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Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
i had a friend once, we used to meet up for drinks and talk *******... i like that notion: once... because it was only for a short period of time, i got ~bored of him, but in actual fact disgusted by him... one of those Dostoyevsky moments from Notes from the Underground... this is the thing about being well-read, self-educated, self-educated to the point where you can loudly say: university taught me nothing, hence my third class degree and ample material of having observed the pigs's numbed snout nibbling on the trough... how easily someone can say: i'm writing a book! i' writing a book! but when the question comes: can i see it? there's no book! i thought this friendly exchange concerning ***** and other juices of creativity would precipitate into a grand finale of actually seeing the sweat and tears on paper... so when i told him: i'm getting published, 100 copies and all, an introduction by an Armenian doctor... decent review... well... naturally jealousy came in... he said i should name the effort a word salad... funny thing about being well-read... you know certain terminological hot points... he was out there writing a book but really smoking dope and playing computer games like computer games are supposed to be played these days: about a million Stephen Spielbergs directing very economised games, very economised meaning: a great investment in them. he was being condescending with suggesting i name my first collection word salad, but that's the problem of being well-read, you know that word salad is a degrading term for someone not capable of writing a coherent narrative... someone who doesn't understand his own words, someone who writes loosely associated sentences of meaning, it's not a pleasant term... that was simply insulting my intelligence, not the sort of intelligence that's quantified within the framework of the i.q., when i mean the less statistical variation i'm invoking: intelligence quantum - a certain amount of understanding concerning a certain focus of interest - as with Kant, we choose what the mind might find entertaining, and discard what isn't entertaining - certainly, not everything contains in itself enough "energy" (for lack of a better word, hence the "   ") to be entertaining, partially because we are limited in what we find entertaining: a) something we understand or   b)   something we can barely grasp... usually the latter scenario, but sometimes the former... but to claim something is a word salad? let's just say i have enough psychiatric literature under my belt to know it's a degrading remark... and the hermit and a severed friendship.

people never think you're well read,
but they never, for once, think that
your isolation is due to the fact that you read,
as with the above stated scenario of
someone thinking you might not have
come across a phrase, that's essentially
degrading - too much video games and ***
will do that to you...
                          as with Bukowski
boasting about reading -
                                             he apparently
read Kant but doesn't bother to mention any
key ideas... populist at heart,
    sure... if i didn't bother to learn the laws
of spelling and punctuation...
                           i'd say as much on the rebellion
of never bothering to learn to tie my shoelaces...
it's pretty much the equivalent of...
     what he already said.
                              and philosophy books do
require patience... they're usually masturbated over
by students writing essays and instead
of going the full nine yards and entering
the narrative, they squeeze out a maxim and that's
that...
                       i'm 30 pages away from
entering the final part of the critique:
                                  transcendental methodology -
30 pages and i'm guessing two years since i
started reading the critique -
                                     well,
philosophy is more geology in terms of reactions
than it is chemistry, where reactions take much
less time to be completed -
                    philosophy in that sense is a variation
of geology - poetry and other forms of literature
are more or less chemically bound to be abrupt,
painfully drunk on the highs and lows -
                             and volatile -
                                                     hence the comparison.
   should i quote? i think i should...

idee czystego rozumu nie mogą nigdy same w sobie
być dialektyczne, lecz jedynie samo złe stosowanie
   ich musi sprawiać, że wypływa z nich dla nas
zwodniczy pozór.
                                                     (p. 303, vol 2,
                                      wydawnictwo naukowe PWN)

               another thing to mention... transcendental
methodology might be simplified in terms of
    transcendental grammar classification, i.e. borrowing
concepts higher than the general classification of words
allows -
                  the double noun exfoliation -
                                    apart from naming a word,
we can absorb the activity of the word beyond mere names:
         words that act as catalysts
                                   words that act as enzymes -
                 should there be specific examples?
                                   in general the substrate to product
transformation using an enzyme
                                                   can be voiced by sophists
throughout the ages -
                                 inflammatory coercion of words
to specific bundles of predictable excerpts is standard
                       when the pulpit is filled and all void denied.
but concerning the above quote, i too was thinking
something along the lines of *a priori
being obstructive
       of the ideas of pure reason accommodating dialectics.

trans.
            ideas of pure reason cannot, ever, in themselves
                    be dialectical, but only the wrong application
of such ideas must cause, that from them there flows
        a deceptive guise.


      i could quote further, but the a priori principle is
the argued against dialectics are a false nature acquisition
in terms of these ideas of pure reasoning -
               that we've been given these ideas by a supreme
manifestation of nature in us, i.e. that this highest of
all possible tribunals dealing with pretensions and laws
of our speculation, could also contain within itself
primordial illusions and (loosely) spaghetti muddles.

            true to the reason behind moving from a)
a priori              through to          b)    a posteriori -
        if pure ideas are caustically anti-dialectical,
it's because dialectics would rarely mind the transition
being elementary -
                                       but then again,
i imagine the dialectics in a purely a priori guise
and the Newtonian debate given Einstein's counter-proofs...
in that sense, i somehow seem to disagree with Kant...
well, then again no... in themselves they cannot be
dialectical: i.e. disputed or argued against,
  hence the deceptive guise when Newton was supreme
for so many centuries and then Einstein came along
   and the mask that Newton put on the face of gravity
was to be found not straight, but parabolic.
so yes, that's true: time and space are ideas of pure reason,
and they cannot be dialectical -
                                        even though they are
but not in-themselves dialectical,
                                        they have to possess a dialectical
facade, or at least that's what they exfoliated
              and sedate with...
                                              i'd go one step further:
dialectics is, as far as i know, the only way to approach
ideas of pure reason -
                                           only once dialectics shows
us the ideas of impure reason (the Socratic daemon) -
as leading us into acknowledgement
                                              that certain things are truly
non-debatable -
                                      but that they somehow have
to be debated in order that they might be refined
for the purpose of them being true to their nature:
non-dialectical.
                                   this approach is at least better than
what becomes forcefully adhered to,
                                 i'm still facing a dialectical concern
over Darwinism...
                                      primarily because...
well... my concern is that a belief in a god is more comforting
not for some case in jurisprudence, a heaven on high...
          it's the bothersome timescale and the fact that
skeletons and drawings on cave walls are not much of
a comfort either...
                                   partially also, due to the fact that
i like to think about the item of concern, rather than
express some sort of benediction toward the item of concern:
    there's nothing insensible about that,
given that god, as much as space and time, is an idea
of pure reason -                if i was imbued with
   a natural supplement of atheism, i'd still be trapped
in a dialectical moment of concern -
                                 until i'd finally shed all manner
of a dialectical approach concerning the idea: and make
the final non-dialectical statement of faith.
the flip side is not whether you're right or wrong,
  but whether you actually can make that statement.
as far as i'm concerned (well, i never had that much
admiration for the man) - Mr. B never read a **** thing
of philosophy.

i find it abhorring to somehow feel the need for
a condescending approach to this subject of interest...
as any assurance there need be concerning philosophy...
one thing is perfected witch each new approach to
the subject: you never actually find the time to moan
about not being with women... or how poorly humans
treat each other... you never seem to complain about
solitude, you never once feel lonely...
                                                   you quiet simply get on
with it...                         perhaps that's what it always way:
the best way to entertain yourself...
                    you're basically having to write out with
ease crossword puzzles in your mind that precipitate down
onto the blank page... somehow with it:
life is bearable when alone... and there are more
entertainment hot-spots... none to do with gambling...
                 so that's about as much as being pegged
down to size actually means...
                                         never true: that cinematic
feat to depict modern (and very much Anglo) guises
of modern alienation...
                                           then again: he probably
did read it, but he never bothered to discuss it in any
way relevant as for it to be revealing his interest in
the topics... macho cool keeping it trendy, i'm guessing.
Czytać nadzieje w poezji jest dużo jak rozumieć niebieski kolor w niebie,
ona czuje, zna ten perfum, co nie może sama sobie kupić.

Ten wiatr ciągnie, utrzymuje ale nic ujawnia,
koty marzą, a ona ciągle czyta te same książki.

Szuka ten kolor wszędzie, jej farby nigdzie nie pasują,
wysyła pocztówki do siebie z miejsc nieznanych z których
zawsze pamięta dziękowac za piwo.

Lata idą, a ona powtarza sie, ciągle zapomina patrzyć na dół,
nieobecna że niedługo ominie go.
"Slowly"

Reading hope in poetry is much like understanding the blue in the sky,
she feels, knows this perfume, that she can't afford to buy on her own.

This wind pulls, maintains but doesn't reveal,
cats dream, she still reads the same books.

Searches for this color everywhere, her paint doesn't match anything,
she sends out postcards to herself from unknown places from which
she always remembers to thank for the beer.

Years go by, she repeats herself, still forgetting to look down,
unknowing that soon she'll pass him by.
BML Sep 2013
Moje serce się przelewa,
Bo mnie w kółko ktoś olewa.
Ciągle gine, to mnie zżera,
Taka smutna atmosfera.
To nie bajka, i nie płacze,
Tylko sobie ja tak kracze.

Au, jesteś jak złoto,
Ale chyba o tym wiesz pięknoto.
Forever alone, czy nie,
Zawsze będe kochał Cie.
Może zaczekam aż ktoś mnie znajdzie,
I może przy tym się sam odnajdzie.
Piotr Balkus Nov 2015
Czasami płaczę,
nie wiem dlaczego.
Wypłakują rzekę łez,
którą w sobie noszę.

A ty? Nie płaczesz czasem?

O, nie kłam, proszę!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
i co ci do kurwa z tego?!
to mo: naj ulubione!
   o tak: na gzyms sie jobem?
  nie do pana...
jeno do: jara...
                    szłem...
   ah...          a ty do:       ikąd!
o tu ci: szczek o brwi
             szfedem: ci kroczy!
       w i nad po-grom w gwrie!
o tym ci:
                co mnie nie da tchu
pod mogile w gwóźdź o....
                       czubacz: mlot!
moja to cerkiew...
a ty(l)?
                      kurwa motyl,
wien to co: sssssspirdolyj!
    nie twe matka w tym co nie w jej
tamtym... okij na obudzi Kiev?!
da?
             dybra...
               i tym... tak bym ni pitaja
z nibym "nim".
o nim?
    ku rußom!
         "niby": prußom...
   jibanyam wonniya-matki... skier...
to da: dna!
                 te twoje: wien?
twe!
                  mi w ogie na bogie
drwie w bogie i krww... ni mo!
to twe, ni moye...
                 to totem i tem:
v to i tobie: bogie...
                           oki?
        nie myl myj blot w to co zajachodi
movi...
   to co nybi movi...
oki?
               to co na tle...
nie niby farby...
                    to co it niby ist:
jist:
                         pseudo-skrabem....
   ja dam sobie
skoszczt sebie 'kranie na se
co o sobie darm...
  a tybie dam... sem danym...
co matka daya o sobie krev!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
tu nie stanie islam... nawet jako stańczyk,
                          na jednej nodze;
tu nie stanie islam... nie na tej glebie...
                  tu nie stanie islam;
           poczekam: z pamięcią
                                         zwana turk;
ja... ja! ja tu man pierw: rys! i prawo aby
tak było! czy nie! i by tak zostało dotrzymane!
         tu islam powie: o kurwa... spierdalam!
tu mi islam tańcem może fiołfki w figle
              zamienić...
         tu! mi! ißlam! nie da ani jednego kolejnego
kroku!
               tak... no tak... wpraszam w siebie
       "nieczyste" i najbardziej czarne serce...
           huj im w dupe! i ten lament kobiet
       o warszawskich obyczajach -
sławne powiedzenie: jak kurwa warszawska...
             po chodniku... tu it tam...
    czy kurwa pingwin wtarł sie do twej pizdy?
  no to co mi tu gawędzisz o:
     ah... ale to dobry syryjczyk...
                        czy ja naprawde wyglądam
jak by to mnie, tak naprawde obchodziło?
    spierdalaj!     bo inaczej dam ci w ryja!
owszem, spytaj siostre Cologne...
            sto-dwa                          i   tym
namaluje ci:                   gwałt...
           a wtedy powiesz sobie...
                                  to mi sie... podoba?
mokra pizda?      chyba tak!          ha ha!
    tu! ißlam! nie stanie nawet na jednej nodze!
          nawet by to był tanieć à la pirouette
                   tu! mi! żaden dziń, kurwa, nie zatańczy!
smród pustynny, koci stolec, i ta
     pierdolona mina wgrana w kontemplacie
                                                     genezy zaparcia.
      -      o! pats! mysleli ze ty niet gawari!
- no kurwa... psecies odkryli h'ameryke
                                            w puszcze sardynek
                                                            na kresach!
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.nie dotykaj ich kobiet... mowie ci... nie dotykaj ich kobiet... to nie twoje, to wprost obcze, i tym bardziej owcze...jak sam, zobaczysz... nie tykaj ich kobiet!

ja nie jestem tu, w ramach potrzeb
ich kobiet, mowić słowo: nie!
ale... ich kobiet "potrzeby"
mnie naj mniej... interesują...
kiedyś... może... nie teraz...
ja, tu jestem...
  po tą kurwe swe znaczą
tytułem: językiem...
ja, jestem tu, po ich             zór!
pizdy w ramach gnoju jedno,
ale jedno nad wszysto..
ich. jęzór?

                          jeniec?
taki jeniec? jaki może być
sam język sam w sobie?
no to jaki, jeniec?!

    to...            to!
a tu...

        tu? tu... teraz hymn.
i to słynne... sto lat!
no, panowie?
co? co kurwa jest?
sto lat sto lat niech
Dąbrowski żyje nam!

            to jest moje: salve regina!
ślepy bładzi, ale ten co pyta?
tym ja, jam tym ślepym...

jam ślepy i tym samym,
jam co błądze...

         kiedy kusić trza...
  to nie tym zorem...
             ale tym, o ile sto lat
zapuźno... jam sobą...
przy twym tronie
tym ten sam.

jam mówie swą krew!
   i tą krew! swą jam: przemówie!
nawet do tych bez
kraju, i fałszywego Pana;

oczy jak iskry,
i mowa jak lustro...

   nawet do bzdet kraju,
i fałszywego Pana:

rój! i cholera nad resztą!

nawet... owszem, Panu,
ale kraju,
ale kraju...
co Panu nic wart.
BML Aug 2013
Była sobie Aga mała,
Ale była twarda jak skała,
Przywali ci w zęby,
I będziesz beczała.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
three days pass,
   the world cup is near the end
                            of sorting out the quarter finals...

a mute of three days
stumbles down the stairs
   and sits across from his father

to watch the england colombia
match...
            it's 1 - nil to england...
and the father explains
    how at the construction
site they teased him about poland
going out in group
stages...

        and he's rooting for colombia
like mad, or rather like a child
  in that likeable: devilish way...
and you root with him...
           even though you're thinking:

god, imagine the day,
  the people, the lost monarchy and
a celebration of a people
         by a people in the streets...

first time i came to england
as an 8 year old
          i was smuggled -
                                  e-legal...
the home office came to the rented
flat...
  cuffed my parents
   while my grandfather (on a visa)
remained with me:
   and watched as i cried and
                                punched a wall...

(hence i learned the rule
  of the literate hand...
           when it comes to punching?
you need to punch something
harder than flesh...
       to even out the knuckles,
to make the 4th knuckle protruding
and ready...

my right hand juggernaut
          of flesh covering silicone bone)...

my second arrival in england?
   well: i have the british passport,
  don't i?
          
   england wings it, winning on penalties
and i'm more than happy
  (given colombia beat poland
  3 - nil in the group stages)...

         yet i can almost understand
  not rooting for england,
   but i figured: they didn't take the football
pensioners on tour this time -
youth, perhaps youth will mend it...

shveeden isn't exactly belgium
     in football prowess...

                    yet there was a conversation
prior to all this post-scriptum musing
of a past event
   that made the former 3 day mute
       start to shake with what
   the answer to a question was:
                    do you think i'm lying?!

- kto ci dał to limo?
- ja, sam sobie.

             and then we watched the football...

i didn't tell him about
trying to understand women you
****** real good who returned
the favour by slapping you in the face
like it's some: high-end hollywood
movie from the 50s machoism...

        mmm... stanley kowalski
                   *****-slapping the "next big thing"...
i stood my ground on the slap,
and realised:
           why not wrestle like a titan:
      with myself?

20 punches later, a black eye...
                        hence the inquiry:

- who gave you that black eye?
- i(s)ch, selbst sich.

and then we watched the match together
as prior stated.

         my father doesn't speek the english
i speak...
     so in writing:
                    my reply will always
be german...
          since both of us had
the conversation
                                   in the one thing...
   i will not comply with to mirror
           multicultrual indian psyche-mongrels!
no!
           the tongue you do not shed,
if perhaps you do, only slightly,
             for the convenience of the natives -
ja: umre - mowiac to,
                           co to, mi mowi!
słowo!               (v+)       (-india+)
                              -wia-           -nin
indo-european...
                                    wordsmith ex-asiatic
neighbouring germs -
                       if the original "consideration"
   is to be asserted with slav(e)...
                so... em...
                           germ descendents?

i have no respect for people who forget
their native tongue...
               even if there is no other native
to speak it to...
             multiculturalism of england
would be more respectable...
  if people integrating into these parts:
still retained their mothertongue...
    
         because then it starts to **** me
off that a pakistani has more gall
to say what british is: than an actual englishman...
or a scot!
                         can't buy placebo mate...
gotta work the black & white
                         cringe *******.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
a no, czym,
                             "niby" gadam?

to po co mi ta
                             kurwa flaga

      i gzyms co (w) dół
                          mam patsyc (z):

  o jakiś sentyment?

eksodus, kujwa:
w morde nadana...

   lepi sie lepiej ki(e)dy:
bez...
              i nieco nic
a w tym TRILL zapomnane...

    koo'dz: V            a(h)...
                ahahaha!

ja nie polak,
                 ja... polską...    
  żyt: na nieustannej
nodze...
a propo:
            tym             te      sz
    żyd?

       zależy zkąd, tym prawda
o to ż in anti-shamanic
      "clarity"           (i.e. also).

           which includes
the matter to mind:
         with...

albo zapomne albo przy- se...
to NN... w kwocie
                    nie-ustaNNej -

you can almost tell apart a dutch
tourist from a french tourist,
and... you can tell they have
inherited an idiosyncracy,
  along with an ethinicty...

         ***** england ought to know,
the language has mingled with
so many deviations
that, it became apparent,
the scots and the irish became
neglected...
    unfathomable,
    or at least the fathomed: last.

           n'eh n'eh        ej...

no, not edge via: jee'p...
            
   it's really stretching it,
"thinking" there are nouns associated
with the roman alphabet...
    which are, pure phonetic
simplicity...
       hey, the Jew god tetragrammaton
is a vowel catcher:    e.g. ah
    as a minor expression of awe...
and hardly the sigh of oh...

latin letters have no names,
to begin with...
      O is no -micron or -mega...
     V is closer to the definite
article via v'eh "point"
than it is to a greek cheese....
         which morphs,
"magically" from feet to theta...

      what's V'eh point?
          precisely:
latin letters do not, and never had
possession of a noun status.
            
     there are actually only
three nouns in the polish
alphabet:

    igrek (y),
                   jot (j),
               zet (z)
              ziet (ź)
                      rzet (ż)

  although i'd debate this claim
(really, only igrek,
  the slavic gamma qualifies
to be given a noun status) -

the greek isn't exactly pristine
either...
    considering that

of the 24 letters:
        α, β, γ, δ, ε,
    ζ, θ, ι, κ, λ,
                   o, σ, υ and
   ω could be considered as nouns,

syllable cound:
        1 syllable doesn't allow
an encoding a noun status...
     meaning:
            the inability to lip-read...

sure, you can tell apart
        a π from ρ from τ from φ...
          
(luckily this observation,
is not,
         a rigidity celebrating
orthodoxy... namely because of
the noun:
        
                                     ταo)...

then again, if certain letters were
to be ascribed a noun status,
they'd become siamese gemini,
e.g. μ-μ....
                       mu-mu...

                                      ψ-psu!

yet a noun would probably require
an editorial "interlude" -
          a prefix and suffix,

                    a(h)-l-pha...

ω requires: o + μ + ε + γ + α...

  greek joke concerning diacritical
application:
i guess it depends on
a variant off a fashion statement,
  given that it might as well have been
composed with the η-variant.

    tongue numbing gymnastics,
i admit...
              but then is the loss
of the R-with-a-trill in english
   a numbing...
      never could fathom
the french harking of the letter either...
but at least i allowed
a tarantula to sit on my tongue
and numb it when i could
have had a rattle-snake with it...

   funny... whenever my history teacher
spoke Latin in my catholic
highschool, she actually revived
the trill of the R...
              
  most of the time?
         a bit like cold liver in the mouth
of the english...
             tongue-tied-numb...

oh, i can analyse the english,
but i am unable to give them a psychology,
the technicality of the language
received me to peer into,
  and i know that my observations
will not receive an implementation...

    but that's the prune you pick
off a tree,
            where you're more a:
******,
                  than an, active
ingredient of ascription to a concept
of memorable time...

                                         history...

nie ma sprawy:
                             posprzątam po sobie,
tak jak teraz:

              shoo shoo shoo...
          worded broom;
   and off the clustered buds of
   urban congestion
that are pigeons, skim, flew off,
   like heads off a guillotine,
         into a reiteration opposed
to: a conventionality of
the literate exploring nothing,
             but verb and narrative.

can you seriously read books,
and no paint?!
         seems a waste of time,
to read and subsequently
reintegrate a reading style,
within a modem of: ditto verbatim...

    which is: that ****** variant
of plagiarism...

         considering the anti-phonetic
sctucture of the englosh tongue...
   i.e. says one thing,
      gives it a variant "arithmetic"...
dyslexia...
               i can hardly begin to
comprehend
              a need to replicate my reading
habit...

       given that i only speak only
two organic examples,
        i can already point that:
english, as a lingua?
               doesn't exactly have syllable
clarity.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
daj mi, ino myśl o sobie,
  i ptaszy śpiew
                   o poranku...
   a od już...
      w twe nieme serce:
                                  rzuce sie!
tylko to:
    od tych kotwic kobiety!
i od tego co:
        przytym,
                   wkrótce przodem:
                          martwe...
niech daje umrz-ec
          (p' kra-in-sku -
                  ni   -yć in alt.?)...
                      jak... i daje żyć...
o kwitek, o piosenke,
               o róże, o kurwa
                        (jebaną mać)! ɫze!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
from the depths of a drunkenness that's melancholy:
the most sobering truths...

co to jest: świadomość -
to jest... narodziny pamięci...
i nie-pamięci tzn.: akt zapominiania...
w tym że człowiek się rodzi
w stanie pierworodnym:
a pierworodna świadomość
to "jedynie" najczystrza imaginacja:
co potem staje się:
zagmatwana, jako taka "druga"
za pomocą zmysłów:
nie jako ta piersza:
          czerpioną z świadomoś ci
samej-w-sobie...

nonwendigkeit:

not wrtten... but how a German might say it...
non-vendish-kyte...
or... sharpening the caron of the invisible S
entrapped in the G...
to a... nonwendiśkeit...
non-wendiś-kajt...

like... ich is also isch... which is also:
iść: to go... to walk...

NOT WHEN DIG KITE...
digging for kites?
or... Keats?
    
   no one serious, no matter of seriousness...
just sounds... encoding of sounds...
Hangul or hieroglyphics...
most certainly too much drinking...
oh: and a translation...

ha! if i were a Milan Kundera and wrote in Czech...
right... even if i wrote in German...
how many years later would
a translation arrive?
writing in ******...
ugh... the etymology... Slav...
the English imply the origin of Slav...
is labouring under a "lost" E...
hmm... should i start calling the Russians
for clarifications?
let's see...
   Slav has an etymological root in Turkic...
which Slavs? the Yugols?
the southern... Slavs?
you're all ******* Franks?!
Swabians?! are you? last time i heard we
ref. to ourselves as the remnants of
the Sarmatian inquisitiveness...
some... Iranian tribe... Aryans...
  
******* sputnik historians...
makes my blood boil...
little things... always the little things make one
into a ******...
punctuation marks... displaced...
i'm a pedantic beast...
Slav is derived from Slave for Turkic...
really?!
Słowianin... word-smith...
słowo: word...
     ANIN: you want to know the meaning?
having no master...
word without a master...
slav(e)... the English approach...
let's suppose...
secretly i'm rubbing my hands waiting
for the Scots & the Welshmen...
why? why... because i can...
because i will not be subjugated to
etymological dunces!

******* Western sling-shot targets...
Bristolians...
Devonshire pompous *******...
what are you... some ******* proto-German
with ambitions to make a history with
Anglo-Swabians?
the winged hussars of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth: no... didn't... no... n'ah...
didn't come to aid Vienna...
well... i was told to learn the history
of the Norman invasion...
& the life of Edward the Confessor...
whom i very much adored...
i can't bring my history to these isles...
my "tattooes"?
in the script it states:
black-African... black-Carribean...
but not anglo-slav...
sorry... ha ha! i "feel" discriminated!

******* English ***** thinking all Slavs were
slaves of the Turks... yeah... maybe...
the Serbs! the Balkan Slavs!
us western Slavs waged wars with the Ottomans...
now my barber is a Turk & i thank god no
ethnicity touches my ****** sprout...

see! the English stress their values...
i managed to call them: universal
on a ZOOM call...
sure... "universal"... but hardly without their own
fault... come... come one...
who's kidding who?
labouring under the strict obligation of discovering:
DISCOVERING... not learning...
history...  sure... up in Edinburgh...
the local are... ******* up in arms
with standardised Elizabethean English...
*****...
     pompous Derbyshire whittle boys!
toffs or wigs! either of them!
        i want to bark in a way that i might
spew a spare tooth!  ****'s sake... hark! hark!
i want to bite! i want to bark!
no... you don't spew etymological spoofs
and get away with it...
i'll just round up some Ukrainians...
some Russians...
Tartars & the Cossacks...

        it insults me... "thinking" that...
there's this clue of a... oh... "merely" a "missing" E...
to arrive at Slav from Slave...
blood... is... boiling... & i'm not even on the side
of the imbecile surrogates of marzipan C4
explosive vest quests...
my grievance is... eh... more personal...
no Iraq or Iran invoked...
    i like to watch...
i need to watch...

           i like... still life... decay...
     what once was fruit is now cider...
  you don't confuse etymology though...
i.e. where does the term German come from?
the man with the germs?
the sickly **** bring-along?
******* Anglo *****...
broken bonkers on their audacity...
always the prideful wankers...
they were & are... pandered prideful wankers!
i ****... but you couldn't tell...
these ******* stick of ***** wasted!
ugh!
  as much as i love them as much as i hate them!
hey! hey!

so... what's a windmill to a
pumpernickel?

pronoun neutrality in the plural...
what the **** happened to the ROYAL:
ONE & WE?
did that simply... "fizzly" put?
one might,
we were expected...
to hell with trans-gender grammatical rights!
what next?
trans-physics! then state it!
metaphysics & metaphor is a load
of *******,.. as is the thesaurus...
let's do... trans-physics...
i'm clueless as to how we'll begin...

i'll just check with the Russians...
the seem to be the most informed people...
i stopped looking at the setting sun...
when i started up a conversation
about... tortoises...
reiteration... between Tamil...
Hindi... you can speak perfect Hindi...
& Urdu is not some superiority zunge...

to the steppes with you!
tam! dalej! wio!
huca! tym rze! dawaj!
fio!

       pampered Englishman...
when were you last invaded?
ha ha... oh... right... your beginning of history...
so... Darwin was a... ahem.. a...
"mistake"?
ancient Rome knew of the **** similis...
they paid enough attention to it...
but not as much as might not be required...
sorry...
you might right: but only on the sly... with a slight...

i drink the DARK WATERS... the sharpshooter
liquid... whiskers without a cat! hey! you *******
meow i'll turn you into a ******* pear! face first! hey! hey

— The End —