eyelid surgery and tattooed eyebrows
12. Asian names are unpleasant when translated into English e.g. **, ****
13. Asian surnames have little variety
14. Asian eat rice every day because it is considered the meal i.e. side dishes doesn't make an adequate dinner
15. Asians eat strange things like duck, chicken feet and shark fin.
16. Asians love bubble tea
17. Asians find no shame in slurping
18. Asians must get A+ grades because A = average, B = bad, C = crap, D = Disowned, F = ******
19. Asians are maths brainiacs
20. Asians cannot speak engrish
21. Tutoring because 6 hours of school is for lazy people
22. Asians think holidays are the opportunity to get ahead of others in school
23. Everyday conversation includes "Have you studied yet?"
24. Asians should learn the piano or violin and preferably to concert level
25. Doctor is the best aspiration
26. If it's not a birthday party, there is little reason to go out when that time can be spent studying or practicing an instrument  
27. Asians enjoy Kpop and Jpop even when they don't understand the language
28. Asians take luvos and sticky photos with cute aegyo poses
29. Asian parents hope their daughters will not let any boy touch their hand, just like in Asian dramas
30. Asian parents ban girls from sleepovers, parties at night and outings with boys
31. Asian parents think their kids shouldn't date until university and even then, is still too young
32. Asians talk very loudly
33. Asian parents wake up the household with loud noises such as vacuuming or turning up the tv
34. Asian parents talk for far too long when they meet other Asian parents
35. Asian parents love to compare their children against other children
36. Every conversation with parents turn out to be a life lesson
37. Asians are stingy and will always hunt for money that's owed to them
38. Asians believe there is never a time when they should pay optional fees or full price for a commercial item
39. Asians are terrible drivers
40. Asians have some sort of kung fu power
41. Old Asians get together and learn tai chi
42. Asians wear slippers inside the house
43. Tigerbalm is their secret weapon
44. Asians have a piano in their living room
45. Asians go to an Asian language school
46. Asian mums tattoo their eyebrows
47. Asians use these emoticons: ^^, ><, O.O, T_T etc.
48. Asians use "la~" in instant messenging
49. Asians sing kareoke