a many a great things have happened recently...
hmm (insert a weasle's snigger)...
i was watching a russian production of...
the escape from sobibor...
yes... i know that rutger hauer is dead...
but not unless listening to some vex'd...
citations from blade runner:

    firey the angels fell - leaping thunder rolled
around their shoulders -
burning with the fires of orc...

at least that's what i heard...

    i want, more: life... ******... which echoes...
no not that 1987 tv flick...
the russian produiction...
      of recent years...
          upon this the god's green earth...
        i could watch... schindrel's list two times
in a row... before being subjected to...
escape from sobibor...
                if only i had a toothpick handy
and pickles and some martini and god forbid
the onslaught of yawns...
         only one aspect of the film stood out...
a sort of:

    the death of Matti Nykanen...
the finnish ski-jumper who ended up being
a stripper...

    i didn't recognize him at first...
or "at last" i'm usually good with faces...
esp. those on film...

         i think the film itself was supposed to
be... the need to capture "the look"!
      oh believe me... a cary grant or
a gregory peck would never...
                                a rock hudson?
a john wayne: drawl... yep: that six-a-piece
sharp shooter...
guns 'n' roses: civil war...
opening citation: from cool hand luke...
paul newman eating all those... hard-boiled eggs...
paul newman couldn't give "the look"...
that antithesis of roxette's pop stamp...
the verb that is actually a noun...
when there's someone worth it...

no... they could never convince me of ever
having: "the look"... these major actors...
paul newman or a robert redford...
i'm counting only the men...
this one's spezial...

        from first hearing queen... to seeing the movie...
Karl Frenzel...
   that same tortured soul
of a Ralph Fiennes playing Amon Göth...
i had to wonder...
did they decide upon psychopaths...
or was it already a priori from the words
first uttered in the hitlerjunge?

nope... completely amiss...
is that really christopher lambert?
raiden from mortal combat...
connor macleod...
                 hell: if this be the fate of skin
to be a much later devised
disguise in stretch-armstrong of leather...

but it was all about "the look"...
it was so intimidating in it being intimate...
"do you still remember me"...
i don't think i had such trouble
with val kilmer...
then again: who's the busy body
in my receding memory loop-hole to loot
from?

  they must have used dubbing...
otherwise it would seem that christopher lambert
spoke the very base of german
like a puppet of a ghost...
most certainly a changed man...

he had that look in his eyes that read:
i don't remember myself...
this face is no good: for you... either...
and it truly wasn't...
truly petrifying this enigmatic cloak
of ****** features...
but those two voids like a lemniscate (∞)...

i can X with my eyes when concentrating
on the egoism of the tip of my nose
and see the water inside the aquarium
all blurry and salty and mirage prone...
but not this...
this was a sensation of...
seeing an unrecognisable face...

again: i'd sooner revisit watching schindler's
list: because of it being in black & white...
otherwise cudos for the work
by a yanuš kamińци... that red dress:
"here" and... "there"...

for a russian the poles are traitors...
but thank god for the bulgarians
being the bell-boys of their whole
affair of wounded pride...
given the bulgars frequent the aisles
of st. cyril...
             but it looks like... the mongolians
are having... "counter-productive"
thoughts: themselves... good for them!

so close to the germans:
is it eastern europe west of kiev?
is it?
  traitors... oh god... those minor
denominations of the baltic states...
   perhaps... once upon... a time...
prussia would have been just a pocket of influence
akin to estonia... or latvia...
let's not mention lithuania...

it was a christopher lambert... by god...
sure... he was suited to age...
isn't everyone? but not like this...
in a positive way, though...
incomprehensibly unrecognizable...
a loot of enigmas...
well... if gérard depardieu a citizen
of ol' mother russia...
what doesn't stop a christopher lambert...
being dubbed when speaking german
like a manakin does running...
eyes that scream rather than peer...

it's one of those sad affairs of appreciating...
beside theatre... acting...
of course everything is in the detail
of the edit and the production of the end
product: with at very little hiccups as is to be
avoided...
it's a russian production: nonetheless...

but thoese eyes...
i didn't remember him...
was it perhaps donning the uniform...
or was it perhaps... perhaps of:
    seymour hoffman?
   but why couldn't i pick out...
a b-list actor... look at me... mr. hierarchical prone...
but no?
    chris cooper... bruce greenwood...
sure... no problem...
always the general, the "protagonist" of
"real" life... somehow along the line:
hardly a basis of a shadow meets shadow
compromise...

i think i saw a human being that became
unrecognizable from the burden of life
off-screen! i actually found a conviction from
a thespian... i saw two blinding cauldrons
of ire... which was...
ire... it wasn't fire...
    two blinding cauldrons of ire: i saw...
a blue tinge of flame... i saw tears...
it wasn't a purity of fire that will be later
made into a recycling power...
it was...

a fire that keeps intact a status quo...
that unfathomable perspetive
and an unmoveable object:
even if armed with the binding will
of a sisyphean determination:
where are the demons whipping him
to comply?!

   i was two blinding cauldrons of ire...
i saw fluorescent blue of glowing squid and less
revealing monsters of the deep...
i saw... a face disguised as a mask...
i saw a face from beneath a donned niqab...
more clearer than the glee of smile...
the chubby moon-clip
or the scythe of reasons behind...
the bulging shadow of harvests pending...

all this... and not much more...
  i'm good with faces...
   apparently not good enough...
was it really christopher lambert playing
karl frenzel in escape from sobibor?
i try to bypass the glamour and all that dry
artifact affair of keeping score...
to denounce all actors as...
the last and the least obliged to put pressure
and fathomability of the concern
for human... "things"....

what sort of a man is a christopher lambert
wearing.. if his eyes are...
pencils and needles piercing me...
that i can't recognise his face?
have i been gorging on too many
digestive biscuits... or something?

    by faking it... but i didn't see a slouch
of wanting to fake it...
given the numbers...
          what are the puny rhymes...
                   i want to see a rhyme
that riddled a blunt hammer-axe at the end
of this... foreboding of "contemplation"...
i want to find it soothing
for man to justify the antics of a slaughterhouse
concerning the wailing pigs
and the... cowering aum litany of the...
sanctity of beef...
            or the lesser kind via
the goat of the graces of riccota...

          i don't exactly know what i saw
in those eyes...
    but i saw enough to make me forget
a face.... i would most, be assured to...
have a memory of...
i was drawn into the eyes...
it's not like brian may aged so badly...

i did see the flabby skin of a pig become
stretched... then contracted...
over a square mile of a Berliner's post-code
"hum and oops"...
    little ******* good that would ever
do me!

              these tires need to be burned...
this soil needs to be shovelled...
this butter needs to be spread on
oozing warmth toast...
this rootweiler requires a leash:
are you the sort of walker
to allow a lessening of tension...
mind you: this "hanz" and "heinrich"
tends to tug along like
a pirañha on a diet...

                 the other head
of... the clamour fest... of feeding of...
cerberus... this night-walker this...
shadow-thief...
                   this... burden of my pride...
synonym coupled with ego...
rottweiler to the east...
       dobermann-pinscher to the west...
get this...
a ******* pop-up head of
a dachshund heading south:
                                        in lombardy!
hey presto...
                    my luvvie-dubbie companion!

for me... give me a harem of 72 dogs...
i'll sooner dog-wrestle bit
and chow-mein
and clash with teeth before...
         don't make me...
preside over the gratification of having
72 virgins: that same number
of the names ascribed to the hebrew god:
you and not you...
"you" hairy-hey-rab! ibin!

there's a barking... i'm pretty sure i don't
hear anything worth biting into?!
i'm quiet unamused hearing barking...
when i'm not entertaining
the convinction to suma summarum
it with: chewing...

              i would most certainly like
to hear less barking...
****** punctures of flesh...
i'd like that very much...

              i'd like filled stomachs of dogs
to be the only precursors...
the wolves are at the gates...
    
           words like daffodils easily
plucked up...
                  is that serious enough of "us"
to have these minor griefs...
as... vectors for what's to become
of the unfolding rest?

Odysseus is angry without knowing what reason scared hopeless longing not a good student teachers raise suspicions Mom claims he is mentally not right in third grade parents send him to well-known psychiatrist conducts many tests finds Odysseus’s i.q. scores quite high doctor’s diagnosis is learning disabilities emotional anxiety recommends weekly appointments Odysseus continues to see various psychiatrists all the way through college in late 1950’s early '60’s psychiatric field is somewhat unreliable one downtown child’s psychiatrist chats about other patients then gives Odysseus baby ruth candy bar another psychiatrist with office in Wilmette tells him parents need therapy advises he will someday live independent of parents free of their influences

Odysseus Penelope Ryan Siciliano play in undeveloped land across from Schwartzpilgrim’s apartment building there is big tree they often climb near corner of commonwealth and surf streets Ryan is going on about his favorite actor errol flynn and movie “they died with their boots on” suddenly two bigger older boys approach bully them down from tree Odysseus does not recognize older boys from neighborhood bigger older boys push Penelope to ground then elbow trip Odysseus punch Ryan in stomach panic shoots through all three of them bigger older boys glare down with taunting eyes after terrifying moment Ryan then Odysseus jump up flee across street they hide beneath parked cars in underground garage of Odysseus’s building hearts pound in terror hearing footsteps on concrete grow louder they hold their breaths voice speaks out "they’re not here they’ve gone Odys where are you?" Odysseus and Ryan crawl out from under cars feel ashamed of their cowardice in front of Penelope and putting own self-preservation before her protection Ryan is particularly disturbed explains his family are sicilian code of conduct Ryan insists Odysseus swear never to divulge their weakness Odysseus promises later Penelope tells Mom

harper is broad-minded exceptional school housed in old english tudor building on second floor along hall is long glass cabinet displaying among other things 9 large jars each containing developing stages of fetus girls wear uniforms of navy blue skirts with knee socks white blouses blue sweaters which are school colors boys are allowed to wear blue jeans and shirts in good taste Miss Moss teaches fourth grade classroom is duplex with stairs leading up to balcony directly under stairs is secret meeting place and beneath balcony are classmate cubbyholes there is sunroom facing south overlooking entrance stairs to school where older students hang out Odysseus thinks Miss Moss is pretty wonders why she is not married she has deep blue eyes dark thick eyebrows premature graying hair she wears in bun he has crush on Miss Moss thinks she is best teacher he has ever known she teaches greek mythology assigns each member of class character in ancient greek mythology Odysseus is appointed Hermes son and messenger of Zeus Hermes has affair with Aphrodite resulting in child Hermaphroditus Hermes also fathers Pan rescues Dionysus saves Apollo’s son there is voice speaks inside Odysseus’s head no one can hear voice except Odysseus it is voice of smart-*** disobedient twisted child when Miss Moss says “where shall we begin today?” Odysseus automatically answers in his thoughts “how about up your sweet ***?” it is uncontrollable voice for his amusement only often he tries to ignore voice but sometimes it speaks out when voice speaks out Odysseus gets in trouble his friends think voice is funny adults get offended when he reflects on classmates at Harper and distinction of their privilege he wonders what went wrong they are troubled class in fifth grade they cause miss penteck to have nervous breakdown and retire other classes produce famous actors playwrights renowned restaurateurs prosperous investment bankers leading doctors Odysseus’s class produces delinquents gangsters social dropouts drug addicts suicides they take their privilege and run it straight to hell

creature inside Odysseus can be little monster teaches Penelope how to go berserk going berserk involves entering strange residential building in neighborhood elevator up getting off about middle floor pushing all elevator buttons scrambling down stairs knocking over umbrella stands spilling ashtrays ringing doorbells pounding doors running out lobby doors escaping uncaught Penelope is good warrior princess brother and sister can be little terrors

Ryan Siciliano and Odysseus go to see “the magnificent seven” at century theater they head south along broadway street college-age girl with large bouncing ******* appears walking north Ryan and Odysseus glance at approaching girl then nod to each other no plans uttered as college girl passes both Odysseus and Ryan reach up grab her ******* pet squeeze then run do not look back keep running laughing all the way to theater they watch movie with jaws hanging open mcqueen is brilliant all seven are so groovy movie inspires both Odysseus and Ryan.

in 1960 Mom and Dad send Odysseus and Penelope to sunday school at temple shalom teacher calls him aside "Schwartzpilgrim what do you want to be when you grow up?" Odysseus answers "architect or maybe an indian warrior" teacher says "do you know story of judas maccabi? he was a great warrior leader learn about the festival of lights and wield your sword wisely Odys Schwartzpilgrim" Odysseus replies "yes sir" two weeks later he gets kicked out of sunday school for pulling seat out from under girl during solemn religious service he never learns hebrew nor is he bar mitzvahed

Odysseus is hyper-sensitive about race and religion knows he comes from race of people who once were born into slavery nazis systematically exterminated millions of them at aushwitz-birkenaub belzek chelmno majdanek sobibor stutthof treblinka black and white photographs of faces emaciated children adults flicker before his thoughts knows jews are hated not considered caucasian in europe and russia not allowed to own land for many centuries what does it mean to be member of race of people who are despised and blamed? he sympathizes with all minorities particularly negroes who were forced from homeland collared into slavery and native americans who were cheated out of land and slaughtered by white people

Cry not for what you do not have
Bleed less for what is given,
For the cruelty in your fellow man
Will paint how greed is driven.
The silent fields of Sobibor
And Dachau's dull grey light,
Pay testament to past largess
In what is wrong and right.
Conception's teeming contest
Has dispensed your primal luck,
Your greater expectations
Have run, gratuitously, amok.
For what you are is what you get
This mirror's image barks,
And delusional ostentatiousness
Reinforces those remarks.
Seek not the golden rainbow
Nor pursue the greener field,
For disaffected affectations
Promise you a simple yield.
Learn to love the skin you live in
Irrespective of the warts,
Live within your  limitations
Despite disparaging retorts.
Count the blessings of the moment
Take each small step at a time,
Come to terms with who you are
And you will find it all...sublime!.



Marshalg
@theBach
14 November 2009

.a grand biblical event could be happening, it could very well be happening... but then you could be like me, treating a toothache with cloves... sieving through the smiths' oeuvre (because when it came to 1980s music, it was always about the cure and depeche mode)... or getting your anaesthetic watching stockholm requiem... robotic or perhaps just zoological swedes treating the case of: unwanted... like a heart-attack is merely a murmur... i imagine the germans in concentration camps being burdened with their trained sadism... sickly sweet from the crescendo of inhumanity... anything but this swedish anemia... this "supposed to be human"... perhaps it should be called the Moebius-Stockholm Syndrome... no... i have no impeding wish to go back to visit Sweden... i'm sure to find more water in a rock... i'm sure to find more sunsets if i were to go blind... come summer and the air would drop temperature come the desired hours of the spectacle... i quiet fancy the nazis to have been burdened with too much of life, the mammalian hot-bloodedness... i can almost imagine them being unable to bypass their erectile-dysfunctions with those deeds of theirs... than these ivory pickles of men... not even an event of biblical proportions would wake these people if their thespians are so... morbidly without a grace of a statue standing over a grave... the facade of flesh... when i can peer at a necro-associated-sculpture and pave my way toward "imagining" something intent on life within it... if the swedish thespians are so... less rummaging... i can't quiet imagine the real-life swede... perhaps they're just autistic? or... let's be kind... solipsistic? well... if only being invaded was something of a cure... as Knausgård mentions... i wonder why there's this sudden rise in scandinavian romanticism: genesis... i would rather trace a backward "plan" from sanskrit and to the great mother siberia... daydreams and ineffectual markings of... these days words of most importance are more ascribed to... the sort of paper you will not write on... escape from sobibor... i can imagine being exhausted by having to perform so much sadism... rather than, say, calmly brewing a cup of tea... it must have been so tiresome to be trained as monsters... of course: exceptions... it's just tiresome through-and-through... buying mania... for shoes... for umbrellas... for obscure details that might allow any general improvement of life... singing lazily as morrissey... did... if the man is to become a pariah... hell: not as bad as a persona non grata: the guns of navarone only come out with the proper latin... the concentration camp "workers"... the salt-miners of the *****... of no affair to make a sympathy... but if you've just watched a swedish thespian production... in unwanted... stockholm requiem... more like a Moebius-Stockholm Syndrome... you'd turn to watch something of something clearly tortured... by torturing... from above: crisp clean napkins and all those anecdotes over dinner while ingeting champagne in flutes... there's no need to make this "look" good... this is still about morrissey, though... tired of the cure and depeche mode... the current craze for biblical sized proportion of events... apparently it's true: absolutely everything is MADE IN CHINA... well... at least no one's dying with boils, spores... weird mushrooms growing out of their armpits... or the leprechauns of leprosy taking a bite... point being... i don't think this current state of affairs proves that my fellow man... could stomach... very little these days... then again... i could get away with this: humanisation of concentration camp guards... because i feel completely robotic having watched swedish acting... i'm looking for the most worthwhile available alternative... when you can't just pet a cat... as william burroughs noted... you can keep a cat, feed it, pet it... but at the end of the month you need to gauge its eyes out to enter the ᛋᛋ... so uber... by the way... why is there no D in armanen runes? hard to make sense of a future language of: the man in the high castle with only 18 letters... that's 4 short of the hebrew alphabet... clearly *******... 24 in greek... 23 in roman... 26 in modern english... 41 letters in the glagolitic alphabet... yes: graphemes and all - all those diacritical passions... 32 in modern polish... early germanic had 24 letters... but the armanen runes? only 18... *******... so much for ***** von List or what the third ***** germans read... the wrong sort of neopaganism: esp. if you're about to... ******* about 6 letters... you can't exactly have a language with a bare minimum of... 22 letters... which is a lie... ha ha... the hebrews have 27 letters... but their vowels are like diacritical marks elsewhere... "hidden"... it's the basic prefix rule of o(mega) and e(psilon)... or for that matter a-lpha and b-eta... well... there's the ******* siamese adams (א) and (ע)... b(ב), g(ג), d(ד), h(ה), v(ו), z(ז), ch(ח), t(ט), y(י), k(כ), L(ל), m(מ), n(נ), s(ס), p(פ), ts(צ), q(ק), r(ר), sh(ש), "t"... so that's the ******* siamese adams and the timmy and timothy t(ט) and "t"(ת)... but there are five over letters... kametz (a), chirek (i), tzere (e) cholem (o) and shurek (u)... although... they're not treated as letters... but akin to the acute diacritical mark when s becomes ś... or when a c grows a cedilla and becomes ç... or when an A grows a tail and becomes Ą... in hebrew that's already exposed... sh(ש)in is a caron s (Š)... and ch(ח)et is a caron c (Č)... no... if you're looking at hebrew as i am... gobsmacked... because they're playing crossword puzzles by merely writing... how their vowels wear niqabs... and are "not included"... you can't have a functioning civilization without a bare minimum of 22 letters... which is a lie... the hebrews just treat their vowels are diacritical markers... they have 27... the standard was given by the greeks... 24... and of those that are, 24... you could say... ΦΘ: phi and theta: F... OΩ: omicron and omega: is that pop and ****? equivalent? there's you real 22 letter alphabet... which includes all the vowels... ξ(ks), χ(ch), ψ(ps) - otherwise the letter that makes π a patent surd... so ψ is the aesthetic variation of σomething else... only differentiated when written... not necessarily when spoken - so you could technically... let's leave it at that.

they're saying about ibuprofen -
whatever the science: how the virus is latching
onto it and is sustained by it -
quack-theory or a barking up the wrong
the tree -
                    last time i heard an ibuprofen
is best for a toothache -
                  if only life... could be more monumental
that living through this mass hysteria:
or lack of it thereof...
       with this most irritating pain -
          this loose filling... there's a pandemic raging
the supermarkets are running out of bread...
there's no sugar and no flower...
       no bread: no circuses of a football match...
no real gambling involving 22 ballerinas,
horses or dogs...
                                  and here i am...
more bothered with a toothache...
                           what remedy, what remedy?
last time i heard...
                   they use a base chemical ingredient
from cloves for all the anaesthetics in dentistry...
last time i heard...
   if you put a clove on the ill tooth...
                       gently bite down...
                    one down... slobbered...
                 the saliva will open up the remedy...
from this humble clove...
         well... so much for merely culinary
purposes...
                                   indeed... a toothache
lessened... by a clove...
                        now for that whiskey disinfectant
to wipe clean the mouth...
         then some cheap ***** mixed with
aleo vera gel for that oh so precious disinfectant
that... evaporates when smeared onto
the hands...
                 i could be making money from this...
as i heard: bottles are selling for 60+ quid...
n'ah... i like being integrated for my already
miniature role of self with... integrity...
the knitty-gritty of honesty...
                                    who would have thought...
that cloves can alleviate toothache;
after all... there's that whale that swallowed
Jonah to fish for... in this current climate:
      of cough sneeze and woozy;
better still... an oeuvre of the smiths...
           because i never really got into them...
now's a good time like any other...
            girlfriend in a coma...
                            pretty girls make graves...
                     some girls are bigger than others...
            oddly... the music when watching
empty buses plough the streets -
             when empty streets become...
arcades for the winds...
                               and... they are not missing
those arthritis prone in-mid-life joggers...
              well... it's still the right sort of time...
to head on high... and find entertainment in thinking.

“I have been trying to get laid
So should I try lacing up my suspenders and get my *******,
for another fifty shades of drinking a Harlem shake to the
piece of cake fairy tale of nagging paper trail just to impress a **** pony tail
at the dark alley bakery, vending her own cookie with a tight shoulder skirt to this lions in search of an empire from a leverage  point to cleavage, Torching the alley with a naked thigh just like tossing a coin into a fountain in a circus with clown with umbrella about throw some shade until when the tides go out to, you get to know who’s been swimming naked upon the pleasures that are bitter to swallow to this blood ******* roaches chasing strangers who would spread her legs to the canvas and induce seduction as a color scheme……..
She called me sadist and I called myself a dreamer,
She dreamt of pushing me off the bed and calling me a screamer
She envisioned cutting my throat and playing jazz with my vocal chords
She fantasied sarcastically caressing my cuticles just because last night I came in short of breath

Previously
She would sell her own soul to the syringe of morphine drip
for a denial shot that pain heals in the prefix of an outpatient  rehab
now in the bathtub nursing in patient withdrawal ,
She would tie a shoe string around her bicep in search of vein,
so as to squeeze the **** libido version of limbo to oblivion
humiliating the dark clouds begging for a shooting star
to the pages that frustrates the pen unto the novel that prescribes a prenuptial of black bride killing the reader’s digest and buries their heads…………..so……………………

I am becoming a book.
that will induce an ****** with sympathy veil of beggar feeding on their own horses
to the end of the caterpillar misery is **** butterfly confetti to script that syncs the readers perception
Into the ****** abuses of the needle that impregnates the ink and tells the canvas to go get paternity test throughout the history of melting medusa lips
that made a homeless robin without a hood painting a revolution in this concrete jungle
where dreams are made up from silence thought that can
ambush a hive softy through whistling that melts
a bee’s temper in the presence of a queen is a poisonous sting of a artist
dipping his own brush into his own soul with a healing dew that never bruises
the honey in the vein of the garden is the beauty of the wine  
From a vine to flower is a grape in the glass is anarchy

From what I am running from
To misery flowing from the river on
That’s why we are here
To profile the lost identity from the art of war that sun Tzu was afraid of losing his head to another thigh!
That’s why we are here
To profile the slit of the dress that curved the sword another napoleon to conquer Soviet Union
That’s why we are here
To profile a love Ballard from contortionist that melted medusa eyes from cold to flexible
Revolution will wear a mini skirt, squat and kiss the lepers hands for the Benjamin’s banking dump jokes...and still hire Johnnie Cochran for second ****** trial of O.J Simpson ……………
That’s why I still want …………………………….



our culture wore a fabric of circus clothes only dance in the arena like a puppet from the strings of the servants chasing a redemption in the den of thrones getting thrown to the game of throne for guilty pleasure as kings daughters were gambling upon gladiators death to the freedom of escaping their own Sobibor that chopped off my foot in the life of Kunta Kinte
Slavery was blushing teeth with a **** moan of a cigarette smoke
Flirting to the horrors of unshaved groins,
from the growing pains in the hands that planted olive trees
to labor and harvest their oil that has become tears of
cowards staining heaven with obscene imagery of their own likeness
holding their insights captive upon the eyes of the ******
Until our backs were a canvas of whips and brutality, we had tattoos
of pain and graffiti of blood as written the book blue skies
claiming the prepare the way the Lord, judging Esther from a supremacy attire of poverty
termed to be isolated from the world where the corner stone fell into the wrong hands and built a
Tower of babel for the Pharisee living in a glass house



Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal to pleasure
the urges out of the Garden of Eden, Adam had to seek leaves to live with eve,
From a mustard seed renouncing the deception ought to praise the womb that gave birth to the blood sweat and tears to the system planting snares pig’s ears and fears ,
with intent to subdue the cat inside the bag from the smell of the rat that has been suffering a broken rib
We used ashes as lotion to conquer the scratching pains of the unhearing wounds eying the staff that turned into a serpent in exodus to the stiff neck of the system after the death of Moses….we had to succumb to victory,


There was a story of how soldiers got hungry
in the battlefield even they started feeding on themselves
Fighting for peace in the pieces of human meat...
upon pawns that have kept chasing the salvation of in the story that was
made by rats that fought all the dogs and killed the cats is like
Judging a fish with its own abilities to climb trees from the a shadow of small boy reflecting an elephant in the room with betrayal that made Julius have a seizure after gambling with another’s man
life with few pieces of silver sealed by a Judas kiss that killed Jesus,

.one of those low... low oh my god how low... hanging fruits... i.e. check... check... *****! akimbo in a "critical" pose of... Skiba's take on the current polish-"lithuanian" government via: pchła szachrajka... everything is just all oh too all too ****** obvious! without that blonde quiff... without graffiti sport of the politicians... the words are as cheap as the most ******* *****-*****... when all one desires... is an unveiling from the territory of: the virgins under the niqab curtain of the house of Saud! yes yes shouts the ****** without the requisite body parts... one side lost to the dolls... the other to the guillotined ******! sport a longer beard than Muhammad... and a mullet longer than the... well... longer than the hassidy-yoddle of a curly-furly payot... or less.. strapped-on than those anglican... victorian sideburns... moi? moi? je suis... encore de... l'efforts... "kazik" de kulte... nous respiré... nous toussé... nous étouffé... nous seulement oublié que à rire... i think that debate was sort-of-settled when i found that... the french... share my etymological-root of mother grammar? the french also forgot, "forgot" to trill their R... instead... hark it they did... and... well... que à rire... i was "sort of" expecting a(n) - the N needs to see this...  forgo no god: to see the french "rear"... riré! god forbid the exclamation mark was the denoting: just enough padre... that western slavic shares the same grammatical structure as fwench... and what english is german and is also backwards... that the english hid their R-trill in the science of numbing... comfort... anesthetic and the tarantula kiss... well... fueds of neighbours... at least one of the ten commandments should suffice them... me? well... a ménage à trois includes me and at least two ******?! no? then i will not be labouring myself over the women publiushing print in the Style magazine of a Sunday edition of a newspaper... with some mr. candy not being on social media... ergo the internet is HER playground... otherwise my amazon.com and the disappearing highstreet... and internet banking... and none of the sort of things teenage boys were getting to test with come the late 1990s... now that social media... run a peacock's full Monet and symphony before her eyes... she... "she" has the reins?! how does a horse turn left? is it... left at the reins tugged with the jaw... and the right heel pressing into the torso? i should have learned some french... i've been to Paris twice... lucky for me... there's not a third's luck of chance to replicate the summers of: 2004... and... whatever the year was... the hostel? oh sure... it might have been: the fleeing three ducks... the three drunken ducks... yep... or just... the 3 ducks hostel... we drank ourselves silly and started running toward the Eiffel tower... because... that was November... and it was Paris... and don't let them tell you any ******* about Paris... Paris come the last efforts of autumn... when it doesn't rain... that's Paris for me... or at least: that's what Paris was... i would be beyond being tired: the youth is gone... there's a beard instead of long hair... and there are those puffy cheeks from drinking rather than from gluttony... n'ah... more likely i'll be the one sending a postcard from Sobibor... or some... god-forsaken place... if not... dreaming of Istambul... and soke rat-infested ****-house of a scribbling me: the noon with tide... to sketch a shadow of my own... very purposively built... architecture of demise... i'll leave as i lace this life with: destitute... well... god forbid i should be leaving this world with a Solomon's harem... or Muhammad's ambition harem... or... a panic in babylon... or... i should hope... to be leaving this world... attired... with... that sober note... Belshazzar was left with... i'd want to left with fear... exactly: a fear that i should be made as an offering upon the altar of sacrifice of reincarnation for the hindu deities! here's my: "my" tetragrammaton.

also called: rifles without bullets...
or... how the red army battled
against **** germany...

one poor **** was sent running
with a rifle...
another poor **** was
sent running with bullets...

no need for bullets i guess....
just... hitchhikers... so (idle thumbs)...
        Prato Rifles &... Burdock Bullets...

unless one of the two poor russian buggers
met the other one...
and either had the bullets:
to subsequently get the rifle...
or had the rifle... and got the bullets...

reverse all logic... when it comes
to the spezial Prato Rifles & Burdock Bullets.

Auschwitz-Birkenau, Belzec, Bergen-Belsen,
Buchenwald, Chelmno, Dachau, Dora-Mittebau,
Flossenburg, Gross-Rosen, Janowska, Kaiserwald,
Majdanek, Mauthausen, Natzweller-Struthof,
Neuengamme, Oranienburg, Plaszow, Ravensbruck,
Sachenhausen, Sobibor, Terezin, Treblinka, Westerbork.

There were more than 15,000 of these death camps
spread over ****-occupied Europe. In addition to Jews,
other groups murdered were homosexuals, the physically
and mentally infirm, political and religious dissidents,
Gypsies, communists, socialists, Afro-Germans, Soviet
POWS, intelligentsia, beggars, alchoholics, prostitutes,
freemasons, and trade unionists.

It is estimated that between 15,000,000 to 20,000,000
human beings were murdered by Nazis during the
Holocaust. ****** assumed power in 1933, **** Trump
in 2017.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

whereas women might tend to "think" along the lines of being unique... men tend to "think" they belong... of old i heard the argument in a school playground: you're unique, just like everybody else... it's an argument whispered by women that later achieves the gravitas of a shout in third person... women strive to be unique: while men strive for belonging... no man wants to be excluded from the possibility of joining a cohesive body of work... from what i found... men do not function on the focus of language that's exclusive... exclusionary language... we're implicit creatures... what is implied is always deserving... of: whatever...

as a ******... the joke runs long alone the alleys
and the labyrinths of time -
call me a ******* Pole... or Paul...
as a ******: there you go... first word you learned
in Polish... ****'s sake: flag on a pole...
polish - the stuff you use to keep dirt off...
and here comes some ******* Nigerian
bothered about an added G to the giggle:
******... oh... i'll say the word...
as an urban slur... whigger, ******, whigger:
some things these days ought to be bigger...
to freak people out... like insects!
whigger? that's why-ite that i didn't eat:
but ate some letters as surds...
what?! gnome: gnostic, it might have a "gamma"
associated with it, but it ought to apostrophe
"riddled": 'nome, 'nostic...
just like the case of psi...
                 you sure you're seeing purple...
when saying the word: PSYCHOLOGY?
isn't it:  sight-ecology?
          oh my my... this English tongue is a *******
buckets & spades... sandpit... a ******* playground!
let's play bulldog! let's play hide & seek...
sigh: -co- -logy (+)
        the sun is still adamant, therefore i put the washing
on...
  anyway... i must say...
being confused for a German is very welcome...
it feeds my vanity of being associated
with the Vandals, the Goths, the Wends...
i like being confused for a German...
which invites me to move further west from
those ******* Russians...
although...
      yeah... a slim "although"...
        it must be said, though... we inherited the best...
and the worst of the Germans...
******? oh... right... the nickname of King John...
lackland... he? no, not him... Philip Augustus
dissolved the Angevin Empire... that's when England
lost possessions of... lands now best associated
to France...
only two groups of people ever sacked Moscow...
the Mongols... and the Polacks...
we once held Kiev... from the Baltic to the Black
Sea...
        but we inherited the best and the worst
of the Germans... we are in the possession
of the concentration camps... Auschwitz...
Sobibor, Treblinca, Belzec...
but... we also own Malbork... the castle of the Teutonic
Knights of Marienburg...

i need to speak some Deutsche...
sorry:
          ich sehen ein gesicht ohne
     ausdruck!
                                 krieg! krieg ohne ende!
jetzt, immer, heute!

what? i'm going to be called a ****... paparazzi
for inquiring into the deutsche-zung(e)?!
am i?
               fine...         so sein es!

let me just follow up on my NVQ module 4...
later... i'll put the washing on the washing line
while capturing the last blink of the sun...
then... i'll iron my shirt... polish my shoes...
and get ready for a shift as Fulfham FC...
shepherding people.