Let me climb the intellectual bandwagon of Chamara Sumanapala of the Sunday Nation in Sirilanka, to recognize a world literary fact that Taras Shevchenko was the grandfather of literature that paid wholesome tribute to Ukrainian nationalism. In this juncture it has to  be argued that it is ideological shrewdness that has taken Russia to Crimean province of Ukraine but nothing like justifiable law and constitutionalism. Let it also be my opportune time for paying tribute to Taras Shevchenko, as at the same time I pay my homage to Ukrainian literature which is also a cultural symbol of Ukrainian statehood. Just like most of the European gurus of literature and art of his time, Taras Shevchenko received little formal education. The same way Shakespeare and Pushkin as well as Alexander Sholenystisn happened to receive education that was clearly less than what is received by many children around the world today.
Like Lucanos the Greek writer who wrote the biblical gospel according to saint Luke, Taras Shevchenko was Born to parents who were serfs. Taras himself began his life being a slave. He was 24 years a serf. He spent only one fourth of his relatively short life of 47 years as a free man. The same way Miguel Cervantes and Victor Marie Hugo had substantial part of their lives in prison. Nevertheless, this largely self-educated former serf became the headmaster, the guru and fountain of Ukrainian cultural consciousness through his paradigmatic literature written basically in the indigenous Ukrainian language. He was a prototype in this capacity given that no any other writer had made neither intellectual nor even cultural stretch in this direction by that time.
And thus in current Ukraine of today, Taras Shevchenko is a national hero of literature and collective nationalism. But due to the prevailing political tension between Ukraine and Russia, his Bicentenary on March 9, 2014 was marred by hoi polloi of dishonesty ideology and sludge of degenerative politics. For many us who derive pleasure from literature and diverse literary civilizations we join the community of Ukrainians to remember Taras Shevchenko the exemplary of patriotism, Taras Shevchenko the poet as well cultural symbol of complete state of Ukraine.
There is always some common historical experience among the childhood conditions of great writers.  In the same childhood version as Wright, Fydor, Achebe, Nkrumah, Ousmane and many others, Shevchenko was born on March 9, 1814 in Moryntsi, a small village in Central Ukraine. His parents were serfs and therefore Taras was a serf by birth. At the age of eight, he received some lessons from the local Precentor or person who facilitated worshippers at the Church and was introduced to Ukrainian literature, the same way Malcolm X and Richard Wright learned to read and write while in prison. His childhood was miserable as the family was poor. Hard work and acute poverty ate up the lives of the family, and Tara’s mother died so soon when he was nine. His father remarried and the stepmother treated Taras very badly in a neurotic manner. Two years later, Taras’s father also passed away. Just in the same economic dint poverty ate up Karl Marx until the disease known us typhus killed her wife Jenny Westphelian Marx.
The 19th century Russian Empire was largely feudal, Saint Petersburg being the exception, just like the current Moscow. It was the door and the window to the West. Shevchenko’s timely and lucky break in life came when his erratic landlord left for Saint Petersburg, taking his treasured serf with him. Since, Taras had shown some merit and knack as a painter, his landlord sent him to informally learn painting with a master. It was fashionable and couth for a landlord to have a court painter in those days of Europe. However, sorrow had to build the bridges in that through his teacher, Shevchenko met other famous artists. Impressed by the artistic and literary merit of the young and honesty serf, they decided to raise money to buy his freedom out of serfdom. In 1838, Taras Shevchenko became a free man, a free Ukrainian and Free European.
As it goes the classical Marxist adage; freedom gives birth to creativity. It happened only two years later, Taras Shevchenko’s collection of poetry, Kobzar, was published, giving him instant fame like the Achebean bush fire in the harmattan wind. A kobzar is a Ukrainian string instrument and a bard who plays it is also known as a Kobzar. Taras Shevchenko also enjoyed some literary epiphany by coming to be known as Kobzar after the publication of his collection.
He was dutifully speaking of the plight of his people in his language, not only through music, but even poetry. However,  there were unfair and censuring restrictions in publishing books in Ukrainian. But lucky enough, the book had to be published outside Russia.

Shevchenko continued to write and paint without verve. Showing considerable merit in both. In 1845, he wrote ‘My Testament’ which is perhaps his oeuvre and best known work. In his poem, he begs the reader to bury him in his native Ukraine after he dies. Not in Russia. His immense love for the land of his birth is epitomized in these verses. Later, he wrote another memorable and compelling piece, ‘The Dream’, which expresses his dream of a day when all the serfs are free. When Ukraine will be free from Russia. Sadly, Taras Shevchenko came to his demise just a week before this dream was realized in 1861.
Chamara Sumanapala wrote in the Sirilanka Sunday Nation of 16 march 2014 that, Taras lived a free man until 1847 when he was arrested for being a member of a secret organization, Brotherhood of St Cyril and Methodius. He was imprisoned in Saint Petersburg and later banished as a private with the Russian military to Orenburg garrison. He was not to be allowed to read and paint, but his overseers hardly enforced this edict. After Czar Nicholas II died in 1855, he received a pardon in 1857, but was initially not allowed to return to Saint Petersburg. He was however, allowed to return to his native Ukraine. He returned to Saint Petersburg and died there on March 10, 1861, a day after his 47th birthday. Originally buried there, his remains were brought to Ukraine and buried in Kaniv, in a place now known as Taras Hill. The site became a symbol of Ukrainian nationalism. In 1978, an engineer named Oleksa Hirnyk burned himself in protest to what he called the suppression of Ukrainian history, language and culture by the Soviet authorities.

May be I’ll start writing, today.  
The story of Zen Zero.

I realized that all good things come to an end.  The tears, the affairs, and even the faintest revelation about my relationship to the Emperor of Japan.  I’ll need help and... well, the truth can be tolled.  It can be that the faintest belief, that we as free people are subject to the king, our God.
A king stands in truth as our kin.  The love that has existed for a thousand years, about justice, permanence, and legend are here.
It all started 7 years ago.  According to the book of John, the 3rd book.  The face of his majesty does have an Imperial Guardian.  In any colour, red, black, blue, white, and even green.  Each color resembles the color of trust.  
I started training in the Emperor's garden at the age of negative 6.  Before my mother can conceive her unborn child in a marriage.  Like the burning of Shin Cho' Palace.  
"Oh, how they forget so quickly, the truth?" says my mother.
They forget so quickly the majesty and power of the Emperor's memory of Mother Japan.  In his Majesty's eyes, how many lovers stir the colors of benevolence.  Where and when does it exist and stop for us as an American patriot sold to slavery for spy’s.  All of his subjects do will and listen to the cry of patience in his family’s quarters.  
My father at the time of his marriage did not know the Emperor's name, I had asked my mother in her heart if she knew the king.  They are no longer married.  They had tried to burn down the Emperor's Palace with a marriage.  But I had already existed, in the love of my family at a wedding joining men and women.  I remember some singing, all though in my mother’s ears, really bad singing. In her head or mine at the wedding, whichever is greater.  Maybe the song was worthless or was the singer already lifting her fingers to strike matches on the bamboo fortress of the young emperor.  
They have had many statesmen destroy the dream that Japan has.  Through lies, corruption, and *******.  Each of the last three I had to conquer to be his Majesty's Justice.  I did not earn the right to judge any such subject or people, it was given freely at that time to children.  I had learned to love the Emperor, even in my own desire to please him and her.  
The lies were towering revelations about the coming of man in God's kingdom, and how the will of imperial veils never existed for the properties of mankind.  The corruption was the setting of dowers or dowries for the subject of lost families, in the forbearance of lucher escaped only by the luck of liars.  And then the dreams of revelry, owned by the ungodly and chaste men of the burning palace, whether sediscious, or whether the fables absolving time in the palace to a judgment had already met the Emperor.  
All of the priests (pre-ests) had to pray; for the remaining time of eternity, for the true judgment of his Majesty's subjects. It was to be taken from the subject of srys to the Emperor's Knight.  
To many were lost in the munitions of war.  Laws that govern and sanction truths were not available to those of absolute corruption.  Stalwarts, stonewallers, and stoners were becoming of the anti-gentry.  The laws were never to be discouraged by zeal, or by trial.  The laws had to represent the ability of love to change time even if the object of factions destroyed the old way.  They had taken the truth to prepare Neoteny for where the first Imperial Guard had placed his head.  The first Imperial Guard, that I became before birth had taken his own head with a weapon made by treason.  
My mother’s dress was made out of spider silk.  A giant spider played Chinese checkers with the Imperial Guard for my head also.  Never the less, the palace, this time was not burned.  The dress was made out of falling stars and spiders silk.  She had found the Emperor's tailor and traded my soul for the wedding.  The pictures that were retrieved from the wedding of my mother and father have ruminated in antiquity since the time until by birth my life.  The seers and srys wanted my head to take up the Emperor's chalice.  His cup, filled with my blood, Simian blood.  
I did not want to go through with it, birth and death before becoming subject to royalty.  Seeing the world before consummation, as I had was never thought of, it was seen as impossible unless by treason we had chided a woman of royalty.  
I have seen the last major asteroid go through our galaxy before it had ever had been a present particle of mutiny.   It proved to the child (myself) in gestation, between man woman at the wedding that time will pass just as quickly before my mind’s eye as it had at the day of Pentecost.   More than 500 billon people were to be saved by God rather than by a humble dismantling of a defense lawyer.
I had seen how flowers are made by tiny Zen Zero bumble bees going to and leaving from daisies and roses, and orchids.  How each seed takes roots and as do the munitions for treason and tears; how each man whom chooses to change their name because of treason begins to understand change when his wife chooses his name.  (The reference is to Zero attacks, suicide attacks.)  How the time and life and essence of life begins in literacy as a language of love.  Every old man on earth can help me write the scripts, but can the country of old men help me change the prophet?
As long as there is war in the palace there will be treason?
The spirit of the samurai was trying the youth in the palace.  From the first born male to the last lady in quixic geisha.  All uniques were to be placed before the Lord for appointment.  Any dreams of or visions of truth were a breach of solemnity lost by the virginity of the family.  The parents of each state were subjects to the Emperor's people, and to the chosen for freedom and slavery.  How many shining knights were to remain in the Emperor's house?  The uniqueness was subject only to the reason of the generation of the age.  Not many of my men had anything left after the life of the quill or pen of the Knight Meteyi had begun to take its place with the heads of loyalists.  His sword remains in the hand of the Majesty of Japan.  No knowledge, no lore, no president, no kin, or liars can stop his reign.  As if the last days of our youth were spent dismantling the bombs we had made during the last few battles over crude extravagance.  Oil, crops, metals, space, as space became a way to admire men in statehood was the example of treason to the following.  Democrats and Republicans began to try as is a trail of laws to and from changes for the people without a loyal subject to observe in service to a Nation.  Freed men became a bureau of Federally Bureaucratic Investigative subjections.  Whether the phone would sense its use and had no service.  Men tried by srys had needed no way to communicate, they were objects, objections, and objective to democracies.  Any and all of the western knowledge of good or evil was not earned in monasteries, it was as it were seen in-between a marriage of a man and a woman and the consummation of the first born to be the king in his own mind. Centrally, intelligence and agency became a lost paradox.  The palace could be burned through neoteny, the truly lost man or woman had to be part of the worm.  The earthworm had to dig up the lost and the prophet from its own humanly death.  

Chapter 2
The dress as simple as it was, was taken off and laid in a box for saving.  It was to travel through time in the Emperor's Palace to serve has a mold, a pattern for quilting lovers of the family tree through the history of love.  After the child was conceived in love, the dress is worn and then placed back into the box for time travel. From a generation of mothers to another generation of lovers. No man was to wear the dress as an idea, thought or wisdom.  The reproach, the dress, and the marriage is virtue encoded into a structure of life   The wisest man let the Emperor dream life into the belly of prophets through the dress.  The smartest scientist understood the impeccable reason of lust and gave all to his bride for the grave that the earthworm had trusted.  The publican had the dress made as a dowry to the tribe of Roman man.  And the Emperor breathed life into the woman with a few breaths at the wedding.  The subjects, the publicans had tried the Emperor for their bride, by making the flowers lean toward their lovers.  They had tried to tell the knight of the Emperor's Palace that the sun had also retired due to mutiny in the ranks and castes of statesmen.  The son will bend light into the palace of wisdom, and the subjects do grieve the stories from prophets.  
At exactly 10:03 central eastern standard time, the states men forgave themselves of suicide and left to burn the palace.  
Each dressed as royalists.  The burning of Chinju Palace is the last thing I remember before giving up to the sound of a 3 or 4 year old woman singing.  The next thing I remember is being dropped on the floor in the delivery room to a rattle and brattle of childish whims.  Like, the sound of laughter, but only as a fury of deceit, the singer was hurt when I had asked her to join the wedding ceremony.  She excused herself of the ceremony as was or were not subjects to the birth of the kings men in harmony.  

She tried, and wanted to steal the dress.  

Chapter 3
There was mostly nothing in the womb. Except Dogma.  My father, as dogma.  He would whisper to her in bed and they would giggle about never understanding anything ever again.  I excepted NAME for my name.  They didn’t know if a boy or a girl were to be born.  I could know the difference at the time of their conversation.  I then realized that the 3 years prior to conception were perfect.  And I, the Emperor's Knight, was tolled.  Tolled the way bells sound and the way people love to hear the news.  The way light has no existence in the womb, I was tolled the way Sandalphon treaded upon the tribe of Israel.  
Lying was not invented yet, well,... while in the womb, but I had heard some whispers in the darkness.  The camera couldn't fit in, I called and tolled the camera from the womb, in between to friends.  I called the camera, Dragon.  The dragon is the trust moving in-between true and time.  The Dragon, Meteyi had told me that we were going to write everything.  From the believe that martial arts were stronger than prayer, and to the reason that it was not true.  Factually, there was nothing but prayer and no martial artist had a sword bigger than the lie of the Emperor's dragon.  The dragon said, to my father,..."The world is to die for, and not enough."  The dragon also said to my mother,..."The purpose is in your belly as a rainbow in disgust."  He, the dragon almost couldn’t believe that I had mentioned to hymn that there was no way out of this without a dream so relax and let me fit in.  The doctor had to have heard of the loyalist dream of a birth right.  Basically, I didn’t want him to slap me for the first breath.  I hurt bad, like out of a sarcastic Scotlandish parody.  Many, many, many, men quit trying to go through the sry after that.  My mother creeped up to me after my kin had asked the doctor to pick me up off of the floor.  She smiled and handed the birth certificate to the nurse and read my social security number to my father on the phone, he was on duty at the Air Force Base.  My ears were still clogged with seminal fluid, but I could feel her dream a name into my soul.  She can know the Emperor's knight.  After a few moments, my cry as chide by the Emperor, into being a whisper of life.  From that moment on in my life, I could not cry ever, as a child cries.  Otherwise I could be a whisper.

Chapter 4
Every chance at change that had gotten to us was used by running from the dragon.  He liked Batman and hated Robin but new to fathers, knew that hatred kept something’s safe from the palace. The palace could never get filled by whispers.  The whispers only object to democracy and help the camera.  The daguerreotype was possibly the only thing that couldn’t lie.  It was considered lye to gossip worshipers.  Gossip may have started the war on bugs.  Like bugs in ceaseless noise are prayer or whispers, like gossip.  When bugs stop whispering, some seemingly are bad with superstition and others are horrible with bugs.  
The next few years, were also perfect.  I had no idea who else, I could be.  Absolutely perfect, the Emperor subjected us to love.  I could **** all day, eat as much as I wanted and was warned when they thought, like a whisper.  When it was time to eat, when it was time to bath and when it was time to be quiet and sleep were similar to whispers.  Diapers were not invented yet, I had to invent them.  My mother used to get sick from the pain of laundry and sleeping with me.  When the diapers were *****, she wash them and place them back on my ****.  Like a good, palace guardian, I used them up.  The new diapers had an air of mutiny to them, the disposable ones.  We never kept trash in the house.  The signs that we have had a king for dinner were never to be seen, but everyone had the right to change pants.  
Many of the ideas in life shared before birth were not existent after birth.  It was not until my family had meet the Emperor that... we needed to love God by learning to pray.  

Chapter 5
When we met the Emperor, it was easy to say that no whispers were used.  Other things were.  A memory, not a book was here.  There was no time, the palace he made for me was from God and a lot of people wanted in.  The Royal subject was the Emperor's first knight, my father's.  I had to memorize time, which in turn was not mine.  The actual Emperor thought, that I, am a poet of sorts.  We spelled the word memory in the sky together without words, whispers, or gossip.  The next few years were spent dyeing as tap or a drill bit would being to make a hole for fastening life to the surface of my families.  Called a tap and die, the whole of life must be treaded through time without a spry attempt to vacancy.  After the Emperor, my mother and father did not know that meeting the pope was bad.   The Emperor is good.  

Chapter 6
Mainly my ability to learn, had started to fail.  There was not need to have ability.  But walking was hard.  When I stood, I was pushed through, walking.  Like a battle of balance and superstition.  Crawling had no sense, being picked up made things silly.  When wanting to be here, and not knowing how to get there through crawling, here I was a a chubby fat knight.  Father used lemons on my taste buds and cracked when he knew not how I loved them.  He had to make work to pay bills and I learned that without a whisper.  So we would sh

“If you or someone you know
Has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s . . . ”
You can tell a great deal about UNLV,
My Vegas morning, easy listening
Radio station of choice,
When I first sit down,
Sit down to work in the morning,
One can surmise from the
Target demographics of so dire,
Such sober pronunciamentos, by
DJ Mueller, 91.5 The Source»
Live from UNLV/KUNV
Las Vegas kunv.org/KUNV
The Jazz Lounge with
Frank Mueller, Thursday, 7:00 am-11:00 am.
So don’t say I never
****** your ****--metaphorically speaking—
Herr Mueller, my good friend.
And while we’re on
The subject: WORK.
They never tell you that
Writing is such ******* hard work,
Which explains my need to **** up &
Lubricate the mechanism,
Before I start.
But I digress.

Just in case you haven’t noticed,
In case you had not been taking heed, CNN:
There’s an exciting new, radical ******,
Left-wing personage & presence
Making a play for the main room,
Center stage, center ring
Global Palace & Amphitheater.
I refer, of course to
Pope Francis:
Media-savvy, media mensch,
Crafting his own image,
Playing to the masses,
Choosing the namesake--
Francesco—right outta the gate,
Zip outta some Franco Zeffirelli
“Brother Sun, Sister Moon,”
Saint Francis di Assisi,
Talent show.
Born Jorge Mario Bergoglio,
In Buenos Aires, Argentina,
He worked briefly as a
Chemical technician
(Read: “bomb maker”)
& Nightclub bouncer
(Read: “sadist”)
Before resuming
Seminary studies, 1969.
(Tribute PSA: October 29, 1969: Happy 40th Birthday to a Radical Idea! Bill Duvall, SRI computer room. Late 1960s, the evening of October 29, 1969 the first data travelled between two nodes of the ARPANET, a key ancestor of the Internet.)
Pope Francis is a master at technology,
As any aspiring Global Wizard must be.
He has a special web site:
“Papal Bulls & Other *******.” Palabras del Papa Francisco - News.va www.news.va/es/source/vatican-va Translate this page PAPA FRANCISCO. AUDIENCIA GENERAL Miércoles 13 de mayo de 2015. [Multimedia]. Queridos . . .

Francis: Pope in Rome,
Signing international treaties again.
The Holy See himself—that
Wacky Argentinian--
One of many Lefty Cardinals,
Pulls off upset ordination in
Vatican City, God’s little 110 acres,
Our world’s smallest city & sovereign state,
Patrolled by a wacky-striped
Swiss Wackenhut Swat Team,
The Vatican: former playground for Nero,
**** Command Central for Caligula,
Construct of Mussolini’s $92 million
(More than $1 billion in today’s
Ever more worthless,
Ever more inflation soaring money!)
Lateran hush money,
Vatican monopoly money,
Seed money for colonial expansion,
Il Duce signing on behalf of
King Victor Emmanuel III,
Remembered today
Mainly for his short stature, &
Exile to Alexandria, Egypt,
Where he died and was buried.
“Vic the Man,” as he was known
Here in the Principality of Monaco,
“Vic the Man in Monte Carlo.”
But I digress.

Just the other day, Pope Francis
Signed another international treaty,
Recognizing Palestinian statehood,
Generating praise from Palestinians, &
Criticism from Israelis, who said:
“The move does not advance peace efforts.”
“Even this Philo-Semitic pope,
This pope who cares about the Jews,
Even he doesn’t get it,” said
David Horovitz, Editor,
The Times of Israel,
Which is what one would expect from
The guy who wrote the book:
A Little Too Close to God,
Still Life with Bombers:
Israel in the Age of Terrorism . . .

It is tempting to ignore the
Sheer ego, the colossal megalomania
That is Jorge Mario Bergoglio,
Truly a personage of great moral suasion,
Whether he’s cleaning the feet of the homeless,
Dialing up strangers for late-night chats or
Convincing the self-described atheist,
Raúl Castro to give Catholicism a second look . . .
This pope who took the name of a
Nature-loving pauper,
This Pope in Rome,
Francis:  Transformative,
Revolutionary gust.
Pontiff, from Latin: “a bridge,”
Spanning the God-Man divide.
We are talking about a brotherhood,
That survived both Borgia & Medici,
And other assorted kink-fests for centuries.
Just what bizarre peccadillo
Required the resignation of
Benedict XVI, in itself, a
2,000-year first?
Francis:  the first Jesuit Pope.
Francis: the first Pope from America.
Francis: “The circumstances surrounding
Benedict's decision to step down
Will titillate scholars and the journalists alike,
For many years to come,
Given his resignation came so soon
After the “VATI-LEAKS” revelations:
Vatican bank corruption,
Pederast-priest cover-ups, &
Other ignominious fiascos
Requiring significant damage control.

One would think that an institution
With their own royal observatory,
The Papal See’s inter-galactic,
Night-vision telescope, Mount Graham,
Southeast of Tucson, Arizona,
Could steer clear of faulty stars.

(For better understanding read my poem Abhimanyu (part-1))
TRANSLATED BY KARISHMA JI (Thanks to her)


When Kurukshetra* was burning in the flames of war
God of death had opened his third eye
When the heads of men were being chopped
When Jackals were tearing apart the corpses on the ground


When blood thirsty men were waging war against themselves
When arrows notching the bow caused uncountable deaths
Goddess of war was dancing on mortal bodies
Wicked witches laughed at the loss of human lives

Laps of mothers were suddenly empty
Dust covered the parting of hair where vermilion was once applied
The fire which raged the whole nation – Bharat
Was the great war, known as Mahabharat


Earth was covered with blood and tears
Chariots overran the bodies of men
Warriors were trying to quench their greed
Trying to slake their bloodlust

These were the descendants of the same ancestor
Some were younger brothers and some were their elders
But brotherhood was sacrificed to statehood
Eyes shone only with passionate savagery

Kurukshetra – name of a battlefield
* Traditionally, Hindu women apply vermilion to a parting of their hair after marriage
** Mahabharat – an epic narrative of the battle of Kurukshetra

I feel I have to make my defence
Regarding those who over several millennium
Believe they can speak for me;
I do not need to name names, do I? You know
Exactly who I mean. What can I do?
I speak briefly to someone once and, before
I know it, we’re ***** buddies-they claim to
Know my inner-most thoughts,
My opinions on every subject from what
Clothes to wear to who to marry.

Do I not have more important things to think about?
The well-being of an entire universe to evaluate
On a daily basis?
How you treat one another is your concern-
Just keep me out of your bigotry and spite,
My name out of your books, my voice out
Of your heads. I am not who you claim me
To be; I am far better and, at certain times, far worse.
I am both nothing and everything!

You can nevertheless be assured-
I do not lead your armies, support your murders,
Sanctify your suicides, bless your hatreds.
I do not inhabit your words,
Your statues, your art, nor am I the knowing
Voice in your head or the gnawing pain
In your heart. Own what is yours!




Originally, I was a small-time local deity,
Lord of the mountain, brooks and olives.
Benevolent, ***** and shy.
Nothing special! One god amongst many
In and out of pantheons, attached to this
Goddess or that. Sometimes I was el of the
Desert, sometimes the family god in
The corner or staring out of the tent flap-
Inauspicious and insignificant!

I was happy then. I had none of the obsessive
Responsibilities of a universal god. I seduced
The local women, fathered thousands of mixed-children-
Part deity/part human-received the flow of eager
Sacrifice; the few remaining aurochs,
Bulls, deer and first born. The smoke always revitalised me!
Children’s flesh was always particularly nourishing!
For such extensive insurance for my continued interest
I protected each group who so honoured me, destroying
Their enemies, as well as their friends.
(But, oh, not now! I’m expected now to exterminate entire neighbourhoods,
Nations and cultures! Now I’m expected to be the murderer,
The sole master of death!)

I was without ideas! I accepted everyone, loathe to judge!
****** peccadilloes I found interesting, fun.
Adultery I saw as an aspect of marriage,
Homosexuality, the absorbing antitheses of the endless
Production of new life, from its sterile cusp
Seeping forth new ideas and artistic burgeoning.
I created beauty, adoring it. I danced to
Lively music, sang to beautiful songs.

In Egypt a disgruntled warrior-priest arose, preaching violence,
Preaching conquest. I trembled in his angry presence,
Shaken by his bloodlust. An excitable poet sang of his adventures,
Turning a 100 followers into thousands. The poets used my name-
One fashioned in gentleness-to encourage war.
Then, from the confusions of statehood, prophets emerged
Spreading their misery through my authority,
Grinding my benevolence under soiled sandals,
Telling others what to do, as if the words were mine-
Engaging in genocide with pitiless intention.
They flail my soul with madness!

And so on and so on; numerous messengers
Shouting of sin and retribution,
My voice reverberating with their words,
As I stand in the shadows like a serial killer,
Frightened of lamplight. With nothing
More to do, conforming savants
Described rules for life, a non-existent heaven,
Transcribed my thoughts from their own experiences
Created another reality, ignoring their own.



I am now terrified of my name
(EL, YHWH, Allah) Terrified of what it represents-
Burdened by its acquisition
By the bombastic and cruel.
I, who was once a god, now
Am captive, a prisoner of recitation.
Where once I had priests to beckon, they
Now beckon me. Where once I pronounced on
Goodness, I am now too alarmed to speak.
Where once I was the object of sacrifice
I am now the sacrifice itself.

we know the exact reality
deep in the horn's balcony
the home of good mentality
that the world thinks it's fantasy


we see the flourishing democracy
and the beautiful statehood odyssey
adopted by the people of modesty
running their lives with good policy



we know the land of peace
where goodness always faced with "yes"
making the trouble incidences less
though locating in a region full of mess

In a villa of all pleasant tidings
Wherein king's and queens art inviting
I shalt relax to one's Rosie kisses...

In an estate of happiness
Wherein creatures art ourn amuse
I shalt be her poet, and I shalt be her muse....

In a dwelling of companionship
A best friend and lover relationship
No worries to come in between, and none words art hidden...

In a palace
For her tongue and neck to fill mine chalace
Her eye's to entwine to mine, In a statehood of none malice....

In a residential casa
She shalt giveth all, not just a mantra
But a realness I've yearned for.....

In the starry place I've been waiting......

Yet this dream is all just a wonderful dream...

who would have thought this would be our world... who could have known that we would all be in this subatomic illusion... we stand with our souls aflame never knowing the mirrored veneer... The years are making decades and i sleep to see the dream tonight crept spreading upon my screen but i cant remember in the dawn awake to screaming rays of sun looming its death erases all of man now futility crys a mortal lie of afterlife adorning souls infinite;y inflated spiked with saga induced ideas that lay engorged of a brain inside a shell  flush with the chemical structure inherent like a k plan inlaying bricks to hell and im ending now because im done numbed by the numbers and tumbling aeroerratic forcing the sky to rip the fabric open wide eyes bending rendering statehood complete.........

between: stature... and...
statehood....
no...

between stature
and...
honey-pigglet-movie-aside...
your teenager sons
and daughters...
you... "lucky".. so-and-so...

wait till your children
are incompetent-competent
automatons of:
expressing free will...
you want agency
i'll give you agency!

******* mother goose riddle:
(w)rap up!
old song of Norse....
i can't... i wan't..
i can't escape 'em....

h'aamerica: the white...
of Dover...
count the teeth...
                    cliffs!
               i want to wait some more...
i'm waiting...
and... i'm waiting...
waiting... waiting so more...
a fine Lamborghini ***
of Aztec pride...
****!
         attempting to clap
while holding a bagel in the clarity
of the ave maria
being: ushered in...
      
she has an ***... like...
what's not to love about, leather?
tight knitting... and knotting...
******' bonanza of secrets....
  
roxette's joyride...
or... sheryl crow's maybe angels...
******* ms. free-girl...
i'm cheap ****...
i'm cheap dolphin escapade...
whitey-doubling-on-meat...
to hell with h'america...
burn ***** burn...

it's not Vietnam...
but sure as **** there's all this... leftover
of guerilla warfare....
and a stale... coca-cola...
******* too... mrs. perfect...
              come nearest come
agent...                 H'orange...
whistle some: choo-choo while you're at it!

beer, as i discovered, is about as crucial to marinade meat as is salt and olive oil... especially when tenderizing pork... esp pork...

now pork, i do know:
unlike chicken or beef...
only recently i found out
that a quick Turkish marinade
with some Sumac
rosemary... rosemary?!
yes: apparently beef
works just as well with rosemary
as does lamb...

i don't understand the monotheistic
**** of logic against pork
maybe all that dehydration have
those "sputnik bros"
the wrong kind of hallucinations
maybe the rest of us are
forgiving of the sand people too
much:

but sure as **** Islam wasn't born
a heritage implosion
of Judaism:
Islam was born from having
to antagonize Christianity:
in the sentiment of:
Christianity begot waging
war of images against words
and Islam was born with a reply:
to wage war with words against
images...

pork i can understand:
how to marinade the beast...
tenderize it... succumb to:
the oink and the cartilage
in hoofs in nails
in ears in tail:
the most economic animal known
to man: in terms of edibility:
which is why these sand-people
seem so strange to
be so loved up in Kentucky
bird flute playing the flu
i don't get this backwardness...
this critique of god
it's almost like a gimmick
to show god and the people befriended:
so... these lunatics do realize
that: you couldn't possible
raise a piglet farm in the desert:

they do realize that Europe
was once a forest
and uprooting trees and turning the former
forest land into arable pasture
was not exactly...
what's the word: waiting in the desert
tending to camels spitting in your eye
blah: it wasn't super easy...
and yet the pig gets the brunt of the burden
of: weird people:
super weird people...
at least the Chinese with their atheism
and a lifetime of catching up
to the European fascination with
the Egyptians: but
what other written script out of Africa?
can we be summoned to the judgement:
well in part the westerners of the continent
but are we to blame for
how loudly Nigerians speak:
simply because they had no concern
for scribbling down the sounds that they
made and conjured up letters?

ooh look at me: i'm about to google
a politically correct... for fool's gold
if i didn't come across any African alphabet
until i already bypassed hieroglyphs then
what the **** am i expecting?
ideograms? Katakana syllables?
Korean thingy-ma-jigs?

          talking to Muslims and about Pork
is a bit like...
talking to someone about arachnophobia
holding a tarantula in your hand...
talking to Jews and pork is non-essential
since those other ancient spastics of the desert
finally succumbed to some variation
of liberalism on the culinary front
and in the most extreme scenarios the ones
that still to a pork-phobia
are the inbreeding types who wrestle
with having a state:
but not making statehood crux
of military service because of: "religious studies"...

******* camel jockey pork-phobia:
so blind that they see the letters
but can't hear the sounds:
like my latest fetish for the dentist:
like: it really was the antithesis of getting
a *******
and getting trimmed by a barber:
i got all tingles...
some man: two to be exact...
putting their hands into my mouth
wearing latex gloves...
it was like the perfect anti-******* *******...
so much so that i geared up
for the event by jerking off to
some ***** flicks with pregnant women:
god i love a good video where
a pregnant woman gets pleasured:
because:
if i was in the capacity to get a woman
pregnant:
i'd like to think what my allowances were:
could i **** her with that fetus inside her
or just all oral i mean i don't know:
just wearing a ring finger makes me think
all **** thinks all things godly and forbidden
and that's not even me contemplating
hell
because that's the one place were people
are there so sadomasochistic ends meat: meet...

boo hoo...
** ** **... Santa some variant of Satan's Clause...
i just don't understand why
this special spastic treatment of people
who fear eating pork...
clearly we are not literate
but imitation monkey: clapping:
that's not reading that's not:
it's just i say yo echo! echo! echo sounds!
baritone: get back to me later...
echo pork porky porky pi in the iota of sigma kappa
gamma... since: not real why-i-y...
but there's the j... which is sort of the antonym
of the sound enshrined in Y: Jive: hive:
yew: jew...

imagining a cannibal transported to a world
of vegan fetishes:
oat milk, dairy free: not eating poultry abortions
of eggs:
no cheese: no milking of the cow:
just rubbing firmly at a cucumber
to get some motivational juices out...
getting a haircut: primal instinct...
clearly we're not literate, collectively...
just because people can do more with signature
beside an X is
algebraic proof that: but people still adhere
to stupid ordeals of time-framed intellect
of progress that worked: for a time:
but have become: outdated and: this is no way
to live: this life of antagonizing pork
because somehow you can't be
the next sheep-******* and camel jockey
Don Muhammad
with an Envy of Solomon's Harem...

               lucky for me that i started basking
in the sexuality of a post-****** creature
now i don't have to worry about
unexpected pregnancies lock-me-up Scotty... spot...
Polka: that's dot dot... dot dot dot... dot...
now i just have to worry about a prenup
and...
well i was serious:
if i'm going to test hallucinogenic mushrooms
somewhere in a field in a meadow
in a forest enclosure:
i will need to sample the anti-thesis of Dune
or Dune proper
and ingest a tapeworm...
if i'm going to test hallucinogenic mushrooms
i need to bio-hack my consciousness
and create a trinity of me:
a tapeworm and a mushroom: fungal growth
of consciousness...

i am: deadly serious...
dope state deep of: my van Gogh is getting
the proper revisionist treatment of:
2nd attempt at seriousness:
first time it was all **** naked faking...

i still don't understand this prominence of
the desert people
and the literal obliteration of the forest people
of the Amazon...
because: clearly: the Europeans were living
in an area: this readily presented as the arable
breadbasket...
chisel the African man started rapping
blah blah bli bli blue blue blood:
but!
at least he converged and living among us
started to wear our clothes
and completely obliterated the stronghold of
classical music constipation with jazz
while the Muslim did: what?

but if it's all so bad
then why live among us why attempt
to intellectually clone as
as an extension of your repertoire of red flags?
why be so adamantly critical of god:
why would god be so critical of pig
if you laugh because English
is a language of mirror: GOD with DOG
and Allah: well: not exactly
symmetrical like YHWH when you think of
it: just LLH and that looks *******
****... **** beyond hope of not looking ****...
so...

m'eh...            pork pie!

the tragedy of 1948

Israel declared statehood the west was happy
the Jews had suffered much and deserved a state
the fact that 700 thousand Palestinians lost
their homeland was overlooked.
We were all pro- Israel back then and thought
the region would usher in peace and prosperity.
It was not to be.
Instead, we see that the land of promise has
turned violent wanting all of Palestine and part of Syria
and Jordan too, they appear unstoppable.
The only group holding them back a little is the Hezbollah
who we call a terrorist, but they are a bulwark
the brutal regime in Israel who has nothing to offer but
a war against anyone opposing their quest for total power.
But the Palestinians are not forgotten the scale fell
from our eyes, we see what is happening.
Israel as a state should be boycotted, we in the west
should treat the country as an abomination it is.
By curtailing Israel, we will, in the long run, help its survival.
Force it back to the agreed borders, declare Palestine
a sovereign state, and send NATO troops to secure the perimeter
of Palestine and give financial help to her malign people.

a death in the workforce: the agency i'm currently employed with is under inverstigation of employee negligence... i have been asked to submit my social media details: thank **** i've had my facebook page a parody of self-profiling... now i'm being asked about my taxes... this is a very British, subtle, interrogation... it's the deep state at its finest... the shallow state is seeing postmen, binmen... street cleaners... police officers... security... that's the shallow state... within where society... "society": can have their LGBTQ+ marches and their Free-Palestine marches... that's society... that's not the state... it would best to make that distinction... politico ****... there is an investigation currently happening and it is done with the most subtle of nuances: more like cue:ounces:of:queue.

in terms of statehood: the architecture
and the underbelly:
maybe celebrity culture...
but there's this strata of the state:
a state is not society:
there's no biology no architecture...
the STATE is not SOCIETY

i think the Audit Men have come...
oh it's a little operation...
a staffing agency
ex military blah blah pound lb for lb
i think the Audit Men have come:
like a covert taxman
when...
ergonomically speaking...

unlike construction when a man
like the one direction might fall
from an Argentinian balcony only 15min
and scrambled eggs... **** me...
but there has been a death in the work force
suicide... some says dead-end realism
was a brain hemmorghhage...

the Audit Men have come and...
of all the people that abused him:
i was the only one
to not have any social media connection
with him...
oh it's fine: all saints' day is upon
us and we craft our new memory from
the memory of those dead:
the anti-algebra of schools
x squared in mathematics to x in the chemistry
mother mathematics:
father chemistry...          in terms of the Visigrad
4 poster child man of marble
new intelligence from the plough
Dostoyevsky's idiot
a Jesus on a cross or maybe Darth Poueuouloo:
Somoan ninja manster...
hey kindo...

             Wembley shift... these three *******...
Gaza strip paupers...
death masks and all:
wanna run up Spanish Steps: known formerly as:
Spanish...
now Taylor's Steps... ******* *****...
but bag matey'oh...
sleep one hour longer...

they are getting the audit from the +Stasi police:
the intellectual police of:
a citizen dies... society doesn't care...
but the ******* state bureaucracy:
the bread and butter shadow folk, do...
it's not shadow-state conspiracy theory:
but there are so many people around
so many ******* clerical cabinets of architecture:
remote working from home...
empty glass monstrosities...

we used to build with rock and egg and spit
now just glass and metal...

an "individual" is a construct of "society"...
fair enough: there's the playground
go and play, little child...
but...
             the CITIZEN is a UNIT of the STATE...
and there's the distinction about what
states are: immovable: unnatural: god given aids
to subdue "societies":
******* harems... ******* swingers parties:
communes: squatters' ***** ******...
an individual is as flimsy as a society:
societies wither, fade, become disgusting...
but... citizens... states... remain...
       like the Colisseum... that became Wembley Stadium...

three young asians ran up to me and asked...
are you a Viking?! are you a Viking?!