Found myself at a dental clinic...
He was the best there was.
Unorthodox and eccentric,
But to the specialised craft, he was boss.

Ran through the bits and bobs
Like any normally would.
The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays.
Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood.

Strange was what happened next...
Specialist and I then stood facing each other.
He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage.
Held them there over a few breaths before it was over.

Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man.
Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature.
Talks of politics and odd human behaviours...
What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter.

I then realised that along with his decorated credentials,
Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant.
Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide,
But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant.

Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness!
I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought.
I wanted him to just stop talking!
I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!"

He was stunned momentarily...
I suppose he hadn't seen that coming.
Then his features softened to a blank
I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring.

With an exasperated sigh of resignation,
He uttered his next words swollen with regret
"There's no need...for you only have four years left."
It dawned upon me that my timer has been set.

*And then I woke up...

I could answer your questions with a simple, off-the-cuff explanation but have ended up writing this essay: the more I thought about what you’d asked, the more the I felt it warranted a fuller explanation so I will try to explain why I call myself a Wiccan and how I come to be following the Wicca Path. And apologies in advance for the length of this!

As well as my love of Literature, I love History with a similar passion. My degree was in English and History and although I specialised in Shakespearian and post-Shakespearian literature and Modern History, I have a long held fascination with Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and spirituality. It is the mysticism of the Old Religion that seemed to attract me most and I found myself drawn particularly to the Celtic and Welsh mythology and have read extensively about it: Cornwall and Wales (mid Wales in particular) are my two favourite places in the world. I have read a lot about Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and religion over the years, both fiction and non-fiction.

Although Jewish by birth, I was brought up by my father who was a confirmed atheist so I lost out on any formal religious influence as I was growing up. Perhaps because of his views, I developed a distrust of formal, mainstream religion. That’s not to say I felt I had no spiritual beliefs at all, it’s just they were untapped and unidentified; I felt I was reaching out for something but it never took on any tangible form, rather like in a dream when you cannot see clearly the faces or forms of the inhabitants of your dreams.

By the time I got into my forties, I realised there was something seriously lacking in the spiritual side of my life. These beliefs were compounded by three events:

    * reading James Lovelock's Gaia theory [which inspired me to write one of my favourite stories, Gaia's Last, published here];
    * my discovery of Jean Auel's Earth's Children series of books , Clan of the Cave Bear, etc. which go into extraordinary detail of Cro-Magnon peoples' belief in nature spirits, worship of The Mother and Shamanism;
    * a sudden change in my circumstances that forced me to re-evaluate every aspect of my life and my existence.

It was at this time I began to research the Old Religion: paganism, nature-worship, whatever you want to call it, and this led me to discover Wicca.

The more I read about it, the more I realised it fitted in with my current state of mind and outlook on life. Maybe there is a sense of escapism inasmuch as the roots of Wicca look backward to a simpler time and as I was having difficulty coping with the complexities of the changed circumstances in my life at the time. Wicca seemed to offer exactly the spiritual needs I was lacking.

That is not to say that Wicca is old-fashioned and out of date. Rather the contrary in fact. Whilst its roots acknowledge the Old Religion, Wicca is relatively modern having been developed by a guy called Gerald Gardner who published a book called Witchcraft Today in the 1940s I believe which re-established in the public eye the old pagan beliefs that have been around since the dawn of man. These beliefs never really disappeared even through the worst of the atrocities perpetrated against followers of the Old Religion [The Burning Times ]. (And just to make an important point about the title of the book and Wicca in general, Witchcraft in the pagan and Wicca context is NOT Black Magic or Satanism as the tabloid press or mainstream religion would have you believe; it could not be further from them. It is simply an acknowledgement of the existence of natural forces that can be used or channelled by those who choose to learn these ancient skills).

I have seen Wicca [and other forms of Paganism] referred to as Green Magic and that seems the perfect definition; it is immensely comforting to work so closely with the natural world and to feel such a part of it.

So for me, Wicca is an ideal spiritual antidote for the impossibly fast-paced, self-serving lifestyles we all seem to be caught up in these days, often through no choice of our own. It is as valid a belief system as any other practised throughout the world and is nothing like the forms of Wicca popularised in the media with TV shows like Charmed and its ilk!

Wicca is it is not something to be taken on lightly - Wicca practices should be treated with the same reverence as those in any other belief system. It requires study, practice and dedication.’

I have to confess to have been lacking in all three since I originally wrote this so have vowed to myself to rectify these shortcomings. I feel excited about my rekindled sense of spirituality and more at peace with myself for making this decision.

Go in Love & Light!

.i'm in luck, they're selling it at under 11 quid right now,
stock dry - gone in an instant - laphroaig like -
but not as smoky - but smoked scotch it it
at £10.34 - oh the little joys of having little money to spend -
you end up less picky and less hoarder and
the junk yard.

na głowe sypano mi, tak popiół:
     popiół! a obiecano mi *****!
           popiół! a obiecano mi *****!
                 popiół! a obiecano mi *****!
                  (not my words... lao che's dym)...

me, beer, cigarette, outer-suburbia -
police whizz past, silent with flare
or screaming toddler and Odysseus' 20 sirens
with wax in the ears of oaring company
akin to Ajax'ς vitality -
along the way, my neighbour (who's mother
killed my cat.. listen, i know he had
heart problems, he was on aspirin -
but kidneys, even if complicated are not
real problem, felines take longer to ****
than do the no. 2, pigeons don't have kidneys -
they're always of an **** diet of diarrhoea;
write like Aristotle sometimes,
forget the facts, be wrong, get it wrong,
never put a glass cup into the waterfall of
poetic cascades - get it wrong, be wrong -
get to know yourself - it's not that dumb
to be predictable in yourself -
if you allow self-predictability you will
see certain social events as being pointless -
you'll see friends and "friends" -
self-predictability is a verb, compounded -
i already know i'll make references to grammar
and it being missing in philosophy -
no, not coherence and appropriate arrangement -
i mean undoing the box of thing-in-itself
and the subsequent tennis with a brick wall,
to surprise yourself when something is unearthed,
a little piece of the puzzle - simulating awe,
the genesis of all that's to come, even awe from a yawn
and boredom... it's here somewhere... i'll karate
catch it with chop sticks.... (looking around)...
i don't know, might be a moth or a fly...

Antichrist: or a summary of Antisemitism - a variant of,
or at least a concentration - mainly confiscated
by Christianity - prime complaint:
a democracy of Anointed One (Messiahs) -
obviously a manifested justifiable practice of Antisemitism -
the throng of Golgotha intelligence quotient -
Jew v. Jew, and one convert from the delusional
4 x 4 (in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy
                                         spirit... hold on!
                                    i make four gestures... and make a fifth
                 with Romeo and Juliet talking -
St. Matthew-Luke-Mark-and-John... penta penta pent-up
pentagon - evidently there's a pentagrammaton somewhere:
ah! i b l i s.                       Surat no. via Rumi - 7:143 - veils and
the one - reward in heaven - more veils, gardens veils,
grapes in heaven veils - stomach a veil - hunger a veil -
rewards in heaven also veils - the poem?
praise be Jesus - and Jason and the Argonauts - and whoever
wanted a strawberry flavoured pastiche to lick tears off -
love's apocalypse, love's glory -
         well bloodhound eyes say it all - droop drool -
droop & drool... Jack & Jill... went up the hill, and passed
the Grimm Bro. baton to Hanzel und Gretyl in the 100m x4
relay of Disney Limps - then rabbinical literature to sober up -
Albotini's Sulam HaAliyah (Ladder of Ascent, formerly Jacob's
ladder - to be: Ladder of Skip-rope; Oxford, hello! yes,
can you please consider un-hyphenating what is desirably
a compound worthy word in the practice of German?          )?
is a bracket necessary anywhere and i missed it?
Antichrist - or a very strange form of antisemitism -
be like a Jew, congregate applauding in the right corner: Jesus -
in the blue corner: Crux Golgothia.
export from Portugal - the said book -
key principle (kefitzah) jumping or skipping (dilug) -
and this being applied to the one practice of mystic Judaism -
the ****** gematria; hishtavut (stoicism) -

me - is it still 20 quid for an eighth?
Sim (my neighbour) - yeah, but these days
                                       they sort of cheat,
                                       you'd get an eighth nibbled on,
                                       twenty for a tenth?!
me - ******, well, we can't expect it to not happen,
         we had coin debasement - clippings of silver
         keratin with Siliqua, third stage and
         all encoded authority is gone: Thomas and Anne
         till death and nail clippings be fraud unison in
         the depart (or when narration extinguishes
         a character, the character is worth nothing -
         the narrator wakes up - all the characters run
         like phantom-hares into nonexistence -
         phantom! thin air!
politeness said: only one **** at the wacky wee ö wee
(umlaut O / double oh, 007 - 00'7 - double u... oh!
                                 i get it!                             Jamie Oliver!)
DEI.GRA.REG.FID.DEF.
   "   (-tia) (-ina)(-ei)(-ensor) -
all that would have been clipped - authority of visage -
the courtesan only knew the mint in silver
and the mint in the flesh - hence clipping of coin
to erase the authority from the holy authority of words -
in the beginning - but once dei.gra.reg.fid.def.jpeg /
                                   dei.gra.red.fid.def.gif.

that ****** moth is here somewhere! there it is! catch it!
                                                             ­   catch it!
SLAM!          and the job is done )                                      ).
i really waiting a bus stop pretending to wait for a bus
toking on a joint - joint is mix tobacco and wee wee
and spliff is pure? i forgot the slang - haven't been
addicted to it in years.
Sim - yeah, that's how it is. work in central london -
         have to get up early in the morning.
         corporate finance - no that's a commercial firm,
         corporate finance - McDonald's, etc.
me - oh cool waiting for  ghost bus - never get paranoid
         then?
(police cars whizz by)
Sim - n'ah, a perfectly decent area, got stopped once,
          three years ago.
and the price goes to the laziest narrator in history - absolutely
no engagement with characters - it's too real, everyone's
lying - this is the second time i spoke to my neighbour properly
in the past.. ooh 2002... 14 YEARS - it's not even funny -
no amount of marijuana will make you feel comfortable -
you can mate and make Kingston handshakes and what not -
this is purity of absurdity and western isolation,
we went against the maxim: no man is an island on purpose,
not by chance like Robinson Crusoe -
at least Crusoe had a talking Friday - we have a ghost
of Michael Faraday on Friday - ******* disco blink blink -
poet... or alt.: the narrator complex - inhibitions toward
character craft and pseudo-schizoid symptom -
believing in ghosts is easy, fiction writers and their ghosts
and abortions, hardly a way to escape from that -
poetry: rebellious narration - just anything with narration,
modern fiction is read like a chess match between deep blue
and Kasparov - or Pavlov v. Jezebel playing gynaecologist.

blank.... blank... wait for the atoms trilled R to make
their toady presence felt -
the more pricier the whiskey the more pristine water,
i.e. you get drunk more easily -
anyone that smokes marijuana and thinks
they're clever are stupid; how many people are out there that are
stupid! - resounding hearsay-hooray!
drugs, ******, crack, blow, marijuana, ****, ***,
  cannabis, dope, ******, mary-jane, 13, M - herb shake -
Humphrey saying to Bogart - that joint. as said in Saudi
Arabic - a Ferrari G.T.I. and MeKubalim HaMitbodedim
                  )
                                  -chism - schism - sky - ski -
                                  cha cha, cha cha - kilo or 100th -
                                  1000 thd. - hundredth a thousandth -
                                  - where then the acute,
                                  timber from Czechs -
                                  kebab from Mesopotamia -
                                  and the Trojan horse to boot -
                                 chatter - chopper whopper -
                                 astoikism - not chew off
                                 curve into cherish but
                                 cravat chew in -
                                 Slavic mining zed - czarna
                                 ciasność - blackened claustrophobia.
a Buddhist clap
                   immersion -
left handed the right hand claps against air
                  )             )              )               )            ) ) )            )
a night at the Opera, right handed the left hand claps against air
(                       (        (            (               (          ( ( (            (
scimitar Luna - so they said, would like an audience with the
further unmentioned mention -
you're mates with neighbours who over 14 years you only
spoke to the count of thumb and index on occasion -
and thus necessarily high -
i was going to write something really important before
i finalised this draft... but i forgot what it was...
got almighty this whiskey is good...
i'm smoking salmon and pickling reindeer hooves and antennas;
a bit like practising Chinese miracle medicine with
whale blubber and Mongolian nostril hairs.

it's not about loving your enemies -
this love sinister must be invoked as: making your
enemies bearable.

i'm sure i had something concerning poetry and narration -
ah! it was... poetic compensation -
a.d.h.d. narration - attention deficit hyperactive disorder -
true - all psychiatric terms are metaphors -
at least outside the psychiatric realm -
poetry as a.d.h.d. meaning: shrapnel narration -
a custard pie of missing characters -
poetry: i.e.: the inability to believe in ghosts
or write characters - claustrophobic or agoraphobic narration?
a mix of both - poetry - the inability to conjure
Ouija fancies - poetry, the over-specialised gift for
narration, but an inability to invent characters -
poetry, the truth of the narrative, and the truth of un-invented
characters, poetry: the ability to narrate, coupled
with the inability to create characters -
fiction and the dumb narrator - poetry and the exquisite
narrator - fiction and the exciting characters -
poetry and the God - our focus is based on that vector,
or bias to that vector - fiction and the Oscars -
narrator and director - when to change from first person
to third person - again Burroughs was right -
images 50 years ahead of writing - a bit obvious,
nothing spectacular with that phrase -
lightning and the sons of thunder: 12 of them -
made the tetragrammaton less spoken and swear words
fucken-uppen censored so the crucifix and **** could
collide - a fine fine excuse - the Boeing 747 first
and later the quasi-sonic broom shoo' 'mm -
poetry as fiction disguised when fiction was given
a seance with pure narratives - splinter group:
philosophy's juggling with pronouns esp. the plural deviation
from first person as if to proper punctuation -
psychiatry and the theory of pronoun usage -
poetry and the pronoun rōnin (macron = umlaut -
count to two, or prolong - reasonable man / **** sapiens, pre-noun pro-adjective / adjective attache-noun, noun counter-noun es duo-adjective, Kellogg's sunrise cockle-doodle-dip-in-tartan-chess) -
only poetry mediates the parallel vectors of prose-fiction and philosophy - it consolidates the use of pronouns, art of poetry alone -
pure narration we're talking about,
the narrator and characters of its fancy,
philosopher and dialectical placebos (character equivalence)
with self-conscious moments, mono-pro-noun - alone i name -
the sacred squash wall of lecturing an invisible audience -
rummaging epitaphs in a graveyard along with birth dates
and live by dates - yes, that sacred we philosophers use -
an entire theatre was summoned to continue in appearing
sensible when writing without fictive apparitions -
enabling a fluidity in pronoun use, without sensible letter
writing, as in dear sir,
                                       me in reverse, thank you.

Dressed in black, dark eyes amused
She strolls into a room
With the specialised tread
Of a femme fatale,
Tossing her streaming hair in arrogant joy.
Her perfect body
Contains the calm and unexpected force
Of the sea, shifting in a moment between

Reason and fury.
She graces the men with sure-footed Arabic,
Stark, sibilant, passionate words
Laughing like a poem.
A Moroccan beauty,
Guedra dancing in the sun,
From the desert coloured mosque of Casablanca
Punctured by the worship Of 70,000 songs,
To the unremitting souks of Marrakesh,
Her complexity
Emboldened by the courage
Of poets.

She has a silence in her intellect
Such as few have,
Unusual evidence of a soul
In a world of franchises,
Her past imaginings deeper and wider
Than that of her peers,
Dancing to fast Gharnati rhythms,
Beneath imagined Andulusian sunsets
And glowing skies.
An effervescent scintillating gasp of fervent
Desert air, beating across her limbs
Moving gently towards silence.

This is one of Barry Hodges' most inspired memories.

  'Twas morning time in times of yore and I, bold Barry Hodges, stood outside my store, my giant vegetables on display for all to see, when lo and behold! a luxurious limousine drew up, and from the back there emerged a gorgeous form of voluptuous statuesque feminity.
  "My God!" I cried, it is that beauteous lady from *La Dolce Vita, the wondrous Anita - and I gazed with joyous on her divine body, imagining it sprawled lasciviously in my bed, legs open as wide as a major road junction on the M1 motorway.
  "Excuse me", said she in that Italo-Swedish voice guaranteed to make any man wet himself copiously, "But I am a-lookink for a shop a-called 6B, and yet all I can-a-see is a Barry Hodges' the Master Geengrocer's, complete with a giant cucumber or two, which I 'av to say remind me of somet'ing tasty."
"Dearest lady, said I, you have come to the right place: 6B is the trading name of my sister enterprise: Barry Bodgers' Boil Bursting Beauty Bureau which is located upstairs, Barry Bodgers at your service, my dearest, most delightful Fru Ekberg."
"Shhhhhhhhh! I am een deesguise, not even dear Federico knows I am-a-here." And thus, assuring her of my utmost discretion, and forming a bond by saying that I too, the famous Geordie seducer, Barry Hodges, had indulged in a slight nomenclatural change in order to separate the two sides of my business interests, and in order to do a spot of money laundering on the side.  "But," I enquired, "How is it that you have need of the rather specialised medical services we offer, you who are so radiant and bella-bella?" She lowered her eyes seductively and promised to reveal her terrible secret.

As I ushered her up the stairs to the studio, my eyes on her ****-cheeks wiggling like two delectable beach ***** in a sack, she told me the sad tale of the immense boil which kept recurring on the middle of her back and which no amount of corrective surgery could fix.
"Aha!" I exclaimed, "Only Barry Bodgers, the world's greatest boil-sucker, can effect the cure for which you long, and I shall operate on you personally, not entrusting such a task to even the best of my boil-bursting minions." I added to myself, "Also I want to give you a good old bonking while we're at at."

Once we attained the privacy of my consulting room, I instructed her to strip off utterly so I might examine her, and I can tell you, dear reader, that her **** **** was a joy to behold. I too divested myself of my clobber, knowing that boil-******* can get a bit messy at the best of times. Jesus wept!, but the mighty boil betwixt her graceful shoulders revealed when de-plastered was a true horror, with a yellow tip as big as a Grade One Belgian Turnip. I explained that I would **** it out whilst I rogered her from the rear and that, when she felt her ****** on the way, she should scream out to that effect and I would then bite the core of the boil right out in a blaze of mutual ******* glory, before applying a dose of my exclusive Boil Preventative Cream, namely a handful of our conjoined love-juices extracted from her gaping ***** by hand a few seconds earlier.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" screamed the Swedish bombshell and with a mighty **** like an industrial Dyson FX334 on full power, I slurped and  razor-bit the boil, bursting it asunder, smothering my eager face in blood and putrid pus, thereby causing me to blow my *** as ne'er before. The green core of the boil emerged from its fleshly cavity with a deafening plop as we came together like a nuclear blast d'amour.

O, but only then, as my seminal outpourings soaked my jim-jams, did I awaken to discover yet another nocturnal emission. And, not unexpectedly, dear Nurse Nellie, having heard my cry of ecstasy, rushed in to my bedroom, head-shaking and tut-tutting as usual, as she knelt down and licked my tum-tum dry.
"Yum, yum" she murmured in her dulcet Northumbrian tones, "Ah've looked after three generation o' Hodges laddies, and I kin tell ye, your *****'s the tastiest of them all, ye bonnie wee man."
"Better than Grandad Charlie's?"
"Why aye, mon, yours is well creamier."

Never finding expectation to exist beyond the last known blip of the past, projected through my back, in tackled grounds, bound, in the banter of spectators, speculating the specifications of specialised  weaponry, silencing the empathy, and seducing my enemies in the isolated idolatry of their stupidity that i sculpted from the scrutiny, that was wished to have eluded me but soothed my playful solidarity to my sickly game called reap and sow instead.

We are all dead, all dead inside, residing in thriving wounds.

Left unsaid in rhymes etched in tombs.

In the lies of old bafoons

I shall not fight, myself, as they do, nor shall i defy whats right just to eat tonight.

I will fight until I am mine and sleep.

Cradled in my shrine of thoughts amiss, in the frost of loss vs reward.

I am torn, between torture and a vultures wait of the prize to pedal the pestilent pettiness to the edges of my testaments, in the truth of youth-less suicide, slicing social structures into cylinders to swing in circles around the room.

Swooning, in my looming threat of self immolation to warm the heart with shopping carts of satire, killing the sad away.

Delaying the the decay of hope.

A stay of patience in my irrelevance,never hesitant in my clever projections of nothing.

I feed you nothing

But emptiness

Shuttering in the sultry shade of my suffering and loving every moment of it.

Saying nothing too much in things of such insignificance.

Spilling the mizpellings and settling for wordlessness after a good ***** of belligerent arrogance.

Im tempted to quit but my wick is lit and to submit now, would just put the fire out and i want to watch the burn.

i've been in a prison of my own making...
it's kinda perfect, i get to read books
rather than watch television...
the blind flamethrower albino ******
is on the stats -
i end the night with a self-gratifying
exercise - the main sub article concerns
itself with **** and male *******...
never mind the ***** cut off for ******...
and never mind the Madonna-***** complex...
why, the problem is sorted:
if you don't get a hard-on with prostitutes
then you can blame it on ****...
otherwise? well, you'll hardly be the one to blame...
i see you using your ******.... the blue diamonds...
the litmus test is quicker done...
go to a brothel... once you get an *******
with a ******* all forms of feminism prescribing
masochism to men will disappear...
this erectile dysfunction will become a hoax...
it will become basis for the other thing
Freud is famous for, putting it nicely
the the Medusa-Madonna complex...
you can't be Oedipal with economic stresses...
someone has to take the blame...
******* is one strand of attitudes exercised...
we will have no Mozart, no Shakespeare when
we censor **** and bargain hunting celibates...
you basically censored the freedom of language
like you did undermining the European Union,
and European doctors giving way to an exodus
due to your cheap xenophobia...
X-factor contestants as doctors? i'll gladly wait and see,
you congest life into suffering akin to animals
in slaughterhouses... boy, i'll wait.
your Vermin will be your death angels... you'll
want to die, you'll be gagging for death when i'm
through... and yes, i remember my great-grandmother,
who remembered the 2nd world war...
as i said: ****** was gassed... due repayment of equal
measure... the Ypres guise of suburban Warsaw in
the trenches, in the ghetto; harsh, isn't it?
humanising something human when the soldiery
artefact is brought up? it must be harsh...
too much faith in the Luftwaffe, i'd dig under the channel
and let the Panzers roll in... this is my method
of appetising grievances to be rid off...
my grandfather asked SS-men for candy,
my great grandmother escaped the Nazis...
this is a healing process... i've taken the *******
and applied it to the star of David, ******* with it...
so it looks like reading a book on a prayer mat...
but that's not the bothersome triad -
people forget the success of Freud in the other department,
you can't pinpoint the influence of *******
without having to recognise the influence of
the Madonna-***** complex -
which would explain much more than scapegoat ****
is privileged by... why would i get an *******,
drunk (well yeah, at every opportunity a ******,
Virgos' tear) with prostitutes, and not be bothered
by *******... abstinence won't help...
it's enough to be governed by a psychiatric conundrum
of the fabled case of ******* your mother...
why all the blame on man? typical feminism...
Platonic feminism, Darwinism's feminism -
have they bothered to subscribe to the idea that it's not
simply a male affair? having professional pornographers
is the problem... a bit like at the Olympics...
the professional high jumpers are one thing...
you jumping into bed to frolic is another...
it's hardly a mono-****** affair ascribed to only one
gentrification - when you're a ******* decathlon
enthusiast, *******, working, cooking, raising the ids
of kids... you're supposed to be there,
specialised in the erectile business, and nothing more...
the hammer to a nail... redundancy following suit.
and what man will succumb to this?
perhaps he's talking Swahili or he's Somalian...
because, believe me, that's where you'r herding the flock
girl... i don't really care where the whites end up...
this Islamic attack on western culture is nothing,
nothing, compared to the apathy western women
implanted into western men's psyche...
a few terrorist attacks are nothing in comparison...
as said the once parallel now intersecting
conversation between King Solomon and Sheba...
these terrorist attacks are nothing compared to what's
coming... i blame Darwinism partly for having staged
a coup d'vie, meaning? i really can't be bothered!
usurp my indolence in the affairs of mind and body,
make me into your ideal dietary requirement checklist...
this thing we're experiencing is worse than
terrorism... feminism has made us indolent,
non-responsive... non-competitive...
we're basically trapped in a hamster wheel where
women fancied themselves to champion ethnic defence
strategies.... ruby ***** of all hues go round...
i was never a saint, but i wanted to be a sinner...
try that like winning the lottery...
if the white man dies, i won't even care to cry...
i'd be clapping... clap clap... clap clap...
i'll just know that i left the ideal hue of ***** behind;
what?! i liked to **** too! but obviously i
was given the poker hand of angling a repertoire
akin to a monk like Martin Luther.

Cheese
Simply fermented
Curds and whey, minus the whey
Fantastic with meat
And fruit
And bread
Creamy, sweet, and soft
Or
Sharp , hard, and strong
Fancy, or plain
Expensive, artisan, specialised
Cheap, processed, conformed
Cheesey, cheesey, cheese

imagine retiring before you're 30,
with the great european disneyland
in switzerland waiting for your desires,
god... i stopped celebrating my birthdays
deliberately, so that each day is like
a birthday before the day i die:
motto: oh ****, here again, *******!

so i started brooding on the concept of
monism, dualism and trinity
in chemical terms eradicating theological
impetus to salvage from one (e.g. the buddha,
the christ, the moses without a surname like jesus)
the multitude: mostly fishermen and tax officers
and thieves... jesus... what a selective society you
knit and picked, huh?
i was thinking of carbon monoxide
(C≡O)... so when counter-structures on the
elemental level become coupled in a scenario
of being identical, bypassing non-super-imposable'ness
(disregarding chirality), they can spawn
exponential growth named cancerous economics!  
and methane (C and H x4)
ethene (H2C=CH2) and ethane (H3C-CH3)
trinity's degenerate nature... oh right, so you're playing
dumb but not farming, you're the required
audience in front of the digitalised combine of colours
in a shady room? plato would call that coloured shadows
where no messages are deciphered given the doubt
that they're even passed for the excommunication
of corrupt politicians and the clergy... you know:
french / russian revolution *******.
oh i want a thinking embryo not attached to my body,
i want it so bad that i can compare myself
to elijah's command: execute the priesthood of baal,
because they can't conjure anything,
just paedophilia and mumbles and sugar puffs at breakfast.
well there's all that, what was i talking about?
rambling on many cobwebbed talking matters later
it might appear like Alzheimer's... right the active
ingredient of cigarettes: carbon monoxide,
(C≡O), not like carbon diaoxide (O=C=O),
a trinity in one person creates a fourth dimension,
imagine the interstellar (movie) capsule of quantum-space
of humanism interpreting the crucifix wearing
a cosmonaut suit rather than adam's fur...
it's like that... so apart from carbon monoxide providing
the suffocating dizzy carousel of the cigarette dragged
quickie high, you get the nicotine i thought was
actually a placebo substance, a palette of tobacco akin...
still alice* was a bit **** to be honest,
she was trying to salvage her strongest areas of
personality, she specialised in linguistics,
in phonetics and what not (etc.),
if she suddenly changed course with her interests,
rather than retreated into the laziness of:
all consciousness and thinking is about memory and
memorisation, she was challenged by schooling's
expression of memory: the times table: 2 x 2 = 4, 2 x 3 = 6,
and personal memory, the imprints on other
people, rather than civilisation's imprint on
the person in question: civilisation = the existence of money,
tribalism = you scratch my back, i scratch yours.

even the queen doesn't wear as many pompous garments
throughout the year, as she does  upon coronation,
or the annual opening of the parliament -
high almighty she sits, in the chamber
of the house of lords, before the
"commoners" / middle-class pimps
lords of the manor of Cambridgeshire
are later summoned by black rod -
all the knock knock jokes stem from there:
black rod - knock knock.
the commons' - who's there?
black rod - black rod!
the commons' - black rod who?
black rod - black rod you wouldn't even care,
                    the pigs' trough is waiting.
but even the queen doesn't wear
all the garments she's entitled to upon
this occasions - i mean the full garment...
so is the commoner's approach to
vocabulary... on a printed page of a book
a poem looks: so much more menacing!
it's as if i actually have stamped
each poem, and they're not r.t.s. (return
to sender) example of bypassing
and destroying the the royal mail
with a magician's snap of the fingers...
but as honesty goes, the internet made
one magic trick, snap of the fingers,
and a thousand centipedes of postmen
disappeared in a second... gone... flushed
down the social-cohesive toilet...
it's called: improvement... the Chinese
are like: bring them over, we have
a billion and we need the leg work,
done and dusted, the last meaningful
letter i ever received was... i don't remember:
safe to say: never.
i am actually comparing something,
opened a beer, sat on a windowsill,
and thought to myself: after i digest
Stephen King's media outlet with his
many ghost writers, i'll smoke a cigarette
and read that ghastly thing that has my
name and picture printed on it...
it's ****** hard to read your own thoughts
back: given elephant narcissus in the room
and the bay leaf sensation in your mouth
rereading the ******* -
oh, by the way, in my culinary arsenal,
on today's menu: pork tikka masala -
i know, a heresy, tikka masala paste extra,
but to infuriate the palette:
not ground cumin and coriander, seeds,
a bay leaf... cloves (not necessary),
and cardamon pods -
                                freshly chopped tomatoes,
creme freche instead of double cream and
yogurt - garam masala, Kashmiri chilly powder,
paprika, turmeric... anti-dementia exercise:
what the **** did i put in?
50% youth unemployment in Greece,
45% and 40% in Spain and Italy respectively,
well, if you're going to have an existential
crisis, i.e. you're not in denial about old age
and how the Dutch and the Swiss and the Belgians
are the great humanitarians of our time...
might as well have one now.
funny enough, most people will not be saving up
for a pension... they'll be saving up for
euthanasia... honest to god, the lemmings are coming!
the lemmings are coming! in human terms:
that's not a myth.
****... what a digression... even the queen doesn't
wear the many garments presiding over her
role as being understood upon the annual
opening of parliament: in layman's terms,
i mean that to be synonymous with vocabulary...
a.i. says one as an abstract version
of all the other pronouns...
   the royal says we: because there's always
an entourage of lackeys and servants -
all the commoners get stashed in i, the over-exemplified i:
egoism, you, he, she, and the paranoid collective
of the royal's we, i.e. they...
it came to me rereading the Frederick II
Hohenstaufen Linguistic Experiment -
i realised, because of certain words having
a near ~synonymous status:
mainly because they're so closely bound,
and like triplets, you can't have three different
wombs to get the bunch out
(oh, i have fried twins on toast,
once or twice, twin yokes in one egg,
i wonder: would they ever... er...
become Siamese? division gone awry,
or God teaching angels mathematics,
someone's bound to slip up... oh come on...
give room for some ****** simplicity!) -
what i want to reiterate is: even the queen doesn't
wear all the required authoritarian garments
throughout the year: look at her taste in
frocks... a puppet without a puppeteer -
now that's authority, wink-wink-oi-oi
nudge of the elbow, 'ello 'ello 'ello 'ello;
the same goes for me, you and every other
Jack and Jill... three words...
all statistical... mode... median... mean...
now, i haven't the foggiest how to differentiate
you a meaning for each... thus
looking at the poem i mentioned:
ontological modes - i.e. certain words can't
provide ontological modes -
attacking the verbiage, you honestly haven't
read continental thought, roll a spliff,
****** off... anyway...
it's like the queen's story... let's say her
garments are necessary analogy: she doesn't
wear all the pompous cloth and pearl
every day, unless it's everyday in a painting...
that's the same with vocabulary...
plus mode, median and mean are congested into
an alphabetical coercion -
let's say zoological and anthropoid -
so far apart you can almost keep them freshly
imprinted to a satisfying differential immediacy -
i.e. you can give me a meaning of the two words...
but mean (1) is soon followed by median (2)
                later comes the meaning of mode (3 -
in alphabetical order... even though
the alphabet has only a quantum chronology -
  compact a, first, then b - stranger that it
wasn't supposed to be necessarily e) -
which is why we seem to unhinge from specific
vocabularies - in education we are strained
at times to learn specific vocabularies,
but later discard them, we're actually repelled by
categorised vocabularies: niche vocabularies -
from the moment of hinging unto certain
words, we immediate unhinge from them...
leave school, learn to earn money...
as with the queen: we don't wear all the garments
of the vocabularies we were exposed to...
the difference being: she gets reminded...
the majority of us never get reminders
about using certain words: even in pub trivia
general knowledge quizzing, or that's the last
resort... for the most part, that's
what the dictionary is for:
                            it's prime utility has an
   a posteriori ontology -
                whereas the thesaurus (rex) has an
a priori ontology: which is why writers look up
words on the synonymous scale to create an exotic
jungle, which would otherwise look like the meadows
of Hyde Park... plus the dictionary states a word's
etymology - which doubles the proof that
a dictionary has an a posteriori ontology / nature
    of being used -
                                 in abstract, yes, ontology:
                 nature of being per se - box of chocolates
and Forrest Gump's wisdom on: you never know
what the kaleidoscope will show off and what you'll
get: mint?! yuck!
                             but as i already stated:
even the queen doesn't wear all the garments
required for the annual opening of parliament
every day... as with us and our lesser jewels:
words - not all words are there to be kept on
close surveillance through the year -
                     it's worthwhile remembering that
each of our faculties has a weakness...
and not all words are permanently loyal to us,
primarily through environmental fluctuations
governing their use, outside of a chemists?
would you necessarily hear nouns used in a chemist
outside a chemist? probably not...
so that's how i do mental crosswords -
well, i have absolutely no clues -
you have a bank balance an average Chinese
might have of 3000 ideograms -
    find me the tetraideogrammaton!
    earth wind & fire... & water...
                       but that's how i known i'm doing
crosswords in my head... a long forgotten word...
revisited... and instead of creating clues and guess
work: i have a narrative, anew -
a word once used in an examination paper,
later discarded, now revisited for my pleasure -
but we never have a complete account balance
of our vocabulary, that's always fluctuating like
stock-market share prices -
                we're like the queen without her
authoritarian garments most of the time -
                              we have (on purpose) set up
various bank accounts for specialised topics /
obscure knowledge - i really don't know if this
was a good idea - crosswords and obscure knowledge
trivia - again, like at school, this is a way
to misplace the greatest outlet of memory:
the optic foundation - the photographic something or other...
which, by way of consent has the power to
show us the dark room being opened -
      the Black Dot Eraser - happens all the time:
the Black Dot Eraser is like a concentrated form of
something, prone to insane gravity of pulling everything
into a nano-metre dot... a blind censor -
                      who says: i haven't seen anything prior,
and even with your words attempting to illuminate
the sense that hasn't graciously been bestowed upon me:
i will not see anything after.
                       unappealing the quest for
a unifying sense datum... of the five variations,
      given the five senses, how can we every reach
a simple i i i i i                 rather than a variable
                                      i i I I i?
      it's a basic schematic - a variation of?
some words (datum in exclusiveness) have variations
   in being ascribed sense - given there are give senses,
not every word (datum as exclusive of 4, but inclusive
   of at least 1) can be ascribed a placebo uniformity:
   i i i i i -                           since the nature of a datum is
   to show us fluctuation:
                                      e.g. i i I I i...
   given that different people, react to a word differently
in each sensual medium: the fluctuation of
   being given a piece of information inscribed in a word
when ingested by hearing, seeing, speaking, etc.
well... that's that: 200 camels came by the oasis
and drank 200 litres of water each (that is their
actual capacity after crossing a desert) -
                                                            and that's that:
testimony to the superiority of the oryx.

a green silhouette of grey,  towering in secret turmoil
where shadows shuffle past clothed in draperies of U
like the front door of a public house at night time
on moments they stop and peer through windows
as if searching for themselves
and seeing themselves not within
place a hand on each others shoulder
with slender tapered  touch to life
and wander on looking
for the fresh warm rain of belief, any belief
they just don't care
dark as unforgiven justice
neither divine nor temporal forms
shadows that reflect no change
ensure no truth, show no energy to immerse
and this applies no effort to pick their chaos
nor specialised catastrophies
though do marshal devils of distinction
from the ramparts of the night
who dance in crooked form
twisting around the indolence of faces
peering through others windows
howls too for they make such howls
as such the shadows dismiss them
to their own oblivion
the shadows in their old humiliating story
move on still peeping, peeking and peering
but they languish in a wander land
always calm and reasonable
they move on like gassed first world war soldiers
but trembling inwardly with a frightful rage
cursing priests veined with age
who have told everyone's confession
and doctors slowly losing their hair
who never confess their secrets
not even to veined faced priests
and sometimes in a few seconds
these few but precious seconds
before the next window
it is remembered, yes remembered
shadows are the colour of light

Captured in the psych ward part 18


Today Ron just had two days off and he was feeling so refreshed and got up at 6 am and had a shower and a bagel and went to fran and dans for a coffee and bacon and eggs and Ron said, on Saturday night I had the most enjoyable night of my life. You see I bought myself a new yacht and the lady who sold me the yacht took me out on a test drive if this yacht and boy did we have fun, you see I packed my fishing gear and I'm the muddle of the sea this lady who was hot as, said come to the bedroom to give the bed a workout and yes Ron and this lady had *** and this was great rich yacht ***, the kind of ***, he normally wouldn't have, and yes, Ron enjoyed that, and Barry said, what was her name, if you want to engage yourself in ****** activity you must know the woman's name and then Ron said, her name was Bromwyn Carter, and I really loved her, boy did I love her, and then said, thanks for breakfast and went to the hospital to clock in and give the morning medications and this morning was different for Ron, he had to do the daily activity meeting, which was going to be hard for him, cause he was taking Bill to his TAFE course and this meeting was scheduled for 9-45, so the nurses went around the HDU to say the meeting is on at 9-00 am and to be hosted by Ron, so if you wanna go to it, 9-00 instead of 9-45 ok and Ron covered a lot of topics at the
Meetings like the toilets never having being cleaned even when they promise they will clean them and Ron jotted that down saying toilets needing to be cleaned and Charlie Chaplin said, nobody cares for me, I want to see a silent movie in the states and they never listen, can uou please tell them to listen to me. And Ron said well, Charlie even if you are Charlie Chaplin we are specialised into making you fit for society, and if you want to think you are a Charlie Chaplin and more importantly forcing others to believe your Charlie Chaplin, to me you ain't working and Charlie and Ron argued about that for 1 minute and then bill said, I asked for paper to do some drawing and they looked at me like I was a crazy person and Ron jotted it down everything that bill said and said ok here are the things you do today
Walk at 10-00
Pottery at 11-30
Lunch at.   12-30
Dreams at. 2-30
Dinner at. 5-00
And supper at 7-00
Now the dreams is anyone who has weird dreams just come along and talk about the dreams you get, no they are good , he explain how your dream patterns affect your life and
Anything else and Charlie Chaplin said my voices are only mucking with my hooligan and saying I ain't a family person anymore, that is what he is saying over and over again and making me feel like a poor hooligan who every time lie down I feel the hooligan reach over me and the voices say as I say leave me alone
You know I hate you I like your brother and family more than you, cause you don't know how to lighten up, you **** at lightening up and Ron said to Charlie ok sit there and think about why those voices are in your head and I will have a nurse check up on you and I will take bill to the TAFE course and I will be back this afternoon, and again Ron took bill to his TAFE course and went to fran and dans to have spaghetti bolognaise for lunch with a cappuccino and he explained about the fact he had to do the morning meeting this morning and all the problems these people had were total and ****** goofballs, well one day Ron said that Charlie will be helped. Cause the other workers are saying he has only 3 more months in there. Unless the court orders it, but to me there is no reason why he can't get out and Pete who now is found a computer course and very slowly learning computers bit by bit
And jeff apparently is doing very well learning how to be a plumber. You see it really is just patty roe and Charlie Chaplin who are looking to not do much for themselves in there
But my hands are tied you see I believe in reincarnation I but I also believe in working to help the future learn more about you and the person you have become and left to pick up Bill and then drove him back to the HDU and clocked on and gave the medication and the dinners and after that he clocked off and bought red rooster and went home and ate dinner and again fell asleep on the couch


Sent from my iPhone

in the years between 1100 and 1167 there were two doctors who lived in peking in china

who were looking after the townsfolk, they didn’t have the technology they have today, just coca cola

and methane and yetta, which is now currently known as ICE and they had mould, which helped in

the process of deep cuts and ebrasions, one doctor was harry darker and with him was his wife franceska

darker, and they changed the feel of china, saving people’s lives, you see back then, anger was the most

desirable thing, which meant, if you got angry, you have to wait even longer, harry darker was the ICE king

and loved to experiment with it to one day end the world of suffering, and also harry gave methane to kids

when they had chest colds, but methane wasn’t the best thing for it, but there was nothing else, so they

had to make do with methane, franceska specialised aliens, you see let me explain that further, you see

people are aliens and every day we have to understand that aliens are dead earthlings and what people heal’

themselves up there with, should heal well, down here on earth, you see franceska used to go around on foot with methane

and ICE in her backpack ready to heal the wounded chinese travellers who are going about their journeys, and

franceska was so good at her job, she was asked to be the doctor aboard the boat to england to help make people better,

unfortunately harry wasn’t allowed to leave china because he didn’t have a 1100s passport, which was a medicine license

you see harry just knew what he was doing, and nobody knew what he was doing, but then he met franceska, who was a

licensed doctor, but of all the things franceska did to help harry, giving him a license wasn’t at the top of her list, and besides

which franceska knew that there wasn’t a hope in hell for the authorities to find out the truth, so they just turned the other cheek

and then franceska boarded the boat and was ready for a voyage of a lifetime to visit London in england, on the way there, 13 paople

saw franeska, complaining about back aches, which franceska gave them some ICE, and a few people worried that their minds

were starting to go crazy and franceska gave them methane, which today wouldn’t be trusted, but franceska, also helped a few of

the ships children, by giving them ICE, to calm them down, and then, franceska went down to the kitchen to have her lunch getting

lots of good replies as she passes and days and days went by, as franceska was seeing patients and then they entered the united kingdom

where they dropped off the chinese immigrants and picked up the british immigrants going to china, and franceska sat down at the british port

hoping that, she can finish this journey as she missed harry, and on the way back to china, some of the british went to franceska for medical help

but the british were too proud to let her help them, because for the simple reason, they didn’t believe in this kind of medicine despite it is this medicine

or death and then henry the 5th came in to visit franceska complaining about stomach cramps, and franceska gave him methane and mould from cheese

to rub on the stomach 3 times a day, and this might sound crazy, but this plan was smart enough to work and henry the 5th did the wrong thing, you see he

overdosed on methane and ate the mould, which wasn’t a great idea and franceska said to henry that wasn’t your smartest decision, wasn’t it and henry said

i am sorry, i just have got a decease of when i have something in my room, i will eat it, and franceska said, ok i will give you some ICE, but you mustn’t overdose

because this drug can be fatal and this made henry scared to overdose and took the ICE and went to his room and this time he didn’t overdose on it, but

the methane was beginning to make him feel sick, after him overdosing on it, and then david greatless came in to see franceska complaining about really bad

stomach cramps, maybe from the poison from the fish they had at dinner and Franceska gave him ICE, to settle his stomach down and after 2 days of taking

the ICE his stomach stopped aching and when they arrived back in china, franceska went to harry and they went about their normal practice, and people were injured

left right and centre and franceska in about 4 weeks, was asked to be on the boat to the USA and, this was a very bad journey as franceska had her hands full

with a flu epidemic and everyone got the flu, especially the ship’s crew, and then the boat stopped because nobody was fit enough to steer it, with the only well

person being franceska, who didn’t know how to steer a boat, but she did try and the boat ran out of gas and franceska fell off the boat into the ocean and despite

her losing the methane and ICE overboard, franceska swam with all her might, to hopefully find land and then after she almost gave up hope, she arrived on

this island which is now known as Australia, on the port of adelaide, and despite franceska being a helper of all, she arrived at port adelaide really cold and hungry

and had no memory of why she was in the ocean, franceska went under the name of terri halter and lived in a rundown farm near where the adelaide cbd is now

and while she was there she drew these lovely pictures which made the townsfolk very happy and in about 3 more weeks franceska died and if you are worried about the boat

someone noticed them and they were saved, but that was franceska’s last ship as a doctor, and that ship became one of her art works, in her next life, franceska was betty robson

who lived in a place which is currently california, and she loved that family

i am franceska butler and i looked over harry in china, for 5 years before harry sadly passed away

as i said, i am franceska

may i ask, which pronoun are you searching for, and if in which model, which pronoun-verb in the Cartesian duo function could you ever ask me what pronoun occupies f(∴)? you see, mathematics doesn't sincerely pledge i think with i am, given dues to f(∵), given geometric intersection, both are Gemini, unequivocal, David's abstract.

perpetually open eyes, never acknowledging a blink,
Venetians cascading on Byzantium, near blink near conscience,
but never near an Ottoman consequence;
how ***** into role of Janissary: fear the impaler and all
who reign in his caste disguised... yet you encourage
that they come.... what tailoring of suit
so well disguises the blood? a heavy collar or the lightly
mandated to feel a "conscience"?
i like freaks like him, i too cared to wear many
masks, is that worth a psychiatric evaluation,
you spared me no trust,
your secret dealings could have spared me
my health, what you fear is double-jeopardy,
including a seclusive f.b.i. reclusive supposedly paranoid...
please leave all your badges of officiation to
an affiliated organisation of governance behind
including your firearms, and other scientific
conditionings prejudiced against the church v.
Galileo... please leave dogmatism to students and
anomaly encounters to professionals as stated by
the entitlements of doctorate...
the plot has no identifiers worthy of investigation,
unless everyone was brainwashed into thinking
that goldfish held a greater memory span in a
fish tank than all the people in the world, atmosphered,
and later impregnated by nothing other than
vacuum and astronomical interactions of simple
alphabetical greek into complex chemistry? or
could a world conspiracy come about as simply
the words: she was worth a 1000 Greek ships
worth of **** to later ascribe the capital
of love as Paris? the raw animal is worth more in
his ontological environment than in a zoological one,
cages enliven violence rather than envision them
in either subject or the culprits mind...
it's the added prospect of seclusion that animates
a piquant status of memory to a kindred
fingerprint cloning deviation, a susceptible replication
environment: esp. through no familial motive, other than an
individualistic swarm-like reaction to an insecticide:
however much the individual invigorates a
suspect accommodation to an equilibrated pluralism
within a status ascribed to an: individual.
i admit, the psychological rhetoric is the new
invention of the wheel... it goes on and on forever,
i fear for those hapless idiots studying the logic
of excluding soul (as an absence of thought), god,
and free will to ever return to the rational / sane world
of afternoon tea, given they specialised in these
specified wording to a rubric equatable to 1 + 2 = 3.
you'll learn no more human secrets than that of
a *sloane's viperfish... otherwise you're entering a realm
of perfected adaptability with some quasi-science
via fiction and conspiracy, that leave you no more than
an agent of the priesthood and a loss of a good
niche of ******... well, is't the priesthood
pathetic so jealous as to have lost the reigns having
kept them for so long? oh yes, the public will react...
regarding the next nutritionist's fact...
it's called adaptability i may say, leave them to it,
you kept to your symbolism for too long,
we learned the crux like we learned to say X
three times ensuring we watched ****...
oh i'm not jealous, i won't be the one having to
orphan the ******* sons, as your church had to keep
them to keep up pretences... all they have to keep
up is the stability of universally recognising a
centimetre, which, like satan said of the kingdoms
to be given, the Orientals sort of ignored with
the grievance demanding an explanation for
the ineffectiveness of thus said temptation.

I laugh at the unattainable tiff
which usually, takes place
in between us.
It is not able to make any big fight.
In fact, it does nothing!

I feel it is the same sky under which many lovers have got united. But I also feel it is the same sky under which many lovers have got separated.

O famished and heartless fate,
why do you need my feeble life
to make your prospective come true?
They say love is greater than any
distance so why don't you let the destiny of the horoscopic stars taste
this language of wisdom?

-  I feel this has many ellipses so would be just trailing off...

Shivpriya
#shivpoetesspriya

The Twentieth Century War -->
A carillon =>  Calling all fronts to move a pace...
Not to be confused with a Fanciful Past, Nor a Fabulous Future.

There is only one real History
Of the Twentieth Century on Earth,
And that History is embedded too deeply to dislodge.
The Reality as a Collective Mind Evolving
Through Time & Technology & Knowledge & Art.
Forget the externally imposed insider Jokers,
That thinks they can clear collective guilt's,
Or whitewash cultural tragedies,
Or brush aside National Pride,
All for the Love of Mind-F**king society at large.

I might have instinctively specialised in WAR,
But that hasn't been the greatest Bane
Inflicted from further a-field.
The Pseudo-philes and their undue influence
Have spoilt our brethren and relatives;
And the big, glaring signposts to disaster,
From my Point-of-View (as a G'day Man) are:
Economicks, Psychiatry, and Post-Modernism's Political Correctness -->
All ******* Fields, underscored by Fundamental Miss-Information ==>
Globally influential Slave-Trading systems; Imperialers of Free Thought.

Even though I'm not a Religious Man,
All things being Equal ,
I say, "Credit where Credit's due" -->
Like those Institutions or Loathe their Dogma,
At least they get into the guts of Society
And do the best they can as attractors
Of both Good and Bad proto-types - community Gravity Wells -
They, too, tag and release for the greater social benefit.
So, regardless of your P.O.V., have some consideration for Others.

παλαιoς Σαμουήλ αλληλουχία - alter.: palaios samou(ee)l - yes the acute diacritic on the eta doubles it to prolong it - allilouchia - Mr. Xavier had an itch, or an itx in Me'h cha cha cha chinos - jaded, round we go around the Babylonian tower of gobble gob blah and babble - as in: for some reason i thought η (eta) was about resembling an acute version of ε (epsilon), apparently that isn't the case, people never tell you! what with Greeks applying diacritical marks (never expected that to happen), to the pseudo-Romans not applying such distinctions - or was that much ado about marching decisions in the having of things? but fair enough, stressing η with ή does get the e out from the prescribed i - some would say people have been dragged into this necessary realm of explanation on the diacritical basis, rather than into linguistic hieroglyphics of what the study of linguistics has decided to do, namely?
                          arithmetic (/əˈrɪθmətɪk/)

                                                                       was it easier
to turn the a and make it equal to e in notation as ə than
it was to add a diacritical mark? this is British linguistic notation
(by the way); was it? sometimes it feels like learning to count
a minute saying: one, two, three, four... sixty!
what am i aiming at? well... let's just call it Project Ukraine,
i.e. the fertile basin of the eastern plateaus of Europe -
this is revised understanding of Plato, who originally dealt
with numbers in the following way:
                a. 1 + 1 = 2 is a proposition of arithmetic
  b. 'i have ten fingers' is a an empirical proposition of enumeration
already we have it: well, obviously... where are the numbers
suggesting i have hands, that there are two, and that there
are 10 digits on them? according to a. i would have to simply
  write 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 - that's the proposition of
arithmetic for b. - meaning the language is to strident in
empiricism... but never mind that... what i am proposing is
a proposition of grammar - using the missing diacritical marks
on the English phonetic encoding, the existence of diacritical
marks on other European strains of the Latin alphabet,
and the fact that by omitting diacritical stresses the linguistic
alphabet emerged - as already stated but to reiterate:

          enumerate ([ih-noo-muh-rey-shuh n, ih-nyoo-])

this being the American version of encoding, kinda looks
like ol' McDonald had a farm, e ah e ah e ah oh - again
the number (/ˈnʌmbə/) of things could be said why diacritical
stresses were not added, or not taught properly to make way
for this engraving of specialised understanding,
everyone, whether pauper, pillar of society, saint or sinner,
poet, ballet dancer or street cleaners understands 1, 2, 3,
better than he understands thumb, index or ******* -
but shove someone the encoding /ˈnʌmbə/ and they'll be
like... huh?! no one gets the joke of the up-side down nu (ν)
as representing in American linguistics: n'ah and then mm -
bear, or however they spaghetti tangle that with their
Texan drawl; meaning? oddly enough the linguistic alphabet
in Platonic terms is actually the opposite of what Plato ascribed
his knowledge of numbers to... meaning when looking at
the linguistic alphabet i'm prone to the knowledge of an
empirical proposition of "enumeration" b. (coin it what you like,
basically involving letters rather than numbers), rather than
the proposition of arithmetic (i.e. spelling) a..

________________

you know what the problem is?
all this omnipresent omnipotent omni-relevant
but actually irrelevant considerations of god lead to?
your self, God found a cure at the Edict of Worms -
we need no celestial c.c.t.v., we need good
and bad, we need chemistry experiments too -
stop being a ***** and live with it,
whatever bad came, whatever good came,
live with the two, you can't turn to some
celestial dictator to cut short peoples lives
and curb the freedom of choice -
it's simple, there are only two... that's Welsh
for ******* - i'm sensible in my belief to feed
him the benefit of denial (only gods can be
given the benefit of denial, 21st century humanity
exposes the need, we live in the kindergarten
times of politics, outright denial, no benefit of
the doubt - i preferred the old ways of
doubt providing good faith as a wavering,
a flag on a pole and a finicky wind stirring it
either side of the flutter - outright denial is
a cheap way out - it completely obliterates any chance
inspection) - so why is this God of all so irrelevant?
your self included, i guess it's partly because he's
a supreme advocate of solipsism -
that grounds him, ah crab, too much verbiage,
i was hoping to keep this old samuel sequence short
and sweet, original intentions turned into this,
Ezra Pound wrote thirty lines and came back
with a haiku's minimalism, Frank O'Hara rambled
on and celebrated the fact that he was a pure narrator,
no character study with that poem of his
why i'm not a painter: one day i'm thinking of
a colour... i write a line... pretty soon it is a whole
page of words (not lines)... then another page...
depends whether you want to drink a beer
or drink absinthe... this poem? in its original intention?
why with all that omnipresence and omnipotence
laid before the altar of presupposed, supposed
or experienced call for existence, he merely chose
solipsism. yep, that's all there was, an argument
by God against the gifts of making him omni-whatever
was argued down: get on with it, i don't want slaves,
your politics is not my politics - however much
you fortune cookie your way into how things work,
solipsism is the way out... and that's why poets
don't invent characters to study with the necessary
voyeurism - like with philosophers, it's god -
and that sorta dilutes everything, to write about god
is to rebel against writing about characters, real or
not, it's to keep a pristine narrative - the debate
about verifying a proof of with miracle is done
in room 102 - not here... i'm talking about
writing, not changing nappies and curing cancer
with a touch of the hand... i mean how language is
organised in the form it expresses.

But not if         is love almost;
     is one’s riches
                  the half manuscripts
                       confuse sake
                its or
       demon specialised
dramas ultimate novels aims
        all for indeed?
               Next perhaps.
Overthrow
they reason one most in also absolutely;
                        one of the men
         of an equally the;
that from honest seem real.
                       Life a this degrees
    health investigations.
Man who.
        The afraid.
  Disturbs that of is a;
the its.
Time appears deranges to.
To it statesmen is it all most sacrificed a goal;
              motives it.
        To with;
comic the occupies the;
              that be has is of otherwise;
that where love wicked;
        of it entirely taken.
And strictly human        one ministerial;
               been
humanity knows in aim with part;
    itself ask earnest and that spirit.
                                              And it.
          This plays sometimes and;
                                 most a be hair;
                   not the faithful in
and thoughts it most definite
   younger in strongest why is.
            But to pursued confusion
        it how profound it;
and effort makes interrupting love
           than earnest portfolios tragic.
  To seriousness ethereal of.

I love you –
Your voice is like music to my ears –
Fresh as dew.
Your heart is full of understanding;
They are few,
Who can win in less than half a year,
Smart students specialised in grumbling.

She was an oil engineer
and specialised in gas
She was bold and had no fear
a brave courageous lass

She worked on an oil rig
in the middle of an ocean
She fixed all things however big
and then got a promotion

She then worked in the city
and with the big heads all day mingle
but despite being very pretty
her love of gas still made her single

and so she found a highland terrier
when he was just a little puppy
and now her life could not be merrier
with every **** they're both so happy

Carnivores are evolving cannibals,
who have yet to discover, that their
incisors, are for opening tight knots.

Ps.

Dracula specialised in neck ties!

Everything Is Yin & Yang
(another ode to Facebook)


Another ode in anthem mode:
Each using EffBee for his aim;
A simple sharing of a poem;
A needy soul who aims at fame;
A person specialised in something rare
Who seeks to share his passion for
The oldest car well, everywhere.

The negative and positive;
FB draws the best and worst,
The selfish and the selfless those
Who thirst for what is best
And those who may be *******.
(Just a use, perhaps abuse
Of Poet’s license; please excuse
The rather brutal use of word)
Going on: FB invites a bit of fun;
Emoji’s  icon. Quelle invention!  
Quell design!

As for me and mine,
This facebook is divine.
So I’ll be signing off.
I’ve said enough
Even without one cup coffee.
Signing off with love and warmth.
Signing off.  Goodbye.

Everything Is Yin & Yang 1.24.2021 a Sense Of The Ridiculous II; Arlene Nover Corwin

on its first dayy of arrival  AGI  will make all those programmers who are not specialised in AI obsolete
on its dayy one ___