grotesque old Tomon-go
in that corner he holds in the market
he looks angry, fierce and his open mouth
inside as red as the feet of a fighting ****
Ah, his words fly like arrows helter-skelter
some miss, some strike – he does not know
what missiles he sends, what he throws
and in turn anything he receives he throws back
with quadrupled energy

He looks fierce, he looks mean
all relatives say in hushed tones -
but he’s really nice, a softie with a hard exterior

at the market his face is convoluted
there are a hundred writhing beings that make
up his countenance
(each a contortionist)
the energy of the practised old grumpy men
live in his hands
and he unleashes words that make everyone recall
the last tsunami

He looks fierce, he looks mean
all the women and men in the market say
in whispers -
but he’s really nice, a softie with a hard exterior

Ah, poor Tomon-go, his words and manner isolate him
he hurts others and is hurt in turn
Poor Tomon-go, poor all who come in contact with him
though they might whisper to one another:
*He looks fierce, he looks mean
but he’s really nice, a softie
with a sharp tongue and grotesque exterior

[Refrain 1 Confidently]
Our mum is such a softie, no matter what we do
She always gives us what we want, and hugs and kisses too.
We get up late, don’t go to school, and hang about the street
We drop our litter on the floor and scuff it with our feet.  

But now …
Do you think we may have gone too far?
Perhaps we should say sorry?
Or is it too late for that?

[Refrain 2 Less confidently]
Our mum is such a softie, no matter what we do
She always gives us what we want, and hugs and kisses too.
We get up late, don’t go to school, and hang about the street
We drop our litter on the floor and scuff it with our feet.  

But now…
I don’t know about you, but I’m frightened.
I’ve never seen her like this.
Even when she was cross, she never shouted,
And never, ever hit me.

[Refrain 3 Hesitantly]
Our mum is such a softie, no matter what we do
She always gives us what we want, and hugs and kisses too.
We get up late, don’t go to school, and hang about the street
We drop our litter on the floor and scuff it with our feet.  

But now…
She has turned her dark face upon us.
Her steely eyes glitter, her upraised hand
Threatens the very worst you can imagine;
Storm, earthquake, thunderous wave, a hail of fire
Burning, consuming, killing, laying waste.

[Refrain 4 A desperate gabble]
Our mum is such a softie, no matter what we do
She always gives us what we want, and hugs and kisses too.
We get up late, don’t go to school, and hang about the street
We drop our litter on the floor and scuff it with our feet...

Is it too late?
Do we have a final chance?
She was so fair, so bright;
So kind, so all-providing, so benign…
But, now …

BRIANO ALLIANO PERFORMS AT JUPITER MOON


hi dudes and welcome to jupiter moon where i will chuck a methane smoothie all over dad

so he can stop treating me like him at home, you see last night dad used the old young dudes

tp say i am not like my mate pat anymore, no, don’t want to be a cool kid to my dad, but i can

clean my house to what i like, and nothing more, buddy, so if you treat me like dad, you must

except i want to be a poor man, because dads way will never work, he should work on betty campbell

here is cruising round with red bull


I see some sorry old soul walking around the town, with a leather jacket on and a red bull in his hand, you see he looks kind if ***** and ****** up in the head he also looks so droopy, too, he should be home in bed, he'll go into JB hifi, if they'll let him in, that is and then he'll notice his red bull can is empty, he didn't know what to do, and everyone is staring at him, he yells out really loud WHAT ARE YA LOOKIN' AT YA ******, and nearly gets into a fight, and he was going completely crazy, yes he was weird, so ran through the mall, saying, I have to get my red bull, I have to get my red bull, I have to get my red bull, it's a f..n matter of life and death, if I don't get a red bull now, I swear I'll **** someone, waddaya think of that, everyone was saying as he passed thinking this man is cool, I think he's a loser cruising around with his red bull
When he got his second can open it up and it squirted everywhere, and unknown to him that half the can was lost in that squirt, so he cruised around with his can saying howdy to the chicks and saying hi dudes to the chaps, and, man he felt so cool, as he went over to JB hifi, yes his red bull can was empty again, and he yelled out ****, this time he was really ****** violent, he knocked over an old lady going to the bank and punched a yeah mate yeah kid,  (nerd) in the gut, and he was like that all the way to the red bull shop, when he got their the red bull was sold out and the store clerk said we have red eye, mother or V, and he said I don't want those, they are woosey drinks, I only drink red bull, because about 1 hour the man was taken by the police, as he was cruising it gives me wings, as I left he saw a kid who bought the last red bull, and he offered him $50 for it, and the kid said, money comes and money goes, but this red bull stays with me forever, and he got violent threatening to **** him as such and the kid said, ok dude, keep ya shirt on, give me $50 for this can and I will give it to you, they exchanged what they had and the kid went to the police station to fill in a statement saying he was threatened by a crazy red bull ******, and in around with the kids red bull, the police took him away the kid identified him as the guy, whi would convert to violence, to be cruising around, oh yeah, yes, man cruising around with his red bull, what a loser

and now here is my next song, called go to bed little shy boy, because i feel like a hooligan with my itchy feet, and i feel like i am getting kidnapped on earth because i am a tad messy, cause dad will never help me, when i do work, i feel like a lady, well, ****** oath i am a
lady to a tease, but i don’t want to get teased though, so i am a man
You see, you are still a little shy boy, and we are still teasing you
So, now you are working, man, come, leave us
And let us muck around, we want to smoke our bongs
As well as drink our bourbons, and drink 100 beers
Yeah we all feel cool, and don't wake up little shy boy
We want the adults to not bother us, cause we are having so much
Fun, we don't want to be adults,and don't want you to worry about us either
You see, all the men, are sitting there, trying to muck with them
Saying tease him, if you want to tease, just teaee him
But at the end of the day, man, we aren't really teasing
We are sitting up all night, being bums and young bludgers
And it's because you are such a ******
We might be making it seemed you are getting teased
But, we really want to leave you alone,,if you leave us alone
Cause, we are drug addicts,,and we want you to respect the fact
That we don't want to work, as long as you think that you aren't a young bludger
Everything will be already, but young bludgers go to bed for work
So mate, just enjoy yourself, and smoke your bongs
And have a good time, doing it
You see, I want to enjoy ourselves doing this
You are now leaving us all on our lonesome
See ya dudes
yeah, i don’t wanna be a cool kid to tease so i say to you, shut up cockbreath, here is my next song


I am a man and other men are teasing me with the kids
This is driving me crazy, I told them that I am a man
And I don't stand for this kind of juvenile behaviour
You see the kids didn't listen to that, they just laughed
And for a while each man kept on trying to be mature adults
Which we all know they're not, said for the kids to leave me alone
And then said, he isn't a target for teasing
But then after 3 days, the men said, what the flaming ****
We are going to tease this ****** yuppie
Yes, we'll tease them with the kids
The kids would teaee and when you go to the men
The men will teaee them too. They will act like all other Australians
And tease you as well, yes and they will ****** find it ****** fun
You are suffering cause you haven't got many friends

And the kids are laughing, while the ******* men say
You are a fucken big old softie,and you are now with no friends
Then you get a knife and try to stab him
And after that you punch him in the back
And then you draw out your knife and threaten to slit his throat
If he doesn't stop fucken teasing him
But they go, I am teasing you, and that's the only way I am being



You see when I go out of my bedroom after having a night of ***
The kids ate teasing me, left right and centre
And I try to handle it, but it's so ****** hard for me to do
Because they are saying things like, I am going to bash you up
And giving me a pineapple drink which was ****** wee
close to you
So if the kiddies are teasing you, and you turn to me, to get me to muck with you
I will say, I ain't mucking with you, mate, neh
I am just teas---ase---ing you with the kiddies, you aren't like us, cause when we tease you
Mate, you can't handle it, and then you say, you are spastic, and dumb as well. And I will punch you with this metal part of my leather glove, to show you who can't fucken handle teasing, you **** of the earth, fucken man
Then you go to your room, and they don't talk to you anymore
Because they are treating you like a target to tease
And that drives me crazy. And i yelled out
I AM SICK AND TIRED OF BEING THE MAN WHO IS GETTI NG TEASED BY MEN AND THE KIDS,  LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE
And they did, I am now a free spirit, no one can successfully taste me, never


yeah, i don’t wanna get teased by the men and kids, so i will be a hooligan oops, i am a cool person

you see, i am a polite man, hey, what did you say, you are protecting me with your hey, so i want dad to fly off, ok

have found a polite way to

I have found a polite way to say I love you even if I don't really mean it
I have found a polite way to tell you to ******* when you constantly bug me at my place of work, and that is treat him like an employee and then sack him, that'll work
I have found a polite way to tell someone that their weird without making them get upset
I have found a polite way to say to a right wing party that their policies stink by saying, you guys are a bunch of total perfectionists, who care nothing for the little guys
I have found a polite way to tell someone that they aren't the right sort of friend for me by saying, please mate, I need to broaden my horizons, so can you leave my perfect world buddy
I have found a polite way to tell my boss that I am resigning and that is I really don't want this place of employment, it's not really my cup of tea
I have found a polite way tell someone in a bar to stop bugging me by asking them nicely to please leave me alone and if that doesn't work then leave the bar saying if people aren't going to be nice to me here, I ain't going to come here
I have found a polite way to call someone a young bludger by telling them that they are as lazy as you were when you were their age
I find polite ways to say anything because I value my
Life too much to be hurt people's feelings, I am really cool, man

ya see i hear voices of people saying i have no real problems, but i wanna be famous, and i want to move to adelaide, but i don’t get positive feedback

so i feel like getting drunk and vomiting like this song

You see I love to have a few beers, or chocolate, and chips, oh yeah
This was what I really enjoy when I go to a pub at night
You see I live next door to this nightclub, called the hungry ****** horse
And I ain't cursing because I want to, man, that s what it's called
I met a man named Roger Killbert, who I had *** with and having a few
But the beers weren't doing good for Roger, they made him really sick
You see he was getting drunk and vomiting, yes, he was really sick
I don't share children with him, so why did I stay with him
You see he lost his family in the recent fires, and this is the first time he went out
And Roger was getting a sickly taste in his mouth, oh yeah
And it made him *****, he was sick,
You see it was just vomiting, so I didn't bother to take him to hospital
But I changed my mind, when te blood came out, it was really bad
So I took him to the hospital, and the hospital said he fine
But I know in my fucken ****** heart, that he was sick
Then he vomited blood, and the nurse said
To Roger to go to the waiting room
Because this isn't too important, but we do know that it was
And I said, why don't you get your *** in gear
And help my fucken friend, and from that moment
They labelled me a stubborn girl, yes I hated that a lot
And I said, yes, I'm stubborn, but I care for him, and have you got
Someone you care about, you hear about doctors like you
And I am more than just a stubborn woman
If you don't look after my friend, or at least try
I will soo your pants right off
He fucken had the nerve to say on what grounds
I am trying, to be my job, follow work protocol
Yes, I am doing fine, I earn a lot of money
And I deserve every cent, then I said you deserve squat
But I don't really care, when we left, yes I sooed his pants off
And since that ****** day, this doctor never learnt his lesson
We were moved to another hospital
You see he is getting drunk and vomiting, and he was very sick
And we are enjoying spending his money we got out of the doctor
Yes I feel ****** good

you can get your earth bodies to look at aaron clayton or aaa youtube TV, to hear everything performed by me

here is my next song


now, i will tell you where my cool kid is, at the mall mucking around
you see I go to the mall, being with young people
And I have so much fun, making young people mistakes
Like drinking all night and passing by McDonald's
For a McFeast and fries and coke
I will look like a junk food hooligan
And yes I will look so cool to the young
But I wish it was as simple as that
I want to have some fun
So I saw my two friends Eddie and Daniel
And we mucked around having fun
But it wasn't really what I wanted, man
So I told them both to *******
For 3 years after they purposely ran into me
And call me Woosey, and um, they will put the smoke in their ear
And eat McDonalds while I will try to be an adult
And every adult decision I make, they said Woosey, Woosey, Woosey
And then I got up and said you kids make me sick
But I couldn't say that, and they called me Woosey, because I was
Too Woosey to be a man, that opens up to his problems
But I felt like trying my hand trying to intimidate them
And make them leave me alone, it drives me crazy
All I want to be is a normal young dude, you know
Playing around making mistakes as well as being cool
But I have **** like you two teasing me as if your friendship is a fucken lie
You look like greedy pigs when you eat your McDonald's
And you are a ******* when you bang your head against the tapes
Yeah, dude, you look like a Woosey to me, mate
I am just doing the kind of things that Patrick did
Because what he likes to do, is similar to what I like to do
I like hard rock music, but I ain't a little young dude
Who is to scared to escape the tease
You guys are two little Wooseys, and I will say you are Wooseys
Mainly because you eat little young food like maccas
And you stick the cigarette in your hair, like a ******
I am a cool young dude, cool young dudes do art, and don't look lost
I'm not lost, I am so radical dudes, let's party
I am now on the healing process, because Daniel is the only Woosey
And that's the truth, you see


you see, how many of you guys have been called a woosey, you see i believe in loving life and here is my next song

i still wanna be young, what is wrong with that
Yes, mate, I am happy and I feel cool
I feel my body is getting younger and I want to break the adult rule
Mind you, there is nothing wrong with growing up, and being wise, so to speak
But really that's too formal, man, doing that will just send you weak
You need to do things that are exciting
Like go on an aero plane, like to Thailand or Vietnam, or even the mighty USA
You should go on long rail journeys too, yes that's a bit of a buzz
You can either choose having a sleeper, living the lap of luxury
Or roughing it up on the single ride seat
You can also grab a hot meal on the train
And you can eat it in the dining car
And you can eat it up, real fast, so you aren't away from the seat too long
I also like a bus trip, like to Batemans bay or beyond
And a trip to Sydney. Melbourne, Brisbane, Hervey bay, gold coast, and fantastic Adelaide
I go into a club and if I hear music I will either tap my foot or dance to it
Depending on the mood of the place
I also like to stay in a Hotel, and watch a bit of ****** Rupertvision
Some shows are good, and thouroughly entertained me so much
But not enough to make me give to that rich *****
I sometimes like a good trip in the country, where I climb mountains
Or just look at the views from lookouts and even the wild life
And mind you, you can have a ball in the country, cause you have no main worries
No worries at all, sonny Jim
Then you can spend the weekend in Sydney for the Carols in the domain
Where you get in early, pick a great spot, and take in the Christmas spirit
Mind you, you have to wait in line at the toilets, but it's all in good fun
And mate, if you happen to lose, dad, or even your mum
Just go to the stage, and tell them that you are a lost boy
With no directional skills, and how do I find mummy again
Of course they will help find them, but you really just wanted to get on the idiot box
And mate, just wait for the hiding you get off mum or dad
For wasting important television viewing time
There are so many things you can do, but, mate
You need to get a job, oh yeah, don't make your mum and dad pay
That can make you uncool
You see, I am a 43 year old young dude, yeah
And I will be there, till the day I join the afterlife, oh yeah
i hear voices of people saying, i ain’t going to help you little cool ki, ****** oath i am cool kid



Hi little kid, you can't find your mummy, you are a baby
Cause this is a family event, and it's quite ****** safe
Just ask a fellow kid, sure you are safe little kid
But then another kid will come, and trick me into
Looking like a phedaphile, and I won't be able to get out of it
So little kid, keep looking around for your mummy
And, yes you will see her, and I ain't helping you
Cause I am not the kids teasing Buddy
You see I want kids to let me be a true grown up
Who wants to be cool, and have a lot of fun
With other grown ups, and if kids can think of Judy being with each other
The city will look after their needs a lot better
You see, I dressed up as Santa, but I ain't helping you kid
So *******, or I will put you in the toilet
Do you want that, I don't fucken think so
I can tell you, I ain't no kid, I am an adult
Who wants to have fun and enjoy life
I don't want you kids to come up to me
And ask me to do something inappripiate
Even if it looks innocent, it ain't, I aren't that type of guy
You kids are a pack of fucken losers
And just keep yourselfs in your family groups
Cause that will suit me just fine, because
I ain't gonna he

.penta - come in: like i said, horror movie soundtracks, i fall asleep listening to them... they're so atmospheric i, simply can't resist their inherent allure.

the infamous Croydon cat killer...
i'm not buying what the media is selling...
i'm currently in the possession
of a quasi-pet...
  a fox...
comes round my garden for food,
leftovers...
which i give to him with overcooked
rice...
      no... i'm not buying the police report...
two reason...
you know where Croydon is...
and when the next incident happened?
north east London...
   did the fox... ******* swim?!
a fox is not a migratory animal...
   it's niche...
   it's local...
   if it has a sustained food source...
scavenger that it is...
omnivore like a petted dog...
  no...
i don't buy it...
              why would it transverse
south west London and strike in
north east London...
    did Herr Fusch
and why were the bodies left as evidence?
this fox has a *******
fetish for cranium meat or something?
i'm no Mr. Softie for the company
of a fox...
     but on the outskirts of London...
cats and foxes share a strange
   symbiosis...
   ever walk the dark Essex roads
at night, and peer into the fox
and the house-cat look at each other with
curiosity?
      like all serial killers...
it begins with animals,
there's always the audacity with animals...
most of them would probably become
model citizens, if they were allowed
a job at a slaughter house...
   so the mainstream media explains
the Croydon cat killer as a fox...
a fox that decapitates a body...
   and doesn't eat the torso?!
******* magic!
that's not how mature nature of
the wild works: you either eat...
or you're eaten..
        my neighbors owned ducks...
you think that when a fox
dug a hole beneath the cage...
there was a duck torso and a missing
duck head?
ha ha! good luck!
       why would a wild animal **** something...
and not eat it?
    a Swizz fondu makes more sense
than this explanation!
no cautionary animal,
that is primarily a scavenger,
travels from south west London
to north east London...
             BULL...****...
       BULL... ****!
           i don't feed my Brody because
i think he's cute...
   i feed him...
     because i randomly feel like it...
do foxes even own the concept
of a head terrine delicacy?
   my little ******* will eat
rice mingling with off-cuts of meat
and fat...
           so... he bit the head off...
but left the torso for evidence?!
BULL... ****...
oh i'm pretty sure a shy, a very shy
bored Jimmy is lurking in the shadows...
shy bored Jimmies need
a canvas of innocence...
animals are their primal choice...
  well... considering that Cain
was a vegetarian and Abel wasn't...
          he's lying low...
he needs to wake up from the adrenaline
rush...
   he needs for it to cool down...
a fox doesn't leave torso evidence...
and what would be the point of...
   did they say whether the heads
were guillotined, or chewed off?
no ******* animal chews off a head,
unlikely for an animal
to decapitate another animal...
   only human imagination provides that
sort of ingenuity...
         crock ****... basic crock ****...
blame the foxes...
     ha ha!
find me this shadowy little Jimmy before
he boasts about
the human sin of being gullible....
thank **** i'm not a campaigner...
   what i do with "my" fox is concerned
with ecological advantages...
also something akin
  to a Monday morning...
and how my neighbor's trash isn't littered
over the road... because
the wolf was fed, and so the sheep
too...
                 there is no logic to
the claim that a fox made methodological
killings of pets...
   if you ever walked
the streets at night,
and watched the stare-off between
a fox and a cat...
   last time i checked:
   cats have claws and a ferocious bite...
foxes? no claws...
just the bite...
oh, right... what am i listening to?
    penta -            come in...
   i'm still thinking of little Jimmy in the shadows,
collecting his decapitated
   cat heads... and stuffing them
with fiddles of a post-scriptum
to the Hollywood movie genre...
   oh believe me...
from what i heard of Eddie the Gain...
20th century alternative culture
was basically him
being covertly cited...
            no...
a fox wouldn't do it...
   if it was a a duck / chicken affair...
sure...
   but cats being decapitated...
and the torsos left as evidence,
i.e. not being eaten?
         little Jimmy is taking a break...
given that: i'm pretty sure a Bonsai
tiger knows a few tricks about
how a predator defends himself...
          then again, the explanation
could be:
  too many cat videos...
             cats aren't cute...
they're bogus critters who are in
the potential of biting and scratching...
come one...
all the way from south west London...
to north east London?!
foxes don't travel that far,
and the closest route would be
by a hypotenuse vector...
   sooner proving Santa Claus
exists...
    and...
              it couldn't be the same fox...
wild animals are analogous...
but they're certainly not original copy-cats...

coming from a newspaper
like the times:
   i'm vaguely allured to claim them
left-leaning... right-centrist for sure...
but they're still quasi-Guardian
types...

the topic at hand came,
thanks to no. 10,154 sudoku puzzle...
and the narrative...

1    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    5
0    5   ­ 0    0    2    0    0    3    0
0    4    0   6    0    5    0    1    0
0    0    2   0    0    0    8    0    0
0    0    5    4    0    3    7    0  ­  0
0    3    0    5    0    2    0    6    0
0    6    0    8   ­ 0    1    0    9    0
5    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    1
­0    7    0    0    6    0    0    4    0

ut 10,153 was a mess...
i can only suppose it was too simple...

let's just say i had to think
of something,
esp. little Jimmy...
    
                        and the scapegoat fox...
after all: it's the easiest route...
   pretending that a wild
animal is to behave in a civilized manner...
but even wild animals
do not behave like
meticulous killers...
          and decapitation?
it an example of a civilized
meticulousness of a killing...
        
i sniff a rat, a see a rat...
             mainstream media is a load
of *******, and hardly an outrage
of der stimme...
    
foxes don't assert methodological killings...
little Jimmy... whittle Jimmy...
taking a break...
having made foundation
in the first membrane of audacity...
sooner or later...
little Jimmy is moving from cats,
and into the territory of humans...

they all do...
  "they"?
        serial killers!

          that wasn't a fox...
i'm petting a fox at this moment in time...
well.. petting is a lose term...
otherwise strapped to:
"petting"...

           but as you do... solving a sudoku...
here's the linear
narrative:

   (b) 8 8 1 1 3 4 7 9 7 7 9 9 4 9 7 9 4 7
(a) 1 1 5 5 5 1 6 6 7 7 8 2 3 4 9 6 6 6 8 2 3 2 4 4 8 3 9 3 9 2 3 2 2 8 8

and you do think up crazy ****
while you're at it...

1    2    6    9    3    8    4    7    5
7    5    8    1­    2    4    9    3    6
3    4    9   6    6    5    2    1    8
4    1    2   7    9    6    8    5    3
6    8    5    4    1    3    7    2  ­  9
9    3    7    5    8    2    1    6    4
2    6    4    8   ­ 5    1    3    9    7
5    9    3    2    4    7    6    8    1
­8    7    1    3    6    9    5    4    2

but then the everyday newspaper
you read on the everyday
from Monday to Friday....
and there's a newspaper magazine...
ah...
   so that's the problem...
i'm not bundled up in a demographic
nearing retirement age?!

the Croydon cat-killer is still out there...
  a fox wouldn't leave a decapitated
torso as evidence...

as the one simple rule of nature suggests:
NATURE DOESN'T BELIEVE
IN LANDFILL SITES...
IT BELIEVES IN RECYCLING...
a fox that chews off a head
of a cat, and doesn't drag the torso into
the forest to eat?
   well... let's just suppose
that idiocy doesn't exactly permeate
in the wild...
              less a stupid animal...
more a selfish / slothful animal...
  foxes are neither...

             little Jimmy is still out there...
with his love for souvenirs of
cat heads...
           and he's buying time...
so a scapegoat emerges...
  
        if a fox did what was "supposedly" done...
i'm pretty sure there would be
no evidence...
          left...

you get the picture?
  Michael Myers began experiments
on animals... as did Jeffrey Dahmer with
road-****...
                can't someone make an outlet
for these people to work
in slaughterhouses?!
                    they'd be perfect!

decent human beings:
in the most indecent human conditions -
and i'm pretty sure these guys
would love working
in the slaughterhouses...

  i could, for some reason,
forget vegetarians akin to Adolf ******
by then!

i used to have
some smiles
7 of them in fact
7 pretty little smiles
one for each day of the week
each brighter than the other
we had monday, she was patient and honest
but we had to give her away because
we saw a passer by who
needed to borrow her for a day
and so we gave her away
the stranger replaced her with a frown
but that’s okay because
we still have tuesday with us

tuesday who is kind and innocent
oh, wait
no
we don’t
because along came a friend who
had a broken heart and
tuesday didn’t understand why but
she wanted to sacrifice herself anyway
before she went she said
it’s okay, you’ve still got wednesday and the others

oh, wednesday
the tough softie
he fought for them when needed
he was loyal, he was brave. a soldier
and i guess that’s why when
my best friend lost her brother
wednesday felt like he had to be there for her
so i let her have him because
at least i could see her smile on wednesday
and before he went wednesday smiled at me and
he said
hey, you’ve still got thursday and the others

then thursday and wednesday bid farewell
two supposedly inseparable soulmates
thursday, sweet and gentle to match
wednesday’s toughness
wednesday was his hero
i guess that’s why
when my sister was in pain
thursday wanted to help
just like the others

thursday hugged me goodbye and
wiped away my tears as he reminded me
it was all for a good cause.
he kissed friday goodbye and asked her to be good to me
and friday promised she would
but she left too
she left while we were asleep
she picked up and went
we don’t know where but
she was always the loud and reckless one
we miss her though
and i think the loss of the others finally
made her
snap.
i don’t blame any of them.
it’s for a good cause.

that morning we woke up
saturday, sunday and i
all staring at one another
i took them in,
the polar opposite twins
saturday with her cheerfulness and wildness, her free spirit
and sunday with his sturdy consciousness and his good morals.
they looked at each other and looked back at me
and what they said broke me
completely
“we’re moving out. we’ve got a promotion and a house. we’ll still visit from time to time, but... we got a job where we can help the others .. it’s for a good cause”
and i feel my shoulders slump as pain ebbs through me
and i say
“okay, i understand”
and we say goodbye

see, i once had 7 pretty little smiles
one for each day of the week
but one by one they left me
they went on to do something great
and here i am now
with my straight mouth and dull eyes
please don’t ask me for a smile
because i don’t have any left within me
©️Elissar Mustapha
15.01.2020

Its timeto yoke the joker


yo to the emcees that think they could get with me
i wet em like an ocean tide personality like jekyll and hide
which means im a killa slash for short drama no comma imma
brutal emcee eatin' 'em up the best of em im the lyrical cannibal
flesh rent devil sent no need for repent
comin' with wickedness born with 8 flows if ya only knew
******* come in the sets of three im givin' wishes for free
the rap genie aint' comin' to be a hero the black zorro thorrough
shoot up the barrio dead eye hawkin' assassin' blastin'
with the greatest tech mouth shots or physical shots it don't matter
whatever it takes to get the job done
my posse cocked d slapped you *******
you can smoke all the spinach you want and you leave like popeyes
get it naw forget sensitive ******* i knit it
write in graffiti love hoes shape like Nefertiti queen b goddess
never a ***** **** in my encore **** with me and ill bring the war along with gore
******* never been a softie
daddy had to be a gangsta **** hustler drug dealer all summed in one
so i had no choice but to pack a gun
but meanwhile im onto bigger and better things like rappin' on the mic i cling
flows tighter rhan pliers leave emcees wrapped up like cable wires
the sire embraced higher learning spurning over obstacles
turn complexity into miracles
how could i ever fall if i never fall failure not an acceptation
id rather sells drugs and extortion and get caught wit 25 big ones
fed time **** the state time im on the grind one time
always wanna see me fall black man finna rise planet of the apes style
hot and wild j ceasar with these skills i spills sendin' chills
its an ice age all over just say its over when big yosef grab the mic
prepare for fright when i ignite blast through hearts like a cannon
i just smoke ya ya mediocre its time to yoke these jokers
yea
 

To every Sunday
To every birthday
To all the sleepovers
To the future hangovers
To every movie
To every game of ******
To every birthday shopping
To every cake mm the yummy topping
To every cake you bake
To every holiday break
To every game of dark room
To your future groom
To every selfie
To our song break free
To every late night get togethers
No matter what the weather
To every pet name
To every journey on the train
To every phone call
To every trip to the mall
To every coffee
To every Mcd softie
I raise this toast
To you, who I love the most.

Oh- falling to the floor
falling off the bat; a swing at love, again
It's not all the same, indifferent but still
the clueless cliché. Anyways what could
I say to not seem the clingy type
a softie sometimes, knowing he'll marry
a strong wife

A dragon, fierce fiery breath
she speaks a word of fantasy, and unlike
the rest- she has a tougher flesh, and presses away
my insecurities with an impressive hug pressing
on me with an impressive chest

Self control out of the handle of my reflection
perhaps my emotional side is never-ending
Cherished by a face that could never disguise a smile;
my awkward smile, belonging to Mr always nice guy
Confidently shy, shying away from being a razor
of cutting words to chat up a girl
My mistake to chat sensibly after a little rude talk,
mixed in those silly jokes. I choke on my physical words,
a silent face and volumes of confidence only in these poems

Club scenes are meaningless to me
meaning less of me would be less active than seen
I'm falling in between an introvert, and a little
extrovert trying to creep out a bit
It's always a risk, and amidst in the mist of dispersion
of a stretched out imagination of a ******
Told always, "you really need a girlfriend"
good at making conversation with just a girl friend
Till feelings are involved, it sort of does in my head

Spares to a secondary nature of testosterone
spiking at a random
Making passes of being a little passive- my confidence
isn't so massive, although my caring eyes and heart
are at times attractive

But I still have the eyes of a jealous man; possessive
to means if I find you as a potential. Potentially pointing
out my heart's gun to shoot around your lines
I'll still be a little awkward saying my hie, and wanting
long hugs goodbyes

I'm just so sorry for being this constant shy guy

does your **** get hard when you hear your own voice
or are you really auditorily jackin off a softie?

chokin on pulls between bottles and bowls
we all know you're full of ****
yellin unfair brackets are the worst of it

come back and talk to me with eyes a little less red
with some stories and quips you haven't beaten so dead

if you're fed up with the honesty then get up and head out
I'll never be stoppin ya
scream and shout as much as you like but somewhere else
cause I'm seconds from droppin ya

an understatement is ever hearing your voice again would be too soon
just the memory is worse than a broken out of tune bassoon


in short I don't hope you end up dead in a fire
but to say I'd be sad would just make me a liar

Saw a miserable cat stuck up a tree
scared eyes signalling come rescue me
so like the softie I am I started to climb
don’t worry I call you’ll be down in no time
when I get to the top we both look down
my fear of heights kick in we both start to frown
so I shout for help along with a meow from the cat
perhaps the **** but I’m sure he called me a ****

I wish was someone else, nothing like me,
Not so soft, so gullible and sweet.
I wish I could not feel, the harsh winds of life,
To not hear everyone’s words at night…

I wish I was strong with thick skin,
Big muscles, strong opinions and white teeth…
Instead I cry at every movie I see
And cuddle a pillow to fall asleep…

I don’t have social skills, because of stupid fears,
I can’t help that social interactions give scars.
Every single word travels to heart,
Where it leaves a big and nasty mark.

Why would God give all this baggage?
To feel and be in pain for a ticket to heaven.
I hate being soft, but I’m sure I’ll get through,
One way or another, I hope it’s with you.

Every morning while it was dark
He'd wake and pack his boards
With plastic men, his soldiers
To do battle with no swords

He'd put them in his basket
Load them all into the cart
He'd have a tea and bagel
And then, his day would start

He would walk from his apartment
To the park, before the sun
Two miles and a quarter
Just past highway eighty one

There, inside the complex
In the middle of the park
He'd play chess, against all comers
And he'd stay 'till after dark


A prodigy at ten years old
He would beat men three times his age
He would sit there in stunned silence
As they stormed around in rage

A master by his eighteenth year
He hadn't lost on his home ground
He would play and play and nothing else
To the chess board he was bound

Although he had his title
He couldn't leave to play
If he left the country
Then, back home is where'd he stay

He played some competitions
Made his points to climb the list
But, still he kept on thinking
Of the games that he had missed

I saw him in Toronto
Playing for a buck a game
He played against  all comers
The result, always the same

His accent was a harsh one
His beard was slightly rough
With some he'd be a softie
With others, he was gruff

Each day he'd make the journey
Pull his boards down and set off
He'd joke about while playing
And at bad moves he would scoff

"In Russia, they would shoot you"
"If you made a move like that"
Was he lying in the bushes
Should you move or just stand pat?

He moved on down to Yonge Street
When the park land all was sold
No one knew just why it happened
He went there, and it was closed

On a small street down by Eatons
He moved his boards so he could play
He didn't need to walk there now
He could now go by subway

There was more room here for players
To learn at this man's feet
They would line up with their dollars
Knowing full well, they'd be beat

The crowd that came from Yonge street
To see this rock star of the board
Were much different from the park folk
But to this street they poured

College players, bankers
Strippers from the Zanzibar
would come and drop their dollar
Then lose and find a bar

As time went on, his game it changed
He'd take more time for his moves
He would talk more as distraction
And once I saw him lose

His brain was getting fuzzy
Age was now taking a toll
Time, it owned his body
But the board still owned his soul

He'd flirt with the young maidens
Showing cleavage in the sun
One girl even flashed him
Because she thought she'd won

He joked about her actions
Told the crowd that it was nice
He joked that if she showed some more
He'd let her come close twice

As time went on the master
Didn't come downtown each day
He'd stay at home in silence
Downtown was far away

He dreamed of heading home again
But, he knew that couldn't be
Then we saw him on the news one night
On the local CBC

He played downtown for seven years
He last played in 85
He took sick and nearly passed on
Thankfully, the master did survive

His name was Josef Smolij
He was Polish, but we thought
He was Russian from his comments
Made when our bad moves were caught

His absence still is felt there
Gould street it was his space
The area he used to play
Is now called Hacksell Place

He left and went to Europe
Germany became his home
But still down there off Yonge street
The old chess ghosts still roam

I remember playing Smolij
I remember it was hot
I lost and then he told me
"Back in Russia...you'd be shot"

He was 60 when I played him
He'd be 99 or so
I'm glad I got to meet him
The Master known as Joe

I am not who I seem
I will never be that girl from your dream.

If you start to care
You'll see what isn't there
You will see past that girl who wears black and scowled at pink and dresses
Wants to be a rebel
Wants to be a badass
Wants to be cool
You will learn to see past that exterior
You will know I'm not all attitude and insults
You will realize that that girl who cusses and fights isn't all there is

Then maybe you'll see deeper.
There's another girl
One who wants to dress up
Feel pretty
Wants to be a princess
Someone who wants to be like the people she admires
A little girl who wants to be cute with a guy
Someone who wants to skip around and be one of those lead people in the movies
Someone who cares
Loves
Laughs
Appreciates beauty in butterflies
Tries to help her friends
Loves very easily and quickly
Deep down you'll see that I'm actually a fragile softie who cares too quickly
Gets hurt too easily
And apologizes too much.

Even below that is the person who is unhappy
The one who is self hate
Stupidity
Recklessness
Self-destruction
The little sad girl that slits her skin and cries herself to sleep

But maybe I you manage to survive all that without letting all my **** destroy you (like it has so many others)
Then maybe
Just maybe
You'll get to meet Them
The part of me that created the 5 minute death game
The part that looked up how to tie a noose
And the one that collects pills
The self torturous part
Not just the fel pitying part

And then maybe if you manage to get through all of that you will find my heart
Cut up
Shattered
Bruised
Scarred
Stitched
And infected
Chained to the walls I build around myself
Pulling me apart
The heart that has bullet holes and battle wounds
The one leaving blood stains on what was my soul
The black mass of hell that is at the center of my being.
An if you're stupid enough, you'll make me love you.

Writing poetry for myself
That can made me cry
No raised eyebrows around

When the reasons are
Beautiful words of a poem
It felt good to cry with them

Tears that can wash away
The pain only sad heart keeps
Makes you softie to the core

**** that relatable poem
For they're the only thing
That said you're not alone

The world would read poems
Can't help but love them or
Hate them forevermore.

Its been fifteen years sense I last heard your voice
Taken from all of us you didn't  have a choice
Gone from this world in just a blink of an eye
Still you had to leave us God has the reason why

You where never perfect had some human flaws
Did some heavy drinking your Demond's were the cause
But still you held your head up had integrity
Deep down you were a softie but intimidated me

And the way you taught us was harsh and never fair
But the way you loved us showed how much you cared
No one could ever read you...you were no open book
Build you up or break you down with a single look

You had the skill to make life the hardest of it all
You were always there for us all we had to do was call
You know I really miss you my heart your still part of
I know that you still love me and watch me from above

I love you both up and down
I love you dull or bright
I love you either hot or cold
I love you day and night 

I love the way you tell me things
That you tell no one else
I love the way you aren't afraid
To be only yourself

I love your perfect eyebrow arch
I love your cocky smile
I love your way of arrogance 
I love your rugged style

I love how you can make me laugh
When I haven't for so long
I love how you are such a softie
But you try to act so strong

Cliche, I know, but I love you
Just how you are right now
Cliche, I know, but I still hope 
That you love me too, somehow

there are so many things i want to say to you
but don’t know how to say
without sounding like i’m ripping apart at the seams.
i think i might be.
maybe i should start again,
maybe i should find something to say you’ll want to hear,
maybe i should find something that will draw you in
and make you want to be so close to me
that if i’m the flame and you’re the moth,
i’ll burn you alive,
but it’s okay, because you’ve always loved danger.
there are so many things i want to ask you
but i don’t know how to ask
without sounding like i’ve lost my mind.
i think i have.
where do thoughts go after you forget them?
where does time go when you’ve lost track of it?
do you still believe in god?
when my youth leader prays,
she just repeats, “jesus…jesus…jesus,”
with so much love and admiration in her voice.
it’s the same tone i use
when i talk about you,
when i can say your name without crying.
the only time you saw me cry,
you pulled me into you and whispered,
“i’m gonna turn you into a softie.”
now i’m so soft that i fall apart when someone breathes the wrong way,
when someone tries to help me up,
i slip through the cracks of their fingers,
i break off if you touch me too roughly.
you made me soft,
but soft isn’t what i want to be
when everyone around me is made of glass and nails
and i end up getting cut and withering to nothing.
you left me with nothing,
not even so much as my name,
stripped me to the bone,
wrote about me until everyone could see my insides,
“dissected my spirit,”
left me to die,
but it’s okay, because you visit me every night.
i see your face in the dead of night
when i’m passed out from all the pills i took to forget you.
you’re in every dream,
every nightmare,
everywhere i don’t want you.
every dream results the way it really happened,
and i cry every night for someone who probably wasn’t even real.
there are about 1,025,100 words in the english language,
but i can’t ever seem to find a way to string them together
to explain the way my stomach feels when i realize you’re really gone.
i guess i could give it a shot,
but you said the word “shot” triggers you,
and the word “trigger” triggers me
because it’s way too close to the memory of that picture you sent me of the gun you had in your mouth,
could’ve pulled the trigger, almost wound up dead.
dead.
my friend saw me try to dart in front of traffic,
thinking i didn’t see the cars,
but i just didn’t care.
the headlights looked like the way out of the tunnel,
and i’d been stranded in there for so long,
that i couldn’t tell if i was laying down or standing up
or spinning in circles
or laying face down on the ground,
and i took my chances and ran,
hoping i’d catch up to you.
she screamed my name and pulled me back,
back to the present,
back to the sidewalk,
back to a world i no longer want to belong to
and hugged me tightly
and i pretended she was you.
i was left in the wake of you,
following the light,
and all i do now is sit down and ache.

I see her
Maria
she's hiding from me
not very well
but
how does one hide
when you're the belle of the..
..call me a softie
I pretend that she's won
and I cannot find her,
she carries on
hiding.

You'd think an apology was
An anchor tied to your leg
While in the middle of the ocean
Or a pair of pliers attached to molars
With firm grip ready to pull at full strength
With capability of permanently bruising your jawbone
You'd think an apology was a Louisville Slugger to the knee
Yeah you'd rather take all your winnings and flee
Even when those w's were bought with my own backbone
You'd take my joy
Devour those moments like strawberry scones
Washed down with your choice of ice cream and coffee
Laugh it off and label me softie
Even when strangers would mistakenly
Label me menace
With permanent grimace
When I turn ghoulish and disappear
You'd feel bad
Say you miss your best friend
Hurts to say you'd just miss using me
While I was the fool who didn't mind
Yeah he believed in
Helping one of his Best Friends  make it in life
Sad to say that you don't care for me
Constantly joke about me getting close to ending mine
I'm glad that when I pulled the trigger
It was capsules in bottles
Not the full blown steel
Now I won't feel
Bad when you cry saying you feel like a loser
At this point evidence to confirm
Your own conception
Has quite honestly buried me alive
When I distance myself for good
Just know that
It's all because you were to careless on several occasions
To even mumble a measly
Sorry

Ik wil gelezen worden,
geprezen en gewezen worden,
dat mensen zien en voelen
wat mijn doelen
zijn.

Waarom wil ik dat mensen willen,
hoezo zou ik het eten hebben
dat voor hen de honger stillen
kan? Kan ik wel vermaken, kan ik het ver maken?
Of zijn dat zaken die mijn pet te boven schieten.

Lieten mensen het maar weten,
welke emotie ze graag gesmeten
zien.

Zal ik ooit iets meer bereiken,
het zachte harde leven trachtend te ontwijken,
minder klachten rapporteren,
minder zagen, minder zeuren, minder zeiken?

Ik heb het bitter makkelijk gehad
toen ik achter de schoolbanken zat.
Dat kan toch niet voor altijd mijn excuusje blijven.
Heb ik nu echt iemand nodig om op mij te kijven.

Ik wil zo graag vermakelijk zijn, soms
meeslepend, onrustig en soms zacht en fijn,
zo een ander roeren, zoals ik zei
de hongerigen voeren.

Maar ik ben te eerlijk, heerlijk en begeerlijk, in mijn hoofd,
treurig van mijn lot beroofd, machteloos, ontroostbaar, genekt.
Elke dag voor zoveel jaar heb ik mijn schram en wond gelekt.

Wees dan realistisch, werk voor een publiek, doe dan moeite, doe dan
iets. Werk.

Maar als alles door elkaar loopt, blokkeert mijn zicht, ik zie dan straten zonder licht, bowlingbanen zonder hekjes en sporen zonder bomen.
Alles is gevaarlijk, zoals plassen in je dromen, alles is een risico, niemand weet wat kan of werkt. Soms word je dan nat wakker, heb ik in mijn jeugd gemerkt.

Nu word ik ouder, de aarde warmer, de mensen kouder, zou me lijken
en zit ik nog steeds over de kleinste zorgen zo te zeiken.

Je zou me een softie kunnen noemen. Of lief, ‘t is maar *** je ‘t ziet,
je zou me vanalles kunnen noemen, maar dat ben ik niet. Althans dat zou ik niet willen zijn. Ik wil, als mogelijk, een rechte lijn zien in die weg die voor mij ligt. Dat lampen veiligheid bezorgen en bordjes wijzen in de goede richt-
ing. Ik wil één taak, één mens, één doel nastreven,

hopelijk, niet langer drie, een halve of vijfendertig
want voor mij is dat geen leven.

I

having read (past participle: re[a]d? well: to re[ae]d: but that's a reed, so no) four volumes of Knausgaard's "mein kampf" i came to the conclusion that: you can write almost anything: about anything... a terrible focus comes when one starts to write about reading: not so much about writing per se, but you can pull-off any shimmy-shimmy or banality on a whim, on the sly... just follow the clues left by journalists, esp. in the editorial sections of a weekend edition... it's just easy reading, a fitting accompaniment is a philosophy book, i still don't know how or why i didn't take up Rousseau sooner, my "sin"... never anything too seriously...

II

i guess you need to be the proud owner of old vinyl, circa the 1980s... from beneath the iron curtain... old vinyl has imprints of THE CRACKLE... it's so rare to find this hardened liquorice orbit... best example, so far? maanam: nocy patrol (album): krakowski spleen (song)... oh the crackle is so important... given the vinyl has been left not-played (definitely, not, somehow not un- prefixed) for at least 20, hell... give it 10 more years... the crackle is bound to appear & make as much sense as the music...

III

my grandfather (p.b.u.h.) once remarked: don't you have any regrets? regrets about that Siberian lass, that Russian girl who took you to St. Petersburg & to see Metallica in Moscow? fade to black, we were kissing, all the Russians had their lighters out... regrets? oh, sure... all the time... it only took me 13+ years to find a good enough **** to compete with her... the month in Russia was spent with her ex-b/f beta orbiter, who probably ****** her before i came, we drank *****, we had a mighty carousel of pseudo-wind in our heads when the drinking finished... the bed swallowed me, i think i swallowed a mirror or... my shadow stuck in a mirror: perhaps i was having a conversation with a future moi... regrets?! with all the freedoms allowed women in the west, it's not like barbarian Poland with outdated abortion laws... a woman has to wait for her foetus to die, on its own, most probably killing the woman... 30 years old, with husband & daughter in tow... they'll be having a march or two to pay her tributes... a ****** will only get 12 years for ****, forget about abortion due to impregnation through the act... a deformed foetus: a parasite... headless... can't be removed... the mother & the doctor can get up to 25 years or... a life sentence for the "unlawful" removal of the foetus... because... Poland... you see... is more backwards than Ireland... i never thought it could be possible... the separation of the church from state hasn't happened: although it was apparently segregated under the Soviet umbrella... Polish Communism worked... now... a massive diaspora of these people almost everywhere... regrets?! i think this Russian gal had a "thing" for ruining Polacks... she was engaged to me, she broke it off... she married another ******... a neurosurgeon... married him... she had some muffins on the side... she divorced... married again... some Scottish schmuck... *******... she started to collect tarantulas & serpents... i abhor spiders... regrets... hmm... she's 2 years younger than me... she's done her practice engagement & is on her second marriage... volatile *****... regrets?! i own a ******* bicycle, i don't need a car i don't need traffic... it's Loon'don!

IV

as ugly as a moonless night, one thanks i can give, is that there are visible constellations.

V

all saints' feast day in Poland is a huge affair, people shuffle in the necropolis, i joke: what democracy in Poland? when he died, my friend, my grandfather, he stole all the time i was willing to give to this little "oasis" of delusions & historical leftovers... now there's only a spatial orientation: absolutely no association with the impetus of time... candles... wreaths... two days after the feast day i had to go alone into the graveyard at night & have myself a goodbye a year that passed since all the formalities of a funeral... with a bottle of ***** & some music in my ears... poured a little of ***** onto the grave, poured some into me... like a CYGAN (gypsy, Roma)... took some photographs of trees, of shadows, or necro-statues... democracy in Poland... haha... necrocracy... i am completely divorced from this nation of my birth... plus... plenty of unsafe drivers... most of them remind me of the ninjas & Pakistanis in London... forget about curating oneself aggressively in the medium of traffic... we're talking about people being so careful about their prized objects that they end up being careless about how they curate themselves: flow! flow! you skip... you hop... you're mediating getting from A to B... it's a simple jest... unconscious arithmetic of space... get with the project...

VI

idle fingers, for two weeks i met the night with... lukewarm *****... ugly *****... *****... esp. when mixed... best drank directly... i know i know... never drink lukewarm *****... ensure it's teasing its freezing point... so it turns to something reminiscent of gomme syrope...

but...

          words thrown to the wind, almost proverb-like:

a) co ma piernik do wiatraka?
(what does a windmill have to do with a
gingerbread [softie]}?

b) pretensje do garbatego ze ma proste
dzieci...
   (grievances to a hunchback that he has
upright children)

sly little *****... who?! *****!
it's not like the marriage of ms. amber & herr whiskers...
whiskey...
sly little *****... terrible when mixed...
best drank straight... nearing her freezing point...
i don't understand how the English
manage to drink the ***** that's
***** mixed with orange juice:
it's *****!

VII

two weeks in Poland... away from my dearest England...
how dry the air is on the continent,
esp. during winter...
so little worth of mention of birch trees...
so little of pines...
crown of the botanical kingdom:
the oak...
but so little of pines so little of birches...
perhaps an accent of a birch here & there...
but entire forests of birch trees?
impossible...
it's an island, after all!
the air is wet... the weather is whimsical...
at least on the continent you can expect
to cherish a week's worth of cloudless skies...
i kind of think i adore this land
more than the natives who inhabit it...
although: these people deserve...
my uninhibited adoration...
their language esp.
why i rather write their zunge:
too many orthographic distinctions in my nativ(e)...
but i have to tease at the Deutsche...
i have to...

VIII

Roger Moore was the ultimate Bond, i tend to forget the Scotch accenting of the whole "affair"... mishter... blah blah... shecond floor... all that Duran Duran & the fatal blonde of: view to a ****...

IX

backwards people: it seems that even the German have done enough interracial breeding to somehow forget the Nazis... who are the backwards people? "my" people... those still persuasively orientating themselves around... the first non-Italian pope was a ******... hoo-ha! well done... pat on the shoulder... we'll have the end of the world, "the end" when an African will sit on the throne: some say... i'm waiting for an Irishman... but i'm pretty certain... it's not the people of these isles... it's the isles themselves that i adore so much... don't get me wrong... these... ahem... "tourists" need to be acknowledged... ****'s sake: i did a probe into Romford & hey presto! the whole world "thought" it was necessary to... congregate... someone from Moldova... someone from Pakistan... the entire world is "here"... is this an "oops" moment or is this the natural leftover of an unavoidable implosion of empire?

X

backwards people, "my" folk... i don't own them: time's right to read some Rousseau... perhaps some irritation with the concept of a diaspora... the English diaspora in Spain... seasonal drunken ****** on the Greek Islands? new English: Anglo-Slav... no, i don't think i'm in any way "old English"... then again: English is: there's always something (a)new... i just can't stomach all this proto-h'american racial *******... Saxons outstretched... it's hard to think of what if: if these Saxons were actually Swabians or Pomeranians...

XI

i very much adore the idea of being able to fall in love, i want to rekindle an old flame of the idiotic me that was able to fall in love... who could trust... i wish with such dire consequences to be able to rekindle a chance to love like a puppy.... i want to love, how i miss doubtless trust... the flimsy touch... then again... new love... ms. amber & herr whiskers... how i love to drink... my love for drinking has overshadowed all the potential for courtship offers in its least... i have become so rigid in my courtship of time, i have become so suffocating, so predictable to myself... loving someone else could... would end up becoming a suffering... but i like the idea... i like the idea of falling in love... i, only recently, fell in love with a stewardess... flying from Warsaw to London... such milky tenderness of skin... such Slavic wolfish eyes... but the skin... i couldn't want to envy the ivory of afro sclera.... such a circus... being so spoilt for choice... i know that i'm a walking... late: abortion... it's beyond my concern or care to gravitate toward these arguments...

XII

i walk into a pub, ask for half a pint of Guinness,
the girl serving me, heavily tattooed...
duck lips...
outraged roots, flimsy pink...
do i really have to listen to Lithuanian songs
about the winged hussars?
Ottoman turks?
i guess so... minutes later...
a bad advert from 888.com poker....
she likes me, i like her....
but she's donning a pair of jeans
that might at best have been
chewed by a dozen of hyenas...
bite to grip bite to grip:
haggle! haggle! grrrrrrrrr.....
rapt: the trill on the Ar....

I can't get the sun to rise,
I know, but it doesn't.
Because the same man sits in the same chair
And surmises that he's wise.

We are all enveloped by ignorance
Gilded with everlasting omniscience
So you know I'm the eternal poet-softie
Whom the reader knows is stronger and smarter than he seems, the defendant Valjean if you please

Police officers stand with their hands at their belts,
Proud and wrong.

Lawyers bob and weave through crowds,
Like sketchy guys at parties,
Making chemical connections.

Vendettas are had and crime is clad
In the full disguise of law

And the arrogant judge holds his holy opinion
high as hell

So my head hangs low and alone
It makes my blueish mind wander
Into fantasy worlds of others shouldering the weight
And our backs are at right angles to each other
In the fourth dimension, let it be.

And yet it seems we're one being suffering together for no reason at all,
(And I can hardly say I'm suffering,
But it is a kind of suffering)
And in me the sun does not rise
It flounders about in neuropathy
Even ordered motion is flailing about
All is skewed and null is king,
My Mother even said so.

I tried to be stern in all that I did, I had to learn I cannot put a lid on you.
I tried to be meek and kind, but you only thought I was weak and losing my mind, how untrue!
Whether the **** or the softie, I just cant make it work.
Whatever happens, wherever you go, I hope you can forgive me, and we'll both live where the clear waters flow and the plants grow.
I never wanted you to suffer, not the way I suffer, it's a wonder I can't see past my blunders.
I am no less than you, nor do I deem myself better; if we could meet in the middle, I could fulfill what I said in the letter, that
I love you, and my love is to let you go.

In middle school I desperate to in fit but still be myself. I had a crush on a popular girl who eyes were turquoise. I sat next to her in my clarinet section for 7 years. I wrote her letters until I gave up on the hope of her writing back. We had art class together. When I gazed into her eyes, I saw a good person. I am a softie for good people.
I watched her YouTube videos. I accidently Facebook stalked her. I had an obsession with this girl. My obsession was once about getting into a popular group then turned into genuine caring for her.
I saw her at college once she blushed when I glanced at her. I had dreams about her from middle school to high school. In high school I stopped caring about fitting in and just stayed myself. I figured I rather not change my personality to fit into a group that I know barely anything about. Yes my best friends were always the nerds. I didn't care about the status quo and I hated the drama that would occur with popular people which was everyday. I preferred the company of my friends. Sure there was some drama every twice a month. It was what I could handle. Being academically gifted didn't mean we nerds weren't impartial to dealing with anxiety and depression. It would take me forever to count how many of my creative friends deal with social anxiety. It's common to have to deal with anxiety.

What may please,
Is a rolling moss
Buh all I see,
Is a love dose.

Her premier eyes,
Sees less of
Mists of time.
And my gentle smile,
Is freeze by stream of ice.

Her softie care,
Is in my heart charmed.
My prolonged grief,
Slashed
Her sure relief.

The thought of her mortal beauty,
Seduced my immortality.

But what nerves have I
To make a move?
For I do not rhyme
Nor mime.

And as such,
I stood my space
Shaking
Like Shakespeare.

For when ease comes,
My will,
Is ill.

see him
sipping Arizona
driving by the
circle K
on your way home
but you leave him alone

used to think you're tough
thought you knew enough
sticking to the walls
praying on good luck
boy you're no savage
you're just a softie

never got to know
what could have been
play the scenarios
when you're stuck in bed
why are you so sad?
ain't it just too bad?

is
it
too
late
to
know
you
?

pretty soon
we'll be on different coasts
building new homes
and I'll only see you
through the window
on my iPhone

it's funny
cuz I just deleted
my accounts
but this time
next year
I'll be living
so cool

you'll
wish
you
got
to
know
me

No one cares because No One is Watching.
If the crowds aren't watching then still be you.
If no one is paying attention then give them small interesting details about you that will get them begging for more.
If no one is giving a **** then surprise everyone with devote stubbornness and strong headedness.
Being who you are doesn't make you less human. Being emotional doesn't make you worthless. Being the strong and vulnerable friend doesn't make you lonely. If being a softie makes you a loser then watch how they end up alone and you with plenty of friends because having a heart doesn't make you a loser it makes you human.
The heartless and soulless people were scorned by their past but that doesn't them any less human or any less of a ****.
Being considered an equal among geniuses is an honor because equality is what everyone wants. Respect is given, trust is earned and honor is put under consideration until proven right.