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Dr Peter Lim Mar 2019
If sterilisation
I do need
it would not
be my outer skin
but the toxins
that dwell within-
the past too often
is an instrument
of suction
it accumulates
dirt, debris, soot, dust
of every description--

yet
this would hardly
a therapeutic solution be
unless
I first clean up
the fested room
of my mind
remove
the stubborn chaos
of my heart
where doom
and gloom
sticks* their claim
and refuse
to part-

i would then
grow
to know
that self-realisation
would be my
salvation
and my life-saving
sterilisation
* where doom and gloom is treated as a unit
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
i moved my ethnicity up north, because in the middle-south the squabbles got to me, even though i don't speak the tongue in order to order a cup of coffee or marry, i moved it up north, to the doom and gloom... because the squabbles down south got to me, and i couldn't identify with either factions - although i could identify with the Scots and whatever ancient heart bred them toward separatist labours - come the Scots, come the Irish - the sloth of this anatomic segregation is getting on my nerves.

the difference between european introversion and american
extroversion is that the former bases theirs on an implosion
that dates back to prehistory and the latter bases theirs
to a piece of paper, a second Magna Carta...
every european implodes - every american explodes -
yet our history is longer, and is less trade-orientated,
consider the slave trade versus Atilla the ***...
Europe is the new Russia as Russia is the new
Siberia to "the light of the world",
Europeans always seemed to be introverted
when compared to American big cars big hamburgers
big whatever esp. ego - we work from
a Darwinism, you work from creationist-antagonism,
sure, a man in space, a man on the moon,
any tomatoes up there, might i ask?
the world eternal between the competition with
Tsar Slav Nicholas I and Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse,
it's hard to make cartoons of Ivan to be honest,
what with him throwing dogs off the Kremlin walls
and gauging out the eyes of the architect of
St. Basil's because "god" / Ivan instructed him to
an oath: no greater beauty will ever be seen by these eyes -
hard to make a comedy of it all -
if anything i'm *Jan Matejko's
  Stańczyk,
the exact melancholia of a clown, a fancy-dress mm-hmm-ha-ha-ha!
while noblemen frolicked, Louis XIV petted a monkey
while shaving - the new aristocracy and the intervention
of the south park inventors over there? i'd be Mormon
in a nanosecond - whatever science divides or
multiplies it's still base one: the whole - whatever profession
it's still back to square one, the fudge, the glue,
no one can work that one out, explore in whatever
direction you want, it's still the Kantian dynamic of
coordination via (0, 0), the double denial, its not
an algorithm - Manchester encoding, logic 1, logic 0,
forget the sine and cosine graphs of smooth
marbles and hidden genitalia - it's different now,
zigzag paradise and ugly shapes like Syria
and Iraq and Iowa - all we need for the antidote to
Kantian symbolism (0 = negation) is the zed of affirmation,
just one... wondering... what direction would that entail?
life, x as 0 and y as 0 - ageing and mortality, all too often
subscribing the words: death apparent, but there's a third
line of coordination, no memory of babe consciousness,
no memory of nappies or eating apple pulp...
that strikes me as a head start - the less adventurous world
and the emergence of the unconscious and dreaming
as the new frontier, not necessarily -
i like the head start, i don't like shuffling into cubicles
of cognitive sterilisation, in that Freud makes thinking
attached to dreaming on purpose - i read a newspaper
then i read a poem, with the former i'm constipated
with the latter i get diarrhoea... i don't like attaching too
much thought to the content of dreams,
but to dreams per se - how does my brain encrust a
phosphorescent adaptability to the banality of sleep?
surely the brain cares more for the unconscious banality
of the night than what people-self-invoke as a banality
of life - the serpent eating itself already answered,
the brain automatically said: sleep is banal, we need dreams.
the self, a conscious abstract of Σ (sum of all parts,
liver, kidney, limbs, heart etc.) didn't necessarily make one
up, unless it's called philosophy - the body in sleep
already answered, the brain's answer to the banality of
it's existence rested in sleep is the act of dreaming - simple
enough, no one would imagine sleeping without dreaming,
but that's the automatic answer for the brain and
the banality of sleeping, given the complexity of
learning, unlearning, encoding decoding, love, hate
in that internet of ******* connectivity -
so if the brain answered the question of the banality of sleep
(well, given the ****** heart mechanised to smack its
forehead against a brick wall, little wonder)
with dreams... what if not a nether-realm, a heaven
or a hell the brain envisions? surely...
it's inherent for the brain to envision a heaven and a hell
when Σ is awake... as it's inherent for the brain to envision
dreams when Σ is asleep... it's logic... it's not some
fancy for rituals -the point is: heaven and hell would not
exist if we didn't dream, void, blank, void, blank,
no Freud - if you can argue against the non-existence
of any of such realms, you will have to train yourself
to not dream, to exclude the dream-realm - but i don't
think your brain will be willing to do such censorship -
after all, it's a double-consciousness we're talking about,
the brain is conscious of you, and you are conscious of the brain;
it's odd, i know, it's the one ***** that has such parameters -
well, it's more conscious of a skeleton than you -
the skeleton is the one thing that is verifiable for the brain,
the brain can't intrude on the heart or the kidney functions,
but the skeleton is all a playground for the brain.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
actually, the only home i have are the muddy fields of belgium during world war i, or among the jews, but given the jews are settled, i guess i better daydream: i mean i never got the cultural imprint of the english idea of dating... put me in the Czech Republic and i'd be freely participating in ****** any day... this stiffening date-culture never appealed to me, it always felt like a divorce before a marriage: so no amorous fun with body but fun in making out in cordiality of being fully dressed and lapping palettes up with tongue rather than the *******, as if throwing a coconut at Robinson Crusoe? yes?! ah crap... point towards the Zulu clan, i just feel the need to strip naked.*

yeah, i believe in meow-meow land,
that's the country next to la-la-land...
where you're trying to sterilise
yourself in terms of organic
historicity and integrate yourself
in terms of inorganic sterilisation
via importing alien values to hush
the monogamy crescendo of failure.
with the irish telling you:
ain't no english...
and with scots you shout back:
there's no thing as to be treated impossible
whether in thought about or moved!
the irish want you to have a coarse
enough accent as them so you can be belittled...
i always favoured the scots, warm-hearted *******,
and i too the first hairy-shinned trans-gender
kilt loving twirly girl of a music box
of cherry tree cheaply picked Muzak
for the thrills of shopping for cardigans and pineapples.
I belong to the State,
to these nurses who force milk soaked bread into my mouth

to these slaves who stuff trains
with beaten bodies, on to doctors who amputate without anaesthetic

to hard labour and hunger.

my blonde haired mother carried me
in her ayrian womb

Illegitimate.

some are kidnapped, blue eyes
running with tears as they

grab (carefully)

I am banging, bending, breaking
under the weight of their promise that

I am special

and I am proving my right to exist

to be spared
sterilisation, extermination ,
to not be a genetic undesirable
a gas chamber child

no, I am free
to sleep, to eat,
to breathe

allowed to live
because I am a
Lebensborn child
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
and suddenly my **** was a brussel sprout
in a pickle jar? fine, fine... leave the ******* to the
Indians and the Chinese; because a second Japan is
coming - all because you're an educated hoo-ha lady
making me want to cut  my **** off and powder
my cheeks rather than roll in the hay with you...
you used to be so much fun when you weren't educated
by that ****** spearhead  of feminism directing you in
only one direction... listen... it won't revise and accumulate
all the areas of interest that men had into one coherent
seagull gobble... you can't just walk in with feminism
and revise everything with it alone...
oddly enough, i don't even want to touch you -
the implementation of sterilisation  was best designed
by feminism, while all the old farts and Vatican
gypsies had all the fun, we were downsizing
our erections and ***** juices; will make the bedroom scene
look like a democracy for sure - one way or another
the Chinese ****** to a billion, the **** ****** to
over a hundred, the Indian a billion to add -
we decided on a Scandinavian model -
which means, in our multicultural society
one bus every hour... imagine! one bus an hour...
the stupendous recollection of what if Saturday night
didn't finish with an angry man walking home
in the fidgety night of kicking things around -
and the jealousy ticket goes to?
you know who i have been glorifying like
a Jew.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
the vacancy of a bonsai body of felines,
dogs couldn't even think twice
to pre- a pro- for a body,
while these lion-dwarfs,
domesticaton i can understand,
but caging, the study of zoology?
Rilke and the catatonic?
                  caged bonsais know
enough of their surroundings
to mute their killer instinct...
    let it lie dormant...
        but these upper bodies,
these tiers of "demoniac"?
           domesticated felines
acknowledge a shadow,
  the dormancy of their former stature...
exhale a volatility of defence
in the guise of a PYRH
        onto a cat...
    and then watch the cat
becomes disorientated by the mimic...
not the analogue,
  but the mimic...
             of your voice taking
form of a godhead speaking...
   bonsai felines are such obedient
creatures, unless you give them
the a priori archetype,
within the a posteriori confines of
the first: domesticator....
             a shyness creeps into ensuring
an awareness of their surrounding...
rough-up-a-cat-far-enough
until it cannot believe in a female human
and you've gained more than
just a whip over it...
you're regained spectating itself,
its obscure ontology,
           in a momentum of a genocide
of vermin,
  with or without it help of allowing
the concrete domestication of man being
deserving of its existence...
    of course this doesn't translate
when it comes to bonsai felines that do not
belong to you...
but the male bonsais that you owe...
notably the hack of observation via
  the igregious sound of attack:
            verily akin to a cobra's
                               dehydration "slurp":
at this point, a word is best sought
other than the cheapness of an onomatopoeia...
odd... no oddity in apprehending
the defence impetus for the female
from the male,
  given both are: sterile...
    this... sterilisation being the second
modus operandi of domestication
for man to explain...
            the female welcomed me
in uncoiling a bit of wood from her furr...
exposing her soft pouches beneath
which entrails hid...
                a dog might be:
a darling for man's metaphor
in experiencing solipsism...
but dogs are probably too dumb to even
mind owning a shadow...
cats, on the other hands?
semi-catatonic probably mind being
in possession of a pair of eyes,
which they cannot make a pair of
shadows with...
              hence the concern for:
Shadow... the overlord of
  Death and Sleep... the siamese twist
to bearing healthy twins
            akins to romulus & remus...
Shadow... also has another name...
        swiss psychoanalytical revisionism
nonetheless, for the biography of
Shay... ha-shay...
                             akin to Ha-Shem...
ha-shem: pig
            became the Ha-Shay of: bacon,
pork chops etc.
    if the Ha-Shem is YHWH...
then Ha-Shay is what is derived from it...
namely all of kabbalah.
           Matthew only asked to
reiterate:
                         i bring you, gifts...
akin to the fourth wise-man
before the static anomaly of the star
of Bethlehem...
         roaming stars are rare,
aren't they?!
Trebled fountains and lenient trees
Swift in their purity from the ground
Fondles the earth and all its mysteries.

Grapes, crushed and given a reason to live, or a raisin. Aren’t we all
living in dissonance?
It feels, and we know it does.

Towers landed from the skies of our imagination,
the earth solidifying into architecture and sterilisation.
The sky cries for us.
Our obliviousness perpetuating us into oblivion.

We rushed being distracted, and we rushed being in love.
We rushed our existence into a world unrecognisable.
Our brains absolved of sin by
nature regrowing under our noses.

We will rush everything,
until everything rushes us.

— The End —