Snarling Cup of Coffee    




I like to start my day with a hot cup of coffee
I pound down the coffee
First thing I do every day
as the dawning sun
Lights up my lonesome room

Yeah, but not just a simple cup of java Joe, but a ******* snarling sarcastic smarmy cup of coffee

I mean, - we are talking about an alcoholic, all speed ahead, always hot, always fresh, always there when I need it, angry, attitude talk to the hand Ztude, bad, bad assed, beats breaking, beatnik, bluesy, bitter, ******, bombs away, capitalistic, caffeinated up the ***, cinematic, communistic, Colombian grown, Costa Rican inspired, Cowabunga to the max, crazy assed, devilishly angelic, divine, divinely inspired, dyslexic, epic, extreme vetting, evil eye, expensive, ****** vision inducing, Ethiopian coffee house brewed, euphoric, freaky, freazoid, foxy, Frenched kissed, French brewed, funkified, foxy lady, graphic, GOD in my coffee, with Allah, Ganesh, Jesus, Kali, Buddha, Christians, Durga, Hindus, Mohamed, Jesus and Mo and their friend, the cosmic bar maid, Sai Babai, Shiva, Taoists,

Zoroastrians, drinking my god ****** coffee in Hell;

growling, gnarly, happy, hard as ice, Hawaian blessed, high as a kite, hippie, hip, hipster, hip hoppy, hot as hell yet strangely sweet as heaven, jazzy, jealous, Kerouac approved, kick ***, kick my ******* *** to Tuesday, kick down the doors and take no prisoners, grown in the Vietnam highlands by exVietcong, Guatemalan grown, kiss ***, illegal in every state, imported from all over the ******* world,

insane, lovely, loony, lonely, lonesome, malodorous mean old rotten, *******, nasty, narcotic, never whatever, never meh, never cold, not approved by the CIA, not approved by DHS, not approved for human consumption by the FDA, not your daddy’s sissified corporate cup of coffee, NOT DECAFE coffee, not your Denny’s truck driver weak as brown water cup of fake coffee, not your establishment friendly cup of coffee, Not your FBI coffee, Not FAKE Herbal coffee substitute, but a real cup of coffee, not your farmer brothers dinner crap, not made in America for Americans, not safe for work, not your Starbucks average expensive overpriced ****** corporate chain cup of coffee, Not pretentious, Not White House approved, not State Department safe, nuclear, Not Patriotic, operatic, Peets’s coffee approved,

paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, *******, silly, ****, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of ***, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the ****** revolution,

Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century,

the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that ****** and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11, the cup that JFK drank before he was blown away, the coffee Jerry drinks while driving in cars with random celebrities and political figures, the coffee that Jon Stewart drinks before he goes on an epic take down of some foolish politico, the cup of Arabic coffee that Sadaam drank the day he was executed, the coffee that GW and Cheney drank when they bombed Baghdad, the Indian cup of coffee that Bid Laden drank before 9-11 and just before the seals blew his *** to hell, the cup of coffee that Tiger Woods drank with his mistresses while playing a 3, 000 dollar round of golf at Sandy Lane golf course in Barbados, the last legal drug that does what drugs should do, the cup of coffee that Obama drank when he became President, Vietnamese, Vienna brew, wacky, whimsical,

Whisky Tango Foxtrot, wild, weird, wonderful, WOW, Yabba dabba doo! Yada Yada yada Zappa’s favorite cup of cosmic coffee, and Zorro’s last cup of coffee, Good to the last drop rolled into one simple cup of hot coffee   
As I pound down that first cup of coffee
And fire up my synaptic nerve endings with endless supplies
Of caffeine induced neuron enhancing chemicals

I face the dawning day with trepidation and mind-numbing fear
I turn on the TV and watch the smarmy newscasters in their perfect hair

Lying through their perfect blazing white teeth
about the great success the government is having
Following the great leader's latest pronouncements

I want to scream
and shoot the TV
and run out side

Shouting
Stop the world!
I want to get
off this ******* crazy planet"

The earth does not care a whit
about my attitude problem

It merely shrugs
and moves around the Sun
In its appointed daily run

the universe whispers
in my ear
time to drink more coffee
for an attitude adjustment

And I sit down
The madness dissipating a bit
And enjoy my second cup
Of heaven and hell
In my morning cup of Joe

Coffee Revolutions



coffee cup
Coffee led to the American Revolution<span
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against
the aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock Market
And started the gossip mills running
Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweet brew
sweet allure

All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved
to coffee's magic

I sing my praises
Of the great
glorious coffee lady

Long may she continue
To be my sweet companion

Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart
on fire

Ode to Coffee



Mistress of sacred love
Sacred lady of desire

You start my day
Setting my heart on fire
With your dark delicious brew 

And throughout the day
Whenever the mean old blues come by
You chase them away

With your bittersweet ambrosial brew
Every time I inhale your witch's brew

I am filled with power, light and love
And everything is al right Jack
If only for a few fleeting minutes

I love you oh coffee goddess
In all your magical forms

In the dark coffee of the dawning day
In the sizzling coffee in the mid morning break
In the afternoon siesta break
And in the post dinner desert drink

I love you my coffee mistress
You are my refuge
From this horrid world

And you are my secret lover
Never disappoint me, ever
I've never had a bad cup
Of that I can be sure

Even the dismal coffee
Served at Denny's at 3 am
Is still sweet loving coffee

Even the farmer brother's diner coffee
Excites me and gets me going
Asking for another cup of divine delight

Coffee always is there
It is always on and piping hot
With hidden dark secrets
Swirling in its liquid essence

Coffee is my last vice
My only legal vice left

Coffee does not cheat on me
It is always faithful, always true
It does not turn on its friends

And all it asks in return
Is that you come back
Cup after cup after cup

A good cup of coffee
Is a little bit of heaven
In a cup of dark liquid hell

Coffee is like a drug
But a good drug that does what is should
And never complains

It does not get grouchy
It does not hurt you

It does not make you crazy
But allows the muse to come out
And play with it

Coffee led to the American Revolution
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against the aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock market
And started the gossips mills running

Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweet brew
sweet allure

All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved to coffee's magic

Yeah
I sing my praises
Of the great glorious coffee lady

Long may she continue
To be my sweat companion

Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart on fire

I love thee
Mistress coffee
And sometimes I think
You love me too

No More Coffee Blues








I love coffee
Always have

And coffee has loved me back
But lately I have soured on her
Soured on the whole coffee scene

On the harshness
of the morning brew
And the promises it makes

As I sip of its nectar
Drawn into its lair

Drinking drop by drop
As the caffeine takes over

Rewriting my every nerve
Turning me into a slave
For its perverted pleasure

Yes I love coffee
But I am afraid

Coffee is a harsh mistress
Demanding so much of me

Promising the sun
And delivering the moon

As I drink her swill
Deepening under her influence

I have the coffee blues
Can’t live without her
Can’t live with her

I try
But tea does not cut it
Not really

***** does not do it
At least not in the morning

Yoga is not enough of a buzz
Nor is the runner’s high

And I am afraid deadly afraid of *******
And speed and drugs and energy drinks

And so I remain a slave to coffee
My only legal drug

As I sip another
and fall under
her seductive spread

Once more failing my resolve
To skip coffee for that day
That morning that moment

I shall never be free of her spell
Ever and she knows it
As she beckons me
Every morning with her intoxicating smell

And I come to her
and drink her brew

And become her slave
again and again

Coffee Ya Du





must drink coffee
have every day
the morning dawns
drinking my coffee as I yawn

Morning cup of coffee 



every morning
I drink my coffee
as I contemplate 
the dawning day

watching the news anchors
blather on and on
drinking my coffee
thinking of life

and my coffee
consumes me
overwhelms me
and at time controls me

after all coffee is a drug
and I am her slave
from time to time

Drinking Coffee in the Morning



in the morning
dangerous mood
felling deranged
watching the news

trigger warning
you are ******* dude
end of the world
the end times come

I drink coffee
in the morning



Coffee *** Killed





His wife has banned my use
by my owner
says he makes too much
of a mess when he uses me

it is not his fault
I want to say
but being a coffee ***
can not speak

and so I am abandoned
thrown out into the trash

and feel very sad
for my owner

who was my friend
he liked me

he keep me going
and I did my job

providing him
with fresh coffee

doing my coffee *** duty
and now it is over

Drinking My Coffee


drinking coffee

drinking my coffee
early in the cool morning
thinking life is fine

everything will be okay
after I drink my coffee

morning coffee



morning coffee

dawning sun 











coffee MGur Poem


coffee

I pray to the coffee gods
every cup of coffee
is like a sacrament to me

I pray as I drink my coffee
that it will fill me
with wisdom

and find peace
with my coffee

as I drink
my devotion

Hot coffee


cup of coffee


take coffee with you
Hot hot coffee, makes my day -

Must drink My daily coffee, as the morning dawns - 

With out my morning coffee

in me,  I feel nothing at all -

Electrified Hot Coffee



coffee is the drug of choice
nothing else will do it
as I drink coffee
Electrified
Hot Coffee

Hot Coffee and Cake


coffee
coffee is the drug of choice
electrified circuits
as I drink coffee
coffee and cake



Coffee Patina



coffee
hot coffee
hot Hellish Heaven
Essence of coffee

it didn’t take a lot a look a few words a few more looks bam not that any girl stuck around and so it was on to the next nothing is precious everything is possible forget what you know leave the road behind invent dance new dance cough spit breathe dance verbs multiplying gazillions of verbs stars what is it about art in my mind i hear all these things i was going to express all these itches scratch pick scabs get drunk write poetry dance ******* in your mouth ******* in my mouth salty sea surfing waves Caravaggio Courbet Turner Goya Ad Reinhardt Rothko Rimbaud Johnny Unitas Walter Payton Annie Proulx Patty Berglund Hannah Wilke Kim Gordon dark clouds rainbows meteor showers lantern licorice amethyst bone

in the end it’s you and your maker ashes to ashes dust to dust Mom questions it’s 4:30 PM December in Chicago and pitch black i don’t understand it’s not supposed to be this dark this cold she imagines a past that never existed events never occurred

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

it will be daylight soon and i am unprepared so terribly unfit for a new dawn suddenly realize tomorrow is today

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

when people die in masses is it any less lonely more comforting than when you die individually or is dying solitary for everyone

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

redemption is a powerful force but what if existence actually does not present second chances and we must live with the consequence of our mistakes

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

if there is an afterlife do i have any say in it or are we all merely lost baggage tossed from airport to airport

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

what if travelers at airports were met with welcoming arms shared stories food instead of suspicion body scanners separation boarding seating procedures

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

i built a magnificent sandcastle with wide open rooms interesting views spacious bathrooms huge kitchen secret places winding stairways auspicious towers swinging rope bridges welcoming gates but the tide washed it all away

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

i cry yet know not why am i a ***** i must take the goose by the neck whatever that means

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

speaking personally i’m never interested in the last bite only the first bite the middle tastes rather bland all chewing gulping automatic consumption talking swallowing stifling gases

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

horses mate with donkeys then out comes mules yet mules cannot propagate nature is so strange mysterious what is it about the attraction between donkeys and horses

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

2 gorgeous petite charming sweet young girls are subletting my place in Tucson i imagine ménage à trios or relationship with either one of them then realized how improper my thoughts will i ever learn

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

Reiko likes hanging out naked if the door is locked and they’re in for the evening she strips Reiko is one of those women who look better without clothes the curls under her arms are growing in dark thick her bush is filling out even her **** is hidden by silky brown hairs he cannot stop checking her out she pretends not to be aware as she trims her toenails he leers **** your cooch looks tasty Odys i like that you can speak crude to me he murmurs you really like that she answers yes i really like that he sees himself in her he is deep in sleep wakes by her hand pulling his hand down to her ***** bone he stirs confused in half sleep as she continues tugging his hand Odysseus realizes what Reiko wants it is 3 AM he touches her there warm distended begins to massage wetness gushes moves down bed puts face there she presses pumping grinding whispering repeatedly i want to *** so bad his mouth tongue breath work her hands grip his head push unyielding muscles stiffen arch shudder continues licking until her body lies still crawls up kisses her forehead hair bodies spoon fall to sleep in the morning he comments you were a naughty little girl last night Reiko grins answers i had an orangutan attack he questions an orangutan attack she confesses yeah they both laugh he has never known a woman so fierce urgent to ****** Reiko has a man’s libido she reminds him of himself they mimic each other hearing Reiko speak Odysseus’s own words back at him and visa versa convey how demanding insecure insensitive each can be to other they do not simply speak but mimic each other Reiko ‘s voice drops to low pitch as she grabs his buns kids hey Reiko Lee what do you think about us wiping each other’s butts we could become more intimate with our bodies Odysseus raises his voice sounding feminine replies Schwartzpilgrim you’re gross take a hike it is hilarious yet intuitive therapy that maintains level playing field neither allows other to be too weak or dominant

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

it is Sunday snowing blizzard freezing cold outside Odysseus sits on floor watching Bear’s football game at Reiko’s she sits naked paging through Art Forum magazine across sofa from him he hears her crunching on bag of barbecue potato chips during half time he reaches touches her bush runs fingers through her ***** hairs twirling them in his fingers she spreads her legs wide open he smells her hair breath perspiration ****** *** feet feels both repelled and attracted he is lost in fascination gently tugs on her lips slides finger inside massages probes her opening she directs him to kneel stands above him her arms at waist her pelvic bone in his face she orders **** it **** it good he follows her instruction **** my ***** she commands as she holds his head in hands her long skinny body thrusts hips forward Reiko presses gently pumping then more furious rough into Odysseus’s face ooohhh i’m going to shoot a load baby swallow my *** she shoves ***** bone into his face bangs his nose hard yet he remains ******* her legs thighs stomach muscles tremble oh oooohhhhh ohh Odys did you see that i came just like a guy oh Odys i loved that he wipes mouth laughs

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

a person’s sexuality is always in question how one interprets his or her own ****** persona relative to another person’s personality response ratio how one’s power measures reacts to another’s vulnerabilities strengths Odysseus and Reiko fit well together switching roles in impulsive volley he loves her masculinity the unpredictable equation of their love he teases Reiko Lee i’m so attracted to the tomboy in you i want to **** you off and let you **** me come over here and stick that fat hard **** in my pink little **** hole all the frustration rage pain pent up inside you i want you to harness that hurt and slam it into me and shoot your load all over me **** me good Reiko Lee she looks at him strange says you’re a weird bird Schwartzpilgrim how weird do you think he asks her voice takes on a creepy overruling tone Odys, you want me to fist-******* he snaps shut up Reiko Lee get out of here she runs fingers through hair breathes out through nose taunts Odys let me ******* a ***** and ******* in the *** Odysseus’s voice grows loud Reiko Lee you’re crossing the line just because i mention some crazy thought doesn’t mean i’m actually into such weirdness don’t try to take what i say to some sound conclusion i enjoy experimenting but i’m one hundred percent male i like to test limits because i’m secure in my manhood spicing our *** life with ***** fantasies is one thing but don’t overstep i got the **** and you got the ***** let’s keep it that way don’t mess with me she replies ok ok Odys i didn’t mean to offend you

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

often he personifies the lead and she interprets the willing or amendable he requests many ****** urges she for the most part eagerly fulfills yet knowing his desires run over the top he considerately concedes to her sensibility he asserts rule number 1 Reiko Lee please let me have my way with you ok please try to not refuse me she smiles consents ok Odys and i want the same from you he insists rule number 2 repeat after me i’m addicted to your ***** i’m codependent on your **** she repeats i’m addicted to your ***** Odys i’m codependent on your **** he challenges rule number 3 at least one ******* a day agreed? She answers yes Odys agreed later he thinks about their conversation approaches her Reiko Lee sometimes i need more than one ******* a day maybe one in the morning and one after you get home from work i need your adoring attention down there will you do that for me please she shoots sarcastic look at him what are you a cow that needs milking everyday all right Odys whatever you desire he gratefully acknowledges Reiko Lee you’re so good to me thank you next morning he says Reiko Lee when i think about you the first image that comes to mind is your eyes i love your eyes more than any other part of you she comments oh yeah more than my **** hole? he flinches surprised oh god i can’t believe you said that you are so outrageous Reiko Lee you have got the sexiest **** hole i’ve ever seen i love adore revere your hairy **** hole when are you going to let me get some of that she remarks we’ll see Schwartzpilgrim in due time the following morning he notices bathroom door is wide open peering inside he sees her sitting on toilet she looks up smiling as he nears he questions which are you doing peeing or ******* she answers why do you need to know he requests lift up and let me watch she raises her thighs knees legs curling toes on toilet seat her **** muscles pucker then a brown extent begins appearing from her hole her vaginal lips flare urethra presses as short spurt of ***** accompanies discharge the ***** length drops into bowl followed by smaller piece Odysseus perceives the action produced by her body as intimate natural expression occurring without contrivance manipulation he studies the form as if it were a sculptural object descended into water to bottom of bowl Reiko reaches for roll of toilet tissue he interrupts **** she answers let me wipe myself first it reeks in here you mean watching me taking a **** turns you on you are one sick monkey he says shut up and **** she follows his instruction after several minutes he pulls out of her mouth jerks off while she watches he shoots wildly on her chin neck chest she rubs his ***** on her ******* they both break out in laughter she says come on let’s take a shower together she begins speaking sentence he finishes it she says Odys i’m not comfortable with more than he breaks in one ******* a day i understand Reiko Lee she expresses thank you Odys one is enough agreed he replies ok ok

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

a week passes Saturday evening she comes from work to his place with stressed look on her face she falls back into wall on floor with her legs stretched out she asks got anything to eat he answers a couple of beers in the fridge her brow furrows as she speaks in low tone Odys i’m guessing there’s something seriously wrong with you he questions wrong with me huh what she comments your physique is weird your shoulder blades and rib cage stick out you’ve got a sunken sternum he answers yeah i know it’s not really a problem more like natural peculiarities she says yeah well you’ve got other peculiarities he asks oh yeah like what she remarks i’ve never known or heard of a man who gets hard as often as you it’s deviant you’ve got some kind of disorder you need to go see a doctor he admits i know i got a problem my libido is out of control it’ll calm down it’s been a long time since i felt so hot for someone do you really think it’s serious enough to go see a doctor she answers serious enough to insist you bone me once a day he laughs Reiko Lee you had me going she grins get over here you ***** ******* and **** me good Reiko’s favorite way to ****** is with her legs closed tight she lies beneath while his ******* presses in pumping her thighs buttocks squeeze stomach muscles tense whole body jerks spasms as she reaches ****** Odysseus’s favorite position is with Reiko on top he likes her rhythms and control

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

when Michael Vick was found guilty for dog fighting mauling cruel killing i wanted him dead dead dead but he is a brilliant quarterback and i was wrong who am i to understand another person’s background judge them maybe there is redemption

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

if another war comes it’s China we must fight to hate fear them run hide

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

it’s a long twisted road down a dark cold hole many are too damaged others work toward salvation yet some unscathed by all this filth

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

on the brighter side death gets a bad rap by mortals think positive perhaps death is graduation to whatever at worst death is release from life’s disappointments expectations responsibilities burdens betrayals pain horrors

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

i remember when Dad was dying all these new people who i still remember entered my life for a brief time it seems like the same thing is happening now

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

Mom i’m right here behind you don’t be scared i’m watching out for you

these old bones rattle and shake tremble and quake quiver and ache

She said our *** life was mundane
and had become routine
so we should spice it up a bit
indulge in the obscene
So I figured what the Hell?
Lets give it a go,
it should be fun to mix it up,
rekindle passion's flow.

Monday we tried dressing up,
I donned a Batman suit
and she Catwoman to my Bat,
we'd thought we'd have a hoot.
I leapt from wardrobe to the light
and swung to hear the crack,
the ceiling caved around us both
and I threw out my back.

Tuesday we tried role-play,
I met her in a bar,
the gangster and the ******
we messed round in the car.
A tap upon the window's glass,
a frowning, outraged cop
who booked us for soliciting
because we wouldn't stop.

Wednesday I surprised her
by leaping in the room
naked as my ***** sprang
'She'll like this' I assume
'GERONIMO!!!' I called out loud
and then began to choke,
her mum and gran were sitting there,
her gran then had a stroke.

Thursday we got *****,
I chained her to the bed,
aroused to see her naked form
and naughty words she said.
a banging on the door revealed
her angry, ranting dad
who called to speak of yesterday
but saw her then went mad.

Friday, naked she sat on
my back atop a saddle
she spanked my **** coz in each hand,
she swung a ping-pong paddle
She rode me round til I was sore,
through all the rooms and halls,
til I collapsed when one mis-swing
had caught me in the *****.

Saturday we calmed it down,
massage with scented oils
to help relieve this week of hell
and all it's *** game toils,
til I felt something part my ****,
was not a nice surprise
"Vibrating ***** 5000"
brought tears to my eyes.
I bit down on the pillow hard,
not much that I could say,
I clawed the plaster from the walls,
a bid to get away.

By Sunday, I had had enough,
and told her 'Please, no more...
I miss mundane, I like routine,
just like it was before...
No more costumes, chains or spanks,
or objects in my ****,
no more surprises you have planned,
or schemes you must surpass.'
'Fine' she said 'I'll call my friend
and cancel our three-way'
I looked at her through narrowed eyes,
my jaw dropped in dismay.
'Don't be hasty by my words'
I grinned and calmly tried
'Good, coz Bernard's on his way'
she said and so I cried...

...And cried... And cried...

a fire ignites every time our bodies make contact
there is a passionate glow of real heat

when we're touching each other
with burning desire
the fire burns hotter
than an electrical wire

as the coals are lit
we'll get on down to it

the pyre will kindle
into an eager bonfire
as we're spicing
each others desire

passion
burning
the flames bright red
in the folds
of our scorching
bed

It's not deception,
but it, I cannot believe.
These truths transmitting,
time permitting,
will crush me flat.
I'm not sure what to think,
in the fact's bull-rush.

Screaming out.
Damming it to be,
cardboard scenery.
In sincere
secrecy.

With a dash of nothing,
spicing the world.
Give me a kiss; no,
give me a twirl.
Splicing the word-weary
and thought-Leery.
Such fresh *******.

Screaming out.
Damming it to be,
cardboard scenery.
In sincere
secrecy.

By Nabs

XII. December
    A woman was humming a winter hymn.
She wore a thick Russian cloak, and her fingers were tapping the stained glass. Snowflakes framed her eye lashes. Vicious wind were hitting her old bones, weariness settled deep in her chest.

She had been away far too long.

Looking at a window, she saw her reflection.
Her eyes were sharp cold blue, but it was sunken and there were frozen tear tracks on her cheek.

Her fingers were gnarled, and wrinkles marred her face. Her used to be golden hair, was as white as snow.
She barely remember the days now.

A baby wail could be heard coming from a house, lit with thousand warm candles.

Looking up, she realized that she's a grandmother now.

XI. November
  The man pulled out his cigarettes, his riffle by his side. Sitting in front of his porch, with a glass of scotch, remembering the horrid symphony of gun shots. His shoulder was aching.
He had been a soldier, he had been at war, and now he was in his house.

But he was still lost in the desert.

He gripped his glass tighter as the deaths that he had caused flashes before his eyes.
He felt cold at the knowledge that settled in the pit of his heart.

He was not a war hero, he was a murderer.

The glass shattered.

X. October
  The wind blew her bright hair. It was similar to the color of autumn leaves and burning fire. She was wearing a scarf the color of lion, Lilies crowning her head.

She was holding up a shield.

A feeling of warmth, like one would get after drinking warm chocolate, washed over her. Her bright green eyes was filled with fondness at the sight of her stag cooing over her baby.

Ravens were cawing over her head, an omen.
Her face was grim, she knows they're not going to last any longer.

Death was arriving.

IX. September
    A bright yellow dot could be seen moving in the forest. It was a boy who was wearing a rain coat.

He was running around, playing by him self.
Diving into a pile of leaves, jumping over tangled roots, climbing trees, and picking apples.

He didn't tell his mother where he had gone.

The sound of trickling water lulled the freckled covered boy away. He stood in front of an old abandoned house. The smell of ginger bread was wafting through the air.

He ignored the hanging body on the tree, and put on the fallen hat.

For the first time, he felt he was home.

VIII. August
    He was named after the emperor. The one history called a legend. His parent had hoped that he could escape the chain of slavery that had shackled their family for generations.
He wondered sometimes if he skinned his skin, would he stop being a slave?

After all he would be pink instead of brown.

They branded him like a cattle. Passing him down from one master to another. Calling him pretty for his species. The marks always burns when he felt like his dignity was stomped on as if it didn't matter.

He knows it didn't matter to them.

The day he broke the chain, the grass turned red instead of withering

VII. July & VI. June
    They were born from the same chrysalis. Spun from silk and privilege. Yet one got tossed away and the other were put in a gilded cage.
Separated.

The boy with corn silk hair and gleaming pearly wings was staring out of his room. He was locked with gold in his little cupboard. Only to be let out when they needed to show him off.

He stared down waiting for his shadows.

The girl with iridescent eyes and tattered black wings had lived in the ruins all her life. Her small frame was littered with cuts and the harshness of life.
But she stood strong, her back unbending.

She stared up at her light, and asked for his hand.

Fate decrees that neither could fly, with out the other.

V. May
    The market was bustling with people. A middle aged woman stood in her stall, selling vegetables and fruits. Her nephew was bringing her baskets full of wild berries for jam. He was 6 years old with a gap toothed grin and untamable hair.

His eyes were electric yellow.

The woman stared at the boy sadly. Remembering that day on the moor when wolves slaughtered her sister's family.
She thanked him and ruffled his hair. The boy gave her an abashed smile.
She noticed a man with a nasty smile, shooting her nephew a predatory look. The man approached her stall, asking to buy apples while looking at her nephew ravenously as if he was hungry for him.

She understood what she have to do.

She put on her sweetest charm and gave him an apple for free. The man nodded, appreciating the offer. Said his thanks and went back to the shadows.

The man didn't notice that the apple he had just bitten were kissed by Belladonna.

VI. April
  A mute girl was sitting in the palace garden. She braided flowers into her hair, adding pale green ribbon with a flourish. She wore a white dress with lace on it's border. She looked like a sacrificial lamb.

A knife was lying on the floor, she had just cut her hair short.

As she keep braiding, she dreamt of home.
Of the deep blue water, gentle waves lapping at her body, sea shells that she liked to collect, pearls braided in her hair, about exploring the oceans with her sisters.

She could barely move her legs, now.

She realized, belatedly, that maybe the price was too heavy.

III. March
    The marching band passed the town that day. Trumpet, drums, cymbals, and xylophones were shouting in harmonies. A marvelous fusion of sound, creating joy behind them.

A teenager, with curly hair and sun kissed skin, was staring at them in awe.

A violin was clutched on his hand, the last gift from his father. It was his first time seeing a marching band. He wonders if the delicate moan of his violin would complement them.

He knows that it won't, but it wouldn't stop him from wondering.

He was not his father.

II. February
  A family of three was preparing their dinner in the kitchen. It was the birthday of the son.

The mother was busy preparing the roast, cutting up vegetables and spicing the meat. The father was helping the mother preparing the roast, he was making the mashed potatoes. They were dancing around each other, as they navigate the kitchen.

Their son, who have a cherubic face, watched them with adoration.

One threw an onion at the other, the other caught it. Exchanging tools and spices with an easy glide. Kisses were traded, intricate steps were taken.
They both move with trust on their heel, and souls entwined.

Love was still in the air, even after all the storms.

Their son understood that no one can take the matching arrows embedded at his parents back.

After all, they stabbed it them self.

I. January
    A mother was lying on a hospital bed. Green buds were peeking out from the snow.
She had just given birth. Her breathing was labored as she struggles to breath. A frown appeared on her face when the nurse gave her a bundle to hold.

It was her baby girl.

The baby opened her eyes and let out a gurgling giggle. It was the most beautiful sound the mother had heard.
Big doe eyes, that resembled her mother's, watched as wet tears were falling from her mother's eyes.

The mother clutched her daughter tight against her chest.

Realization struck her like ligtning,
She knows that she couldn't give her baby away.

I used to eat oatmeal.
I heard it was nutritious,
Good for the heart.

It tasted too bland.
I tried spicing it up,
Adding some sugar.

But oatmeal was boring.
I was too conservative,
Stuck in a routine.

I went out for breakfast.
I wanted something new,
To treat myself.

Today I ate cinnamon roll French toast.
It was hot, indulgent, rich,
More like a dessert.

But pastries for breakfast?
I can’t have that every day,
Just in moderation.

Well, why can’t I?
Couldn’t I find something to look forward to every morning?
Couldn’t I actually enjoy eating breakfast?

Is it responsible to indulge?
Is it exciting to be healthy?
Does it have to be one or the other?

I consulted my heart.
I couldn’t hear her advice,
My stomach was grumbling.

May I have a slice, please? Plain would be fine...

a plain slice of happiness

no sir, I don't have Cancer or MS,
I'm not not a paraplegic or quadriplegic,
haven't served my country and lost limbs,

I'm nowhere near as heart sore as so many,
my plain pain is just -
plain but powerful
in a plainly powerful way

is it possible that
when I feel
that life has taken a nose dive
when it crashes,
I'd prefer to sink than swim?

is that ok?

hope so.

drown in molasses of every day,
try that an any age,
struggle with every decision made,
wrestle with forces that come
at you from every side of life...
wry smile, wry groan,
there is no explaining,
when you chose one thing over another
it is one that missed out
that,
of course was...

is my heart shattering,
my tiresome immobility,
lessened because it is
unseen on
the outward unbound,
leeward side?

is plain pain somehow
insufficient, lacking in
character?

the delirious mystery
of my thoughts
doesn't need spicing,
oregano or basil,
sympathy cards,
and tsk tsk cluckings....

but the steady erosion of exhaustion
weakens me in ways
that leaves me
asking, hoping,
for just
a plain slice of happiness

how can that cost so much?

While water boiled in the sauce pan
I viewed through the window panes
At the  rains falling in arrogance
And  the Earth bearing it in silence ...!!

Green trees around enjoyed the shower..
As tiny birds onto nests, themselves retired !!
Taste buds yearned for a hot cup of tea
With spices added in plenty....!!

The noisy furious  wind blew ..
Spicing up the monsoon woes !!

I saved a little bit of Christmas
The best bit
The nice cosy warm bit
I kept it up my sleeve
And caressed it so it stayed
Then I took it home and cooked it
Cooked it in a pie
A really tasty pie
With currants all soaked in romance
Held in a strong hug of gold
And glazed with excitement
Then my pie needed spicing
Just lightly
For Christmas is spice enough
Dusty spiced affection
And a pinch of honesty
Sprinkled on as snow
That's how I made it
My Christmas pie
It just needs some patience
To warm all hot and crispy
​
Then would you like a piece?

Sugar sugar spice
Oh baby
Its my look that drives you crazy
Not my eyes
Open legs, closed mind, tradition follows
Let me pray
Today. Am I forgiven today?
Tomorrow I may sin again
Or maybe i'll just sing
Love, walks alone feeling misunderstood
Obsession, ***, naive
High socks, short skirt, shy smiles
Always a rebel, never held a cause
You keep running
Spicing up your day
Blaming others on your mistakes
Never at ease because
Always looking fot a place to hide
Oh baby
You are not even sweet
You have no spice
Not even darkness in your soul
You are just a ghost of the unknow
Trying to be someone believing it means something
When you only look like a fool
Transforming yourself into a joke

Slow the jewels, you sent spinning,
Glinting, incessant and bright.
Blinding, if not for your
Sympathetic silhouette
Shredding the steam,
Silently static.

When you were so sure, that
We weren't what you wanted,
My nails dug in deeper, and
Brown hair turned red.
Cackle back, if you're with it.

Sometimes sleep steals me,
Still on the sofa.
Surprisingly sedated,
Sustained by the echo of
Your voice, off walls too-familiar.

There's not enough fiction,
Spicing up this
Modern Real. But your
Smile is a story that I'll
Never tire of writing.

Did we get stuck on the
Long count to thirty? Did we
Lose our place, looking in the
Right City, to stay up?
Or did you hear that? I swear,
These dead-end hearts just
Shared a beat.

Listen, the camera couldn't
Get a good picture, but
Tonight the Moon looked
Like a lemon-wedge. And
I'm lying in bed, awake, 
Hoping you saw it.

feeling burdened—it tends to happen
particularly when meddling impressions run rampant
swarm circles in my hefty head, ignore the next exit ramp, and
let devils' advocates covet the cove i donned my dome once upon never

although i know this may be chalked up to intelligence
and subsequent ignorant claims that swear it's heaven sent
i swear it’s not for me. so tell all the hell-bent docents to leave
and let live my cognizance dim—to do what i can’t. to let it be.

it is what it is
and what it is
is it’s
excessive

i don’t need no informants
playing mentee won’t mend me
i’m torn sufficiently
far as i can see, it seems

don’t mentor she who beseeches
by way of screams and screeches
me and my strings are beat
by ****** and needless needles’
stitches and ventures heedless

i’m piecing my torn fabric
it’s grown so thick
it’s a feat, recognition
when simple addition alters
fact into fabrication

like my elation
in inebriation
guards sorrow
from knocking at my door
knocks my guard down
and has me floored

it hits my inhibition too
and i’m home-free
no guilt signaling
and i pull singles
i switch with tickets
i use to ticket my skin

no appointment
nor disappointment
walking in walk-in clinics
and sketchy shops
flickering the light
it sheds on both
my faces. i can face them
only with this double vision

i watch mark
as his sketches mark me
like stretch marks,
remarkably

in hopes of realizing on the double
the vision i envision into reality
he lets me let him put his hands on me
seemingly steadily
and we feel as our arms stretch

he draws me in
fills me ink
and vibrant me pends
his vibrating steel
and sharp pens
as they liven
my limp existence
reincarnating me instantly  

after sweet sleep
i wake bitter for some reason
feel dull but also sharp-ied
peeping the nonsense i let seep steeply
into my skin last night when i was peaking

now i can reminisce
on the pain of squirming
wallow over it instead, and
not the overflown gore of streams

and catastrophic waterfalls
that break through my largest *****'s walls
they leave what makes me, me,
with breakthroughs of which it can only dream

if only i can fall like the tears asleep
that crash and wave and overshadow my role
in turn leaving without desire
to turn over no stone
nor use any for stepping on
like the ones more close to normal
do coax

i do it all wrong
like they did me
i walk on coal
though from here
it appears
as though i'm an anomaly
only my sole seethes

when on the rocks
my walker, he makes me so strong
he lets me drink him from dusk to dawn  
he says he’d **** for me from here on
i love how foreign i am to him like heron

not the bird though it’s true
us three often see hues blue
we soar blue skies when our hearts fume blue
and they feel too sore like brews do
when they're too soft to heal each bruise or
make room for pain to grow and strength to bloom
so i walk on water as walker

kills me
he’s to die for
imploring in notes low
that i not stop, so i hop on
and once it’s well thought over
he can tell
overthinking’s my problem

i stand alone in the corner,
my core knows
all my o’s and woes
can be all gone
once one o centerfolds corner
and in comes the
coroner

who walks and rear-ends me
and e-r lose hope and leave me
when he cores me from his soul
and i let my breath roam

but he sends me
soaring over the moon
soon as he shows how he listens
and soon we both know
blinding luminescence

my eyes when they glisten
make all my mourning go missing
like the overthinking overkill
i hit when morning rays missile

and he curtails them at curtains
blacker than the blacklist
my man drenched
my nemesis in
deep sleep
with the fishes  

eventually, however
again and against my will, i endeavor
on reading the biography i penned
block my own writing
and let writers block lock me in
i get stuck on the same page
thought no force impedes
the power i home in my palms
nor my thumb's ability to thumb
through the page
yet i somehow flip it
and become my own victim

i did it.
it tells the history of tears
now extinct due to me overbearing
leading to drainage that came as
the very last bead beat me
for forbidding fibs
and calling dibs on *******

still, ringing in my ears
leaks empathy
for crocodile tears
trickling
as they salivate
over their next meal,
me

i swallow my tongue
not realizing fully
i’d just had my last meal
because they consumed me
quietly
with quibbles
and plots of consuming me
openly

ignorance is less so whats lacks
and with no inkling of doubt
worse in terms of that
which the mind keeps
then refuses to release
when need be
hence: me

after i head over
obvious traps
i let flash
atop my head

like clouds overcast
i’m convinced i tripped
on my own heels
like thunder that strikes
one man down twice
out of spite

but in spite
of everything, now that i know,
my eyes and i are drained no more
see, we’ve ever since grown more so
and metamorphosed
beyond words morbid

like those i anticipate
my gravestone
will go on
to hold

this is the reality of being kept cold-cut as meat
that heads *******, idiots, dunces, cons, and so on
those who bring forth obstacles that spurt in growth
inch by inch quicker than their thickening skulls

each time
the sage i pick thinks
my life needs spicing up, either
my screams of agony are mistaken
and my inseams nipped at the bud

or my spirits appear uplifted
and mistaken are my sorrow-filled tears
with joy-plagued wails,
each time
deep-seated sage seeds **** my green

lord knows that while i understand—to some degree
the world can’t come close or know what brews
in the disorganized chaos that is me intrinsically
i don’t fib when i allege that my angle isn’t deceit

nor right, necessarily
just dense as these
basins, wrinkles and dents
my tense cortex insists on heaving  

it would be obtuse of me
to anticipate that anybody
would watch my back
if not mine and me

it's all only a tactic
and i may feign obliviousness
to support this spinelessness
and keep it all in tact

insects fester
i feel each tentacle
extend incessantly
like these rants

they all ax my lumbar
no one's barred from my club
lumberjacks and jack’s slumber
i only lust after the latter

and jack's not all bad
he’s why my caps rested
soon as he hands it to me,
expressing the extent to which

i impress him
granted
my hands-off approach
that manages
to get hard jobs done
better than jills before

he’s a mild nuisance
when one of us isn’t speaking
but he promotes my irritability
with his attempts at weaving
our fingers together

it offends me
and all i long for
is knocking him out
like him and my neck's heart

or my kneecaps’ kneepads
the cap that’s my hat
can at last roll fast,
though no one should ask

i can’t say if i’m ok
jack ko’d my voice box
and i feel highjacked
but i insist, they insist
on the charm of the third

one i get him
like the lights, off,
that’s when i go on to hop off
tip toe off his tip top to get off
on the silence my mind writes off

none of it matters to me
mankind ramps up my love for luxury
the ivory warmth Mr. Browns rain
all over my cold windshield
puts me where i love to be

without them,
antidepressants
would depress and hail on
but their chocolate depressants
elevate me and i hail mary
when they hail hope on me
and i'm newly merry

when it’s all over,
i seek refuge and rush down
and on to the one and only John
where rest can be found
he’s bold as kohl and cold
as his marble floors call for

it's he who keeps my thoughts snowed in
and spares my teeth cracks no dentures can fix
suppresses my urge to purge like Snowden honing in
on how not one man cares less for one careless node in
systems nor the cancerous danger of no protests nor dents

it’s tasteless, the rice that is humanity
so i dine solitarily
in solemn grief
seeing the uselessness we
as crumbs and morsels have come to be

individuals in division
invincible in coalescence
bound to form solid solidarity
likely as the moment

satan and saint agree
to raise their satin
black and white flags,
respectively

to enwrap
two into
one
fabric. silky, smooth, seamless
as is the cocoon
          i once was foolish enough to assume
    would secure the very same wholesome skin
                         it would later go on
to help me consume.

cannibalism.

Anxiety..
Sometimes it ***** to be you,
Losing everything you knew,
Earning nothing,
Feeling useless, becomes the daily dose,
Fake life, fake living,
It's all we are left with.
Nothing feels right,
Everyone becomes boring,
You can't do anything right,
Perfection becomes a fantasy, a dream,

Thinking we moving forward,
But in reality taking a step backwards every time,
No one seem to notice your efforts,
Not even a single achievement,
Because we are ****** up,
Living a life that's far from normal.
A loner,
Soon, a goner.

Over thinking turns to anxiety,
Anxiety to stress,
Stress to depression,
Depression to Self-harm,
Suicidal thoughts creeping in.
Life's worth, doesn't make sense anymore,
Nothing is working out,
Just fake smiles and bleeding hearts.

The blade becomes your friend,
Because all you want to feel is pain.
When you look at yourself in the mirror,
You just wanna convince yourself you not pretty enough, you wanna see all the scars,
You wanna look at all your imperfections from a complete, different, cold level,
Just to get those tears,
Getting into a fight with your friends,
Just to convince yourself you are alone.
Looking for trouble everywhere, because you wanna feel the mess,
More reasons to hate life,
To hate you.

Victim of Insomnia,
Late nights, your daily routine,
'Cause you wanna feel the silence,
You wanna get your demons to speak out,
You wanna drown into your ocean of thoughts,
Swimming in the waves of negativity,
Sad songs spicing it up,
Just digging deep and rethinking,
Meditating on whatever you wished would happen to you.
Because all you see is death in every corner,
A car running you over when on the road,
A fire outbreak when sleeping,
All you see in your problems is making use of that blade under your pillow.

It's already 3am,
Your monsters calling out on you again,
Like a bittersweet rhythm,
The voices getting louder,
The bed becoming colder,
Holding on to your pillows for dear life,
Screaming in silence,
Wishing for someone's presence,
Someone who could just understand how you feel,
And not tell you to be okay,
Or do this or that, cause you've heard all that **** before,
Someone to hold you, and not try to make you feel you can do it, because you can't.
You just want support, not assurance, not hope, not encouragement, no nothing.

Anxiety, like a wrecking ball
Crushing down my efforts,
Losing more than am winning.
Low self-esteem knocking,
Failing in every success,
It's too much to bear,
It's okay that you care,
But i can't have it fair.

Tired of hoping and waiting,
Efforts are fading,
Yet the forces am facing,
Are doubtfully strengthening,
My demons awakening,
Can't bear the noise,
Most in a high voice,
Freezing me like ice.

Tryna be alone,
Only to be lonely,
Tried congregations,
Only found them boring,
In love with constellations,
Counting a million stars,
Just for the night to pass,
Castles in my mind,
With angels singing hymns
Finally peace in the cold nights.
Anxiety at its Peak.

©tiana💞  ©Nml💎

When you look to the pretty lights in the sky
You'll see all the reds, oranges, yellows, and blues
Galaxies spread out, floating
A spinning waltz, coordinated, gravitational
Nonlinear on strings, time infinite

Wish upon all those stars
Colors I can't even see
Let them have their partners
Relationships into themselves
Numbers stretch patterned lines

See much further than the naked eye
Colors don't matter, neither their cries
Epic majestic, eternal blending
Shifting skies, beaches, oceans
On alien planets, in our skies
Count the stars and their parts
Every particle, piece, elemental tie

Look much further, with your ears
A musical hum, RF bending tie
Circling waves, scattering dashes
Invisible stories, forever
Building rhythm, spicing the waltz

Taste true love, sweetest
Thirst, hunger, and peace
Encompass emotion
Eclipsed release
Hold back the awe
Utilitarian focus, belief
See time complete

This is
I love you,
three worlds
Incompletely
But neat

I passed by a lea while
walking in the prairie
grassy meadows sprinted
towards green horizons

bumpy hills
and rocky crags
clothed the verdant meadow
willows and gum trees
shaded the countryside

She was like an oasis
I fell in love with the lea
with her alluring grassy hair
and fertile aura

I sat down in her *****
and curled up in her supple
valley

Smooth sunlight trickled down
on us
watering the lea in a dandelion glow

The scent of apple cinnamon
and radiata pine wafted towards
me spicing the air with the lightness
and beauty of a butterly’s wing-beat

an ineffable sigh
escaped from secret chambers
of my heart
and leaped into the romantic air as
I wedded this lea
under the turquoise sky
with the sunlit trees
as witness

One cheery Mockingbird spicing the May night doldrums , Two tree frogs chime in on cue with three Whippoorwills rounding out the chorus
Four Cicadas , Five Field Crickets , Six Barn Owls and Seven singing Katydids
Eight Killdeer in harmony with Nine Coyotes
Ten Bullfrogs rocking the pond as Mockingbird number
two comes calling

It takes considerable research to pick an ideal vacation spot,
The end result can be pleasantly surprising, more often than not,
Spain offers a multitude of choices that can be very exciting,
It is those small tucked-away towns that are the most enticing

Cadaques is a pretty Mediterranean location in Catalonia's Costa Brava,
It is a hippy seaside town akin to a hidden cove, that is no mere trivia,
Located on a small peninsula on the eastern side of sunny Spain,
It has all the trappings of an ideal getaway resort, with much to gain

It is the most inaccessible town north of Barcelona, though seductively beautiful,
The road winds through mountains replete with hairpin turns that are an eyeful,
Passing through cliffs one after the other, a rocky coastline is the final descent,
Entering the Spanish village with a breathtaking landscape, makes for rich accent

The idyllic setting, with unbeatable tourist infrastructure, is a veritable holiday haven,
For anyone looking to enjoy sun and sea, the attraction is like a piece of heaven,
The beach town gleaming above the cobalt-blue waters is a joyful sight to behold,
The allure of the windswept pebble beaches is so mesmerizing, if truth be told

The village is always teeming with tourists lazily walking the cobblestone streets,
The animated incessant Spanish chatter with exciting overtones is such an audible treat,
The blazing sun beating down all day from a spotlessly blue sky is never a deterrent,
To people of all ages sauntering the streets, joy writ on their faces, that is so apparent

Colorful sun umbrellas can be seen planted all along the beach, spicing up the milieu,
While the adventurous brave it out to get their suntan, unmindful of little else in view,
A dip in the clear blue water provides an exhilarating experience thro' the day,
The feeling is of total relaxation charting new frontiers, in a wholly different way

It goes without saying that Cadaques is a delightful town for the epicurious,
Restaurants abound in plenty, as they wow to whet the appetite of the curious,
Visitors flocking in droves at all times of the day, is such a common sight,
The menu dished out is of an irresistible variety - naturally, a gourmet's delight

Dozens of gelato shops can be seen virtually in every street,
The vast variety of flavors is mind boggling and an inviting treat,
Serpentine lines at each shop reflect the popularity of this delicacy,
Experimenting with combos is perhaps a fitting culminating fantasy

For strollers, the meandering lanes of Cadaques are an absolute delight,
The sloping by-lanes lined with shops on either side, are an interesting sight,
Skilled artisans flaunt their wares, with determined attempts to persist,
At the end of it all, the inclination to splurge, is undoubtedly difficult to resist

Spanish painter Salvadore Dali's house in Cadaques definitely merits an outing,
A walk around the house depicts his life in the village through his painting(s),
The scenic walk around the well-preserved grounds holds a lot of history,
That he was a tremendous inspiration to the locals, is of little mystery

Groups of people can always be seen walking from one end of the town to the other,
Animatedly chatting mundane and specifics that is delightfully difficult to decipher,
While the preponderance of Spanish locals is perceptible, global participation is nothing less,
It is this cosmopolitan aura that lends color to the charming town, stopping short of iconic-ness

The sound of lapping waves still rings in your ears long after you leave this quaint beach town,
You wish you could turn the clock back and dash back yet again as if making a U-turn,
It is this very quintessential charm that lures visitors to the hidden town with quiet coves,
Spread the message through word of mouth, that visiting such places merit many encores

The world is a big, grey soup and I was the soggy ******* half-submerged
My path was broken up like a puzzle and my feet trudged along a "destiny" often diverged

I visited the cinema of tattered memories
Silently watched the hasty retreats of ex-lovers on repeat

That is, until I met you
The sole ingredient spicing up my depression stew

You're a raven haired darling uplifted by breeze
The hiccup in my mopey hippocampus, a psychedelic sneeze

You said you're drowning-****** in by the ocean's whims
Well then honey, I'll help you to shore, teach you how to swim

Together, we'll dredge up the anchor of doubt
Shower each other with kisses like a pair of sculpted water spouts
Continue the raging storm over all dry patches left in life's drought

I'm done with trotting down a path quite wayward
Humming tunes of happiness that life never heard

I'm sick of haters with their pathetic aesthetics
Leave that mess behind and call it frenzied, frenetic

You're a firebird raining down ****** on my frozen heart
The Phoenix lifting this guy's affection levels off the charts

Let's hold hands down the yellow brick road and leap into the future's maw
You can be the Dorothy to my lovestruck Wizard of Awe

I'll slay the dragon and build a castle so we're able to share smiles as we should
Life life so fully that, if separate, we never could

I want to gently drag down your pants and plant snowflake kisses on the scars
Pull you out of the woods and proclaim "Darling, I adore you from the Moon to the stars!"

I passed by a lea while
walking in the prairie
grassy meadows sprinted
towards green horizons

bumpy hills
and rocky crags
clothed the verdant meadow
willows and gum trees
shaded the countryside

She was like an oasis
I fell in love with the lea
with her alluring grassy hair
and fertile aura

I sat down in her *****
and curled up in her supple
valley

Smooth sunlight trickled down
on us
watering the lea in a dandelion glow

The scent of apple cinnamon
and radiata pine wafted towards
me spicing the air with the lightness
and beauty of a butterly’s wingbeat

an ineffable sigh
escaped from secret chambers
of my heart
and leaped into the romantic air as
I wedded this lea
under the turquoise sky
with the sunlit trees
as witness

In A Cloud Of God

I meditate
In a cloud of God,
The phrase enticing,
Spicing up my inner vision,
Paradis-ing selfsame vision
Into supervision.
This decision to be deep in thought
That isn’t thought exactly
But a tactful way to find the mind
Without a wandering in imagery,
Colloquially speaking,
And between you, me, i.e. we, us
Who chance to meet on this  
Our [quasi] paper
Is escape of noblest kind,
Leading blindly on pure trust
To someplace nice – yes, nicest!

In A Cloud Of God 11.13.2017
God Book II; The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin

let's take a second to listen
written alphabetically
with a brand-new addition
spliffing delivering
heat, cat on a hot tin roof
sizzling, Messi, dribbling
spit ill sickening
guest visiting,
lend me your ear, listening
shimmering as he shines bright
twinkling, divide, partitioning
locked up, imprisoning
doodle, scribbling
SA drill
spicing  with flavor
seasoning, using my head
thinking of reasons
to justify reasoning
for dazzling,
as we settle in

round 2 smurfed but
not blue, more a colored
hue, repping cape town
awe bru, wake up
disabling snooze
jesters you fools
visionary when I see
first from the back
they all lose
not a masquerade it's all true
deadline my times due
ask mew 2, pokemon
index, it's perplex
get ash too, over
a cuckoos nest birds flew
seeking asylum hes crazy
still frosty so cool
yu gi it's time to
dddd duel


this the part where spazz out
remove doubt, running circles
on tracks, roundabout,
roundhouse kick to chin and mouth
no handout, grind out
red hot
circular rounded
noise drowned out, not shouting for clout
cant recognize skill,
take this pill, it will break
the spell my tracks stackable
not saying this sarcastical
sarcastically or sarcastic
not applicable, resolve soluble
doubt dissolve i'm liquid cyanide
every track i ****, surgeons
precision with a scalpel
so skilful, I sculpture
syllables in rhyme schemes
unseen to the naked ear
class dismissed school bell

so tell all its not all folks
not ****** toons no jokes
not ****** tunes, with lazy tones
I have lampoons, that ******
death squad platoon
you'll be history lying in ruins
surfing these dunes no fear
seeing things as the series turns
with unclear reasons I'm nuclear

Even the most beautiful morning
Cannot compare to your personality so alluring
Happy I am when you grace us with your presence
Bored I am without you spicing up the class' lessons.

You are our precious, beautiful star
Shining as bright even from afar
Your bubbly personality and outgoing nature
That attracts many, I am sure.

Don't you ever doubt yourself, dear
For you are filled with potentials as clear
As the night sky filled with stars,
And someday you will have your own Mars.

Believe in yourself because we believe in you,
Accomplish your dreams but please remember us too.
We hope you'll never forget that you are always loved by us
And that we will miss you, our soon-to-be celebrity with eyes like stardust.

.                                     the story of two shirts...

or how manufacturing jobs
were exported outside
the confines of their country
of origin -
i.e. designed in California,
but made in Thailand -

            i actually remember walking
into a clothes store -
looking less at the brand,
Levis, Lee, Wrangler,
               Gap...
                      and more on the label,
where: was this stitched?
    
since then came the problem...
oh ****... we're actually making
really good quality products,
a pair of jeans, or a shirt,
is of such high quality -
   that it could last you 10+ years
and not have the colours fade!
- and the stitching would
still be intact!
   - ****! the industrialists
thought -
    we'll be producing a surplus!
we can't allow production
     reach a surplus end game!
- we have to export the labour,
to countries, where, EVERYTHING
is cheaper, and therefore
of lower quality...
   so we can ensure people continue
buying, given that our products
have a shorted lifespan...

now the comparison...
what's the difference between
a Gap shirt, made in Sri Lanka...
and a Fat Face shirt made in China?
first: they're about ten years apart...
second:
   if could could feel the two shirts
that i own...
100% Cotton in China?
    is not exactly 100% Cotton...
when you own a shirt that
was manufactured in Sri Lanka,
where the label also read 100% Cotton...

there is no such thing as "100% Cotton"
worth of a shirt coming out of China,
but there was... a 100% concept
coming out of Sri Lanka,
      roughly 10+ years ago...
i might believe 100% Silk, but even then...
i'd bank on the Chinese "spicing"
         things up with polystyrene...

i still believe socialism is the only
economic model for war torn countries,
momentary, of course,
   not actually perpetuated -
     rather instigated for a short
period of time, before capitalism takes
over...
   but then... capitalism has its own
problem...
      the surplus economy...
           which had to be countered
with the export labour...
the high quality products in
the 1990s, esp. the clothing sector
reach such a surplus
  (because of the high quality products),
that the labour had to be exported
to manufacture cheaper,
          and less quality goods...

which begs to wonder...
   who ****** the Sri Lanka(ns) in the ***
taking their manufacturing jobs?
the Chinese?
               i get it, socialism is a terrible
idea... but for post-war Poland,
there was no Marshall Plan that
western europe enjoyed...
even shveeden:
   but schveeden remained neutral,
being ******'s mythology plaything...
as i talk with my grandfather -
   yes, nearing the end, **** was bad,
inflation, nothing in the shops
apart from soap and white vinegar,
long queues to get a meager slice
of meat, foot-stamps,
   hyper-inflation...
    people making their own alcohol
in their communal basement cubicles...
but in the immediate aftermath
of an end of a war...
    what else is there, beside a cash injection
of a foreign power
    coming in exploiting the already
down and trodden...
    socialism has a working environment...
and a one-generation lifespan -
which... what... like 20 or so years
when people start to have children?

but capitalism and its surplus economics,
reverting back into manufacturing
nostalgia, antique products from
20+ years ago...
                          capitalism never seems
to shake of the surplus conundrum...
    as if national debt was even related
to this conundrum...
                  
never mind... the Sri Lanka clothing production
still retained some of the western manufacturing
standards...
    it still feel like 100% Cotton to the touch...
but the Chinese clothing production?
            it reads: 100% Cotton...
                           but? it's not really.

Growing
Roots
Are​
Spicing
Spring up to be green
Thank God for this

two items of interest, that make sense
in an english society these days,
susanna hoff... mm, mm...
             a gal that makes
jerking off a tedium...
                                     what?!
- ****, said it out-loud,
romancing an italian got me
everty, single time,
just the sort of thing that
aged, nearing retirement polish
galls get up to,
spicing up their retirement age.
the exfoliation of the 80s hairstyles
makes a lot of sense with
a niqab thrill for a fake *****....
      she can call it modesty -
i just call it faking latex lucy
with her celluloid -
  pucker that one, *****?
                       yoju know what,
i actually hate living around
these nincompoopss....
                     politics actually made
sense in the victorian era,
not the second Elizabethan era,
ma'am...
          sorry, you cultivated
a generation of window-lickers....
         you'd sooner get more of
these, things,
   if you chopped their limbs off...
they're not even equipped
at flapping,
     imitating wings...
                       let's call it a blockbuster
evening's end by suckling on
the suggestion,
when idi amin cut off
the limbs of his cheating bride
              kay amin -
and, miracle! behold!
             he reattached her feet
to the place where her hands ought to be,
and also reattached her hands
where her feet out to be!
     that, i thought, was a spectacular
caterpillar...
      many memories of fluttering
butterflies came from that image,
   let me assure you!
            duck fat written all over it!
mm... yum!
                 sorry...
i always get the impression that
the english have to write sarcasm to
invite parody.
hmm... maybe it's just me...
perhaps i'm a soloist in guising
the current affairs.
maybe not being black enough
will wake the Zulu in me
to match up to, tailor and suit up
adorning the english youth and
thinking nothing of:
               those limbs aren't 'elping,
are they, if we're really
serious about growing these
gluttonous barons of bloat and carnal
flesh, with an inner narrative
that resides in a scrap-heap dubbed:
Newton... what's the point
of a wasted pint's worth of time?

From the Genius Loci, Vernarth fell for an apocryphal anticipated death; there were rumors of the Seventh Heaven of having found him extinct in some ruins where they were excavating for the expression of the locus of the Megaron, in the space of the holistic visualization field, to relocate the Áullos Kósmos IV, as an interaction of the Invisible Eclectic Portal, doing it for the patron of the parallel world, and of his apocryphal death. The naturalness of his parallel residence led him through this canon and sketch, clearly with an archetypal character of symbols that meant more than his own image, with parapsychology and Genius psychics who considered a being of high dignity deified with the Gidon or Gideon; as a catastrophic exterminator of his being in both dimensions that separated him from a predicted death, which he had already experienced at the site of Arbela.

Vernarth, after finding the ruins that had succumbed to his own Genius Loci, unleashed his religious soul for souls in the atonement that sheltered the construction plunged into ruin under the Megaron, conforming worlds of sensibilities with risky existentialisms in the glossary of two-dimensional man, which is transfigured into being of the Eclectic Portal and the Genius Loci, seconded by the pyramidal conifers that alluded to the Romanesque bilocated appearance of terminologies after the sacred war of Amphibians. Making of this nature the two-dimensionality of Vernarth, a naturae that embraced him in the Greek landscape, spicing up all the topographic characteristics, towards a territory that surrounded him with a God who threw him into the hierophany of the being that self-erected him as his own host, so that it is definitely related to its natural environment, this being the Goddess and numen of the same in her temple as a sacred declaration, in a room that was always next to the sanctuary immersed in her templar necropolis list. Thus he refounds and strengthens his ties with Saint John the Apostle, who from the genesis of his encounter with him spoke of the portal that would lead him to the limit of the sacred, but contiguous to the profane of Temenos, for the dimensionality of worldly proselytism that will help him with the surrounding voices when called! seconded by Wonthelimar de Chauvet and Kaitelka, when he gets tired of this voluminous Áullos Kósmos, and parade with the Souls of Trouvere, Helleniká, Armas Christi and Messolonghi, together with the Ghosts of Shiraz passing through the propyla of the Megaron, making him pass the triple porticoes with their bilocated parapsychological lives, and by the global cendal of the In Antis, with two columns in the first portico where the vigil of their Sibyls and Eurydice will reside, pointing out the treasure of herbs and magic mushrooms that they keep in the Stoa that walled Borker and Leiak with their Xifos crusades. The frontispiece flew with the Gerakis from the peribolus that lay afflicted by the amber and violet essences of the rites in transit, making polyverbality in the protocols that led to the transcendentality of his apocryphal death. Vernarth lived the apocryphal death of him intensely mounted on his Alikantus steed, and without a semi-tight mount, to point out the essences of his acropolis that conditioned him to the temenos, more than a profane skinned to a sacred rite of passage in the Genius Loci.

This will not stop
till we block cops
who get bought off
by the corporate crooks
who cook their books
spicing them up with
human suffering
and the law system
that keeps buffering
cruel politicians,
preventing the poor
from rising
while the filthy rich
gets more by demoralizing
and demonizing
the poverty stricken
along with all those
who are different.

So, wicked men keep working
wedge issues into
every TV appearance
to give the appearance
of righteousness
while stifling
true social movements
that try to move men
towards the world were
we can all strive for betterment,

but for now, we barely even get
cheap out of court settlements.

i tell you is it worth to buy a book of
£50 and i tell you
about the weight of horses
and of teeth

is it not refreshing to read a book
by an Arab
and escape thus
outside the first contact of the Quran

like saying:
Christian find the apocryphal
library a devil a humanist

what happens in the Church of Los Vegas
San Vegas stays in San Vegas
and Vigro
how you mingle pagan attributes
to your life with wearing the clothes
of christian blood
but why i ask
can i not venture to these texts outside
of church and discuss them
with you
all that brings forth conversation
about god but not these strict
conversions and anti-conversions
and no more swaying no more wind
nor rain nor this happiness when
the birds sing...

from Jahiz the Abbasids -
of the ****** Fa'iq
such a different story line and history
to have arrived at the same place
with the taborns
the taborns... what are taborns?
camel slither on the desert sands
when walking in line
with the history the great serpent of time
and man
the time-man concept within the space-time
stresses of authentic atheistic
reality
some people purport to keed (P) rigid
for us little religious types
like under constant scrutiny
for not paying prayer unto deity...

in my youth the story of the *** form Nazareth
and through Islam's prism
at least some reality outside of the church
the Stellar Couchsurfer arrived in the capital
of the ancient world Jerusalem
with a newly sprung Empire of the Romans
and later Byzantines like
this was a Greek revival in the stage
of the ancient peoples

                                 Couch-surfer majestic
came to Jerusalem from Nazareth (the Arab capital
of Israel)
               Tel Aviv being the Jewish capital
of Israel -
                    as of yet there is no clear partition
of Jerusalem not as clearly
as the division of Berlin -

                            a fate of a people in a place
a fate of a people in a time
how different the too that now what can
be the Vatican of modernity
and only the rising sand vacuum...

some distant away end of the spectrum of
experience:
outside the bedroom and multitude
of throng -

Throng - this is the name of our Planet -
it is no longer Earth
but Throng Pirazyjvi

                               well... if i've started to read
books with names
like real people in fiction
by time disparity
for example:

                      abu al-qasim ja'far ibn muhammad
ibn hamdan al-mawsili

13th worrier cut off point for
the prince of Baghdad:

Abu... IBN...            abu yb'n

at least for my own sanity how long has it been
since i was last involved in literature
and now this break-up is going to cost me
much more than just
a heartache - this will spiral into a controlled
vizier -
            a dervish love for spinning gravity
instead of gravity of the fallen...
the gravity of the fallen angels implies a fall
a gravity by vector -

if iblis will not bow to man
then iblis will be falling in a one dimensional
space of the point A to point B
while man will revel in gravity with the earth
and thereby spinning on
point A
                  thus:                          Å
                                                   ° °

this letter:                                    Å
                                                   ° °

the king's letter: all unto Allah - or how to simpler
say: utter backwards the name
Yahoo - or Yahweh -
                    vocal because apparently "we" do not
know how to utter the word:
yet so apparently:
i remember in my lament
on Brick Lane
falling down and crying
allah allah like a child of why do i have
to see these two rivers from the coals of my eyes
blackened by past and future riddles...

what revelation comes from a wholesome diet
of books to find oneself preoccupied
with a child who didn't see the forest
for the books
or the books for the toothpicks or otherwise
sand as glass because
surely i can at least "inte-

          ʾAlf Laylah wa-Laylah -
or rather my alternative script...
Dune by Frank Herbert +
             the Quran +
       the Meadows of Gold by
    al-Masudi +
Rumi + Omar Khayyam

because i did spend a good portion of my
life shielding myself using
Knausgaard's Mein Kampf
and it was a dark period of my life
that culminated in a division of labour
3 volumes through when the original
buyer made his last impression on
a grandson
by 4th volume grandfather was dead
then uncle moved back
successful uncle
in his father's eyes
thus for 2 years not even cleaning his dead
father's room
it only took me to come and clean the stink
out stink of dementia
and this is from a love a hidden place
that cannot be on the same pages
as that of the fate of slave lovers
because there were slave lovers
and how slavery looked back in Arab times
and how slavery looked back in Roman times
and we can see a massive distinction
and oh jeez perhaps the Arabs were the best
slave masters
    and that's why they openly practiced it up to
well let's suppose 1978
for some reason that number sticks...
and perhaps that's why there's this argument
that the only reason why the English
abolished slavery is because they were
the worst slave masters the world has ever seen!
maybe there's an argument there
perhaps slavery per se is
misunderstood just like the word
apocryphal is misunderstood among christians
in terms of what writings can be turned
into money slot machines of sophistry
and the mega church and what ought
to be spoken in private:
but still that third man in the picture
like the diamond face of muhammad
at least if illiterate then had some knowledge
of other forms of communication
like algebra and Pythagoras and ******
expressions
but regardless this Christian focus on the face
and what mellow eyes

imagining myself sitting in a cafe in Amsterdam
going about my day micro-dosing
the shy effects of marijuana
because Amsterdam is a liberal city
and some people are sensible not operating
heavy machinery or driving buses
on a ******
but at least this scribbler is an envious scumb
comb
    working the security industry for the kicks
of: when will the time come
when i'll get to punch and shove and push
and manage crowds like a butch?

yeah yeah: i was going to add: like a butch lesbian?
point of concern:
the book was advertised as a FIRST EDITION
the Arab in me is thinking:
for the knowledge within this book
there are still about 30 unread message from
Edie after i mentioned what
if Reyla comes and stays with me for the summer?
i think that's how i ended last night
but if this book is sold as a first edition
how much of a first edition is it, actually?

flick to the first LEFT page
first published in 1989 by
Kegan Paul International

this edition first published in 2010 by
Routledge

first issued in paperback in 2015...
hmm...
The Night Gate (as film) sort of appeal to writing
per se...
is there an ISBN tracker?
                                         is there an app or something
on the internet... maybe chatGPT can help
if the internet spews out *******...

AI is the new internet
that's if you knew how to use an internet...
privately
i don't mean the public use of the internet
for commerce
this is not a critique of the internet
for all the infrastructure convenience
like speed dating off the island of Kauai
otherwise it would take a Capt Cook
to sail sail away
and bring back a fruit for Gaugin to get
a ******* and for Dr Jeckyll and Hyde
to find graves there
and rest and smile with diamonds instead
of teeth...

9781138980617

   let's find you: in my Little Aushwitz
where things are numbered, cataloged:
well can't exactly say the Germans
understood the concept of slavery...

      could have won the war with all that forced
labor... Schindler understood this
but where's an economic genius when
you have all that Bavarian drunk singing
then sober acting like there is no
alternative to alcohol so up with you
to the Luftwaffe and on Pervitin with you!
transliterated as: perverted vitamin.

ISBN-13: 9781138980617
ISBN-10: 1138980617
Author: Masudi
Edition: 1
Binding: Paperback
Publisher: Routledge
Published: 2015-11-26

well then... maybe i should be mad enough
to send this copy back
and instead get the hardback edition
for £200?
                
but wait, there's a sticker over the ISBN...
LPN WE 21884 8812

never mind: when Abbas became Caliph...
a century gone to kings
and no such benevolent slave owners
that might be sung their fairness as
if a litter of little Solomons running about
from dune to dune to a salt rich sea
where nothing lives
this desert in a desert this puddle of salt
in Israel this desert in a desert
a reminder that the desert is not the harshest
place on the planet but
that the Dead Sea is...

                        al-Baḥr al-Mayyit
Yām HamMāvet                                     some little
citation here and there...

the reign of Mutawakkil...
some humbling rule not to mention the only
notable on our side of history
is matched by only Richard the half viking
half saxon in the domain of body
and mind as Saladin - the Syrian -
Assyrian -
                              makes ***** of 'ryans?
some land of Ur and Yr to ask for the annals
of more sense?
how about i embark on writing this mid-afternoon
preparing dinner
and thinking to myself:
just your normal afternoon in Amsterdam...
just your normal afternoon in Amsterdam
because i do actually get my **** delivered
to me when i go out and buy my groceries
and that's like the anti-thesis of delivaroo
and all the kamikaze electric bicycle riders
form Bangladesh
jeez i mean this is modern England
and it's not like the industrial revolution
promised anything beyond its expiry date of the late
20th century...
given where soft energy goes with hard intellect
to suspending human life above nature
that even the admired Arabs of Frank Herbert's time
can no longer be admired...

but there is an alternative history
of Corbeas the patriarch of the Paulicians
a talk of the ****** Yazman in procession
surrounded by his man
like he was the virile **** twice removed
from the testicles because
i imagine being an ****** gives you
double the virility
i might imagine wrong
but when as men we get told so many things
wrong like how menopause is somehow
bad for women when you
can finally have uninhibited ***
and no ****** instead a ****-ring
and i imagine this time of the Arab expansion
like some injection of faith and hope
for Old Iraq or Babylon
or what the world used to look like
on the current scale of Empires still afloat
like this world will never rid itself of Empires
this world will never be a place
for small people
or villages or islands
there will always be grand ideas and empires
and they will rise and fall
and even the murmur of a beginning will
bellow for ages unbecoming aging
and succumbing to the folly of mortal stuff...

yes: i can concur: this book is worth £50
and i am not mad enough to buy
the hardcover copy
because as much as i'm a bibliophile
i'm not a collector -
because i need working books
and working books are paperback
books and i know the fate of hardbacks
they stand the test of time: provided they are:
NOT OPENED...
not necessarily unread:
a collector would buy two copies...
one for the moths and time
and the other for his work ethic being tested:
when, yes, a large proportion of the public
was illiterate
a literate man could call writing work...
but i hardly think that possible these days
given what squalor of intellect this medium
has been exposed
at least there is some hope in a portion
of society being used to code anti-mantras...

otherwise none of these snippet artefacts
from so long ago:
continually weaving a historically-journalistic
endeavor...
nuggets like the Spaniards
like them in tapas
because such is the frivolity of eating
that you never want anything particular
but food and conversation
and fascinating how the culture of food is
very important and how to best describe
the culture of food these days
this culinary cult and some personalities
like excelling in farming
but somehow diminished learning
when it comes to cooking
like this Slavic aversion to spice
and the people's i will not name
aversion to the use of salt...

        is that an apostrophe typo?
should that be peoples'?
       i wonder i don't wonder
but when it comes to being culturally influenced
it's not like i heard about al-Masudi
from a Muslim:
how could i have if they take their public
intellects to be donning Niqabs like
women?

   not if i heard of the author sooner would i be a
Lawrence of Arabia Sinbad wannabe...
like some thrill off the page
to venture with humanitarian aid to Gaza
and get blown up
like some ******* adventure that would
be i already have an adventure piece
with a girlfriend over 20h away on the dotted
line where day begins and day ends
just shy of Francis and the Canine Islands
no the Desert Islands no
those Miraculous Taiwanese and their Polynesia
Trip because that's some history
there like no feet just four hands people
oar no oar just paddle with hand
or perhaps there's no myth of earth there:

but salt shrinking then expanding
into a sustainable / visible gas
the clouds are the only visible gas known
to without being the gas with fire
so i mean the salt gas:
sodium chloride as gas...
and not gas...

sodium in chlorine gas is a dim sunlight
hazy morning reach into my flask
this is like a new beginning
couple this trip:
just not willing to finish vol 6 of Mein Kampf
some other books in between
fascination with Olson Maximus long gone
now
then couple movie Dune with girlfriend Dune 2.0
then the book itself Dune 3.0
and then refresh to what blah blah
ordeal holy: bible or quran does it really
matter i mean the lived experience
of Islam is a bit like forgetting
but the lived experience of Christianity
is a bit more sinister in that it's remembering...

Islam is a religion of forgetting
while Christianity and Judaism
is a religion of remembering

i find solace in this...
         a great parody of paradise not being
attained by graft or vain-hope
         in simply born to be simply
    relieved from the stomach of celestial
and cerebral ordeals
of minds and stars
of milky ways and intellect's weaving
a narrative: slave owner of ego
or the master destroyer of egoism
in this void blanket of automated hands
filling the void behind two organs
nose apart
this mind and eye duality
that exists when there is no voice of "thinker"
in the ether of whatever substance allows
this clinging of voice outside the mouth
in the chamber of the hard hit head of bellows
at a later date...

swarming of words in empty interludes
some would be sung some would
be defaced and abandoned
like miniatures
of mentions
words like details biological emerge
and violate a presence
to then abandon a people they themselves
abandoned in the dealt exercise of chance
by then chance and determination
complimented regardless of
religious affiliations and desires...
this sickness of people telling other people
that they are right
like there was ever a clear distinction
between right and wrong
ever since it was made unfeasible
to then say that how original in sin we might
be if the sin be nothing more than
a judgement of confusion -
         how perhaps it was not in the god's
mind to think a man be born
into confusion or perhaps there was no confusion
while god painted the naked blessed
duo all enraptured and silky smooth
not confused to be anywhere not
some Eden on the periphery of life in
the squint of the Eskimo like:
suspicious even i do that
my fish bowl eyes are not so much darting
but when drawn by hand
are not fish bowl eyes the aesthetic standard of
Manga - but no argument from cartoons
no real remedy against Disney indoctrination
to safeguard against an evil frown
and the third eye blind as the evil eye...

like one eye and one ear unto the brain
which gives me two tongues
and that's more than can be said:
when Islam becomes a religion of two tongues...
this is a prophecy:

WHEN ISLAM BECOMES A RELIGION
OF TWO TONGUES...

just saying: don't know what that means,
i'm just saying what i haven't been told:
when islam becomes a religion of two tongues...
given christianity and their
many tongues not-o.k.
sorry not o.k.
               this religion ***** *** ***** ***
so many tongues and English is crass
and no i don't like christianity in English
just like no i treat this tongue as my Lingua Franca
εμπόριο γλώσσα και ιδέες...

            from the same book:
alchemical text:
the spontaneous synthesis of nesquehonite
from natural talc reaction with CO2 and ammonia
was attempted with an aim to control
the crystal growth by Ding et al.

or as mentioned ascribed to Byzantine
alchemists -
take talc and ammonia and what is found on the roads,
all in due measure, making no mistake;
then if you love your Lord,
you will be master of creation...

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such modern referencing like trigger-happy
to just copy paste copy paste
like this is never going to any holy place
like there are plenty of those holy supplies
now sober now drunk
about to fold on a backlog of 30 messages

of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
these adherents to geometry
and sophistry as if brighter and loftier
than the songs of birds...
of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
adhesive invisibility of strings
head-strung strong virtual puppet a bleeding
wound like an oyster on the body
when dipped into the sea...

well less the chess anecdotes but at least
one anecdote playing backgammon with a woman
this
could belong somewhere in these pages
an anecdote of playing backgammon
with a woman
not just playing backgammon
but playing backgammon with a woman
and spicing it up
the breath of cinnamon from worm
and the breath of apple cider from a serpent

as frightening as the existence
of angels
as frightening as the existence of eyes
in souls...

as frightening as the existence
of angels
as frightening as the existence of eyes
in souls.