My good morning
was followed by a statement
In which she said "I stank."
It was the cigarette stank
That made her utter the obvious complaint.
She doesn't know my struggle.
A mind of potential
with the heart of a saint.
Yet bound by demons
And voices that say "I can't".
I wish to tell her.
How they help my mind go blank
And away from the thoughts
That are as loud as voices.
How they help me think straight sometimes
And give me the courage
To make the right choices.
It's just remnants of my fall
From when my mind
Hit rock bottom and I was unable
To make the right choices.
All of my demons, I've fought them
And this is the smoke from the battle
In which they are engulfed
In its flame.
The ending of the cant's and aint's.
The smoke from this cigarette.
So please excuse, my cigarette stank.

Oh How her complaint
Will echo through my mind
And never become faint.
I can't take this
So when I get the chance
I will light another cigarette
To forget all about this
And make me become correct.
****, I hate that
I have to smoke another cigarette.

My good afternoon
Was followed by a glare.
A glare that married women
Should never think to dare.
She could see into my soul
And knew that all isn't fair.
Her beauty was one
That I could never compare.
So right back I would stare
Until something broke my attention
And again I begin to stare.
Until I pictured her bare
And being lost in lust
Covered in each other's hair.
Her eyes were flames of a flair
Flickering off in the distance
and Shining through the night air.
I want to reach you
And see what's up with that glare
But life isn't fair.
It has lead us to where we both
Are a separate pair.
Attempts to become close
Will be followed by no's or I can't
And how our meeting was too late.
Which will be her complaint.
The agony, I can not bare
So I will let it fade away with
The smoke from this cigarette.
So please excuse, my cigarette stank.

Oh How her complaint
Will echo through my mind
And never become faint.
I can't take this
So when I get the chance
I will light another cigarette
To forget all about this
And make me become correct.
****, I hate that
I have to smoke another cigarette.
Another cigarette
Another cigarette
**** I have to smoke another cigarette.

My good evening
Was followed an expression
In which it looked like I stank.
Her face was the face
that God makes when we all sin.
Disappointment cloaked in forgiveness
And love.
She smiles as she gives me a hug.
I look at my daughter
And even with her I can feel the love.
When I'm alone I sigh.
My mind is a puzzle
And my true thoughts are shielded
with a muzzle.
So I let them fade away with
The smoke from this cigarette.
I just hope they excuse, my cigarette stank.

the room is filled with
old lady stank
the kind that assaults the nose
and crawls down the throat in
an angry attempt to
drive you right out of the building.

she says the walls are “peach”
but I can see behind the cracked flakes
that it was once yellow.
I just grunt and sit at the edge of the bed
determined to hate both colors on
principle alone

I don’t want to be here, in her stank
I don’t want to look at the cracked
and pitted
desert that was once her face
I don’t want to strain to hear her
wavering and whispery voice

Yet here I am,
surrounded
by horrific images of a ****** Christ
nailed ironically to the walls
rosary beads hanging from
every candle in the room
and the Blessed ******
fighting
for space on the walls next to her
zombie son

where’s her god now
I wonder sourly as I strain to hear
her wavering and whispery voice
relate how nice the orderly was
who
washed
her prune of a body this morning.

hell, forget the god
where was her family
or her friends
or her nut job preacher

there’s only me
carrying my own stank of
whiskey and smokes
sitting here on the edge of
her bed
listening to her stories

Eenie Meenie Miney Moe
You're just another ***
Never saying "no" & NOT **** fo' show
Beyond  ****** is where you go
The nasty crust is what you are below

A busted *** ratchet
With a scandalous habit
So bounce *****, with  that ****
Or you're going to get hit
Peace out **** it
You need to just quit
Karma is what you're going to get
Because ******* DONT  FORGET

You're  not classy, just a slutty *****
With legs like a revolving door
Open to anyone wanting to score
But your ***** is stank & rotten to the core!
With more than one new STD sore
Just like I said before
BOUNCE,***** no one wants MORE!

Our old uncle, Daedalus,
     he'd grin when he spoke to us
His mouth was missing teeth
and so his wisdom flowed out free
He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
He'd tell us he had seen the world
     and this was his decree:

     "Don't fly too high, you little *****.
       You just might live to pay for it.
       The Sun is always hot,
       the ground gets harder every day."

"But, Daedalus," we would complain,
"You are old and we would fain
see the sights you saw before
          we sleep beneath the clay."

And dear old Uncle Daedalus
     he'd laugh and spit and swear at us
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell.
This life is one big ******* maze
with twists and turns and tricks to play.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

We'd try to listen, try to thank
him for the words, but his breath stank
and, anyway, we thought that he
               had prob'ly **** himself

But dear old Uncle Daedalus
hung Death from lips that spoke to us
and ****** if he weren't right
about the things he always said:
"Inventiveness works, by and by
with daring, you may taunt the sky
                                   like I did
                                  but the fall is long--
my dreams and son are dead."

He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell..."

"Don't fly too high, you little *****.
You just might live to pay for it.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

Limbs littered the earth, her negligee no longer lay in his soldier’s
world; he would do anything to smell her perfume
once more. What day was it? Ahhh…Monday,
the perfect first date, a moon-
lit walk on a beach. He felt like a train
about to crash and nobody was dancing.  

She felt alien alone in their home. Dancing
was impossible and she stared at the photo, a soldier’s
face, not his own. Limbo was a train
journey that never ended. Billboards advertising perfume
and the never ending sun, the never ending moon.
The name of the days changed but Monday

was no different from Tuesday or last Monday.
She wondered if disabled people thought dancing
ridiculous. He could return disabled…the moon
was full tonight, she wondered if he in his soldier’s
uniform would be admiring it remembering her perfume
and not side stepping dead bodies feeling like a train

wreck. How many poor driver’s of trains
were haunted by suicides, faces looming out, the Monday
blues? And some women will never afford perfume
and would never be taken out dancing,
it did not console her. She was one of thousands of soldier’s
wives all gazing wistfully at the unhelpful moon.

She dreams of werewolves howling at the moon,
of him passing through a dark forest on a train
coming back to her, having thrown his soldier’s
gun, stamped in the mud, rejected. But she was the gun, Monday
and no letter had come and her nerves were dancing,
she knocked over her most expensive bottle of perfume.





He was dead, she would never replace the perfume.
She would smash bottles sticking her tongue out at the moon
throwing herself around in life, dancing
like a boat in a storm, occasionally consider suicide by train
but she would never do it. Saturday, Sunday, Monday
all days trooped past like the heavy march of a soldier.

The word soldier stank of cheap perfume and
everything was mundane especially the moon.
People hurry her by like late trains, only a few whirl past dancing.

In this life you will find
Degradation unavoidable
For it is in the weather of our life
Degradation is like radioactive waste
We pass like presents to each other
The rain on a wedding day
As I did once live
In the shadows of dread
As degradation breathed on me
And I fell into the pits of self doubt
And stank of slimy sewers
For I was lost in loathing ,
But my soul grew rapidly
In the muck and mud of this world
For it was fertile and rich
As my roots drank up all its goodness

So please send me your degradation
Your disrespect and contempt
Your pretty wrapping of best interests
Makes no fool of me
For I will soak it up like the sky above
For I embrace my madness
And caress her beauty
Like the most cherished lover
As you reject your life
Within the tight confines
Of your own reason
As you seek to bury your
Disappointments in me
I hold your self doubt in my hands
For you live by scales and ranking
As I throw away all scales
And burn all efforts
For there is nothing
I can take from this world
So please, please
Strain if you must
Look down on me
If you can, As I am above
For I own the sky
And live above and beyond

But all degradation disappears
In the softest heart
Of self acceptance
As I fill the room
All banter falls like the softest snow
As we serenely dance and play
In our snowball games
As I learn to swing and play
All jokes bounce and tickle
The inside of my belly
For I live in the ecstasy
Of my own self acceptance
As we roll around like clowns
All barriers broken
Our bellies full of joy
As we spill over with love
And bounce around like jelly

For no degradation exists
In the center of our hearts
Where God permeates our souls
For his love should be
Followed into us whole
As I accept God's goodness
And perfection in all of me

“One of the effects of living with electronic information is that we live habitually in a state of information overload.”                                                      
                                                                                      Marshall McLuhan
So, let’s review:
Man is a thinking animal.
Stanley Kubrick took us to space to get us to think.
Marshall McLuhan:  “There are no passengers on spaceship earth. We are all crew.”
Hemetucky: what was I thinking?
The Rapture for the 1%:   The Language of the World and The Language of Enthusiasm explains why Sir Richard  Branson’s ****** Galactic will only be taking the richest among us to space.
Ian (Limey Futurologist) Pearson:  “Binary is already the dominant language on Planet Earth with today’s machines having more conversations in 24 hours than the whole of humankind since the birth of Eve.”
Larry Flynt:  “**** is the answer to everything.”
Goofy:  “Yeah, I ****** Minnie. I shagged her rotten, baby!”  
Winston Smith:  “Do it to Julia!”
McNugget Buddies:   “Parts is parts.”                                          
Stunod: “Donuts-a -spella backwards issa stunod.” Think about it.
Tony Soprano.  “You ****** stunod, it's a joke.” (Stunod:  in southern dialect Italian means stupid, or a stupid person) http://(www.urbandictionary.com) define.php?term = stunod  / buy stunod mugs & shirts
Marshall McLuhan:    “Jokes are grievances.”
Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino:  “Antonio Gramsci thought that Stalin and Bolshevism could save him and Italy from Fascism:  stunod.”
The Cloud:  My acceptance of the Cloud into my life and my changeling cyborg self is by no means a capitulation to the surfing life.
Paulo Coehlo:  “The God you seek; that someone who awaits you is you.”
Howard Beale:  “That’s the God *******.”
God:   “Because you’re on television, stunod!”
The Elders of Zion:  Nu?
Meir Kahane:  “Let us not suffer from a national amnesia that causes us to forget who and what we are. No trait is more justified than revenge in the right time and place. I know that American and Israeli elections must be limited only to those who understand that the Arabs are the deadly enemy of the Jewish state, who would bring on us a slow Auschwitz - not with gas, but with knives and hatchets. Vote for Newt!”

**** Jagger:    “Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out” (40th Anniversary Edition, Rolling Stones)
Keith Richards +Fijian palm tree = Stunod.  
Marshall McLuhan:   “The more the data banks record about each of us, the less we exist.”    
Howard Beale: “If there's anybody out there that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world we live in and tell me that man is a noble creature, believe me: That man is not only full of *******, that man is  stunod.”
The Nam, Part I:   a demented slaughterhouse within a microcosm and grains of beach sand inside micro-Cosmo Kramer’s shorts. When I was in the Kingdom of The Nam I was always under the influence of some drug, mostly my own pure adrenaline when scared shitless--a frequent condition for me—not only my own piquant adrenal juice but other stuff like ****, hash, Thai stick, *****, amphetamines, H-Horse ******, quaaludes, horse tranquilizers and Russian *****. The drugs were always a welcome and needed friend, a respite from the horrors of war in Southeast Asia. To meditate & levitate, to transmigrate & navigate, to negotiate & regurgitate myself, I needed a head start if I was going to SLIDE through what would be called a wormhole today, making a three-dimensional movement between different parallel universes, a conquest of time and space. Cue our favorite narrator:
Rod Serling:  “You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension--a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.”
WWII, Part I:  A slider now, I SLIDE to my father’s war—the War in Europe in the years before V.E. Day, May 8, 1945. Suddenly I’m flipped right out of the jungle to Germania, to Deutschland in the winter of 1945. I am a P.O.W. of the Germans, sent out into the economy as slave labor. It’s February in Dresden, Germany, the Baroque capital of the German state of Saxony, the city called lovingly by her (****!) many lovers: “The Florence of the Elbe.” It was a long time ago, during the war and I Survived to Tell the Tale. I am a wet floppy Kilgore Trout; I’ve flopped right out of the Twilight Zone into what appears to be an underground meat locker in Dresden. There are animal carcasses hanging from the ceiling and the building is known as Slaughterhouse Number 5. I am a lucky ******* because even though I don’t know it yet, I’m in the safest place in the entire city. Cue the Bombing of Dresden, a strategic military bombing by the British Royal Air Force (RAF) and the United States Army Air Force (USAAF).  In four raids, 1,300 heavy bombers dropped more than 3,900 tons of high-explosive bombs and incendiary devices on Dresden. The resulting firestorm destroyed 15 square miles (39 square kilometers) of the city centre and killed many thousands, according to **** figures-- largely discredited by the victors who not only get the spoils but get to spin the history any which way but loose. Casualty figures were 200,000 and death toll estimates went as high as 500,000. Or maybe just 25,000 total, if you believe the ******* Anglo-American valkyries who unleashed the wrath of Khan’s Smoking Joe’s Barbecue Ribs and Hotlinks. Win a war, get a medal and a seat in Congress, maybe the White House; lose a war, get indicted. You’re going to Nuremberg, pilgrim, or the ******* Hague.
Kurt Vonnegut: “World War II was over and I was standing in the middle of Times Square with a Purple Heart on and a purple hard-on.”
Colonel Kurtz:  “We fight for the land that's under our feet, the gold that's in our hands, women that worship the power in our *****.  I summon fire from the sky. Do you know what it is to be a white man who can summon fire from the sky? ...What it means? You can live and die for these things, not silly ideals that are always betrayed  . . . I swallowed a bug. Who are you, captain?”
Willard:   “Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long long year, stolen many man's soul and faith. Stuck around St. Petersburg when I saw it was a time for a change. Killed the Tsar and his ministers, Anastasia screamed in vain. I rode a tank, held a gen'rals rank when the blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank. Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.”  
WWII, Part II:  The bombing of Dresden had to have been some kind of a violation of some International Code or Geneva Convention. But, of course, the bombers, the Victors, ran the Nuremberg show trials. The bombees didn’t get a chance to say much, didn’t want to make a fuss, seeing how generous the Army of Occupation was with their coal, gasoline, clothing and food handouts. But I was there when it was safe to climb out of the meat locker, and immediately got put to work on the après les bombes clean-up. I was there doing the ***** work, a corpse miner, tasked with collecting the fried grasshopper remains of so many unlucky Krauts who were simply burned alive, like heretics at the Inquisition. So it goes.
William Tecumseh Sherman: “War is Hell, Babaloo!”
Colonel Kilgore: “You can either surf, or you can fight!”
Sam Bottoms: “I dropped a tab of acid at the Do-Long Bridge, so I think I’ll surf for awhile: ‘I see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.’ Reading Blake: for years it was the only way I could block out the war, that and losing myself in a bunch of undercover assignments. Yeah, it was William Blake, I-Spy and lots more acid; that how I dealt with PTSD.”
The Nam, Part II, LT DAN:  “Good job, trooper; those ******* drugs got you coming and going, sliding so fast you’ve missed latrine duty 3 times this month. Now go get 5 gallons of diesel fuel and gasoline, mix it together and torch that ******* feces, soldier.”
** Chi Minh:  “This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around.”
***** Friedman:   “The Democrats and Republicans are the same guy admiring himself in the mirror.”

Muhammad Hosni El Sayed Mubarak:   “Vote for Pedro.”
Drew Gilpin Faust, Harvard:    “Fight Fiercely!”
Marshall McLuhan:    “I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t believed it.”
The Author:   I am a disaffected angry old man, formerly a disaffected angry young man; a Hopi-Italian Jew with Chinese offspring, namely my left-brained son, a mathematical genius but having a tough time dealing with idiots, the many truly stunod people in the world.  Then there’s my Rose, my sweet King Lear-jet daughter, like her half-brother, not yet finished paying for my sins. My offspring are haunted, visited upon daily by their father’s  ghosts, ghosts created, ghosts hovering over me, from wars hot and cold and peace lukewarm and cloudy, like the uranium ground contamination on the mesa, visited upon mothers and infants  and children who seek only a glass of cool water from the spring not to be glow worms in the dark, leukocytes made insane by something in the water. My sins, a father’s sins; things I did to curry favor, to ingratiate and advance myself with the 1%, things I did to get ahead in life, to get what I thought my father and others in the ancestral slipstream had failed to get, twice to the Rabbi for a get (Hebrew: גט‎, plural gittin גיטין), to get the edge my kids need now, the edge I never had, and life reduced to an exercise in ultimate combat, little more than a cage fight, man against man and God against all. The things I did for money and position shame me now. And shame is a large  source of my anger.  I will remain angry. I will hang on to my anger at God and myself and all who have been disappointed in me, by me, especially the cavalcade of short-term caretakers, women used, abused, left behind and forgotten. Why am I me? Sometimes I think that’s the way I’m programmed. But it’s okay, like Gaga: “I'm beautiful in my way 'Cause God makes no mistakes I'm on the right track, baby I was born this way' Cause God makes no mistakes, I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way and will I continue to surf the Cloud: even though God is dead and I don’t believe you, or me, or them.
Basic: remember Basic?

10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30   GOTO 10
10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30  GOTO 10
10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30 A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 30
30  GOTO 10 Ad infinitum

I had that recurring dream again last night.
Awakening with a start.
Perspiration was
Pouring down my face.
The car, the children,
Molly my wife.

The heavy truck spinning in front
on the icy new York   freeway.
Explosions so loud they deafened me.
Then the silence the total quietness
as they drifted away.
And i was left alone.

I moved out of the tiny inner-city cottage.
Is was now over  two years ago
but I just left it the way it was.
The kid's toys strewn on the floor.
Bread and cookies on the table.
I would never return there,  never.
Not even to get my beloved alto sax.
the key for me to making a living.

I followed the cop every day?
The one that pulled me from the wreck.
I did not know why i did this,
Sure she was pretty enough.
But that was not it.

I was once told that if you save
Someone's life they belong to you.
Well, she could have his life.
He did not want it anymore.

She entered the bank
He saw the robbery before she did.
The robber lifted his weapon before
She had time to move.
Without fear or forethought,I jumped
in front of her
and took a bullet for her.

It was in the arm straight in and out.
She put three in the perp,
dropping him dead.
before he could fire another shot.

I fell down she held me in her arms.
As I was bleeding out.
Why did you do that, she said
I would have been killed.
That's why
I whispered.

She visited me in hospital
Brought me grapes
I hate ******* grapes.

She had no idea who I was
When the car wreck happened
I was covered in blood and EMS
Ran me to the hospital.
Names don't stay with people
Only faces.

When I got out of the hospital.
She appeared at my rented room door.
With a coffee and doughnuts
I don't talk much since…..well just since.
Who the **** are you she asked
A God ******  Angel.
I said I don't think God dams his angels.

She seemed to like me.
**** knows why
I wasn't nice to her.
She started looking for me on her shift.
Grabbing a coffee and suggesting dates.
I told her no offense lady
don't arrest me.
But I don't date anymore.

But she was a New York cop.
and a woman,
******* relentless.
She said she would make life hell for me
If I didn't take her for a date.
******* women.

I gave in and said I would join her
At the blues club nearby.
We got there at 10 pm after her shift
She looked ******* hot.
Not like a ******* cop anymore.
The blues were playing
I heard the alto sax wailing
It cried tears
like my soul was feeling.
But my souls eyes were dry.

She saw the tears welling in my eyes
And held me to her soft breast.
Tell me what it is
Is it me she asked?
I was just silent.

The owner of the club saw me.
He said, Tony
where the ******* been man.
It's been two years since you came here.
We miss your sax wailing boy.
He said where's your sax?
Don't you have it anymore?
I shook my head it was a lie
But I had my reasons.

He grabbed the alto sax
from the band playing.
Make it weep Tony.
My heart needs to hear you play man.
I moved quietly to the stage.
And the room went silent.
Just as if the Angel Gabriel
was going to wail his horn.

They remembered me they stood up
and clapped for five minutes.
Blues people don't change.
They just get ******* older.

I said nothing.
But played nature boy.

Peggy got up and took the mike
She wept the words as I played.
Tears falling down
her old sad blackface.

……..There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered
very far, very far
Overland and sea
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he…….

My cop was crying too.
She said I don't cry ever see.
I am a cop I see ****.
Who the **** are you she said?
But I let the sax wail for my words.
It poured my sadness into the night.

She got my full name from Peggy.
She says that boy needs a woman.
But then a woman is Peggy's
answer to all men's problems.

She run the info though the computers
at the precinct.
those ******* things
Know every leak you ever take.

She saw the car wreck
the body bags.
Me, covered in blood.
She knew it all.
I was exposed.

She even found my mother in law's place.
And went there.
She said he's heartsick honey.
He won't go home.
Won't let anyone in.
He blames himself.
He's never cried once
It's eating him inside.

She said I can't find him
Do you know where he is?
He's over at the cemetery.

She missed her shift change over.
And went to the Park Lawn
I  was kneeling by a family
grave talking to my kids.

She went to me and slipped
Her arm around me
,I turned my head
Into her breast.
she kissed my head.
and I wept and wept.
I sobbed like my alto sax wailed.

She kissed my eyes.
Let it out, honey
Let it all go
Don't stop let it go
.
She drove us to my house
The mess was on the floor.
The stale food stank.
It was in a mess a disaster.
The kid's toys spread everywhere.
My sax on the hall table.
saying nothing
she started cleaning it up.

She said quietly.
Did I not save your life right?
I  said yes you did.
And you saved mine right
I said yes I did.
She said
Unless we both say  that
we're even stevens.
You know what it means.

He nodded
Yeah...I know.
It means
We belong to each other now.
You got it straight McGraw she quipped.

Two years later
Tony came back from his gig
at the blues club.
He had a recording contract in his pocket.
The money would come in real handy
What with their second baby
coming in a few months.
Kids were pricey little buggers.

Aye,..Uhh
where the ****...Where..(Where the2)..drinks..(Where the2)..****..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..****, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..****..(Where the3).. Drinks..(Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane2)..(Yeah..let's have some fun2)..Aye..
Burn up, Blaze up..Yeah burn up, Yeah Blaze up, Yeah po up, Yeah drink up, Yeah burn up..Yeah po up..Yeah..Blaze up, Yeah drink up.. let's (turn up2)..Yeah..let's..have (some fun2)..Yeah have fun mane..Aye..(Where the3)..****..Yeah..where..(where the2)..drinks..(Yeah let's have some fun2)..tonight mane,aye..(Where the2)..****..Yeah..(Where the2)..drinks..(Aye let's have some fun3)..Tonight mane..Aye..Po up Yeah, Blaze up Yeah...drink up *****, & burn up man..(let's have some fun..Yeah3) man..Aye

OFTR, we throwing a house party like we in the 70s era dawg, yeah we gonna have this **** jumping like Kid n Play dude.., mane
The whole crib gonna foggy filled up wit hella smoke, aye..Yeah ***** that dope..Yeah that good kush aroma dawg..The only thing you can really see is the fire at the end of the roll up..Everybody drinking yeah Everybody rolling up, Yeah everybody coughing & choking & (having fun3).. Yeah..my nigaa..Yeah we puffing on funky, Uhh.. Homie leave all the stress at the front door man..so
Don't bring no drama, don't bring no problems, don't bring no *******, don't bring no false ones, & don't bring no stank **'s please dawg..forget blowing ******, we got sticky icky grown organically, no pesticides Yeah mane..just straight THC Thats it..home grown , Yeah we..(having fun3)..relaxing kicking back Yeah kicking back a young ***** had a long *** tiresome day, now its time to unwind get high & have some fun..Yeah..man..Uhh..
Yeah, its time to roll up,Yeah, its time burn up, Yeah its time to po up..Yeah, its time  get super drunk..
(Yeah just having fun2)
(Have fun3)...man..

Yeah, we gone turn up tonight dawg, Aye we got 40s OEs, Aye we got champagne, clicquot mane,Aye..we got Budweiser, bud lights,coronas & 2,11s by the case load,..also *****, gin, & vsop..Yeah we getting ****** up like a white fraternity, please don't throw up mane,..make sure you eat..Aye mane, **** what people think about me I just live my life, who's the **** to tell me I ain't living right..nobody **** right..
(We having so much fun yeah3)..tonight   should be here dawg , come now, Noo we ain't stopping till the morning.. That's how OFTR party dawg..Uhh Yeah we party hard Aye..


(Where the **** at mane,Yeah where the drinks at,Aye4)...(burn up, po up, twist Yeah, don't stop..Uhh,Yeah3)..
/Don't stop,3../3...
ever *****..let's go..
Noo I ain't done wit this song no not at all
...Ohh, that's what you thought dawg, ****, I still got some more turning up to do.. Man I still got kegs & bags of marijuana that ain't even half way through we getting throwed ,like a football, Yeah we so gone mane..(Ohh3)..Yeah dawg, Let's go..
(burn up, po up, twist Yeah, don't stop..Uhh,Yeah3)

/(Have fun3)..Yeah mane/2
(Have fun3) Yeah..Uhh

where the ****...Where..(Where the2)..drinks..(Where the2)..****..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..****, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..****..(Where the3).. Drinks..(Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane2)..(Yeah..let's have some fun2)..Aye..
Burn up, Blaze up..Yeah burn up, Yeah Blaze up, Yeah po up, Yeah drink up, Yeah burn up..Yeah po up..Yeah..Blaze up, Yeah drink up.. let's (turn up2)..Yeah..let's..have (some fun2)..Yeah have fun mane..Aye..(Where the3)..****..Yeah..where..(where the2)..drinks..(Yeah let's have some fun2)..tonight mane,aye..(Where the2)..****..Yeah..(Where the2)..drinks..(Aye let's have some fun3)..Tonight mane..Aye..Po up Yeah, Blaze up Yeah...drink up *****, & burn up man..(let's have some fun..Yeah3) man..Aye




We doing what we want Yeah..we having so much fun man, we twisting & drinking we living free Yeah..we living freer..than they want us to be , Yeah..we breaking all the rules like **** Dat ****, Noo, we don't care about polices, noo, we don't give a **** about nothing, like **** all the laws homie, Naw mane,
/we just do what we want..(Yeah2..)/2
we gone kick back & roll up the whole pacc, Yeah man,we gone  wake up tomorrow & do the same **** again..Yeah man, we gone live it up..(Yeah, we gone have some fun3)..tonight.. (Yeah2)..Aye..Uhh

Where..(where the3)..**** at...Where..(Where the3)..drinks at..Uhh..(Where the2)..****..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Yeah
Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..****, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..****..(Where the3).. Drinks..Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane..
(Yeah..let's have some fun3)..Aye..

(Uhh..Yeah, Blaze up, burn up, drink up , po up, Yeah Blaze up, burn up, turn up, drink mo3)
(Have fun6)..(Yeah have fun4)..
Man..
Let's have some fun..Aye

Leaving Minnesota on train or buses,
crowded and alone, were you fearful
to sleep on couches and of the Village
people with a rhapsody of dreams

and cacophony of chords, under rain
and sewer stank was it hard,
to step inside and play
the first time for glistening eyes
and stage lights and to let melody
escape your belly-throat

for them, or did you know
more, that words can sculpt
delicacy as smooth
as Donatello and that life can be bought
without wrinkled greens and pressed

threads? Walking under a hard-rain
of assumption and change, did Greenwich
birth a demon-sadness, so you hid
your neck beneath collars and dark
glasses and smoky rhyme, when the ship

comes in will you be onboard or escape
to Louisiana, misunderstood, working
a river boat after you give Lennon
a puff and Warhol a tight-fist?

Did sad-eyed Sara send you back
leather spanish boots or forget,
and was Christ able to mend that
broken love, and did you later kick his idiot
wind away and in 2009 on stage when I could
see emptiness and heartbreak
hidden underneath your creased stetson,
were you still singing
it ain't me, babe?

There was a tier in the dark, where everything rode silently below the surface. Where secrets and sorrows never rose for air. In this place, when all light died and the wolves grew old, the crows rode upon their backs.
Crows as black as rotting teeth, they spent the days shrieking in the fields, and at night they gathered in their shadowy roosts, making evil plans and discussing the inevitable fall of mankind. Only there would he come to realize that all men are only as sick as the secrets they harbour.
The crows stank of a different rot. They had been feasting, somewhere, somewhere in the dark and the gloom, in the hidden places, on hidden bodies. They stank and they carried that stink with them. Their eyes had beheld things he dared not imagine, and they gazed upon him with those same little eyes, conspiring with one another in harsh, croaky declarations, as if they really had some awful language of their own. Screaming gibberish.
It was known to all that Christopher Weiher possessed an almost irrational hatred toward all crows. He sometimes wondered if they were now just waiting for him to die.

Dis nou die tyd om te babbel
En my mond verby te praat
, want hulle sê mos
A drunk man's words is
A sober man's thoughts...
En wie weet dalk vind ek
Die antwoorde in ń diep gesprek met myself...

Sien ek is nie een van daardie
AA lappies wat skeinheilig
Sit en slukkies suip om
Geluk onder in die bottel
Op te spoor nie.
Ek rook skaamteloos en
Omhels die intense stank
Van 10 jaar se lewe wat ek
Mors en longkanker, want
Dit herrinner my an oupa se
Skoot en *** veilig ek was
In daardie asbak woonstel
Waar ek soos white-trash eers my brood moes inspekteer vir
Indringer kokkerotte wat ook
Maar net teen ons kompeteer het
Vir ń krummeltjie kos.

Ek babbel, want wat anders kan mens doen as vrees jou aangryp as die koue staal jou hande brand -
En nee ek praat nie van lemme en inspuitings nie,
Want lemme maak merke waarvan ek reeds te veel het wat nou oor my polse uitgesprei lê en my herrinner *** swak ek was, maar *** sterk ek was... en inspuitings los ek vir die dokters en susters en die bloeddiens
Wat my leeg wil tap om een of ander sad case se lewe te red met bloed van ń bloedjie wat self nog in die verdoemtenis rond dwaal.

Ek babbel, want dis social anxiety en scary stuff om in ń kring te sit en Russian roulette te speel met al 5 van die mense wat ander van jou verwag om te wees. Want wat gebeur as ek myself in hierdie hoerasie van persoonlikhede raakskiet. *** weet ek watter een is ek as elke een die sneller swaar trek en hoop en bid vir ń blank... *** weet ek.

Kliek...
Kliek...
Kliek...
Kliek...
Bang!!

En nou babbel ek maar weer
...
Want ek het so pas agtergekom ek weet ook nie juis *** dit voel om dood te wees nie.

Wie is ek...
-*** sal ek weet

Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
...

Ek weet.

We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
Hammered on top, but never quite burst through.
Rain, guttering down in waterfalls of slime,
Kept slush waist-high and rising hour by hour,
And choked the steps too thick with clay to climb.
What murk of air remained stank old, and sour
With fumes of whizz-bangs, and the smell of men
Who'd lived there years, and left their curse in the den,
If not their corpses...


                                    There we herded from the blast
Of whizz-bangs, but one found our door at last,
Buffeting eyes and breath, snuffing the candles,
And thud! flump! thud! down the steep steps came thumping
And sploshing in the flood, deluging muck -
The sentry's body; then his rifle, handles
Of old Boche bombs, and mud in ruck on ruck.
We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined
'O sir, my eyes - I'm blind, - I'm blind, I'm blind!'
Coaxing, I held a flame against his lids
And said if he could see the least blurred light
He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.
'I can't' he sobbed. Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids',
Watch my dreams still; but I forgot him there
In posting Next for duty, and sending a scout
To beg a stretcher somewhere, and flound'ring about
To other posts under the shrieking air.


                                               *
Those other wretches, how they bled and spewed,
And one who would have drowned himself for good, -
I try not to remember these things now.
Let dread hark back for one word only: how
Half-listening to that sentry's moans and jumps,
And the wild chattering of his broken teeth,
Renewed most horribly whenever crumps
Pummelled the roof and slogged the air beneath, -
Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout
'I see your lights!' But ours had long died out.

I’ve got a lock and key, what you got? You got a door,
                                      a shrapnel embedded cupboard
      Curiously covered up that there is, do you want go out?
      No I got a boyfriend, but I do have a few contraceptives
Or I could show you my funny parts and we could plateau on the platonic
Abstinence is on par with networking
                           Oh shipwrecks of relationships, your waters never looked safe, your shoreline so rocky,
                      but your sail, if you see what I’m saying. ******* that wind a high-inducing pitch of a stank
                                                                          You took me to the foreign lands and never brought me back,
                                                                          a souvenir got emailed. Which I have just picked up, it’s actually           rather beautiful,
especially if we picked it out together
It is a bullet and that is rather cliché in the expectable in this sense of the world,
but the copper lining is exquisite, insert random bit about consumerism
                                     Then spin a bit around voyeurism, then mention the outcome of the movies,
                                                                                  the moving bits. The back & forth where it all starts
But like I said, you want a contraceptive? Or maybe just a sock? How about a **** addiction?
This really isn’t a discussion we should be having,
                              I don’t like arguing about these things and I’m a transvestite and rather think they don’t apply
                                                See the bit you said was babies and the bit I said was from the bible
Jesus and Black Moses, walking down the street
Preaching for the freaks
Then the bit you said was more like, I don’t know what I’m saying, I mumble and moan
And think about *** and college and loans and the bit that really stuck out was
  
                                   “Babies, they really just freak me out.”

My mother raised me under the belief that monotony was a worse state than death and she lived her life accordingly. She taught me to do the same. About five years ago, my mother died. Her death steered my course from any sort of seated, settled life and into a spiral of new experiences.
For months after she left, I skulked about each day feeling slumped and cynical and finding everything and everyone coated in the sickly metallic taste of loss. I noticed that without her I had allowed myself to settle into a routine of mourning. I pitied myself, knowing what she would have thought.  Life was already so different without her there and I couldn’t continue with life as if nothing had happened, so I jumped from my stagnancy in attempts to forget my mother’s name and to destroy the mundane just like she had taught me to. I had to learn how to live again, and I wanted to find something that would always be there if she wouldn’t. I had a purpose. I tried to start anew and drown myself in change by throwing all that I knew to the wind and leaving my life behind.

I was running away from the fact that she had died for a long time. When I first picked up and left, I befriended the ocean and for many months I soaked my sorrows in salt water and *****, hoping to forget. I repressed my thoughts. Mom’s Gone would paint the inside of my mind and I would cover it up with parties and Polynesian women.
I was the sand on the shores of Tahiti, living on the waves of my own freedom. A freedom I had borrowed from nature. A gift that had been given to me by my birth, by my mother. I tried to lose myself in those waves and they treated me with limited respect. More often than not, they kicked me up against their black walls of water. They were made of such immense freedom that many times made me scream and **** my pants in fear, but they shoved loads that fear into my arms and forced me to eventually overcome the burden.
As time slipped by unnoticed, I created routine around the unpredictability of the tides and the cycle of developing alcoholism. One night after a full day of making love to the Tahitian waters, my buddies and I celebrated the big waves by filling our aching bodies with a good bit of Bourbon. By morning time, a good bit of Bourbon had become a fog of drink after drink of not-so-good *****? Gin maybe? I awoke to the sight of the godly sunrise glinting off of the wet beach around me, pitying my trouser-less hungover self. With sand in every orifice, I took a swim to wash me of the night before. I floated on my back in silence while the birds taunted me. I felt the ocean fill every nook and cranny of my body, each pulse of my heartbeat sending ripples through it. My heart was the moon that pressed the waves of my freedom onward and it was sore for different waters. The ache for elsewhere was coming back, and the hole she left in my gut that was once filled with Tahiti was now almost gaping. It had been a beautiful ride in Tahiti but I had not found solace, only distraction. The currents were shifting towards something new.
She had always said that the mountains brought her a solace that she never felt in church. They were her place to pray and they were the gods that fulfilled her. She told me this under the sheets at bedtime as if it were her biggest secret. I had delusional hope that she might be somewhere, she might not be gone. I thought if I would find her anywhere it would be there, up in the clouds on the highest peaks.
The next day, I was on the plane back to the States where I would gather gear. The mountains had called and left a needy voicemail, so I told them I was on my way.

In Bozeman, the home I had run from when I left, every street and friend was a reminder of my childhood and of her. I was only there to trade out my dive mask for my goggles. I had sold most of my stuff and had no house, apartment, or any place of residence to return to except for a small public storage unit where I’d stashed the rest of my goods. Almost everything I owned was kept in a roomy 25 square foot space, the rest was in my duffel. I’d left my pick-up in the hands of my good man, Max, and he returned her to me *****, gleaming, and with the tank full. I took her down to the storage yard and opened my unit to see that everything remained untouched. Beautifully, gracefully, precariously piled just as it was when I left. I transitioned what I carried in my duffel from surf to snow. I made my trades: flip flops for boots, bare chest for base layers, board shorts for snow pants, and of course, board for skis. Ah, my skis… sweet and tender pieces of soulful engineering, how I missed them. They still suffered core-shots and scratches from last season. I embraced them like the old friends they were.
I loaded up the pick-up with all the necessities and hit the road before anyone could give me condolences for a loss I didn’t want to believe. I could not stray from my path to forget her or find her or figure out how to live again. I did not know exactly what I wanted but I could not let myself hear my mother’s name. She was not a constant; that was now true.  

My truck made it half way there and across the Canadian border before I had to set her free. She had been my stallion for some time, but her miles got the best of her. It was only another loss, another betrayal of constancy. I walked with everything on my back until I eventually thumbed my way to the edge of the wild forest beneath the mountains that I had dreamt of. They were looming ahead but I swore I caught a whiff of hope in their cool breeze.
With skis and skins strapped to my feet, I took off into the wilderness. My eyes were peeled looking for something more than myself, and I found some things. There were icy streams and a few fattened birds and hidden rocks and tracks from wolves and barks of their pups off in the distance. But what I found within all of these things was just the constant reminder of my own loneliness.
I spent the days pushing on towards some unknown relief from the pain. On good days there fresh snow to carry me and on most days storms came and pounded me further into my seclusion. The trees bowed heavy to me as I inched forward on my skis, my only loyal companions; I only hoped they would not betray me on this journey. I could not afford to lose any more, I was alone enough. My mother was no where to be found. The snow seemed to miss her too and sometimes I think it sympathized with me.
I spent the nights warmed with a whimpy fire lying on my back in wait hoping that from out of the darkness she would speak to me, give me some guidance or explanation on how I could live happily and wildly without her. Where was this solace she had spoken of? Where was she? She was not with me, yet everything told me about her. The sun sparkled with her laughter, the air was as crisp as her wit, the cold carried her scent. I could feel her embrace around me in her hand-me-downs that I wore. They were family heirlooms that had been passed to her through generations, and then to me. The lives that had been lived in these jackets and sweaters were lived on through me. Though the stories hidden in the seams of these Greats had long been forgotten, died off with their original masters, I could feel the warmth of their memories cradle me whenever I wore them. I cringed to think about what was lost from their lives that did not live on. I was the only one left of my family to tell the world of the things they had done. I was all that was left of my mother. She had left her mark on the world, that was clear. It was a mark that stained my existence.
These forested mountain hills held a tragic beauty that I wish I could have appreciated more, but I felt heavy with heartache. Nature was not always sweet to me. For days storms surged without end and I coughed up crystals, feeling the snowflake’s dendrites tickle at my throat. I had gotten a cold. Snot oozed from my nostrils, my eyes itched, my schnoz glowed pink, my voice was hoarse, and I wanted nothing but to go home to a home that no longer existed. But I chose to go it alone on this quest and I knew the dangers in the freedom of going solo. The winds were strong and the snow was sharp. New ice glazed once powdery fields and the storms of yesterday came again and there was nothing I could do except cower at the magnificence of Nature’s sword: a thing so grand and powerful that it has slayed armies of men with merely a windy slash. I was nature’s *****. I felt no promise in pressing on, but I did so only to keep the snow from burying me alive in my tent.
And I am so glad that I did, because when the great storm finally passed I looked up to see the sky so hopeful and blue bordering the mountains I knew to be the ones I was searching for. I recognized them from the bedtime stories. She had said that when she saw them for the first time that she felt a sudden understanding that all the many hundred miles she’d ever walked were supposed to take her here. She said that the mere sight of them gave her purpose. These were those mountains. I knew because the purpose I had lost sight of came bubbling back out of my aching heart, just as it had for her.

These peaks as barren as plucked pelicans and peacocks, but as beautiful as the feathers taken from them, were beacons in the night for those in search of a world of dreams in which to create a new reality. From them I heard laughter jiggle and echo, hefty and deep in the stomachs of the only people truly living it seemed. When I was scouring the vastness of this wilderness for a sign or a purpose, I followed the scent of their delicious living and I guess my nose led me well.
A glide and a hop further on my skis, there the trees parted and powder deepened and sun shone just a bit brighter. Behind the blinding glare of the snow, faces gleamed from tents and huts and igloos and hammocks. Shrieks of children swinging from branches tickled my ears, which had grown accustomed to the silence of winter. As I approached this camp, I saw they were not kids but grown men and women. It seemed I had stumbled down a rabbit hole while following the tracks of a white jackalope. I had found my world of dreams. I had found them. I had found a home.
I was escaping my lonely, wintery existence into a shared haven perfectly placed beneath the peaks that had plagued my dreams. A place where the only directions that existed were up and down the slopes and forwards to the future. Never Eat Soggy Waffles did not matter anymore. By the end of my time there, I had even forgotten my lefts and rights. The camp had been assembled with the leftovers of the modern world and looked like a puzzle with mismatched pieces from fifty different pictures. At first glance, it could have been a snow covered trash heap, but there was a sentimental glow on each broken appliance that told me otherwise. Everything had a use, though it was not usually what was intended. The homes of these families and friends were made of tarp or blankets or animal hides and had smelly socks or utensils or boots or bones hanging from their openings. There were homemade hot springs made of bathtubs placed above fires with water bubbling. Unplugged ovens buried in snow and ice kept the beer cooled. Trees doubled as diving boards for jumping into the deep pits of powder around them. The masterminds behind this camp were geniuses of invention and creation. Their most impressive creation was their lifestyle; it was one that had been deemed impossible by society. This place promised the solace I had been searching for.
A hefty mass of man and dogs galumphed its way through the snow. Rosy cheeks and big hands came to greet me. This was Angus. His face grew a beard that scratched the skies; it was a doppelganger to the mossy branches above us. But his smile shone through the hairs like the moon. There are people in this world whose presence alone is magic, an anomaly among existence. Angus was one of them. Not an ounce of his being made sense. The gut that hung from his broad-shouldered bodice was its own entity and it swung with rhythms unknown to any man; it was known only to the laughter that shook it. Gently perched atop this, was his shaggy white head that flew backwards and into the clouds each time he laughed, which was often. Angus fathered and fed the folks who’d found their way to this wintery oasis, none of which were of the ordinary. There was a lady with snakes tattooed to her temples, parents who’d birthed their babies here beneath the full moon, couples who went bankrupt and eloped to Canada, men and women who felt the itch just as me and my mother had. The itch for something beyond the mundane that left us unsatisfied with life out in the real world. All of them came out of their lives’ hardships with hilarious belligerence and wit, each with their own story to tell. The common thread sewn between all these dangerous minds was an undeniable lust for life.
The man who represented this lust more than any other was Wiley and wily he was. He’d seen near-death countless times and every time he saw the light at the end of the tunnel, he would run like a fool in the other direction. He lived on borrowed time. You could see that restlessness driving him in each step he took. Each step was a leap from the edges of what you thought possible. Wiley was a man of serious grit, skill, and intelligence and never did he let his mortality shake him from living like the animal he was. He’d surely forgotten where and whence he came from and, until finding his way here, had made homes out of any place that offered him beer and some good eatin’. Within moments of shaking hands, he and I created instant brotherhood.
The next few days turned into months and I eventually lost track of time all together. I could have stayed there forever and no day would have been the same. I played with these people in the mountains and pretended it was childhood again. We lived with the wind and the wildness the way my mother had once shown me how to live. I had forgotten how to live this way without her and I was learning it all over again. We awoke when we pleased and trekked about when weather permitted, and sometimes when it didn’t. Each day the sun rose ripe with opportunities for new lines to ski and new peaks to explore. The backcountry was ours and only ours to explore. We were its residents just like the moose and the wolves. My body grew stinky and hairy with joy and pushed limits. Hair that stank of musk and days of labor was washed only with painful whitewashes courtesy of Wiley. Generally after a nice run, we’d exchange them, shoving each other’s faces deep into the icy layers of snow, which would be followed with some hardy wrestling. By the end of each day, if we didn’t have blood coming out of at least two holes in our faces then it wasn’t a good day.
I never could wait to get my life’s adventures in and here I was having them, recalling the unsatisfied ache I had before I left. Life was lost to me before. I had forgotten how to live it after she had died. Modern monotony had taken control until my life became starved of genuine purity and all that was left then was mimicry. But the hair grown long on these men and smiles grown large on these woman showed no remembrance of such an earth I had come from. They had long ago cast themselves away from such a society to relish in all they knew to be right, all their guts told them to pursue: the truth that nature supplies. Still I worried I would not remember these people and these moments, knowing how they would be ****** into the abyss of loss and time like all the others. But we lived too loud and the sounds of my worries were often drowned in fun.
     We spent the nights beside the fire and listened to Wiley softly plucking strings, that was when I always liked to look at Yona. Her curls endlessly waterfalled down her chest and the fire made her hair shimmer gold in its glow. She was the spark among us, and if we weren’t careful she could light up the whole forest.  She was a drum, beating fast and strong. Never did she lose track of herself in the clashing rhythms of the world. She had ripped herself from the hands of the education system at a young age and had learned from the ways of the changing seasons f

in that moment
my fingertips could almost taste you,
your delicate wig powdered with virginal white,
the crushed velvet of your robes

my fingertips could almost taste you,
not this still museum air--
the crushed velvet of your robes
stank of oil and nothing like you

this still museum air
and the arch of your back & line of your jaw
stank of oil and nothing like you,
but i wanted to be in your arms,

the arch of your back and line of your jaw
o cobblestone eyes, why couldn't i see you just once?
i wanted to be in your arms, but
i felt the kisses of the gas lamps

o cobblestone eyes, why couldn't i see you just once,
your delicate wig powdered with virginal white?
i felt the kisses of the gas lamps
in that moment

There was an old man on my street,
Who resembled a pig made for meat;
He cussed and he drank
He fought and he stank,
'till a car squished him into concrete!

I'm stuck for words at the moment
I can't seem to find the right rhythm
To describe you

It's almost like the sweetest part of you,
The one that I always knew loved me most
Was hidden away from me for all the months
That it was too cold for his steady warmth
Like he was too afraid of becoming frozen
And decided to lock himself away
Inside of you

Because of this feat
I've found you to be more controlling,
Causing me pain in ways I never thought you could,
Or ever would, it hurt me to be with you,
Though it hurt far more trying to flee,
And so I stayed, holding on to the memories of the sweet boy
Who always packed an extra sweater
With me in mind, and never forgot
To kiss me goodnight
I hoped with all my heart he wasn't a facade,
And that he'd come back to me,
But hope faded fast,
I wasn't sure if we'd last

This is where I'm stuck,
Because I'm still dazed by it all
The weather is warmer,
The sun shines brightly
He's happy, Really happy
Not just for the minute or hour
Not because he just finished getting off either
I honestly don't know what happened,
Maybe he sees my effort?
Maybe that's all that sweet boy I missed so dearly wanted,
To see my effort in trying so hard to keep us together,
Because beyond my fast falling hopes,
I saw him today, all day.
In every time he said "I love you," I saw him
And it wasn't just an echo of something he should say,
But rather his own heart speaking to me directly,
I felt he meant it every time,
Complete and total joy well up inside me now
Love dripped from each word and syllable he spoke,
His breath stank of it
And I loved it
And I knew he loved me,
Despite all my horridness, he loves me.

My god, I can't tell people enough of how happy I am,
I've found the secret!
I know what to do!
Can it have been this simple all the while?
All I had to do was but open my lips
Let the sounds of my thoughts roll off my tongue
So easy, so simple,
And yet so hard all the same
But I know what to do now
And if this is what it takes to make my sweet boy
Greet me with smiles and sweet kisses every day,
That I'll **** well suffer through the hardships of change
Until it becomes as natural as loving him.

The internal battle..eternal....(one from the vault)


Lucifer and Jehovah dancing some mad bossa nova

While angels on horse backs fought devils with black jacks

The white dove of peace had surrendered his lease

So God ripped off his wings.. he no longer sings

Then the Devil ripped out his heart so it could end at the start.

Wagner and Chopin got frightened..

..and off they ran.

But Beethoven and Bach were sat in the park

Composing arias to fight Hells hot fires.

While Chekhov and Handel burned coramandel

But the smoke from that pyre stank like a byre.

Socrates was sat dispensing the ethics

Hippocrates swore while dishing out medics

The Muses were musing one or two were enthusing

Oooh look.. the good against sinner

Let's go down the bookies and have a bet on the winner.

Cometh the day cometh the morn

Cometh the hour cometh the dawn.

Here is Joshua blowing his horn

And here comes Gabriel but all that he meets

Are the countless dead lining up on the streets

And the wounded and deathbound far far below

I feel sorry for Gabriel I wish he could go.

But Picasso arrives and cries

My God it's my Guernica I'll do a pastiche

Oh F*ck it he says and has a pastis (or two)

Then Pollack turns up totally ******

Picks up a paint and says what I have missed?

What a fantastic sight.. angels flashing demons crashing

The hounds of Hell with teeth a gnashing

Then Neptune arrives astride his watery chariot

Scything through Demons and sat beside Judas Iscariot

Mermen and mermaids mercilessly slayed

By Beelzebubs prototypes

Those that live in the black nights.

But as the dawn breaks God knows what it takes

So he sends for his legions calls out to all regions

Take arms and do battle

Till we hears Satans death rattle.

And the heavens rip asunder to the sound of the thunder.

Satan rings on Hells bell.. tells them all is not well

Then disappears from our sight as if he's turned off the light.

Then I awake with a start knowing that I've been a part

Of something vast something grand

A spiritual war being fought in this land

I am alive and I shall survive.

PRAISE BE.

cold metal
blue ,silver and white
sour citrus funkynes
smells like stank trees of ebola town
burp guzzle guzzle wallow

Cry, cry all you want
I don’t want to see salty tears
burning through the mahogany table like droplet holes.
I don’t want your dry lips pressing against mines as they will crack,
your excuses for ripping my heart out with a silver spoon.
and definitely don’t want the necklace I gave you full of fleas.
I want you gone, gone from this castle!…………….
“Drip, drip, drip, drip”……
I stared hard out the window.
Is it my fault she had to be such a *.
Her dripping boots treading across
the moody landscape, a sign of failure.
Let her rot on the trenches of spears.
I died for you we, you stank w*e
I died, I died , I died for you!!!……
“Honey wake up”…
“oh my dear, I had a terrible nightmare”
” I saw you staring at the window and
thought you saw a ghost of some sort.
You were deathly pale"
Oh, was I?, It must have been my reflection……

Gretchen wept in her easy chair
And called for her husband, Karl,
They’d been together for sixty years,
Though both were worn and frail.
They’d met in the ruins of München, when
The ***** collapsed and fell,
Escaped to live in Australia
From their own idea of hell.

For Karl had served in the Wehrmacht,
In a Tank Corps at Dieppe,
Had served in the Panzergruppe von Kleist
Had roamed the Russian steppes,
His tank had taken him through Ukraine
They’d taken the plains by force,
But found their pain when the Russians came,
In their huge T-34’s.

But that was the world of way back when,
For Karl was old and grey,
He slept a lot in his tidy home,
The nurse came every day,
His wife developed dementia, she’d
Forget where she used to roam,
So she was parted from husband Karl,
Was sent to a Nursing Home!

He walked with the aid of a walking frame,
He couldn’t quite get around,
But listened for echoes of Gretchen’s voice
In the house that made no sound,
And all he thought was to rescue her,
To bring his girl back home,
But the powers that be said: ‘Wait and see!’
She was lost to him - Alone!

He went to visit her, once a week,
They held each other's hand,
She cried so much when he had to leave,
She never could understand,
And he was desolate every time,
He’d cling to her so tight,
That they had to prise his hand away
When they sent him away at night.

The nurses were harsh and businesslike,
To them it was just a job,
With no compassion for patients, they
Would leave all that to God.
Demented souls ran over his feet
With trolleys and walking frames,
When Karl grew angry, they shrugged and said:
‘Well - Everyone complains!’

One Sunday, standing outside the doors,
He saw his Tiger Tank,
It growled, and pulled up beside him there
And the diesel fumes, they stank.
He climbed aboard with his comrades there,
And ‘Schnell!’ they called, to a man,
Then lumbered straight through the double doors,
The nurses turned and ran!

The Tiger reared and it turned about
Tore carpet up from the floor,
The tracks ran over the matron’s feet,
Let out a fearful roar,
The patients cheered as the Iron Cross
Raced past their common room,
And smashed the glass in the office door,
And crushed the sister’s urn!

Then Gretchen laughed as he came in sight,
‘Here comes my husband, Karl!
He'll break us out of this prison ward,
Can you hear his Tiger snarl?’
He stopped and reached for his Gretchen then
Looked deep in her eyes, and swore:
‘I’ll not be parted from you again
Though hell should bar the door!’

They found them lying together there,
He held her safe in his arms,
They'd gone together where lovers go
Away from the world's alarms.
‘He went quite crazy,’ the Matron said,
‘He must have been insane!’
For lying outside her shattered door
Was his twisted walking frame!

David Lewis Paget

I'm employed
But not enjoyed
They're annoyed
Until I'm destroyed
Then they fill that void
With another humanoid

I'm a hollow coil
From lots of toil
Like hot oil
I'm not royal
I just boil
Underneath the soil

I say howdy
Loudly
To the rowdy
That doubt me
And out me
As mouthy

This mistake
Fish tank
I drank
Stank
So rank
My mind went blank

I cannot fight it
My mind on autopilot
The roof I tile it
To style it
Violet
While lit

I am a changeling
That is aging
From waging
A war raging
Against those caging
The rat who's racing

The pain is inner
As a fidget spinner
A ****** sinner
Ate for dinner
For he's the winner
Of the money printer
And my mind of cinder

They broke me
No joking
Just poking
The nope king
While hoping
Society starts sloping
Towards communal coping

Always with the separate rooms, same separate landlocked pontoons. Another follow up,  billow of rank stank air, stale like the calming still of shell shocked monsoons, into the deep dark abyss I stare-

Heightens my senses, that still begotten presence of quarantined ill begotten dimensions, left stark and in the dark with nothing but the whistling of our declining pensions-

Repentance ask it of yourself, there's always an extra bottle on the tippy top shelf, reach high, you don't have to lie now, go ahead and lay that lye down-

Corrosion never felt so **** good...

the old man stank
but he
stank more
of ***** and cheap
tobacco than
filth

his mouth missed
a lot of
teeth
and his eyes
would never
look
in the same
direction at once

but worst of
all were his hands
Now those were
really messed up

He claimed he had
paint tanks
under his nails
and he wasn’t lying

he was mad
but not a liar

He could paint
wherever he was
on any surface

And he did

pressing the stump
of his fingers
against walls and
furniture
triggered immediate
bleeding

and then he
would trace on and
draw something
Usually a ***** or
some hairy **** or
some silhouettes
******* or
something like that

Then he’d step back
admire his creation
and laugh
and **** at his
****** fingers

Ol’ ****** Brush
was a celebrity
around the
block
He never had
to buy a
drink for
himself
There was always
someone to treat him,
an admirer
a fan, a disciple

Yeah, at 66
Ol’ ****** Brush
was living the life
unlike other wannabe
artists who devoted
their existence to
the craft and got
nowhere

These guys,
they had the talent
and the drive

bout Ol’ ****** Brush,
he had the madness

and the world
was coming to learn
the difference

There he goes! He's quite a sight!
He's an Ace... a STAR!
The life of him! It's 3 at night
He's just pulled from the bar
He'll blind you... ***** your light
Anywhere you are
Is he cool?... or a blight
He'll **** you with his car....

Rattletrap Cadillac
He's bad to the bone
Rattletrap Cadillac
He goes it alone
Rattletrap Cadillac
He should be goin' home
Rattletrap Cadillac
He'll hit you... then he's GONE.

He just got his SSI
So he's good to go
Drinks as much as he can buy
Hard liquor, don't you know
Has to give driving a try
And he don't go slow
When it comes to DUI
He star's up the SHOW!

[chorus]

The Grim Reaper on the road
He got drunk & stank
He ain't scared... a gun to load
And he ain't shootin' blanks
Jail may be his abode
If he weren't so rank
As to hit, and then just GO
Cuz he drives a tank!

Rattletrap Cadillac
He's bad... he's NATIONWIDE!
Rattletrap Cadillac
With Jack Daniels on his side
Rattletrap Cadillac
Because he won't decide

To hit some trees... or give up his KEYS

AND GIVE UP HIS PRIDE!.


SøuŁSurvivør
(C) 4/18/2017

Ingrid would mostly get out of bed in the mornings last of all after her sister had done and her father had gone off to work and she had heard the front door go and knew it was safe to go wash and dress and brush her hair and sit down to breakfast her mother had prepared(if she was up) or she'd get her own cereal and mug of tea(stewed after her father had made it) and listened to the radio some ladeeda voice talking about something she didn't understand or music by so and so's orchestra watching her sister mouth in her cereal or her brother chewing the doorstep slice of bread he'd cut she sat in the wonky chair sitting still in case the leg broke and her dad'd leather her for being reckless when he got home she mouthed her cereal slowly knowing her mother'd say you got to chew it properly Ingrid you don't half gobble your food down like a blooming turkey you are and her brother sat opposite looking at her pulling a face now and then or poking out his tongue or her sister sitting back lounging as her mother called it and if her mother was up and dressed she'd be brushing the carpet in the other room or putting the copper on for the wash or hanging out washing from the night before on the line her dad put up out on the balcony Ingrid scratched her nose looking at the small television set in the corner the small black and white number her uncle said fell off the back of a lorry and no questions asked no lies told he'd say laughing she gazed at the mantelpiece with the old clock and a few small statues of birds and animals she tried to sit comfortable as she could tried to avoid sitting on her right buttock too much where her dad'd hit her the night before for a tear in her school skirt think we're made of money do ya do ya? she moved to her left ate the last mouthful and sipped her tea stewed or not at least it was still sweet and hot and it made her inside warm it was near time to go to school she thought looking at the clock only half listening to her brother talking about some bird he had been out with the night before oh yes she was up for it he said but up for what Ingrid didn't know or care her sister sat mouth open gazing at him the spoon half way to her mouth as if frozen in time and I fancy her a bit and said I'd take her to see that new picture that's out and we can sit in the back row and well he laughed you know what it's like in the back row but Ingrid didn't and looked away and wondered if she dared have a biscuit from her father's tin she liked the chocolate ones he bought for himself but if he found out there'd be hell to pay and he'd say it was nothing but theft and give her a good hiding no best not to risk it she thought getting down from the table and getting her coat and satchel ready to leave don't forget to brush your teeth her mother bellowed from the other room you know what the dentist said last time about your teeth as how you don't brush them enough OK I am Ingrid bellowed back going into the kitchen and taking her pink brush from the cup on the red tiled shelf and dipped it in the tin of tooth paste and brushed as hard as she could until her gums bled staring at herself in the small mirror her dad shaved in staring at her teeth the gums bleeding the toothpaste white and red her brush held by her mouth and washed her brush under the cold water tap the getting a handful of water she washed out her mouth until the bleeding stopped then wiped her mouth on the towel behind the door get a move on her mother bawled from the living room or you'll be late OK just going Ingrid bellowed back over the clutter of sounds from the radio and her mother banging around and she opened the front door and closed it behind her nosily so that her mother would know she'd gone and not bellow anymore and so off she walked along the balcony looking over at the Square below wondering if Benedict had left yet hoping he hadn't wishing to see him she went down the concrete stairs until she reached the entrance and out into the Square where she walked by the other flats on the ground floor looking ahead to see if Benedict was about but she couldn't see him and so walked on down the ***** towards the road then along by the flats wondering if he r mother was watching her walk along from the flat window above and behind her that's how her mother knew about Benedict and her how they walked together to school and sometimes they stood on the balcony in the evenings looking at the sky darkening or the down at the Square below but Benedict wasn't with her this morning maybe he'd gone earlier or maybe he was late leaving but she couldn't wait in case and besides her father didn't like Benedict said he was a bit up himself a bit soft what with his reading books and collecting stamps and so on but that was what she liked about him he was different and he was kind to her and didn't tease her like most of the boys did didn't call her four eyes or say she stank or that she had fleas(which she didn't except that one time she got them from Denise) or try to lift up her school skirt to see the colour of her underwear like some of the boys did or tried she went into subway the lights glowing the echoes of voices in her ears the hum of traffic above the sense of being walled in the smell of ***** where tramps had slept and **** the walls when she came out the other end she saw Benedict waiting for her by Burton's clothes shop his hands in his pockets a big smile on his face and she felt all warm inside all safe and happy as if blessed by the good God's grace.

I'm not the curious kind

I met you at the pub,
You were with your cuz
And I asked you, "What It Wuz?"

Was it on my face,
The invitation to come to my place?

You won't have to guess for long,
Once I get you home.
One sultry look in my eyes,
You'll know what's going on.

Give your love to me.
Open up and let me see.
I want to lay you down.
And kiss you all around.

It don't mean a thang,
If it ain't got that stank.
Do-***, Do-***- Do-wa-a!

How I hate - I hate it so,
Whenever you say "no."
Baby, let it go.
Why else do you think
I bought you all those drinks.
This buzz don't come for free.

I don't need to see
What's in this for me.
I've been here before
So, I already know what I want.
I'm not the curious kind.

Once I have you all the time.
You'll know that true love was on the line.
I'm not looking to play games.
I don't need your name.

I don't need to see
What's in this for me.
I've been here before
So, I already know what I want.
I'm not the curious kind.

I see I've met my match,
And your plan is bound to hatch
Because I know I'm a catch.

Was it on your tongue,
Right there on the very tip, when I stole your breath away from it?

Now, now it won't take too long
To find the beat of my song.
When I get you into the rhythm,
We'll have it going on.

Lips and hips are true,
My hands all over you.
Shoo- ***, Shoo-***, Shoo-wa-a!

For a moment I thought so,
But you didn't tell me "No".
Baby, let it go.
My investment's coming through.
You're gonna get yours, too.
This high don't come for free.

Once I have you all the time.
You'll know that true love was on the line.
I'm not looking to play games.
I don't need your name.

I don't need to see
What's in this for me.
I've been here before
So, I already know what I want.
I'm not the curious kind.

I'm glad we didn't change our minds.

We saw the whole thing through.
And glad it was with you.

I'm not the curious kind.
I've been around the block some times.
Experimenting's not what's on my mind.
I've long since left my doubts behind.
No-one here has need for shame.
No-one has to point out any blame.
No-one needs to be tamed.
We struck a match and lit a flame.

Once I have you all the time.
You'll know that true love was on the line.
I'm not looking to play games.
I don't need your name.

I don't need to see
What's in this for me.
I've been here before
So, I already know what I want.
I'm not the curious kind.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised
how much cleaner the air breathes up here
compared to the stale, stank fog
back down in the little city we shared.

—A thought:
I barely recall the specific stench,
an ever-present detail in what was my
day-to-day existence.
However, your words, complaints, ideas:
"Like a diaper full of death" you said once, exactly,
play in my head like a tape recorder,
old and warped a little, but undoubtedly accurate.—

And now, am I looking down on you?
Or down at you?
Over you?

Is that you,
floating place to place,
living on a moment like a speck of dust,
never entirely within anyone's grasp?
Are you still toiling in the burning sun,
harvesting what you planted,
growing it strong and right?

What movements are these?
You live and toil
and burn your fuel
and spend it all each day
and earn it back again.

Oh, if you could join me!

No, if only I could join you.
I would toil, burn and spend everything
to find a way so you could breathe, too,
this new air.
The air...

Sweeter each moment,
but thin, unfit. My head either
aches or...
it does not feel at all.

Do you look up at me? Up to me?
Up...over me?
And what now have I got to look up to?

A gust blows the speck away,
gone elsewhere, never to stay.

(Yo3)..let's go..Ohh stunning
(I'm stunning4)..Aye, Yeah..(stunning2)..
(I'm stunning5)..stunning..Yeah ..stunning..
..(I'm stunning2) when they said I wouldn't, stunning.. (I'm stunning2)..stunning..(I'm stunning2)..when they thought I couldn't..I'm stunning..Yeah stunning..
(I'm stunning4)..when they thought I wouldn't..(I'm stunning..3)Yeah stunning.. (I'm stunning4)..when they said I couldn't..
/(I'm stunning3)..Yeah stunning/2
(Stunt3)..forget a doubter, get yo money, Yeah dawg,..(stunt2)..on them ***** made busters..(stunt2)..prove em all wrong..Uhh Yeah dawg

OFTR my ***** we camed from the bottom, now we here stunning no Drizzy Drake ****, I write my own lyrics, Yeah man, its so easy homie,Uhh,Yeah  I can write a song up real quick in under 5 minutes my nig, so if you need a verse , hit me up then dawg, I know you see it, Yeah I know they can see me now,..Aye
They doubting while I'm  believing, & cheifing, they so blinded by all of the **** ****, they so confused mane Ayo  forget going the ***** made way towards the fame, Imma boss player Imma real gangsta, Imma Outlaw Yeah Imma true player..so forget ******* up to Satan
Cuhz I only worship Jesus,Yeah mane, all of my prayers goes to the Heavenly Father & that's it Yeah..
(I'm stunning2)...the right way without bowing down to the white man..Aye

Yeah (I'm stunning2)..I'm..(shinning2)
brighter than a new pair of white forces,Yeah.. I'm stunning Im shinning brighter than a diamond (Yeah2)..mane
So what, they gotta say about me now homie ****,they can't say...(nothing2)..Aye, I'm stunning, I'm shinning brighter than the streets lights at night, man yo..
These ***** *** artist should be sponsor by Little Debbie, they some sweet ***** ******, all in they feelings, they ain't even from these streets my *****, they false claiming.. They all bout to get (bang2)..mane for real, Aye..

Noo, they can't see me, I be hurting they eyes, that's how bright..(I shine2)..Aye, I prove them all wrong my *****, I had no job, I usta to be posted up at my home *****, I stayed in my room *****, in my zone *****, I felt so all alone *****, I only had my family but Thank God for them, they taught me not to trust having friends homie, because friendships never last, its alot of snakes out here yeah, so watch out, keep yo eyes peeled man..Yeah..

Forget having a girlfriend to my *****, Noo, I don't got alot of time here to be spending my time waisting it wit a nasty *****..Uhh man just keep sending me more beats & Imma eat em up then **** hits out mane, Young Ston..***** Yeah I'm stunning on them..man I'm demanding my respect, Aye I'm way stronger than Superman, I go so hard , Yeah I'm the man, I go in , no I can't quit, Yeah..(I'm that *****2)..that you don't ever wanna disrespect, Aye stank ******* stay the hell away from my face, aye don't be all in my space in my way, Yeah..*****, Aye..
If you ever had something bad to say about me, you'll gonna be sorry, Yeah I bet you will you regret it, Yeah *****..(I'm stunning2)..for the little kids that ain't ever had nothing..

Aye, look up to me young *****, stop crying & stop pouting pick yo head up stop looking down man, keep running towards the end of the race, even when you are in last mane, keep pushing forward lil homie, don't give up, don't give in..just keep moving.. (Yeah2)..life  is a big test so if you just put forth in a little effort into succeding it in well in the end dawg, yeah when the end comes man you will win & its all gonna get better, Yeah..
So stay strong younging..Uhh, Young Ston yeah Imma 90s baby, but I spit ether tho homie, ain't no competing wit my lyrics *****..Aye Yeah you can compare me to Moses yeah I write scriptures, yeah I speak what the people need man, for real Yeah..



Ohh stunning
(I'm stunning4)..Aye, Yeah..(stunning2)..
(I'm stunning5)..stunning..Yeah ..stunning..
..(I'm stunning2) when they said I wouldn't, stunning.. (I'm stunning2)..stunning..(I'm stunning2)..when they thought I couldn't..I'm stunning..Yeah stunning..
(I'm stunning4)..when they thought I wouldn't..(I'm stunning..3)Yeah stunning.. (I'm stunning4)..when they said I couldn't..
/(I'm stunning3)..Yeah stunning/2
(Stunt3)..forget a doubter, get yo money, Yeah dawg,..(stunt2)..on them ***** made busters..(stunt2)..prove em all wrong..Uhh..Yeah dawg


Stunt, prove em all wrong Yeah..(Stunt3)..on them..(stunt3)..Yeah man, we stunning,Let's (stunt2)..We stunning, (stunt*3)
Ohh..Yeah

That amber liquid far from insipid
Like molten honey but drawn from a tap,
Bitter or dark, the choices quite stark,
God's malted ale, nature's true sap.

Vikings grew strong, strengthened their bond,
Giving them courage for mayhem galore,
A beer in their hand, they pillaged the land
Never quite feeling tired or sore.

The Celts used for curing, Egyptians for luring
Their gods from the heavens bribed to partake,
The English just drank as their water so stank,
Beer their solution to gulp for life's sake.

Wine lovers admit that their glass needs
be sipped
While describing aromas of berries and earth,
No such constraint, nor need for restraint
For drinkers of ale are freewheeling from birth.

So let raise a jug or a frothy filled mug
While watching a game and eating junk food,
Nothing is wetter, more luscious and better
Than a cold tasty beer when expertly brewed.

transcript from a cult movie

bolec: O! zobacz bracie! spójrz jak oni sie ruszają; nie sądisz że polskim chłopakom też by sie przydało troche luzu? przykómaj te kocie ruchy! mogliśbymy sie od czarnych wiele nauczyć... koko-dzambo i doprzodu! to moje hasło, dobre nie? czasami żauje że nie urodziłem sie czarny. hej! chłopaki! a może macie ochote objerzeć film? ja ogłądam po kilka filmów dziennie: pościgi, strzelaniny, wojny gangów, to mój chleb codzienny... mam nowy zajebisty film... "smierc w Wennecji", nieźle brzmi, co?                spokojnie, zaraz sie rozkręci...

fred: ty jak ty sie nazywasz bo zapomniałem? kolec? stolec?

bolec: bolec.

fred: no, więc posłuchaj mnie teraz uważnie, bolek... byłeś w stanach?

bolec:  nie...

fred: no właśnie... a ja znam kogoś kto był... i opowiedział mi to i owo... w iesz skąd przyjechali czarni do ameryki?!?

bolec:  z afryki...

fred: no właśnie... handlarze niewolników przywieźli ich z Afryki... A myślisz, że to taka prosta sprawa wysiąść na plaży w Afryce, złapać w siatkę zwinnego, silnego murzyna i wywieźć go za ocean?!?

bolec:  chyba nie...

fred: no jasne, że nie... udało im się to zrobić ponieważ wywozili tylko takich co albo nie potrafili spierdolić przed siatką, albo byli największymi głąbami z plemienia i wódz sprzedawał ich za paczkę fajek, bo i tak nie miałby z nich pożytku. i ci wszyscy nieudacznicy pojechali do ameryki. pożenili się, porobili dzieci... świat poszedł do przodu... pojawiły się komputery, amfetamina, samoloty, ale co z tego, jeżeli ich serca pompują tę samą krew, są potomkami człowieka, który na własnym podwórku dał się złapać w siatkę, więc nie uważam, że naszym chłopakom brakuje luzu... kapujesz?!?

and it takes just another big **** to have a one night stand,
and a big enough heart to have a relationship
so the soul enmeshes the juices - that famous
W.D. 40 moment - and a cheap U.B. 40 moment too -
it's a drag like that, he can run a 100 metres in under
10 seconds, but when he swims you just hear
dolphin cackling in the background - not **** aqua
for sure, that's me, with the myth of Atlantis -
orderly, please! line up! take your badges and disperse,
we'll be back here again at the fire-evacuation point
in the the near future - in the meantime do whatever
it is you do, and do it. shame really - you ever see
the fire equipment of 1666? a large water bucket...
people either had a lot of common sense back then
or had magnanimous airs about them
(see how many lawsuits were made in the past decade),
primitive technology - i guess people thought a lot
back then... no talk of dementia - they were hardly literate
but they thought a lot, becoming literate meant
becoming aristocratic degenerates - excess wine, *******
***, scab and crawling ***** on the cranium
intended as barbers - then too many synonyms came,
you said barber and he knew the beard and moustache
was an extension of the head - sure, softer keratin, the harder
version being - i've ***** on my face! i've ***** on my face!
short and briskly - freshly mowed lawn... mm, nice -
fiddle the other part, i'll take a Sikh's beard and make a
violin's bow on the sly - see how Mozart sounds after
that. the Mongol stank and conquered the Alexandrian
Dream - before the arrows pierced, the stench overpowered.
it's just a dreaded affair - in order to give pleasure
i have to give my inner life up - the Greeks called it
barbarism the over way round - words from a *******
as if implying i get really jealous and bring out a knife -
the wonderful phenomenon of the schizoid condition,
or as prior worded, premature dementia, yet such people
continue to be fully functioning in a sense -
language debris - a meteor's tail - politicised psychiatry -
the easy route - say the noun hammer and you know
exactly what to do, unless it's Heidegger's hammer
and you realise he's implying two labourers talking
philosophy while working manually - in that
the ego (nail) should be hammered into a plank
of wood (thought) as easily as the reverse - the reverse
being the hammer (extended into the profession that
uses it frequently - i, carpenter) utilised (being, a) -
i.e. i, being a carpenter, nails, hammering in.
i didn't think this through - what's bugging my certainty
in how to explain it without conversation between
two carpenters discussing philosophy, which never happens,
is not what i'm bothered with, the real issue is i have
with the inherent negativism of subjectivity in English
interpretation of philosophy, crudely:
subjectivity is bad, wrong, self-indulgent, pseudo -
this stress in English thinking with its glorification of
objectivity is, to be honest, strange...
it comes from a book review of Wagner's Ring of
the Nibelung - equatable words: banal and subjective -
banal - trite - well given the "success of the human species"
i'm surprised it's not a universal truth that
we've come a bit trite given the numbers - i've seen
cucumbers fresher than people, we're bound by
an approximate of 70 springs, cucumbers are bound
by 1 spring, you get fresh in a supermarket,
you don't get fresh in books, what with the third butterfly
species σκoνιςμυγα (skonismyga - so not -muga?
up Saigon? i thought you cut off the bits you didn't
want and put the other letters with the cut offs together?
no wonder - upsilon [u] isn't said - just like in Latin
in English we have why - iota not y - dust-fly, i guess
Babylon did survive, in the variations disguising "dyslexia")...
but why is subjectivity so horrid? i thought
we all had our take on things and none of us wanted
to speak for the whole of humanity? Nietzsche warned
and defended individualism like that - who
would want to speak for the entirety of humanity?
in the political realm in the west subjectivity is defended
rigorously - because if you begin championing objectivity
in politics the Iraq Invasion was a bit stupid -
despotism, d'uh - yet in England the tradition is to
have a culture of literature that shuns subjectivity
and champions objectivity - why is subjectivity so
negatively perceived? oh, you're afraid someone is
so ardent on their choice of interest they they might
by accident speak-spit into your face?
subjectivity can't be so ****** negative, it's an expression
of an escape from what objectivity already
defined in the pinnacle by Descartes: res cogitans,
(a) thinking thing - we only write subjectively because
we've been caged in that little no. 2 of a waiter's james
bond tux - we staged an escape, a self-worth fanaticism
on the subjects we love rather than "have to" investigate
without passions, just hubris - which is what
critics use - hubris, disdain - the study of language could
have a similitude to the math of
1 (hubris) and x 1 = hubris, 1 and x 2 = audacity, etc.
in the synonymous table - the lubricant factor.
so, anger over, back to Heidegger's hammer -
nail (ego)            plank of wood (thought)
hammer (therefore)                   a table (existence) -
so why need proofs? why do i need to prove i necessarily
exist (when i don't) or that god unnecessarily exists
(when he does) - why prove something?
so another million schmucks can come along and
prove it either way? it's the nonsense attributed to
Descartes - he stressed an impossible objective-subjectivity
(grammatically more understandable, rigid:
noun-noun doesn't work, ah, objective-subjectiveness -
noun-adjective, pencil-sharpener, pencil-needs-sharpening)
in terms of others - hence the existential other -
well impossible for anyone else to have thought it up,
the impasse of wanting to plagiarising it - a real cul de sac -
well, that's me done on the topic - sonic -
as far as i'm concerned most people keep rigidity
a tight collar of using language not coming across a speedy
suggestion to not think about:
the speed-game of preposition juggling and contras etc.,
the acquisitive use of a language v. the inherited use of a language,
two different ballparks - what i acquired i thus express,
what the organically-historic entity inherited he
will primarily convene to call Poles vermin - a little
perplexed by a more labyrinth style of language used -
it gets personal day by day - but of course the ******* are
a protected species due to their colonial roots - at least
with skin-shallow discrimination you have the obvious bang,
and the immediate retort... this **** is swelling, slowly...
slowly... slowly... those were 8 million or so
Polish-Jews... also vermin... this **** already imploded...
it hasn't exploded... it's a dummy bomb... it imploded...
it's swelling... slowly... slowly... slowly... and when you
won't know it... BANG!