this is not a ten stepper essay.  You are, and you admit it, full stop. Addicted to HP.  No help here.

but to answer the question...

the writing of a poem,
no matter what your style,
eye dropper word selection,
slow methodical,
or furious expelling, frying oil
until crescendo is achieved
is clearly a fulfillment of
a ****** type of need.

Afterwards,
after words,
when you repeatedly
check the number of likes,
it is just you asking me

was it as good for you
as it was for me?

Usually, eventually,
the answer is a
quiet, soft spoken,
very few reads version of:

"Uh, just let me sleep"
which means you will try again
in the the morning suncomeforth.

The adolescent Currawong
not exactly stumbling or tripping
is parrot-like as a junior, a
hopper and stepper in
the art of stalking and hunting

In a series of quick-steps and bounces
she moves sideways, most emphatic as
a survival enthusiast

She gazes, investigates and gathers the curios,
insects, rich dark worms
one gesture at a time

She is vigilant and persistent
through the dust
the soil, the grass
with instinct and practise

through her teachers
she thrives

MChallis © 2015

walking ever so slowly
down the sloping, lonely ramps
like no one's ever stared at you
you ignore my signals and signs
i'm calling your name quietly tonight
lookin' like i got into a fight
dancing over too you in the middle of my mind
i'm just trying to wind up finding your old signs
hanging in the doorway of your head
would i be crossing the line if i said
"before i saw you, i was the living dead"?

it really seems like everything was set up
looking up, not giving up
thought it was a waste of my time
until i got the courage to step over the line

swaggering smoothly toward me
trying & choosing to smoothly sway me
though i've seen your kind
i trip into your trap with eyes wide
animated lilies spring up around us
digital wind moves the grass, and i must
say that i think the ground feels familiar
beneath my feet, the soil's loose, you're my killer
i try to find your gaze, but it's lost in the dirt
never believe the words "this won't hurt"
that might be the biggest lie i've ever heard

Tap dance on girders, Ben Franklin Bridge
Jubilant prepubescent boy making mockery
Alpha doggie dodging any common sense
Step ball change and windmills free range
Little show off teetering on brink of disaster

And a dare of unabashed audacity
Stare, stare, and stare down his prey
Tap a whack tap, double time flick flack
Intensity that cannot possibly go away
Dared youth’s eyes give all hints to fear
Though no tear will come to his pride
Other boy steps and glides

Reach comes forward, disaster tap mongrel
Puppy stepper’s got to be a go-getter
Holds his hand out and comes quick the grab
Trembles a fright, Speedline in sight
This rail from Jersey to Pennsy might bite
Shaking and tapping, absurdum jacking

The slip; it’s over as you knew it would be
Alpha Dog sniffs that bridge to this day
Searching permissiveness, lost in foray
But if he hears one tap or a click or a clank
Jittery twitchiness, on that you can bank

I can see the pain you try and keep within your teeth..
It’s falling out your eyes,
Trailing lines atop the streets.
Why don’t you sit and talk with me,
My honest ears, just let it out.
I’ll keep it to myself,
Your achey words will never touch my mouth.

You see it as a million mountains
that you have to climb,
I try to show you there’s a simple path,
Just one you have to find.
The dam built in your eyes
Is spilling
Same goes for the one built in your mind.
I want to tear it down,
See you free,
See you running wild.

Imagining, I see your teeth are nothing but a cage
For your tongue,
Imagine all these words just rolling off ablaze.
Oh it would be amazing,
Tasting flare from all your fallout.
The plants retract their claims of faith,
The sun, it seems so dull now.
With you around,
Disaster’s but a shrug & we stay northbound.
Mushroom cloud stepper,
Red pepper, here I call out:
“I could always see your wings,
Since we sat, swaying on the swings.
A presence never made me melt the same,
I doubt one ever will again."
Every time I left the grounds
I kept you somewhere in my mind
Yet every time you wound up close to me
I’d hide behind my eyes.
You hadn’t left my mind but my reality
Had changed a lot
A bit of strength had shifted to my shape
& we could finally talk
Time had come to pass
I’m older, bolder, somewhat of an ***
I play guitar throughout the classes
Ashy from the mornings hash.
You asked me “Could I sing along?”
Or maybe I asked you,
Learned that I could Use Somebody,
hopes of getting close with you.
Our voices filling up the room
Fluorescent flowers start to bloom.
I see a supernova,
Open up my eyes,
all I see is you
I’m flashing back to heart attacks
When first graced by your presence
Now I’m living here in song
With you,
I fight to keep my breath in.
Just so I can let it go,
With time and tone, to flow & meet with yours
And form those meteors
Of heart and soul
We rode with no remorse.

Oh maybe I’m infatuated,
Maybe it’s all lust.
Maybe we are meant to be
But just haven’t fallen up yet,
I await your wings,
To show you things,
To grow and know you well.
You may just wait the same as me,
Only time will tell.

Me-
“D” UP! “D” UP! put them hands up, hands up.
And I’m robbing folks on the pass if they slip up.
Don’t allow nobody to pass by you, move your feet.
Don’t go for every reach, just keep them in front of you my G.

They dealing with a team full of experts.
Juice & I will double-team, so squad be on high alert.
Make them work, cut off those passing lanes and
once they turn the ball over, we’ll be gone in an instant.


Juice-
Aye, look at these wanna be play makers.
Zay steal that, now pass that.
Cause I’m about to lob that to my boy Doug.
BOOM!!! I see you Doug with the 360 alley-oop dunk!

YOOO! Ball is thrown in, watch for the pass and skip!

Me-
No worries I got the ball my guy, don’t trip.
Here Juice! Run 54-hip.

Juice-
Aww snap! Time to ****!
I’m about to put the boys in their feels!

Cross-over stepper, step-back decker.
I’m a G.O.A.T. getter, nobody does it better.
Weak mismatches and easy pass dishes.
Pick & role to the pocket, they can’t stop this.

Zay-
Man, we about to hurt these fools on the other end too.
About to get tortured as we break their hearts in shambles.
And when we rock them and stop them at the rim, it’s straight blocking.
Even if they try to shoot, BLOCKA, BLOCKA, BLOCKA!

Juice-
It is what it is fam, to bad they about to lose.

Zay-
At the end of the day, what the hell they gonna do?

Juice-
Now this is epic. We got them looking pathetic.
I said what I said, ain’t no room to be apologetic.

Part of my name means to step,
trying to find my feet,
can't save my rep,
hollow chest despite the bench press,
finding fuel so the next gen's set,
all for the fam like Vin diesel,
often times I'm very cheesy,
life and its lemons might just squeeze me.

Thankful for those who stay,
give me hope for a brighter day.

What professions could you aspire,
with your sky-wide hands—a mountain for hire?

A stepper, a stomper, a mammoth barbarian?
Surely there’s something—must you be a librarian?

Look at your size! It doesn’t make sense!
You sat just now on the library fence!

The ‘brary doors open ‘low even your knees
The shelves at your toes! The people like fleas!

You could never succeed as a little librarian.
No less than a lion could eat vegetarian!

I told him all that. Fact, I told him twice!
But a dream is no more a gift than a vice.

For my giant had dreamt of a future so long
filled with books-upon-books, snug where they belong.

He’s clung too far n’ too fast to simply comprise,
‘for he’ll give up his dream, he’ll alter his size!

Thus he searches the land for the littlest books,
hoping each tiny page will change how he looks

One day, he imagines, he’ll fit through those doors.
He’ll walk through the stacks—how a dream can endure!

With thousands of little books scooped up in his arms,
the giant starts reading ‘til he’s learned every word.

But a thousand, a million, no number of verses
could shrink down that giant to the size of a person.

Closing the cover, his dreams ‘gan to fade
the shelves and the stacks—the future he’d made.

‘til a comforting voice squeaked all of a sudden
What a wonderful book! Could I check out this one?

The giant looked downward, right under his nose
at a thousand odd books shelved right in his toes

I warned and I cautioned, now I must carry-in,
no ‘brary keeps books like the giant librarian!

I’m stuck in this maze, that has no end.
I run and I run yet no one has help to lend.

I feel the world tugging, me down a bit,
telling me I’m worthless and that its time to quit.

There are so many corners, and so many edges, its hard to avoid falling off the countless ledges.

Person after person, comes to yell in my ear,
“its time to quit running, you have no luck here.”

I start to think they are all a little bit right,
I’ve tried my best and held on with all my might.

The labyrinth is smarter and better too,
I’ve tried so hard and still am yet to make it through.

Its time to give up I say to myself,
as I take once stepper closer to the tallest of shelves.

I hang my foot just over the edge,
and remember the struggles that pushed me to this ledge.

Its over I repeat again and again in my head,
I step off the shelf and now I am dead.

Wickedness or weakness?
I should probably not tweet this,
Nearly slipped in to an abysmal depth of despair but read and heard of an heir,
the grim reaper sewed me a ragged garment but i traded it for a glorious cloak i never deserved,
Gave me solace when i seemed stressed,
I felt my soul less with each step,
To be or not to be?
Neither left right nor centrist,
box me at your peril,
living with the most hopeful omen,
killing fear by the day,
The only way to drink the cup is to keep my eyes up,
Icarus: you can never get too close to the Son,
Part of the cure or disease?
don't know how many seconds till the clock stops,
sprinkle some joy in to this cold play,
imperative is change the narrative,
first to find the path to match my claim,
the freedom attained must be sustained,
Am I free?
Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

We were going on a cruise, he and I.
The package read, “Two Elegant Evenings.”
Romance and I envisioned his arms wrapped around, my waist—
Small, us staring into each other’s eyes.
I put it all together, blue shoes, shimmery blue stockings, jewelry, and the
Little blue dress,
That night, on the boat, I pulled the dress out.
My man didn’t stare at me, or into my eyes.
Sitting down, to put on my makeup,
He said, “Do you really have to wear that much eye makeup?”
He stared at the other girls, and their dresses,
Sometimes looking over me, or past me, to get a better look.
And when I cried, “I’m ugly,” because I felt ugly, he said,
“Don’t worry, I’m ugly, too.”
On the boat,
He really liked the dancer girl, who worked out at the gym,
On the stepper machine, telling me, “Your **** is flat.”
When I got home, I threw the dress away,
And stared at my ****.

Dying petals adorn the sidewalk
They're varying pigments document life's varying stages of leaving,
Thwarts drafts of wind, their nature
to revel in my gaze
Not in act of personification,
They are not the object of attraction
No,
But a messenger to the careful stepper,
“Look up.”

skies and trees
lakes, rivers, and countries.
Stars, moons, and sun. Something
for everyone. Jungles, forests

and blooming gardens. Mountains
deserts and crystal waterfalls. Buildings over
a thousand feet tall. You can't see it
all in a lifetime. I'm drunk on it

as if it was moonshine. Have the eyes
of a child. Look at a butterfly and
smile. Hot as a chili pepper. Swing as
a dance hall stepper. Don’t sit as bump

on a log or bellow as an old
bullfrog. The colors are golden and
crimson. Unlock the door of your
prison!

no... no former interest in the Finnish: kieli...
hmm... let's compare...
Finnish... Estonian... Latvian... Lithuanian...
Hungarian... what's zunge: tongue in each?
the Suomi say: kieli...
            in ******: the closest approximate is:
klei: it glues together... klel: glue...
well... the tongue does just that...
    hmm... no bewilderment here:
Eesti say: keel
           Latvijas says: mēle
                                   slightly off the chart...
Lithuanians... immediately all the prior
languages drop dead...
because the translation is: nicht zunge wie in
                     glied... körperteil...
               aber zunge ist sprache...
   since...
liežuvis is tongue: tongue proper... the waggling...
ice-cream licking bit...
(lje-ju-vis) the ju is Fwench: from je suis...
             but... oh what a dear word...
   KALBA... that's language to a Lithuanian...
the young Huns use: NYELV for language...
i'm not even going to bother finding the word
for the waggling part of: irritated teeth...
          this almost feels like a 4th Jemminah revelation...
can i possibly scare women?
are they sort of, like... almost... sisters?!
they don't want me finding them in a bad mood?
in their casual framework of relexation
before the television?
        mind you: yeah... that would be boring...
if i became a domesticated animal...
even though... i'm sort of domesticated...
but... when *** is involved...
              oh right... i hold the joker card in
my Texas hold-up game of poker...
    i've spent time with prostitutes... so...
box is box... kasten ist kasten...
                 i must have scared her...
                         i was willing to become a surrogate
father to her child... the penny dropped
when i read the boy his poem back to him aloud...
and said: wow... and it was a literal wow...
or when her dog was licking my ears
and my self-inflicted cigarette burns on
the knuckles... until i started bleeding...
      that i brought her a banana loaf and asked
if her boy had any nut allergies...
           the self-made wine... cloudy... so i bought
a bottle of franziskaner weissbier (also cloudy)
so she wouldn't think she was drinking poison...
    then come Valentine's day i dropped off a bouquet
of flowers on her doorstep in the middle of the night
and dropped a card inside...
   well... she did mention that this guy was trying
to "court" her... but... yeah... this part...
it took him 20 years to gather the courage...
   when i heard that... the time we came back in
the same car... and she feigned tiredness and put her
elbow on my leg... and sort of relaxed...
   right: *****-head on... i'm driving this one home...
i.e. i'm going in for the ****...
   in warfare it would be called Blitzkrieg...
in casual social relations it would be called
the: juwelansturm... charm offensive...
                   esp. after some time you learn that...
at least 3 single mothers are scouting for...
for... i don't even know what at this point...
                  oh man... and she even had a vinyl player
and i was like: can we meet in a few days time...
i have this record i'd like you to listen with me...
   backstabbing reality: she's a tarantula mummy...
she'll eat the male in order to raise her offspring...
                           safety in the brothel...
                                    to be honest... she was actually...
generous... because she let me go... ghosted me...
blocked me from messaging me... even though...
      i've already seen her, twice already... when cycling...
once at night: her face beaming larger than the moon
with... i don't know what it was...
another time... walking with...
the most unremarkably looking man...
   just a little bit taller than her... and i'm guessing she
was... at most... a 5ft3...
              but not when the same love interest
is spreading rumours on her first day at work
about you being drunk on the job...
              well: i do know that i drink to excess...
i do have drinking ******... i tend to drink for about 4 people...
but when i need to be sober:
i'm sober... why do we need to be sober...
i will never know... but...
            eh... therefore? the charm-offensive had
to be put in place...
   as i told one of the other co-conspirators:
there's this ****** proverb...
           lies... or is it liars?
    lies don't walk on stilts...
        lies / liars have short legs...
                 lies are not longshanks...
         time... all it took was time...
                                but at the same time...
it's so frustrating... i'd love to **** a single mum...
i mean: her libido must be... exponential...
   shoom! a ******* comet!
                  esp. if she's raising a boy rather than a girl...
i should know... Khedra... the *******
i have unprotected *** with is a single mum...
but she has a daughter... prettiest **** thing in the world...
and her libido is a rave... a rage... a... a...
don't go there... i mean: i go there...
but... yeah...
                          and Jeminnah was this petite auburn
ginger **** good looking "thing"...
what Rodin sculptures i could have had with
her in the bedroom...
                                   ugh... it's sick... it's truly sick...
framework... just to ensure the boy isn't there...
but she... actually behaved rather admiringly...
she... actually... spared me...
   all the disappointments that would inevitably
come... if i went... no... if she went forward and
made herself more "available"... ***-friendly...
                 i still don't know why i like writing about this...
it sort of sooths me... or i'm having trouble trying
to write about something new...
therefore i regurgitate this little event in my head...
because i'm trying to find explanations
not excuses - certainly not dejections...
   or harbouring a resentment for women...
           i think she behaved... like a doe would...
     and i have actually run with doe and their young once...
at a traffic junction... there was no stag...
they became lost... traffic mayhem...
run them back into the woods...
                seriously: i can't even be bothered
to imagine **** anymore... life's as it comes... and goes...
so she did behave like a doe...
        frightened little thing...
              well... if you come across a guy and your
dog finds him irresistible...
  your little boy wonder becomes sort of scared
of an authority figure... or rather:
doesn't look at your boyfriend as an older brother...
like my neighbour once said:
better jerking off in heaven
than ******* in hell... i guess she should know...
****... better change that term juwelansturm
to... reizkrieg... yes... much better...
              but i still don't get it: how socially backward,
lacking any sort of introspection / self-awareness
must you have... to... do a Mr. Bean move...
knowing how cut-throat women are against
each other... to... have about 4 women gather against
you for slandering someone: you just met
and are working with?
            maybe i have a mind the size of pigeons...
but... at least that sort of brain size allows me
to have a Sat-Nav implant...
   i still can't get over how much drama i just avoided...
i was about to step into a hot pile of ****...
i truly was willing...
           how she allowed her former boyfriend...
well... her son's older brother... by my take on things...
to run her in over £10,000 of debt... implying she lost
her credibility to work in the financial sector...
i have a square head... i'm trying to fit a rectangle into it...
it's not going to work...
   and i'm not even solipsistic / autistic...
(a) why would you tell me your life story so endearingly,
   while also slandering me...
(b) why would you tell me your life story
and not something you enjoy doing... the music you like?
(c) women mature faster than men?!
   you're kidding me, right?
    that's like that Egyptian fwend i once had...
absolute ***... even the Pakistani said...
we're supposed to meet up for the movies...
no... forget fashionably 15 minutes late...
  sometimes... an hour late... **** those sort of people...
waste of air... never mind time...
but i'm the sort of person that is: in love with the idea of love...
in liebe mit die idee von liebe...
   but i was truly treading on egg-shells while walking into
a SHAMBO'H... szambo = septi tank...
           - mind you: self-deprecating humour does help:
a lot...
    while the only use of the diminutive tense in English
i was able to find was, associate with... making nouns
ugly... "nouns" well... like Matthew becomes Matt
Peter become Pete... Anthony becomes Tony...
Joshua becomes Josh... Samuel / Samantha becomes
Sam... it's ******* ugly... it's diminutive "diminutive":
just ******* lazy... like do not becomes don't...
Pakistani becomes ****-,
               at least where i come from: diminutive is
diminutive: i.e., it's endearing...
because something smaller is always cuter...
you want to tend to it more...
KACHKA'H (kaczka) becomes kaczuszka...
drzewo become drzewko (tree, little tree)...
tygrys: tygrysek (tiger, little tiger)
jabłoń: jabłonka
   it's the diminutive but it's also... refreshing:
lying about the thing's temporal quotation...
which also makes it a funny reading into history...
that **** Germany thought of themselves as
Aryans...
    yet... the ******-lack-lands further east entertained
the infusion with the Sarmatians...
an Iranian... Aryan tribe...
        and we are... "we" are... i am... very *******
refreshed to defend my mutterzunge...
sure... i'll keep it subdued: if i had a keyboard that
would allow me easier access to the orthography...
i don't think i'd write in English...
probably not...
         even Charles Dickens can't call it orthography
whether it's weather or little or litle...
   there's no orthography where they are no diacritical
marks... akin to U contra Ó
   or epsilon contra eta...
                 mind you: the Byzantines are hyper-sensitive
to γλώσσα - even now... upsilon, omicron: omega...
why need to stress: give the omega the acute
accent? i know it's gloossa... shouldn't that accent
be put to better use in order to make the English
looking proto-Germanic ᛋᛋ (schutzstaffel)
disappear? too many ******* consonants in ******...
i heard that argument before...
    too many diphthongs in yours... or at least lacking
one: IE... that ought to be a diphthong...
aye... i... die... dye... different... dynamic... dip...
where's an affirmative-iota in... the last three examples?!
surely you don't say: dype... when you write: dip...
do you?
             all of U in you...
                             yes... i do feel linguistically superior...
but it's not a superiority of: "my" people write
language in a... oh ****... now i remember...
the best comparison comes...
like this project of twinning towns...
Havering was twinned with Ludwigshafen...
the ****** language... lodged between Russian and
Deutsche... neither... the best alliance
is with... the clarity and sensibility of: Japanese...
that's the closest i've come to compare my mother-tongue...
Japanese...
   it's the clarity of syllables... of actual letters...
sure... Japanese has restrictions on its consonants...
since they have to be coupled with vowels...
except... why is N no ******* unique?
i could understand H... from the Hebrews...
since... that's a vowel catcher of sighs and eh?! conclusions
and a vowel generator of: ah ha ha... i.e. laughter...
so... what?! the Japanese laugh akin to...
Ini Kamoze's: here comes the hot stepper?
na'h na'h na'h?        oh: wight... no trill of the R...
no rattle-snakes back there...
i guess you could laugh on a Na (sodium)
and No (know very little)...
      next time i'll catch myself laughing i'll ditch
the H and borrow the ン (N)...
but... hmm.. weird... Sejong the Great might agree with me...
something's up...
i'm itching... now... Korean makes more sense...
to hell with the Chinese skeleton... x-ray...
hieroglyphs... ideograms... brick wall:
too much memory gone to waste...
        no phonetic clues... just enough geology...
pressure... time... erosion... to memorise...
   not going to happen...
  that's why you're never going to invade China...
but something is up in Katakana...
if N (ン) has such a unique place among / apart from
other consonants...
that it has the same sort of status as the vowels
(ア) A or (オ) O...
海 - kai... ocean... phonetically dropping the ideogram
("emoticon") you'd get: カイ...
but if N is so uniquely placed as an A...
why... would you require...
       to merge this unique consonant with the unique
vowels?
      why do you need this?
ナ ニ ヌ ネ ノ: na, ni, nu, ne, no?!

isn't N unique like the vowels that it can stand uncoupled
with vowels? so... if it can't be stand-alone akin
to vowels... why keep it: "unique"?!

ン   ア   イ   ウ   エ   オ

   fair enough... i'm far from Japanese... but i still don't understand
why you need to disfigure the unique N by a vowel...
and i'm trying to figure out the logic...
how, for example:  ン + ア = ナ...
since... exactly... since...
                         there's no equivalent to the N + A = NA
for any other consonant in Japanese...
there's no R + A = RA... since... there's no R!
no really... let's see... RA: ラ... ア (A)...
              so... what's the R? it's almost like a diacritical mark

laughter in "anime" / ******: ハ ハ
) (                   close enough... but if the H is invoked...
how does A morph in "opposing" chiral, mirror?
   ア? ア + ? = ハ: ha... ha ha... ha... eh?
and the obvious restrictions... consonants take the lead...
when fused with letters...
you can't find AN or an AM or a AT in japanese...
you can only find NA MA and TA...
- if i'm going to become prone to dementia in old age...
sure... then... i'll travel to Amsterdam and
juice up on some chew of a handful of magic
mushrooms... a reiteration of how fungus hitchhiked
the money brain... but not until then:
i'm good... on this linguistic plateau, for now...

- lessons from yesterday... H'american women are
insufferable... apologies...
i can understand tight yoga pants... flick of the hair...
exposing... or rather... exfoliating in one's peach
*** physique... but dressed...
it really makes all the more sense to align oneself
with the Muslim women... i truly: truly abhor this
current... libido insomnia... which implies...
by the time i get some: i don't want it...
which means... the pattern of going to the brothel
to get a hard-on... i need to exercise in short exhausting
bouts like a boxer... i need to ******* without
actually ******* for a few rounds...
and i need to drink an aphrodisiac like white wine...
and then i'm good to go...
    
we've been so overtly sexualised we've become...
sterilized by overexposure...
i'm serious... perhaps the NIQAB is not so much
about female oppression but...
to ensure the male libido is kept intact: focused...
since... men become easily bored if there is no
existential stress... we tend to ******* and pursue
**** like: geometry... linguistics...
yeah: "bored"... no... we find alternative avenues
to cope with life...
       and by a common demonitor:
we're no adherents to the doctrine of Darwinism...
most of us would **** for the Copernican focus
of reality... but... this whole idea of passing on
our genes? sorry...
even i see what sort of men pass on their genes...
passive men... mediocre men...
humanity has made Darwinism unnatural...
**** Germany tried the orthodox method
best associated to Darwinism...
why did it fail?
  like that Matrix quote from Agent Smith...
people... people... just enjoy misery...
it's what makes them thrive...
populus... populus... fruor miseriae...
                                                    in miseriae illi vigeo!
i tried... to accomplish "something" worth the dignity
of calling it: human... personally? i can only attest
to... mengelegeschrei! kinship...
                  it wasn't worth it...
                  trying to love people is one thing...
it's so disturbing doing such a feat...
the whole inclusivity project...
   when you don't have exclusive rights to one person...
maybe only swans figured it out...
but... it's so... ******* chimp-sour...
so psychologically backwards...
             i'm not even irritated, disinterested or... stressed...
calmly, collectively... backtracking...
i'm getting bored of this libido insomnia...
   what if i were to showcase my underwear bulge?!
that would be deemed as ****** harassment... wouldn't it?
i've seen messages on the tube...
LOOKING... ooh... you look at some in a lecherous mood!
handcuffs! handcuffs!
               TOUCHING! can't i... touch you on the shoulder...
so you might... move aside... while i get off the tube?!
handcuffs! handcuffs!
      this society is beyond rotten...
rot is rot... it's... fermenting... into something
that... whatever propaganda the Soviet's would have
envisioned to throw at it... couldn't...
it ******* self-imploded...
   no no... this is a full-on self-implosion...
         you wish there was some post-Soviet involvement...
there was: zilch...
          
what was once the Soviet Empire... is not modern Russia...
oddlt enough...
   i'm so thankful that i spent over a month in Russia
and never once switched on the t.v. mind you:
i was in a "relationship" with a girl who told me
her grandmother was her mother..
and her mother was her sister...
   and she was still bangng her ex... with ties to
the government... blah blah...
faking having a period... but i thought *******
a woman on her period was all bonus?
fleshy crumbs on the ******...
   fair enough... i'm not sick on the sickly sweet bits...
i'm like a crab or a crow...
i pick up leftovers...
             but my eyes truly dim... the iris and the sclera
disappear... all you can see is the pupil...
when... libido insomnia over-exposure kicks-in...
i just stop thinking straight.. usually my mind is built
for vectors... geometry... but....
when i'm getting teased too much...
this is teasing... let's face it... and... i can't get a hard-on...
what would most do? a violent cause...
i don't think we're asking for nuns....
      we're asking for Black Narcissus types...
the tragedy of overtly sexualising men
into a future of impotence...
  while... deeming women: overvalued and...
            doomed to an existential failure of
single motherhood...
              it is a failure! there's no romance to speak of
if... she has a girl or a boy token!
and the socialism... the Soviet propagandists would
have never envisioned such an easy future of
argument....
capitalism will not fail out of ideology... if it is going
to fail: it will fail out of biology...
men will become so isolated from women
that men will... as men do: stop spending...
because they will not spend money on women...
why would i want to spend more than i already
spend on a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of pepsi and
a packet of cigarettes?
why? huh?! eh?!
                 i don't need to look "pretty"...
                   i'm already ugly...
                       reality dissonance... it's vibrating!
it's ******* vibrating! it's like: hum hum hum... humming...
insect wing flutter... coupled with KEISHA's song BLOW...
well... because the last time i cited
listening to
  COMBICHRIST... the girl blocked me...
      sent to destroy... it's such s nice... song...
  well... manner... tastes... one can't oysters all of one's
life... whoops... which is like: whpe + slippery + oops + i slipped...
ah ha: ba n'ah n'ah!

ad mors facio tuus venia!
   toward death: make your pardon!

.no... i'm pretty sure, that prior to hearing... glitter's rock and roll part 2... oh sure... if any of these citations were my favorite... anything but the sound of a congregations of humming farts and echoes... the trusted: self-help guru mantras... the what ifs of what nots... and knots... period pieces of picked up... and all of which... no... not even :wumpscut: bunkertor 7 - vomito *****'s fall of an empire... what radio station are you listening to? the kind that might also play 13th floor elevators' you're gonna miss me... somehow they'll be playing the black angels' young men dead... well if there's a radio station that does that... i'm gonna do the next best thing to compensate the feminists burning their bras... i'll burn my ******* vinyls! but... i can't see that on the horizon: any time soon!

anything by frank zappa...
or... iggy pop...

           and out of the bag
those stand-out tracks...

           fat white family -
        whitest boy on the beach...

wolf alice - silk...

              slaves - cheer up london...

scot the braille-reader...
which could be a name for a band's
name...
more like scotty the whipped-lock
baron...
or just scotty the braille-reader...

redder meat than buffalo steak...
a streak of tartare...
bitten by a dozen...
by a dozen: and none of them
are mosquitos...

for all the whipped cream:
sacrilege of the sacred...
beelzebub the lord of the flies...
my debaser...
my rhythm guitar on
white stripes' seven nation army...
my: this whiskey bottle
just went to heaven...

ms. amber um-um and all
those leftover yummy-crumbs
and slurps of a slush-puppy
sequence...

nirvana and sonic youth:
our lady peace...

             obviously the pixies...
the people of the sticks...
       the lesser inquiring montage
of inquisitive bums...

the nuns of beirut...
         the kola-kool kids of sunday
school mandarin...

                that! john peel epitaph.

***** boots: ariel clean socks!

       mud! rummaging in...
clay and custardo: mantra of a north
korean commando!

small elephant! big mouse!

              mahler digs ****...
mozart only does marzipan oral!

well... if beelzebub is the lord of
**** happens...
jesus, oh hey-zeus and christian...
who's the lord of the mosquitos?
who needs as much blood
and doubly as much wine?

the real miracle came when:
he turned the water into wine...
apparently no miracle
when he turned wine into blood...
the miracle: i'm pretty sure...
he turned the water into wine...
but... never mind...
he's still the lord of the mosquitos...

sugar kane and ***** boots...
anything on in utero:
the lesser part of me is still
struggling with that whole:
in vitro...

               imagine the birth of
a vampire... a blood-clot pandemic...
a romance of vampire...
that ol' h.i.v. riddled drag queen...
the vampire is either...
is a vampire an anemic or...
a haemophiliac?

                     the bad blood: ministry...
fear factory: linchpin or
zero signal...

          KMFDM - juke joint jezebel...
'i'm am the city that will rise'...

                vex'd: citations of blade runner...
i want more... life... ******...
the good old days of donny the dub and stepper...
precarious strawberries...
better... precarious strawberry harvest!
nuance: all is pink...

       ha ha...
               i'm the madman and all i did:
please don't let the draconian hogs...
oh... look... youngsters on parole...
coughing into the faces of the elderly...
n.h.s. ambulances found with nails stuck
in tires... moving slower than...
slu------- -gs pour some salt on them...
watch them sizzle in the sun...
hell... find a toad... smear some lipstick
onto it... let's wait for the princess...
no princess in 10 minutes...
set the neon-green burp alight...

as i was told by two conspiring sadist
peform this torture chamber in
the open... their excuse was:
fairy tales are gay... none of them are true...
we'd much prefer to be told the mundane
truth first... to later find escape in daydreams
than be fed the worse kind of virus disease
with santa...
      
        i just wished they stayed on
the middle ground...
         if all the would be sadists could work
in meat-processing factories...
too cute to be a cat:
or a dog... a cow can't whimper from
both the pain of the pain inflicted
and all that heap of attaching points
of being your extension of it being petted...
you herd cows...
you herd sheep... you can't exactly herd
dogs...

  you can't exactly keep or put a leash
on a cat.. you shouldn't really put a dot
above an ıota... or ȷanıce...
ı'm pretty sure the full-stop declared ıt:
we would lıke the questıon mark (?)
and the exclamatıon mark (!) to keep their
dots...

then again... my delights galore...
seeing two sadist conspire...
they were quiet open about it...
smear some lipstick onto a frog...
and set it ablaze...

       i do wonder... do i have enough
metal-******* capacity to draw that one
out from my ******* of malnourished imagination
or whether: yes... this really happened...
and...

   i got away with: adam and the ants...
prince charming...

and some duran duran...
  and some the cure and some depeche mode...
and... she must be in her 40s... nearing her 50s...
and she would be an auntie for me...
and no...

     that (out of the ashes rmx) of type o negative's
blood and fire...
    less the bat-curse and more that
resurrected crow...
     of no -man suffix to give him a marvel:
mar-vel: marvelous-veal? entry...

traci lords - control
        sepultura - roots ****** roots...
    orbital - halcyon...
           faithless - woozy...
                     geezer - the invisible...
sister machine gun - burn...

             *****'s day out - what U see...

and everything, everything i might want
to hate about a milkman's son...

there's too much music to look-out
for any sort of in-crowd...
one mention of:
in the court of the crimson king...

sergei prokofiev: crusaders in pskov...
or... alexander nevsky - the battle of the ice...
holst: an ode to death...
               death that great *****-**** or something?

death that ******* into a tissue
and a baptism after and all prior:
on the throne of thrones and from that
the great debate: was it genocide
will it be ******...
eggs without yoke?
     is that the "debate"...
or is that: one poultry abortion a day...
keeps the cholesterol at bay...
and of course the apple...
to combat the dementia of:
never / not out of Eden...
with or without the hebrew poetic route
of congesting a period of time
to mark out: the better parts
of what's still memorable...
before the acid of humanity audacity
and outright stupidity...
  does the second half of the erosion...

foals' - my number...
           foster the people - sit next to me...
anything by: cage the elephant...

!!! - chk chk chk (strange weather, isn't it?) -
jump back...

the velvet underground -
all of tomorrow's parties...

kyuss - demon cleaner...
  
     just saying... it's hardly expected...
this is the sort of music i'd hear...
if i didn't collect records?
on a whim... this brvo delta d.j.: good yarn!
of whittle amsterdam would
somehow spin... a wooden shjip's:
flight?

        wow: oh wow now that's my first
summary of: really?!

the historical argument for the accelerated
whims of balding men
in the harems of sheikhs...
that they really are the ******* emblems
of horses but otherwise...
the castrated wind-sacks of *****
when it comes to pedigree cat or
dog breeders willing a monopoly...

some come with the gories: and ghost rider...
there's just too much and there's
also "too much"...
sputnik 'nick of time of the candy-floss
barbed wire when you just sat
through a sobering visit to the dentist...

you will count your pearls...
and that tongue...
that mollusk of yours...
  well: wriggle wiggle wriggle and high-brow
forward through...
to the base of the bull's eye...

because by then: counting to 1
is the only arithmetic that's worth anything...
the vice barons - fuzzy 'n' wild...

trevor something - into your heart...
ulver - utriese...
boy harsher - country girl EP...
primitive knot - ******* of brutalism...
years of denial -
film maker -
beat bizarre...

                   boris brejcha...
skip james - hard times killing floor blues...

spirit - the twelve dreams of dr. sardonicus...
never mind...
anything about vietnam...
c. c. r.: running through the jungle...

                    sam cooke and:
                             that knock-knock music...
heard once... never to be heard again...

pulp? this is *******... or we love life?
rammstein contra radiohead?
or is that all about elvis costello?
         tiresome the cool...
        but beyond reaching 70 and your language
is still as practical as everyday
of charles bukowski...
without any of those complications
of the comfort-riddled life...
which can always allow for an ink
and some... paper...
but then: what are guilty pleasures
by then?

        talking? thinking?
being the impractical dog-walking man?
oh god... i can think of being paid
to be a movie critic... or a restaurant
sabatouer... also a critic...
by now: as long as the hands are washed
that prepare any food...
is fine: oh a mighty O mighty fine by my
standards for identifying:
the universal / a franction of a billion
strong population sort of china-       man...

nothing smart about singing
about my initials...
m c e...               energy = mass x speed of
light squared...
so... what sort of equation has it at:
speed of light cubed?
there must be a speed of light cubed equation...
given light comes from stars...
and the stars aren't going anywhere:
apart from their usual disco orbit...
there must be a...
                                     space travelled...
time concerning = energy and...
something that invokes the speed of light cubed...
rather than squared... 2-dimensional...
there needs to be something concerning...
the nature of light in a 3-dimensional
posit... pivot...

               i am this far from wanting
any credentials to have to be psychopathic about
a heritage and a future that's a bit like
about that fortune and fame of the man:
not the buddha not the christ...
but the man who won the crown of king anon
when fermenting the clarity cocktail from
a bunch of near-rotting stalks of wheat
and getting drunk on rotting apples
borrowed from the mules and the bears...
that would stumble into their caves
and hug their shadows...

                       christopher young:
the hellraiser II: hellbound soundtrack...
or dead can dance: into the labyrinth...
or hammock's ketonic...
the full album through and through...

                        pulp that never became an oasis
or a blur...
as expected... winning... losing...
but somehow forever meshed into
the ongoing democratic fortune-wheel
spin-off... the minor influences congregation
dynamic... congesting the cogito...
          
                 wins! wins? a comment section...
the loser...
                  keeps on writing...
because... here's to elbow nudging...
   as the hands are riddled with hand-signs
for the deaf... and... that would truly be
the better part of anyone's guess...
        hallucinating braille come mid-air traction
of: things heard over a megaphone.

You got to appreciate
You got to be great
It's a wicked caliber
It's a little story
Some sonic glory
Control
Wicked satellite
Just right
Harder than a gunshot
Hard than the steel
The way of the explosive
Ire
Rasta is Higher
Yeah
Control
Fire.....The soul desire
Mighty, yeah
Youth them a shock out
The youth them shock out
Stepper
So pass the pepper this is hyper
Yeah
Y'all
Next man give some loving
Next man give some loving
Never mind a gun shot
Never mind a lick shot sir
Harder than the gun shot
Quicker than a win chun fighting - right on
Higher
Control
Rock it
Rock it
Rock it
Control
Yush
Mighty
Harder than the gun shot seen
Harder than the steel
The way of the explosive
Ire
Rasta is higher, yeah
Controller
Wicked satellite
Just right, yeah
All night
It's a little story
Some sonic powerful glory y'all
The stronger the breeze
The stronger it blow
Mighty y'all yeah
Jah
Wah, yeah this guy's ultra

I can't sleep/
Thinking too much/
Bell ringing outside the window/
And something's wrong with my stomach.../

Distant voices mumbling incoherently in discord/
A broken record gradually amplified to distortion/
Abort mission failure: mental patience stillborn/
The red pill can't be cancelled by the reborn; sorry/
Johnny's in the corner again, near the toilet/
And I'm not talking to myself, you're just not special/
Red Bull in a china shop; Lucifer in the sky with kaleidoscope/
Eyes on me while I try to close my.../
Vicious cycle; vivid psychedelic psychological spiral/
Habitual line-stepper, part-time pathological liar/
Aspiring sociopath with a mask for the outsiders/
A walking contradiction if the shoe fits/
The truth is confusing when you're tuning in & out of reality/
Imbalanced; my chemical romance is in tatters/
Distracted by the static and theatrical behaviour/
If you give me a Pepsi, I'll let you evaluate me psychiatrically/
I claim I want to change, but I'm just babbling/
It's too hard; I always give up, or give in to the whispers/
They win again! I wanna pull the pin, and end it all/
I'm a radiohead, with no metal in my skull... yet/
My idle threats are just cries for attention/
If I paid more than seeking it, then maybe I could get some/
Introspective only after episodes/
Life's a drama TV show about a lonely bipolar girl/
Mind remote control has vertigo and stubborn buttons/
Don't push me 'cause I'm close to the cutting edge of self-destruction/
My lousy husband even wrote a ****** poem about it/
All I have to say is that it takes one to know one, Hunny/
Either way, I'm awake - I can't sleep/
Thinking too much; I think something's wrong with me.../

You're just not special/
You're just not special/
I can't sleep/
Thinking too much/
Bell ringing outside the window/
And something's wrong with my stomach/
Distant voices mumbling incoherently in discord/
A broken record gradually amplified to distortion/
Abort mission failure: mental patience stillborn/
The red pill can't be cancelled by the reborn; sorry/
Johnny's in the corner again, near the toilet/
And I'm not talking to myself, you're just not special./