flesh on bones
muscle and sinew

squidgy eyeballs
gawping

bikini clad mermaids
men acting like boys

the beach naked
of the tidal sea.

these squidgy eyeballs
prone to tears
give witness
often deceived
easily fooled
open to slight of hand
close at night
watch dreams
see things in shadows.

Lie back think of England
Tuck into toad in the hole
Cider with Rosie,  peaches and cream
Juggle dumplings scoring a goal

Oats in the nose-bag, flip-flop away
Doggie do in the park
Scream shout, dip in and out
On the side after dark

Wellies squidgy in the mud
Carpet burns tickling trout
Marigolds in the soap suds
Eyes askew, up the spout

****!

mit ein(e)
gernierung

of... ******!

MACDONALDS
for the protestants
MCDONALDS
for the catholics...

and **** the rest of it
whoop di do d'ah
whoopsie!
   **** it...  

i always called the IRA
the ginger ninja brigade...
******* *****!
ha ha!

is that even permitted?
like...
oopsies?!
   oh ****..
the steam-roller is
giving it a shot at reading
the earth,..
flat...
   map on paper?
**** me... no app....
            
******... you ever navigate a car
through the German Rhine roundabout?
what's in it?
Dortmund.. Essen...
             you know that constipated
part of the road map of Europe...

               ever navigate that trippy
conundrum ******* of navigation?
beside me...

              can't speak german,
won't navigate in german,
no matter how many
Mercedes-Benz they pump out
from the Henry Ford institute of
the reclining chair,
supposing
   die krupps to be squidgy clean...
i think the european translation
reads:
die Dortmund Ringe...
das Rhine Ringe...
**** allocating yourself to a rally car...
   navigate through that sort
of German *******...
          achtung achtung...
autobahn ende!
               vorwärtskreis
might as well salute for a second
coming of... hítlear!
    shaking Stevens?
  huh?!
               knee on the no contra
the know: bother...
the english won't know...
isn't that nay?
   i listen to too much lawyer
jargon...
             i'd love to listen to
poetry...
but... i figured...
   lawyers play the slight of
the sly of hand that poets
exasperate into toying with words
to accomplish art...
lawyers? the impasse of
judgement?
  **** me!
                  apparently the argument
goes:
down syndrome...
psychopaths...
'ere by god's grace...
   much grace, my lord...
             too much grace...
        
two salvation pointers:
(a) i won't drink with them...
(b) i won't eat with them,
(c) there is no "c" that isn't
a "d" that isn't an "e"
        "f", etc!
you get a zebra...
you get a null bonus!
a ******* safari of an automated
anti hamster Boston outfit!

You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ‘ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ‘im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin’ of ‘Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
      He was “Din! Din! Din!
  You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
      Hi! slippery hitherao!
      Water, get it!  Panee lao!
  You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.”

The uniform ‘e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ‘arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ‘e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ‘eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted “Harry By!”
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ‘im ‘cause ‘e couldn’t serve us all.
      It was “Din! Din! Din!
  You ‘eathen, where the mischief ‘ave you been?
      You put some juldee in it
      Or I’ll marrow you this minute
  If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!”

‘E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ‘e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
‘E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.
With ‘is mussick on ‘is back,
‘E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made “Retire”,
An’ for all ‘is ***** ‘ide
‘E was white, clear white, inside
When ‘e went to tend the wounded under fire!
      It was “Din! Din! Din!”
  With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.
      When the cartridges ran out,
      You could hear the front-files shout,
  “Hi! ammunition-mules an’ Gunga Din!”

I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ‘a’ been.
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.
‘E lifted up my ‘ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ‘e guv me ‘arf-a-pint o’ water-green:
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
      It was “Din! Din! Din!
  ‘Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ‘is spleen;
      ‘E’s chawin’ up the ground,
      An’ ‘e’s kickin’ all around:
  For Gawd’s sake *** the water, Gunga Din!”

‘E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.
‘E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ‘e died,
“I ‘ope you liked your drink”, sez Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet ‘im later on
At the place where ‘e is gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen;
‘E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor ****** souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
      Yes, Din! Din! Din!
  You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
      Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
      By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
  You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

'E' is for the fact
         That you are my
                       Everything.
'M' is for the fact
          That you are
                        Mine.
'I' is for the fact
           That you ARE
                  The apple of
                         Your Daddy's.
'L' is for the fact
            That you are
                            Loved!
'Y' is for the fact
             That you are uniquely
                            You.
         Your name means
                           'Beloved'
             And that's exactly
                           what you are.

After a lot to negotiate
toing and froing
you exchanged your teeny heart
for my bag of 18-something stones

I carried it home in a hurry
much lighter than I expected
for what looked like a big cherry
it was shaking when I checked it
I worried at its odd little quivering
a bit timid and nervy
like a leaf blown from its tree
but happy to have a new owner in me

I nestled it carefully
in my mother's best white sheets
but was scared to see
it start to bleed quite a bit
not that it might die
but about what my mother would say
about the red in the laundry
and what she might tell her mother
if she got it back needing a doctor

I decided to pat it
with a towel to keep it dry
no even better
shower it each day
keep it a bit moist
sprinkle it with Eau de Toilette
every morning blow it a kiss
like having a sweet pet
to greet after I shave
I wanted to rub my hands with glee
but it needed treating with kid gloves
and exercised in carefree handling

but first I had to squeeze it
not hard in case it burst
just in the middle bit
around its plumped up waist
it felt soft and squidgy
and beat quite quickly
not like my stones

I wrapped it up in a cooler
using styrofoam
aluminium foil
and a brown paper bag...

Styrofoam is a good insulator
and will keep the love from oozing out
the aluminium foil is a heat reflector
and the paper bag  I am not sure about
but grocery stores offer them
to put your ice cream in
so it doesn't melt as fast

I had a meal of cheese on toast
then returned to check my box
your heart was not there to be seen
isolated in polystyrene
O dear I wished I'd cut a window
giving it room to see it grow

but then I spied you in the garden
painting stones to a wondrous glow
so lovely I traded back my carton
and your heart lit up inside for me

squidgy swish squish pish posh peeled pretend I don't dingo ding **** diddled dod  dead dig stick still silent silence screaming softly silly

.....SOUP


pretend I don't
pretend to fly

dreaming and flying
dreaming
rêver de vous

diving in the deep end
rêver de vous

walking under an
             umbrella patterned umbrella
rêver de vous


fly
fly
fall
sky
rêver de vous
rêver de vous


and always eating chocolate

      rêver de vous

His squidgy wet nose prods my cheek

Ending another night’s sleep on the sofa

Our eyes meet

His happy, optimistic

Mine red, realistic, sad nearly sober

I stroke his silky chocolate brown head

An expression of expectation

Raised tan eye brows

Head cocked to one side

Long ears flopping

Happy mouth agape

Pink tongue lolling, panting

His mood is infectious

He spins to catch his elusive tail

Then checks for signs of my approval

He asks for nothing but love

I cast off my petty worries

Because for now...

I'll live in the here and now

A lesson instructed to me everyday

By my faithful canine companion

Before we face the world together

i vent, i'm sure you heard of the invention known as the ventilator... it's like a lung-clone-subservient of a "nanny quality" of automating the words: breathe in... breathe out... breathe in... it precursors the in and outsources the *out, there's a cult-like-scheme involving the use of... the stated tools... worthy of a suggestion that epitomises August as the month of harvest - i.e. the sun finally sets to auburn crops and **** me, isn't the bread rightly puffy?! toad-squidgy aye aye? go on, give us a burping caricature of a squeeze!

imagine uttering the words:
i hope your mother lies
eternally run-sacked with hopes
of former ****** glory,
*****, bleeding,
as if a Mongolian horde just passed
her with a glorious encore of
clapping to match...
because that's what i assert
as been done to my mother,
you don't even understand the verb
or adjective or conjunction behind
the noun.... after all, you're an African
Muslim and a pyramid builder,
a ****-wit...
jaded ****-strap and gag's
worth of you the Ben & Jerry...
praise the Koran
but don't understand that behind
each noun there's a collective grammatical
structure, ******* English political correctness,
*******! *******! have your Reagent's Street
and Oxford Street, have 'em!
behind the noun all grammatical categories
follow suite... universal noun, what category
for the particular? ape transforms into apish,
or Quasimodo or ~ape, nouns are units,
like centimetres, forget the other things, unless you:
let the shoppers drop dead like flies!
but imagine saying the words:
i hope your mother gets gang-***** by
an equivalent of a Mongolian horde;
yep, Mongolian necrophilia.
you said it to my mother, and i'm mourning,
alive, and counting.... once more... so ********!

I just got a letter from my old Uncle Bert
and I'd like to share its tragic contents
with you here today;
but I'll edit out the ***** bits
just in case you are shocked
that an old man could still
have thoughts along those lines
or so as you don't throw up on your cornflakes
when you read them over breakfast.

"Dear Edna (he wrote to me)
It's not all that bad in the twilight nursing home
if you can bear the stale smells and moanings
of the other ****** inhabitants
and their bad breath fumes
plus the mashed food which all is pulped up
into something not unadjacent to catfood
for the sake of the toothless ones
who **** it up via a plastic tube
provided for that purpose.

"At least I take a bath once a fortnight
even though I don't like sharing it
with that Pakistani fellow Mr Ali
who always reeks of curry
and lets off stinky air from his back end
in our bath causing brownish bubbles
with a touch of follow-through vengeance.

"That reminds me of what happened
only last week when the ministry
sent some ****** health inspector round
who might have been a homosexualist
from his mincing walk I thought
and he came into our ward
you could see his beaky nose wrinkle
in distaste which was tactless we thought.

"He asked what the toiletty smell was
not knowing it's what we have to put up with day in day out
(and I know say you can't really afford
to pay extra for a clean private room for me
and not many of the others families bother either
its not as though they're the ones who suffer is it,
so let me suffer here after all I'm only your uncle
and you aren't in my last will and testament
as I never liked your mother much
fat stuck-up ***** from what I remember).

"The male nurse on duty that day
(he's the one we call Old *******
because he's so ******* bossy
and full of his ******* self)
asked all of us who had let the side down
and wet himself (or herself, it's a mixed ward
which I dont approve of as I don't want
to see anything disgusting anymore).

"Well no one owned up so Old *******
went round sniffing at everyone's rears
until he came to Mrs Jones squatting in the corner
and the he said why the **** hadn't she owned up
that she had done one in her pants today
and Mrs Jones said it had happened yesterday
or it may even have been the day before that
she couldn't really remember.

"You know, Edna, I still love miss my dear Linda
I even wish she was here
in this hellhole of a place
waiting for death's release
and not mouldering in her grave
but at least she avoids the squidgy mashed up food
which goes in one end and out the other
barely stopping for a rest halfway down."

You know, I couldn't stop laughing
for a full five minutes after I read this
as I knew, just knew, the old *******
had cut me out of his will -
well, let him rot is what I say
and that ******* about objecting
to sharing a bath with Mr Ali:
Bert's problem has always been
that he's allergic to soap and water
how well I remember the miasma
following him around his old house
before we had the **** certified.

i can walk in the street with canned beer
and appear to be ******,
because alcohol gives me buddha eyes.

alcohol is always looking for a righteous expression,
it's abused all the time,
it burdens the n.h.s. all the time,
it has too many idiots succumbing to it,
it requires someone to drink
and be an intellectual, simply to pardon
alcohol in the conglomerate
of ****-ups, hangovers, puking in toilets,
et cetera et cetera.
when used with sleeping pills and a paracetamol
tab it's the perfected sedative,
i sedate myself, i don't drink to party woo hoo!
encountering a bunch of marijuana idiots
giggling over a pickled cucumber pimples
ha ha... pickled cucumber acne... ha ha...
enough about my drinking...
loving it anyway: it's holiday within a jolly
good day... passed a young blonde and an old ****,
they were having a therapy session in
the park... second time i pass them i end up
whistling as they pass, the old **** is telling
the young **** to look the part and assert
some for of happiness, marriage and security
and the dead man's dole to keep her interests
in perfumes and clothing afloat...
i tell the ancient oak it's required to be brown,
while the colts miscarry brown with penicillin green,
marshmallow and fungi, both squidgy,
the octopuses of the forest,
mush watered-fevered-of-shape for an umbrella
invented, latest the 18th century, with an aeroplane.
other than that?
i accuse the beatniks of desecrating sacred grounds / tool,
they invoked the use of words, they recorded their
experience of ancient indian / aztec shamanism...
carlos castaneda* quoted the shaman don juan
as saying: the experience is for you alone...
the beatnik poets started to write about the experience,
werther's original (butter sweets) turned sour,
they invoked recording their hallucinations,
**** them, **** them **** them **** them!
the mystical experience has been eradicated,
any more talk of neil armstrong and walking on the moon
parallels the desecration of these hallucinogenics
with words, these american poets desecrated the one
single dimension that could not be written about:
they walked on the moon and wrote about it...
i know nostalgia and all that, but give us a break!
the only people taking peyote these days
are rich white girls who end up injecting the concentrated
version of the natural, the essence, into their arms...
god said analysis... man said: synthesis (and analysis)...
although i dare to add the fact that there are two
strands of poetry: one that looks like a morning hangover
haircut... and one that looks like the taj mahal
of rolling marbles...
for example: ezra pounds' and ginsberg's poetry
looks great, and i mean great, they write like
they telling you to use a microscope...
but they don't have the voice to orate...
whereas gregory corso's poetry doesn't look that great,
actually it looks like ****, too simple,
but when he orates it... HE ORATES IT!
maybe his life gave him the power,
i wish i could orate like him, in fact, i never had,
the most i orated was impromptu
and it was never noted down...
but the point is: those who orate perfectly
write a simple aversion to the other strand of
poetics that is relegated / more interested in optics:
rather than a stage, a crowd, a voice "in the wilderness;"
all in all, my affiliation with hades.

or as they say in china -
english and the staggering geographic region
it occupies, you’d expect it to implode,
or at least living in such a region the implosion
would leave many many loopholes
to break as many laws as there are laws to break,
the really imaginary laws about how
ol’ McDonald had a farm - a list of the usual onomatopoeias:
puck puck cluck cluck pig’s ******* snort and the crafty moo mime
ending with dictator orwell talking into the pig’s ****:
‘yeah... let’s copyright the words einstein, red and coffee arabica
and sue the ******* should they use them without our permission!’
then the problem arose...
there are no proper onomatopoeias for
the majority of sounds contained in this fish bowl
of stars and vacuum cleaners...
or as they say in japan -
yes... just keep en route of appreciating alice in wonderland
and think nothing of it, keep en route on this “serious”
literature... also have it in cutiepie (q t π / forget the sense)
and ***** ***** *****... then watch the fireworks display
on the thames with charles 2nd and händel...
we’ll just brutalise the world in cartoon and keep the gore there
heavily coloured... while you keep this bright colour usage
squidgy squid clean.

Mind Body and  Soul.
I remember well the first time those three words entered my vocabulary in the same sentence, and later entered my consciousness in so many different ways.
The bottom of the first stairwell at Oliver Bond Flats.
They cost five quid each,
upon a hopeful summer's day........

"Mind Body and Soul" my friend said.............
his name was Jay, he's long since dead.
But at the time everything was very much alive.
A few young souls, just striving to get by.

Finding ways to laugh,
and **** the pain.
L.S.D, and squidgy black.
Days spent chasing Mary-Jane.
Wandering our city,
lost wandering our minds.
Not knowing what we're looking for.
Truly the blind leading the blind.

All those different faces,
I wonder where they smile these days?
What kind of light then graced their paths?
How many made it from the haze?

a squidgy gooey mess
this is teenage love
a chocolate melting
on hot blooded tongues

Time goes on and it
never stops only flashes
of memories live

inside our squidgy
minds where we cannot see our
brain only darkness

where whispers echo
sometimes sweetly sometimes harsh
It's a difficult one

to analyse is
to take up to much precious
time..not worth the try

Lavender travels
around the world together
Leaving a sweet taste

Mountains are climbed high
Achievements are made with warm smiles
Spring comes and then goes

Leopards gallop fast
Faster than summer breeze but
not faster then time

Time is clever and
time knows this , yet it never
listens to wishes

So in this big world
We live it the best we can
With strength love and smiles

Silence can be comfortingly loud
a gentle squidgy giant.

I'll grate my tongue into a million squidgy bits in a bid to shove these words back into my mouth / language and I, we suffer a fickle friendship / I'm clumsy I'm clingy and I can't keep my hands still / scaring everyone and everything off

cosy (title): modo+ (body), for a 502 error bypass... otherwise, the original text:

alrerst quichp: which is a googlewhack, i need to nod off, seriously... people, in general, are not worth my seriousness, not enough to begin with; all is done on a whim, on a... m'eh .

i cry at this mere thought,
the crucified one of Golgotha didn't die for
my "sins"...
what were we, gentiles, even the Greeks
among us, without knowledge of the "father"?
haunted by the depths of Siberia,
having left the welcoming Raj & its mangos...

he didn't die for my sins, or anyone's sins...
the secretive nature of the Hebrews:
exposed, came in a fully formed revelation
via one man's suffering under:
preposterous conditions:
that never, will never, match up...
even if Socrates was an old man...
he was implored to drink poison:
but never would he have been tortured prior
to an execution that became a second torture...

dearest brother... what you endured...
to give other men insight into your deity,
that swallowed up the minor deities
of the Canaanites... how Beelzebub became
an angel... almost like: faux pas...
the ugliness of Michael being demoted from
status of angel to a saint,
or fisherman Peter becoming a saint...
men on equal grounding with angels...
men without ambitions to be gods?!
what horrors in the metaphysical realm
must have unfolded in the past 2000 years...

but it's clear as sight allows...
as light beckons, as shadows swallow said light,
we have been illuminated...
tell me another story, one more fiction
than history,
a history where Charlemagne took interest
in literacy... no, you will not...
there have been other famous leaders
who bypassed stressing the need
for literacy, not the genius: not Sejong...
the world doesn't celebrate him enough...
the myths are true!
he lived in the prosperity of what could
be deciphered as "modern" times...
1400s circa, i don't remember the exact dates...
but Sejong gave the Koreans
their Hangul... their written script...

of all the eastern texts, beside the Sanskrit...
Hangul matches up to Katakana,
unlike Ezra Pound:
i'm not fascinated by Chinese ideograms...
the European counterpart
of emoticons, borrowed from
Egyptian hieroglyphs have already
explained the route, the story for me, enough...

but the Hebrew deity is:
such a spectacular phonetic environment to
meditate in, esp. since it was so benevolent
to not undermine the Latin script...
the Latin alphabet survived,
more! it became armed with diacritical markers:
excluding those who only speak English...
truly... you can hide the already pre-prepared surd
of an H attached to the S in English
via the caron: more than / less than pointing
south... Engliš... hell... you could intoxicate yourself
further, to break down the words to atoms
within the confines of phonetics...
you could make N a surd too!

  by?  attributing the E with a tail,
a cedilla most associated with the French C...
which makes it a sigma...
i.e. Ęgliš... it ought to be a well established
knowledge that the Hebrews hide their
vowels, even though, Aleph is a sort of vowel...
use the prefix and suffix guise un-entanglement
of the Greek: alpha becomes a-lpha...
beta becomes b-eta...
   omicron becomes: o-micron...

the crucifixion of hey-zeus only gave the gentiles
access to the Hebrew deity...
is the deity such a horrible deity,
did the "father" do less damage to the deities of
lesser Semites than the "son" that sowed
havoc among the pagan traditions,
gone an Odin, bowing,
gone the Zeus, bowing...

in the beginning was the word,
und: am anfang da war das wort...
   nichts anders! lasst uns: rückkehr...
bezahlen unser fällig huldigung!

we have been invited through suffering...
such a deity as the tetragrammatom...
H to H... rugby posts...
W for an M for... trigonometry...
cosine and sine...
Y for for serpent's tongue, split,
bilingual, schizoid or?
the corner of a cube...

my interpretation is in "Latin"... it must be...
but look at what happened to cuneiform!

now Islam appeals through violence,
through terror, it will never appeal to my sensibilities,
nor the past of the people i inherited the present
with... Islam is a horrid plagiarism of Judaism...
i'll just break down the deity's denote:
all?! ah!
if only that was a relief...
god of the scythe moon and the supposed star
of the planet Venus in the guise, fakery...
Islam will never appeal to me...
Islam can burn in the abyss...
even the story of the fall of Satan...
if (i hallucinate the word dajjal while
writing this) Satan didn't bow before
Adam upon Adam's creation...
if i were Adam... i'd tease Satan's vanity...
i'd bow before him...
why? it would spare me having to keep him
in the back of my mind, resurrect him
with horror images of the inferno...
then again... if i didn't draw pictures
of dragons in the medieval period of my late
infancy... could i have later found...
dinosaur remains, or would i be merely satiated
by the remaining lizards on this earth?

for ****'s sake, why are the minorities so
******* offended?

why are all the racial minorities so, *******,
sensitive...
everyone is either racist or sexist...
at work...

you hear something equivalent to:
i don't know how i managed to watch the women's
world cup in football....
a black woman retorts: you're sexist...
what an a priori distinction to make:
no... they're tinier in size...
if they managed to get a girl,...
that might also play volleyball in goal...
what' the point explaining...
i'm sexist, i'm racist: de facto...
**** the minorities...
to hell with them!
then again... i'm a ****** living in
England, oh, right, i'm a white male...
i can't possibly be... **** the minorities!

i, am, tired... of living, with, these, people,
so, much, more... arguing, with, them...
let, them, ****, let them, experience,
"superiority" complexes...
i, am, not, DNA... investing... *******!
brighten up your tomorrow
by giving sensitivity classes to...
oh... wait... only the supposed minorities left...
well: ******* well done!
sensitive bunch of *******-****** Pakis;
ooh... ooh... hurt feelings...
thank the flying **** my ***** wasn't part
of the post-colonial project that England's now
part of... i guess something was reiterated...
look how the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth dissolved...
**** me... these aren't my girls getting ****** in
the ***...
sure... as a steward... at an event...
but... what are the chances that the Manchester bombing
could have been prevented...
if some of the stewards...
if all of the stewards didn't have
racial affiliations to the bombers?!

none... none... whatsoever, best sacrifice your
daughter than fear of being labelled a racist...
fair enough... bell's at toll, or, rather: counting
the tally of your... mistakes...
ahem... "sensibilities": oh, but you must mind
them as also being towed!

either a PIGS or a WASP...
is that how the world functions?
****'s sake...
        then... i don't want to bring any
children of my own into this.. ****-show...
no... i'm fine....
  the world can go **** itself silly...

- did i dream up the term: Pakistan?
i don't think i have, or had...
Asian Dub Foundation have the lyrics:
no Iraqi ever called me a ****..
****-? oh, the hyphen is required reading,
it denotes the term ****
as a prefix...
i'm with the English, i'm sort of,
rather than: i am sort of: lazy...
when speaking, i sometimes mumble,
although i shouldn't: should not...
ha ha ha...
you wouldn't call (would not)
call an Afghani / Afghan an... Afghanistani...
would you?
or an Iraqi an Iraqistani?
would you?!
ooh... sensitive little creatures...
perhaps creatures, perhaps nothing more than
caricatures... perhaps just...
lesser tans of ****...
****** variations of cinnamon,
or cumin or... em... coriander powder?!
maybe all three? pack-up-the-****...
i want to sharpen my teeth on something...
but that load of **** i don't want
to bite... n'ah... i rather pair up
with a dog's canine...
this sort of *******
i'd rather sink down a toilet...

- sure, call me milk toast etc.
i'm not the one being overtly sensitive over
words that people of racial minorities
don't own, since they didn't invent them!

too drunk to see the letters....
too drunk to mind the barriers....
to begin with,
long be gone the despotism of minor
and minorities...
for the majority rule,
for the majority are tantamount:
for future, for preservation,
for, tactic...

no one mentioned the Rotherham gangs
of the ultimate PAK... do they?
prefix distinction missing, or sonrthing?
you will never say Afghan
when stating Afghanistan, will you?
YOU WILL STATE: AFGHANISTANI...

curiously defect, curiously: WEAK PAKIs...
term red: red...
    you might asd well recite:
Bengali... Bengal (people)
when citing: Bangladesh...
why...  add Bangladeshi... is there a suffic
-stan to be invoked...
lazily... ****... because i don't feel like
expressing the fuller: -stani!
savvy? no... with these people there is no
******* "savvy"...

there's either a foot in the face,
or there's a... shove their face in my aas
and take a sniff...
your skin colour almost resembles the hue
of the **** i **** out...
how's that?!

it takes two to tango... how's this tango?
******* whiplash... you sorted,
the proper imam squidgy plush?

sensitive little creatures...
can **** little white girls...
but can't stand being called a ****-,
note the hyphen, so it denotes
a prefix...
what a load of insensible little people
that will crowd the earth with
their little ideas...
what a glorified reinvention
of the gods... some of us must have become
too smart for the gods to jest...
i have to see it that way...
the dodo project...
wee became too smart,
too individualistic...
no one, except me:
invited the existence of the demigod Solipsism:
Sisyphus... Solipssus...
except me...
       no, this art, this architecture...
my own doesn't exactly matter, why should
i leverage a back-log of paintings/ ideas?!
let it burn, let it burn!
let's revise... we need to revise...
we've become too complacent...
to begin with...
i think it's necessary, mind you...
all the white girls are expecting a ***** flick of
itemizing phallus sizes...
if they're not... probably *****... or ignored...
thirdly: i stopped caring...
do i, own her? do i, pay for her?
well, none of the stressed above...
she sees chocolate whenever and however she pleases...
why bother?

the lowest in the IQ spectrum will inherit the earth...
let them! i don't mind...
to hell with high IQ people...
listen, your work is done...
there's  no need to continue the agony...
let the people who can best be cloned endure...
let people who enjoy *** the most: endure...
let people be their own sort of people...
personally, i don't want to be part of this
sack of swinging *******...
do i care that Europe will become
a Reconquista 2.0 Project... eh... no...
**** it... let the idiots reproduce...
i'm sort of going to appreciate their universal
suffering... it always comes...
regardless of their shelf-life /
shelf-alloction... suffering is almost a pre-condition
of the human experiences....
funny, though... it will be made easier
knowing that some categorical synonym
is missing...
all the better... like all the better for me, now...
that i should be deemed undesirable
by them and my own elites...

my hands are open... my heart is freed...
such lesser creatures require such lesser concerns
that only enable them to preserve:
preserving themselves...
hardly any original idea / narrative will ever
be allowed to be shared by them...
i thank myself: for not having
to agonise my children with a lack of
the said above...
thank god, i was smart enough to not
replicate mistakes...
my mistakes are my own...
they will never belong to my child...

grace, by the gratefulness to be:
alone, and only alone to
replicate: its comfortability...
                  my heart: that i allow to sink...
when dropped into a mirror
of a lake...
oh! the splendour! rich or poor,
near or far apart!
what measure, that equates them
as equal "apart"...
          my "little" Hebrew deity of measure...
blind me: i will still see more clearly!

you may call them potato chips

in a packet all salty?

my house cat precious

likes mushrooms

a lot

raw and squidgy

she likes the leavings of salad

while the wild ones enjoy

out of date yogurt

from the bus yesterday i saw

a field of knapweed all gone

over

still beauty in the seed heads

the film was about a man who

saw beauty

about his mother abusive, manipulative

about my travelling to see it

about sitting with others

feeling differing things

opposing opinions

the film yesterday changed things

she said even small people can

change the world

i hope it is so

we are  published now

yellow hammer

some still sit quietly at home

and let it drift

a few do not

If i was a
****
I'd be a lemon curd
Flavour
With a gentle
Crust
And a lemony squidgy
Inner
One little
Nibble
And you'd want me for
Dinner

by Jemia