I guess today
I am just feeling old
I can not get'in the mood to play
and all the words I write, while in this place
smit me.

the mystery of lawlessness is bound to the "transcendence" of phonetic application of phonetic encoding... some call it the whirlwind of confusion, but somes also call it E-près and then write Ypres... well, the confusion is all but apparent... i left that in "     " to stress the ambiguity... yes, the -s is optional... it's neither possessive or plural... that, i could have learned in prison, had i ever been a Becontree purple (bishop)... dictionary moment: cranium, crimson, cradle... cardinal... but all these positions of power are on their knees (there's me trying in vain to underline that), they gobble-quote what they quack... which ends up being a circumflex and a wanking hand, embedded with "touching" Adam. oh sure they bypassed the contemporary-of-contemporaries... it was never a grey-matter affair... it was always a gangster's drill-to-the-bone moment... wait till he squeems! i don't mind ******, given the person is dead, i just hate half-asked half-baked half-bollocked Dr. Dre attempts and then failing and then, like a whining dog with its tail between its legs going back to the mantra of mother fiction... i ******* hate it... i start looking like a ******* ******! i hate it... mutter fiktion... all i'll say of a Jew: don't ******* bring an argument against the Palatine Schting right now... i have as much abhorrence against all things Egyptian as i do about English tea, which i deemed liquidated Werther's Original... and then there's this Russian ***** i'd like to the village bicycle... she's had more spare parts done unto her than the working limbs ever gave her the tilt... feminism and the sacredness of all women... name that movie quiz show... charlize theron... aileen wuornos! woo-or-nose? never mind...
   a 1K spectacle at Hastings... that's invoking quid...
and you'll feel more tonguing mollusks than
                          touching a frightened ****** quill-thread's
worth of deer with that lingo, had you ever had one...
              MONSTER!      yes, they all dream of a breakfast
at tiffany's... and i'm john paul the 2nd, and
     henry viii was a joke nursery rhyme
  when charlie bid farewell to diana...
there was no:
         divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived...
there was only a car-crash... you can't make
    a king out of swine... well... you can... Sweyn...
                  but **** me... and i thought i was naive...
guess the ***** didn't kick in when it was supposed
to; once true journalism became the ****** of what
was once the ****** of the people...
             religion... journalism these days is rotten,
it's an Aristophanes to what's really happening
defined by Socrates... it's a schoolyard...
  journalism these days is best defined by Aristophanes;
and who's the globe-trotting-gobbler of all misfits
is not the would-be diarist of returning back to
the local, the usual, the sanctimonious mundaneness
of it all; you **** only once in your life,
you end up having a **** the rest of the time,
either with your hand, or with another body.

oh i'm not bothered about the "perverts"
(funny how only men are concerned with
being named that) -
                               that are watching you,
those third party incisors of
             the bony-**** (hey, you
could be yodeling **** by now) -
                          what i'm
worried about are the perverts that provide
the "perverts" with material,
it's all very much a Turning test...
               that robotics testing ground
of: i can't keep eye contact...
   the lesser privy of psychiatry?
eye contact and biting your nails...
if that can be engaged with and subsequently
avoided:
you're as chirp as chips! honey b.
          can anyone white
feel glamorous using language in order
to tell a joke?
   that's not the question, the question is:
why call it witty comedy...
     but still employ canned laughter?
it's discouraging, i don't know when the joke comes,
all i know is that the editor finds it funny
as that particular time,
                    and that's when he inserts canned
laughter... you can get it with the most
"witty" comedies there are...
  a bit like black girls trying to be white without
the frizz of afro curbing the afro with vaseline...
i've seen catfights over this "third limb"
scenario... afro is no go in catholic schools...
you have to... yum... cow lick that ****
into place... use vaseline...
      and that's an advert-and-a-half.
but you know what really ****** me off?
philosophers... they attacked poetry because
they couldn't care two-****'s worth about
whether language could be musical
or simply communicative... they're the ones
that wrote books without using
grammatical words such as verb, or noun,
because they made them excuses to
their muddles when hoarding from poetry
words of equivalent categorical weight
such as metaphor... so attacking the practice
of poetry, but then encouraging
the categorisation of the spoke
with poetic categories rather than grammatical
categories? can i see Hegel use a noun?
no... but i can see Heidegger using
  the metaphor with two labourers utilising
a hammer... that's the thing concerning
a building site: you either pass the time
tellings jokes... or you don't work
on a building site and hold a hammer
  and question whether someone else might need it...
philosophy is not about the existential dittoing
of the i...
    it's a book, but there's a new category of pronoun
due to universal bewilderment once childhood
finishes... ? opened the door, in stepped !
and said:
     shouldn't we make the stillness of the lake
into a mirror to banish but at the same time
          domesticate narcissus -
yes, replied ?, i'm glad you thought of it...
               domesticating demigods...
                    narcissus was a stillness of a lake,
sisyphus was a stone,
    hercules was bicep,
              achilles was a tendon...
                                       our current affairs are far
from democratic, but at least our history is,
  you get ******... you get protractor...
you get mona lisa... you get 'let 'em eat croissant!',
       too many points of divergence
  in a democracy to craft a convergent "democracy",
what the politics says is that we are all
slaves to what's called a *status quo,
  i hate the fact that western "democracies" are
no longer tagged as merely status quo...
abuse of nouns... or how philosophy attacked poetry
and never spoke a theory concerned with
language per se being evidently categorised...
     how status quo is actually a -nomer without a mis-
of democracy...
  funny, the spanish... i have no idea
why can i have some ice-cream?
      has to become ?can i have some ice-cream¿
           i guess it's like the english " and '...
  who said what, and who said what for whom?
    is there a narrator?
      is that " + 1 people speaking, or quoting a quote?
or is that direct convo... '   ',
later retelling the tale "     ",
and after that it's all but an urban myth
akin to the kentucky fried mouse...
                the French that blè blé blé blé....
and somewhere in between was the Transylvanian comma...
hmm...
                             i mean... the perverts...
   thanks for the invitation, r.s.v.p.; of sure, great mixtape...
funny thing is... i never filmed myself jerking off...
        i do a 3-in-1... take a ****, take a ****... and
clean the ****-talk ducts of banal sprechen while
      watching a monkey strutting down memory lane
of when i had a girlfriend... and had to juggle,
and go for lunch, and this that and the other,
and a dalmation... or the reflection: but i had a mother...
huh?     i never felt this much ingratitude
for occupying the premises of the oval chamber
as i did creating a signature or inserting
  myself into the least convenient space to have
later come out off using only one digit's worth of
accountability... but hey... that's life.
          are you feeling the guilt trip drug pushed
by your mother from Syria, or Somalia?
     you owe her! you parasite... makes easier argument
for the billion Blue Indians and Chinese to get on
with it and eradicate the over-sensitive ivory dodo;
or at least in Siberia with the mongols...
              so i'm guessing eskimo is the new
                        squint to what's butchery ethics in Kosovo
as: look away... nothing to see.
               still... why call it a witty comedy when
you nonetheless have to utilise canned laughter?
             and that's a novel in itself...
? went up the stairs and ? met ! questioning <
whether ? should be questioning <... instead ! suggested
that ? should be questioned by >, since ? was already
on the 1st floor, having ascended the stairs from
the ground floor...         can you write me
     a novel... replacing all the correct pronoun usage
with mathematical ambivalence structured toward
a mostly unread existential dogmatism using
  mathematical punctuation?
no one will read it...but hey... either you do something
like that... or own a dog or a cat...
           and yes, they call them diacritical marks
when they're within letters... but in between letters?
they call them punctuation marks within words...
or the microcosm of punctuation: syllabification...
          the French just gobble down a lot of
  deviation... mon fhhhhhhhhhhhhré!
don't ask me how they do it... ask Nápŏlyon,
yes, the half-wit from Li-ą... oh no... not
                                               Monsieur Dynamite.

Drunk on the couch
You
Peeked nimbly over,
Shining wet,
******* pressed, half-held,
To take something from me;

So wet
  you slip
from my
fingers.

Maiden and Observer

As speculated,
The observer and the scientist
See an enigmatic entrance.

The arrival of the specimen:
He shows haste,
His wrist flickers:
Punctuality.
He mouthes questions of career:
Orderliness.
His vocal appetite silent:
Surrender.
He declares instruction:
Superiority.
He brightens athleticism.
Focus.

The smile appears through
in the unknownest places,
Within restaurant doors,
Through the soundwaves.
Through ideations:
Competitive movement.

Inertia and stagnation is of disinterest.
Wordly reflection produces empty reciprocration.
Can it be a metaphor for the observer,
Can the specimen by the symbol?
Both reflected from one another.

There is the one,
and then, the other.
The challenge is:
Exhibiting both states
Simultaenously.
This is the task of the maiden.
The balancer of scales.

The scientist seeks to understand,
There is evidence of somes sort
A hidden bliss a smile inside,
a moment of analysis.
Notions brought on by previous experiments.
Past failures predict present outcome,
Recent knowledge or estimation?
Emotion links to reason,
Reason negotiates but stands firm,
The scientist is fatigued, his hand lowers.
Body language is lazily interpreted by curious Observer,
Studying this new behaviour.

The professor places his spectacles on,
He sees no other path to take,
He concludes and hypothesises,
This specimen can be learnt from
No more.

Specimen's silence allows flowing thoughts to pervade the mind of the observer and the scientist.
Silence given to the cynicism of life,
the broadened mind
perceived as narrow.
The observer is observed.
Now conciousness changes in the realm of the user experiencing himself.
Self perception, self defense,
Guard is raised,
Gates are closed.
Only water flows through,
Other matter obstructed.

Maiden, Observer, Scientist, Specimen.

You are clawed at him like a

Red hot
Las Vegas Jack-***
Lobster
"Persuasive Mentor"
Sling-shot
Underlie Supervisor
Skin softer He's Mr.
Softee

He molded me
to build me
Not to love me
So planned to
Deceive me
Fish desires
Mermaids
Flirt their tails
underwater
emails

Like the Greek word

"Synecdoche" we call

French hot bread
Brioche
His mustache
Underlie
Attache case

You're over his
Head

"Now" face to face

Fly••• First- Love- Yourself

Why? W- wait like H 4 hell
Y- Yell!!

Who's going to tell

I was head clicked
heels
Watered down
my shrimp

Enjoy your now
"Big Gulp'
Help wanted

He got me under

his skin
Pulp Fiction
The rain in Spain
stays
manly
in the lie diction

Wha?ever he got to me

So erotically smooth skin

The next of kin

Aromantic overly
romantic
Like the
Interstellar

It felt like
Marlon Brando
Ditto
Hello!

A= hot brandy with

Stella
waterfront

Being upfront skin kissed

The espresso I got you intense
dark under the mood weather
Cold-Hot-Mood swings she got

what life can bring better
Menopause or Men on pause

Am I hooked?
Another eye
full look
The more
four more

I got to you I see
It comes in three's to
die for the need
I say more

That part of you
bare-mitten
So smitten

The skin chilled fire fit


Moms scent and you felt her

touching you her mind
and yours

Cut out hearts
Red Riding hood
Grandmas out of bed
What was said
Tough skin what
big brown eyes
Looking mad
That's what U got blowing
in the wind
on her skin to begone
Girl is gone
One call Jailbird


Our eyes leave the world
blind but speak more words

you opened up the blinds

Hot desired I got you, babe,

How in a spiritual sense

Was this in your character

by the quintessence


Or always a coincidence

You were being raised

Why is life so much to crave

Like your the side order
and he she and fee fi fun


The main entrance
Starfish dish the
Goddess sun
Undertaste
The dinner mint
gave her refreshing
rush

Fifty times being burned

Over just a bite on my neck

of French fries

Not so overly touched by your lies

But you do have amazing eyes

Traveling through a skin-tight

maze the light fixture retracing

How tough skinned you are

I got to give you some credit

This is not the website

How you read into me

Like "Reddit"
I got it

So many time you have

done it lies

I never planned to get

you under my skin
Who wants to die

*** rebound always
Goodbye

Those fifties those dames

hot club smoking and
jamming

But feeling the tightrope
Fishnet
hooked
Supernatural spooked

I don't see you smiling

I couldn't breathe I felt

like choking

The devil own scripture

Our eyes perceive as the spies of

Boom explosion the hunger gets

intense face to face

Like we are the
TV on a binge

You cannot tune us but the
hot flame

can never tame us

Embedded by what we see

And touch-Oh! Me
U-C who would want to
go through this
2 B Me
Waiting for something
Like the Freebird I am
the Robin

How the earth confines us

Who is the one who

got something on us

Somes deep feelings

The Cole Porter

I got you under my skin

Someone on the pull
arouses

But he knows your
pleasure but where is the
promises
On the premises
He stacked her roses

One smell he got
The words spelled on U

He said with an
Under__line

" My Rose"
  Underlie
  My skin
  Smells brilliantly
  Like the eye of an
  Apple pie

I make myself so happy for no reason then stick my own back,
melancholic acts of treason, cut and measure my own lesions;
a line between pleasure and pleasing.
Not an pessimist nor a type of optimist but a realist who has mastered the execution of delusion and illusion.
Oxymoronic, Guess I'm just human;

Apparently the semblance of a god,
so making something from nothing isn't odd,
but I was given everything from a soul to my bones, hair to my toes;
Even to me who stays in this, sinew and ivory, home the reason is unknown but I know the weight of this form has its toll.

Ties made are rarly cut
more than the material is used,
bonds spirt imbued,
that which feeds hate and love.
My soul is the ocean my form the soil my mind the heavens so it's wisdom guides the toil.
What I put on to my body will seep to the sea, be it poisons or ointments that is to be seen, my wish for foresight seems obscene,
a noxious tint colors the scene
Ah this is but a show, how else can I explain the tragedies sown.

Who wrote this play?
No
Who paid its commission,
who conscripted us to suffer, no need for permission, no fine print played off as a simple omission?
Actors with no access to backstage
so it is do or die,
freedom in a cage,
the 4th wall blocks our eyes.
we get no reactions for our performance
no real feedback,
so we face our troupe like opponents, for no real reason.
Whilst some seem to flourish in a limelight others perish in darkness
some disappear through trap doors others fly with out harness.

seasoned thespians sometimes show us a way; how to perform our parts, from when they entered the play.
We are told there is a script, so I would say some have forgotten thier lines
but honestly the script has never passed these eyes,
all I know is that somes voices are drowned out by the soundtracks of anxiety and sadness;
The polyrhythms of fear and deafening sound of loneliness and madness
How could the director have this?

That's the purpose of a tragedy; make the watcher feel like they are living lavishly.

Wanted a reason why I find it so tragic.

In the words of Life 'There, you have it.'

"charlotte, are you ok?" my father questions. i'm looking up at the television, still stunned. it cant be. she was found dead on the scene, she had a severe lung infection, and inhaled far too much of the smoke from the fire. she didn't make it out of that apartment building alive, but i saw her... "um..i'm fine, just rediculously clumsy thats all." i nervously lie, quickly grabbing a broom and sweeping up the glass. and my father looks at me like i'm some kind of alien from outer space that he can no longer reach anymore. and somes i wonder if there is anything to reach for. maybe i'm just a mouse going through a maze that never ends, always hoping my piece of cheese will be around the corner but only finding another berrier or a path way that is going to lead me absolutely nowhere.

Somes mistakes cost you a lot
You really don't have enough
Time or strength to focus
On the damages it made

You take a sedative
You try to cover the scar
That it has left

Deep inside
How busy you might be

They haunt you like a
Dark figure
That you dreamt about
When you are all alone
In your childhood

All your nerve connections
Try to fetch the same old memory
And you have no option
But, stick to the same channel

I wonder how I am surviving
This ever lasting darkness

I know hope is a very dangerous word

Which always lets you stay
While you actually want to leave

That one hope
Helping me to fight back
With all the strength I had

In the world that completely
Busy with her improvements

No time for me to wait
But, just to catch up
And reach
Before the train left my station

as we grow throughout life
we see through many eyes
from the oblivious to the wise

we learn to see through the lies
and learn that nothing is forever
no words can keep things together
we learn that people will say things
and not mean it
that pinkies don't always keep promises

through our eyes we see
the evil in others
the deceiving
we see our worlds being torn apart
right under our shoes
we see others tearing us apart
ripping our souls to shreds
for no reason

we will see some beauty
of the stars in the night
the beauty in a person showing
kindness and love
we will see the beauty
in people's words


we will feel the warmth of somes love
and the hatred of others
the lust of our lovers
the connection of our sisters

through our bodies we will learn
throughout time
that nothing stays the same
and that soon enough
everything will change
but we must learn

Her name is Tasha shes guyanese i guess shes in her twenties shes indian so i guess shes mastered kama sutra. Or am i just obsessed by the way she move, the way she smile and though my heart cant bare much in room. Is there a reason i am attracted to somes whos petite, so much i couldnt resist but to stare. And though she may not have much she has it all but a man took and now im here like what. Can it be that i am just behind in my line or am i just not attractive enough to get a ticket.
Am i not who am because of her existance. And though i cant even acknowledge my *** addiction. . Am i just a animal could i be deranged because i admit that i wanna rip off her clothes. Or is it that i dont fear to say it but i do fear that if i do admit it she wouldnt look at me the same. Should i just say that i just think your beautiful and i just want you to know that before i even go and enlist...

Standing

There's No Fight To Have
Cause there No Lie Been Told

There's  No Fight To Win
Cause there ain't NoOne  Bold

No Comparing  to Judge
Cause there ain't none
But One

So Here's Where It Changes

Cause Somes chosen  Hate

I've chosen Loving
With LIFE  as my Fate
Won't stay around to Watch you
My Wings They Now Catch
As I leave all this Nonsense
LIfes  Struck now
A Match

Relishing words she scribes me
Capsules of love
She prescribes me
I itch for her
In passions thirst
We were concentrated by past life marriage
Telepathy words
For somes unheard
Though none to be listened
We know one inside and out
Oh ha-ha mi amour'
Didst I mention?
Yeah I know I've told thou all of her to thou
She's just mine world
Mine girl
The one thou seeith in movies
She's a poetess of night duties
Scaling we shalt do
We're aliens
Visiting
Gathering worldly news
For we watch the end of thy world
As chaos and killing overtakes
Me and her
Are sick of the others
Quite exactly the same
Except for ourn skin
Hers is godess caramel
Mines pasty ivory
Though blended in winery!!!
Calleth me crazy
But I'd be locked into her room
Nothing hast to be open
Just ourn painted wall moon
I don't care of the others amare
I careth for mine damsel
I careth and loveth thou
Not strangers of random!!!
I am thy king
Thou art mine queen
Thou art mine
There I said it
Thou art MINE
So sit....
Sit down
Feast with me...

Are you scared of the way
I let my lips curl?
That I think pleasantries avoid
responsibilities
to be more uncomfortable.
Stumbling into the unforgiving
fortress
of your worries.
I have had none.

My optimism
is not a scam
calling from Burundi.
It, at least, leaves a message.

Making mosts out of somes,
I have tried to find answers,
conclusions,
and a hypothesis worth exploring.

But maybe sometimes
we just don’t deserve one.
So we get 10.

If you say it  has to end
I’m  not sorry, my friend
I’ve always been a party of one
And I don’t burn
When I’m facing sun
If you asked do you care
I would say if I course I do
Somes bridge must be burnt
or we’d never ******* grow

Why am I always so headstrong
Why am I so **** lonesome
I don’t mind loneliness
I just mind my mind
Thinking  it’s right all the time
Even when it’s not in my best interest

I’m a stubborn *******
With a tendency to be blunt
Call me an ******* I’d you want
I’ll tell you the truth always
Friend, lover, significant other
No one will be spared
Honesty is nice
But people seem to want to beat around the bush
Thursday to save face

But that ain’t a friend