And Californa's trees
Burned
Before Colorado's
But summer ended
By October
And with
Autumn
Rain came
To cool the trees
And drop fog
On forest
And outside of Texas
Window panes
Wrapping around shrub
Branches
In yellowed
Thickened
Air.

psychosis and osmosis....
   one the soul, the other
simply water...
      in dictionary
verbatim:
the passage of a solvent (ego) through
a semipermeable membrane (body) from
a less concentrated (thought) to a more
concentrated solution (soul) until both
solutions are of the same concentration (now) -
    and the end of a romance is?
the so called "madness"
becomes a topic less and less used
by writers of fiction,
  it becomes genuine,
it also means fiction parasites,
poets included, don't dare to tread
into a goose-march stepping into this Hades....
    you don't come round these parts by
yourself... unless you're hoping to
end up dead... or trapped by a dialectical
spiderweb with talking spinders...
       you dont get to type  this ailment out...
not in the same way you write the
word osmosis....
but then again, in the west you get to
be a victim of a crime: the criminal
       gets all the perks and you get
   Belgian mud to sniff,
while a monarchy gets to celebrate
its 65th sapphire encirclement...
               psychosis should be as clear as
osmosis...
                 in that we need water....
                    obviously very few people understand
this...
                dein die kopftod...
   i call an end to romantics with "madness",
well... given cancer has the prioraties...
                so the crowd might
congregate at Golgotha...
                  i say: walk the, ******* crab!
side-ways, yes, side-ways,
   like imitating suicide on a ledge....
you made enough money from the diseases,
true when under the scalpel:
dis- (negated) -ease (do i need
to exfoliate this?) -
                   i can only see a death of making
certain diseases a case for the worthwhile tale
of selling novels...
            i can't imagine exploiting
the said diseases... but if i was born with
a capitalist conscience, i'd hardly think of
possessing a conscience...
               i'd say death to the romance
of establishing a literary subject...
              i'd prescribe the Koran...
           as odd as it might sound...
you don't really hear how
psychosis can really be stated lorem ipsum
ad hoc...
   the first you hear is
         the miser medatitive attempts in
the medium, precipitating into paranoid
schizophrenia... no more medical than it is:
politico-journalistic...
                 psychosis and osmosis...
what's the difference... one engages the soul....
the other... water...
the ending is the same -osis...
   a verb, an activity self-explanatory
in a name... easily digested via journalistic
sensationalism...
        it becomes a death then the "mad" onces
realise you're herding them into a novel
and rather run a half marathon for
  the cancer victims...
   then ***** begins to turn sticky....
                 the hierarchy of diseases emerges...
cancer pharaoh... alongside the other adverts
for flu, smomking and lesser diseases...
then they tell you how Muhammad treated
the lunatics like modern Islam might deal with
Sufis...
                   some would care to say:
these people, are, not, money-dispensing
machines!
                        but then again...
who gives a ****... i don't even know or care
if you're conscious,
    i know that conscience is not part
of your consciousness, then i'm treating you
are semi-coordinate,
   probably sleepwalking through your so
called life...
   madess has no romance for a novel,
but since you testify to people being mad
only via a model... i can't but expect your novels
to later come from glamour models
writing their ghost-biographies...
   ghostwriters... auto- not near
unless bound to refining a.i.,
oh don't worry: only books written
as books necessarily sold...
                      this has gone beyond pimping
the pompous... it really has...
                  i can't even be prone to pomp,
i can't believe in writing a book
like i might don a cravat or a beefeaters' uniform...
      books have nothing
      grand about them...
writing them we're cheap ****... very much akin
to the last ruke on the chess board:
      lifestyle journalists with  a steady income
from being printed in newspapers...
did you know robots will replace 250,000 jobs
bound to the NHS and Whitehall?
    better write scrappy, ******-doo....
they might think you're human...
           then i guess it only sounds as the prompt:
write doubly human...
   for the added effect...
             write like those employed by newspapers,
esp. the opinion columns...
can shove it up their *****...
   drink theoir gin & tonics...
think their opinions,
   and replace their premature / non-existent
dialectics, by crushing ice-cubes with their teeth.
    i can only claim being human
by not romanticising "madness"...
                         i think it's a tabloid
venture that's, well... deservedly in need of a novel...
  i can only suggest the alternative:
stop the romance of "madness",
            and stop desiring to write novels about "it",
before you turn and realise
that your sanity was prone to stage
           the alternative... zeitgeist and insect
"typo" homily.
oh, it's there... but no one thinks those people
are half-as-cult-like as they,
         there's no "secret" / shadow bribing
someone from both ease, and from seeing
an ease for dis...
                     it's just nice, seeing people pray,
kneel...
                 play into the hands of a puppeteer...
who may or may not exist...
counter to all the intelligent arguments:
try merely existing, rather than living...
  try to state i think therefore i am:
            and move it away from forgetting
that you think, and simply live...
             most people who express life
hardly ever think...
                   well... you can't see thought:
meaning their life is not so cyclic
and at the same time limited...
               cogito ergo sum is equivalent to
Zeno's paradox...
     to occupy yourself with thinking
          is to de-occupy yourself with living...
you can try to prove with thought that you
exist, but in that same instance:
your thought means less and less...
since by thinking occupy a finite space...
   and with life about you taking its course...
your cogito becomes trapped in a noumenon...
since that your self cannot
                    express a phenomenon...
given the number of example trapped
in the category of **** sapiens,
this is as natural as taking antibiotics for
a flu... only that it's purely cognitive...
or rather: cogito per se...
            cogito per se ergo sum quasi se...
given non cogito est pseudo cogito ergo sum...
   mind you: there's no pseduo sum...
we already rule given we can't
turn into the abstract burial ground of hindus
that's a fire... and how we have strated
to build up a phobia for being taken into the earth
for insect food...
   even the pagans believed to give the body
a soul, a fire burial...
   if that practice remained, there would
be no reference to monotheistic ****...
       or we would turn into Chinese omnivores...
i find it bewildering that the Hidus and Chinese
have been so ****** patient with us...
count to 1 billion in English...
  years... probably another 1000 years to
reach that number of snooker-player plumbers
and carpenters ready like vulchers...
  cos we really needed that "perfected" aesthetic
of a web-page to really, really clog our brains...
thinking that it wouldn't precipitate into
a loss of body, a sudden loss of body,
  and the emerges of youth with mental illnesses
akin to premature depression, when depression
was the disease of the old, in the gravity cursing
toward, for ****'s sake! Homer!
    yes, the Greek poet!
                  how can you suddenly expect
to make mentala illness a myth, + a taboo...
when you prescribed people gym memberships...
and a complete lack of manual labour,
having exported it to China...
  the ******* on about?
      we're suddenly the new Marxist theory samples...
brains in pickle-jars...
     completely spineless!
                 we wanted both mind and body...
instead... the powers-at-be... told us:
you only need a mind... no body...
   body belongs to hamster... to the gym...
  well... but i really wanted to think crap and hammer
in nails all day... no can do... Chinese have it...
well...
                 what's the point now?
how else would Islam, not be agitated in prescribing us
a war?
           i still find it bewildering that the Chinese
and the Indians (2 billions, and counting)
are so patient with us...
                   still... you want to know why
there's an escalation in youth mental illness in the west?
you gave their bodies to the Chinese...
  no way in the world can their minds (including
my own) ever reach a plateau of an Einstein that
would be satisfactory for the authorities,
to move away from Einstein... and establish
a telekinetic norm (as seen on adverts).

My life before I met you was just simply dull. I never ever felt any emotions. I couldnt feel happiness, I couldnt feel sadness. I didnt even have any emotional relationships with people. Like I knew I should love my family or some friends. And I said I did. I just couldnt feel it. It was just a word for me and I thougt that's normal because I never knew anything other.
Everything changed when I met you. And by everything I mean my whole life, soul,thinking,feeling,talking,moving,dreaming,breathing. There wasnt a single part of my existence that didnt change.
I started feeling things Ive never felt before.
I started seeing things Ive never seen before.

When I was with you I often realized that I feel like Im in a movie. In a really, really beautiful movie.
Everytime we went to bed I never fell asleep before you and then I just stared at your beautiful face sleeping and your beautiful chest moving while you were breathing.
And every morning I woke up earlier just to look at you a bit longer.
When we were waiting for the tram in streets of your beautiful hometown Prague, I looked at you again and I remember my thoughts till this day. "How ******* lucky am I to call you mine. How did I ever deserve you? And also how lucky I am that you are also a lesbian."

Since I met you... I strated crying.
I never really cried before.
Do you remember the first time you played the guitar for me? How my tears just started falling?
I dont really know why but I think that was the moment I fell in love with you. Cause I didnt know that feeling and I didnt know how to express or let out my emotions, so I just started crying.
And then usually tears started falling while your body was joined with mine... or when we were saying goodbye...

It feels like my life just started when I met you.

And that was how I knew I was madly, madly in love with you girl.

hey, are you awake?
if you're not, don't bother texting me back in the morning, but if you are I could really use someone to talk to.
I just watched a movie about a girl who was into older men. she was ***** as a little girl, that was her reasoning behind it. the main character reminded me of well, me, and I strated to wonder if i too was sexually abused when I was younger and have no memory of it.
I'm sad.
I don't actually know why I'm talking to you, i mean let's be honest you hate me.
additionally, you think I bring these things upon myself. you couldn't care less about my emotional state of mind because you just assume I'm messed up because of the drugs and the *** and maybe you're right.
I don't care.
I'm still sad.
I'm drunk, too.
I miss you though.
cigarettes don't give me the warmth that you did, no matter how many I smoke.
again, I don't know why I'm talking to you, and I don't quite know where I'm going with this either.
maybe I want you to know that I still exist, or maybe I want you to - I don't know what I want you to do.
I need your wisdom, that's it.
No, I really just need you.
My brother left today.
I cried a lot, and the house feels different without you.
I meant him. the house feels different without him.
you know when you brain takes over your fingers and types what it's really trying to say? I guess that's what I was really trying to say.
I'm sorry to have been such a bother. but it feels nice to tell these things to someone, even if it's to the man who broke my heart.

never rub another man's rhubarb.

so this article comes along
about aya-huskie,
****... what was it?
                              ayahuasca
and i'm reading it,
and i'm reading into it,
and i'm like:
     it's not unusual for 100+
ceremonies ingesting
this drug happen in new york
on a daily basis...
****'s more potent that
corresponding a war...
   the female enegry *madre:
hocus pokus
          harry houdini
       eating a pear as a magic
            trick *******...
nope...
   i'm fine my beer, my love
of home-cooked food,
my music...
       what am i implying?
   the ****'s contaminated -
just like the beatnik poets
contaminated peyote...
contaminated, how?
  they wrote about it...
who the **** is going to moan
and complain about me
writing about drinking?
                           um... no one?
the brew is so abused that
when sometimes comes
along and writes about its
effects, in a positive way:
you don't really start moaning...
all those soppy:
  papa was an alcoholic type
stories...
   mama drank a bottle
of wine before putting me to bed:
too bad *******!
    live with the fact,
that somewhere, somehow,
there's a drunk who could
juggle a monkey, a tambourine
and banana:
  and call it a musical instrument!
you ingest something
for a sense of humour -
or you ingest something for
a sense of wonder...
aya-hoo-haha-caska
   is of the latter category...
alcohol?
            ugh: the former!

and to be honest?
    the only and at the same
time the most spiritual experience
i ever had or will have:
will remain:
          hearing myself laughing.
that's it!

the sort of laugh imitating a fox,
the sort of laugh imitating muttley,
and the laugh that feels
like easing a **** of crunching
the stomach...
      the visionaries can keep their
discontent with dreams,
and experience them wide-awake...

but reading this article is numbing...
always the ******* westerners,
the white "bad boys",
what they'll do with ayahuasca
is what they did with cows, pigs,
dogs and cats...
   they'll domesticate the drug...
oh look... already domesticated
being categorised as a drug, rather
than the original of: medicine...

and that's what western society does...
find me a shaman using
alcohol and i'll find you a pair
of scissors in an ayahuasca experience...
but i just hate the idea
of domesticating something so
spiritually governed...

people really think that taking this
drug, in the centre of new york
will somehow create an actual
organic potency of the drug?
          in new york the experience
will be inorganic -
        and most probably horrific -

well **** me: jump off a roof and
hallucinate a pair torn off icarus!
    up here, in the hinterlands,
in catholic schools,
   they still told us what the ukrainians
used to do: sniff glue
   (can i recommend a film?
    lilya 4-ever) -
       or don't get me strated with poles
drinking purple denaturat,
     (denatonium, methanol -
                         in short? toxins!) -

personall i don't like the idea where
this ahaya ahooya, whatever thing is going...
to me it has a scent of a process
of domestication...
        but i suppose if you're going
to deforest the amazon,
    you also have to attack the spirit -

now that i've read about the experience,
i'm rather keen on trying to
unravel the problem of antidepressants:
also in the same newspaper...
   namely escitalopram (lexarpo)
  & sertraline & clonazepam
  & paroxetine (seroxat) - all of them being
anti-depressants; so no:

i wouldn't disturb the amazonian shamans
for some "bogus" life-changing
experiences, i'd look at the situation where
drugs have moved beyond the stage
of being domesticated from their natural
environment... and... therefore?
                                    industrialised!

talk to random schizophrenic in the middle
of a night over a kalimotxo (basque drink,
red wine and coca-cola - kali kali kali
m'oh ch'oh) -
and he'll tell you: yeah, knew a guy,
was on antipsychotic medication:
                                 grew a pair of ****!

oh yeah, tobacco & alcohol are baaah!
baaah! bad! (please invoke a sheepish
stutter within the confines of the italics).

He had the power to make me whole
He had the strength to push me together
we had the chance to be everything
but he broke me
Instead of falling in love with me
he just made me fall
he lied to me
he told me he loved me
I believed him until the day
he broke up with me
then I strated breaking
I realized he was my everything
he was everything
nothing was better
he loved me but now i am falling
I'm broken because he broke me

I feel so lonely inside
I feel like my prays have been denied
Im in a room that is dark
Then all of a sudden there was a spark
I went over to were the spark was
And there i saw a rose
That was red like it was bleeding,
Then a boy appeared and was leading
Me to a cell.
Where he chanined me, theb i fell
I tried to break free from the chain
But that did not work only caused pain
I then went and laid on a bed
I heard something roll
And then i said
"Oh god please
Take my soul."
Then that little boy came back and strated to tease
Me, that he got
Food that i could not have.
I knew rhat the food was really hot.
I felt like a bird that is in a cage,
The boy gave me a book and told me to read
So i opened it and started to read it but,
I felt like i was readinf the same page
Over and over again. Then my hands started to bleed
So i prayed for someone to care
But i know that my prayer
Would not come true.
For i am lonely.

Today, when I saw you,
My soul started to beat again,
And my heart strated to breath,
My nerves danced, and I, just started to radiate.

And when you said my name,
And grabbed my hand,
All of my fears sank in peace,
All of my emotions bloomed.

I think I will love you forever.

for the sort of people who were
camel jockeys all their life,
and never found any sedative
component of alcohol...

                              there is no
sedative allure in, alcohol?
  please find me the name
of the pusher, who supplied
     barbiturates for nietzsche...
herr doktor...

maybe you're talking to the wrong
whites,
or there isn't enough
oasis allure for what
these camel jockeys find
alluring... being strapped
to a ******* sundial...

oh yeah... dodo project:
1 on 1....
                 the day when english
psychiatrists
are an authority,
on the neurological study
done by ****** doctors...
that day...

  i'm about to heave a heavy
sigh of relief and say...
thank god i didn't
produce offspring...
i'm... way off...
being given less
the ****: arbeit macht frei
orders...
to being given
               futility per se
dancing: get the **** out
of 'ere limbo status!

"you" are my "here"
and my "now"...
       you take over...
now... you do...
you people with a past...
people with a history...
pople with fidgety
finger tips....
               you want your
******?
  thank **** we will
have your Taj Mahal
and Zimbabwean
beauties to make matters
more... clarifying...
good...
  ich sagen,
          alles güt!

                  oh i'm not here
for the streit...
there is no...
reaching into the germanic
confusion of pronouns...

   you know the difference
between...

ich kampf...
and mein kampf?
ja?
that ich, is indefinite!
mein?
that's definite!
                    
i struggle: indefinite...
want this lesson
in grammar?
you... ******* scold
of a worth of being?!

             we can have
lessons in grammar,
all-day-long...
until you
start screaming the name...

Hilga!
so eating pork and drinking
beer...
all bad...
alcohol will
never be associated
with sedatives?
     güt! alles güt!
jawohl, mein enigma herr.

   i em con-confused?
Zimbabwean ivory beauties!
coming...
                 wündérbār!

mögen mich,
aus zucken
via eine Picasso...

    ziemlichgesicht...
     all round: bravo!

ich hure meinselb zu
sprechen etwas deutsche...

no... i will not ****
your niqab bound bounties
of beauty...
or your
Zimbabwean ivory beauties...
your... pearls
of Mozambique...
retro **** wits...

                you jog...
on the ******* tread-mill...
you do that...
me? watch me...
do the dodo...
           i'm...
all... airy-*******-weary
of having to be argued for
a basis of: to continue...

    no...
you heard me...
no...
        
        you take your white
***** and excavate the ? pointer
on mars...
   i... am doing the Pilate...
            pose...
there is a grammatical
difference betweern
ich kampf
and mein kampf...
yeah...

               the first is:
indefinite... dispossesive...
          the latter is
definite... possesive...

i felt it was worthwhile
to learn some german,
before i anticipated
to die...
                  because...
i somehow forgot to keep
in tow,
the ambition designated
surrounding the upkeep
of genes...
like...
i forgot where ******
came from,
and the subsequent
camel jockeys...
like... OOPS!

        must have
      misplaced "them"...
alles güt...

and thank ****
i will not be screaming
the takbīr
to where i'm going...
so...
is screaming the takbīr
akin to... like... performing
            the hajj?

i just, want to know,
because,
i simply...
don't want to know...

oh i want to play
the ignorant drunk
dumb-**** european...
maybe,
just maybe...
i will step up my "game"
from camel-jockey-*****
does the coco
didlo ride-on...

oh, believe me,
i too want to "feel"
something...
-esque this narrative...
but it's like...
i have some sort of variant
of amnesia...
like...
forgetting to reach
a hard-on...
when... the bun is
buttered and ready
for processed meats
in an elongated "pose"...

i want to... care...
but the last increment
of me, strated
to whisper... alles güt...
and i began to remember...
oh.. this isn't me?
oh... right...
      
   thank god i am man,
and not an insect,
making myself
alligned
to some sub-human
collective of either
muslim, brown tinged,
or... ant or termite.

   good to know
i have been endowed
with a coping mechanism
to stage
a dodo coup;
but i know all the pretty
brown boys will
fight hard,
to forever keep
their hard-ons...
for white ******...
who...
without specimens
akin to me...
will start...
   becoming more and
more rare!

/i tend to don sunglasses,
encompassing the night...

never the aggravated
             youth,
as made pardonable...
into a circumstance
        of hardly gagging for death:


double whammy,
to cirumstance mortality:
     you engage with
teenagers,
     and you're not experienced
to deal wiht them...

and then you metion:
           a death wish...
and they run away,
given the fact that you've
bought them an excess of
$6 worth of *****?

                now you're *******
me off pdf. contra jpeg.
formatting!
                no, seriously!
there's an actual reason
why, to the 20th century
writers will never, ever,
become "too" apparent...  

    these ******* never had
to deal with clinical
insomnia?
     the merger of
dreams, thoughts,
and death,
  suddenly made synonymous
with a thesaurus
scrutiny...

                 i died
to the account of thrice...
what little you do will do
just as little for
me to encompass
understanding the random,
or the average....
  
get my drift?!

    no?!
                güt!

            auch nein unß
                sich kümmern!
                        gegeben dies!

seems i was quiet
the effective / necessary
                        cognitive artefact...
more the titilating abel,
rather than the baß(e)-on cain
in terms of employment...

                the ******-sort...
           wizard-quasi...
                         a major projection
of a HA..
                  a necro-"philia"
   assertetive of one only being
able to bias eating pork,
having stomached
   ingesting
                 the leeches
and clinging artefacts
                   of Poseidon's
domain!
          
                           well ****, me!

the bellitling surmount
that people could attest to!
and there they go,
off, on their own ownership
off on a tangent,
  like exhibiting the character
of a vector...
          well i didn't
go to university to study
psyche, that's for sure...

   i was about to embark
on sustaining pop culture
by rekindling the imitation
ending in the sigma that
became: toothpaste / shampoo...

shame a sense of
romance strated to wrestle with me...
teasing Cain...
    i'd still overt:
in escaping the night
with exercising a Plantagenet
"right" of utilising
      sunglasses... esp. inclusive
of doing so, by the "consequence"
of experiencing the night...
          
    i solved one teenager confrontation
by telling them:
  you call your uncle, sure...
problem is... you see...
          i have a... death wish:
******* could out-run usain bolt...
quicker than an *******!
shame that's not even
   moderately corrective
   of the life i inhibit...
                  rather than fake:
in the cruel reality of having to inhabit,
   ex omni exemplum: quare ipsum?
if this is bad latin,
then i certaily shouldn't have
asked my anesthetist prior to being
admistered to the hands of a german "butcher"
pulling my wisdom teeth out:
                     quo vadis?
long sleep, within the confines
of an anesthetic: requires,
                       this simple question'
death-anticipatory... just in case
someone forgot the ontology of mortality;
thank-**** death being
                     hardly "the" surprise!