Down in the valley of the fleeting stream
Parched Sudanese tongues crying to you
Below, below, the sacred Nile
Pestilence took my sweetheart

She was dark, now she is blue
Like the cataracts dividing the stream
And the tearducts dividing my eyes
Below, below, the sacred Nile

Torn in our tumult
From the bleak savan'
Starve like we all her cherrious face
Now forever blemished

Therefore let us dine on hardtack
Suffer for the things of the marble world
Below, below, the sacred Nile
Where we'll go and prosper

Go receive heaven's reward
Long, long, the vaporous mile
Fast along the toiling road
To the land of reward, we go

I compared her to a flower
Fair a fragrance as ever conceived
To think her smile is a nest for ants
Below, below, the sacred Nile

Change these feelings about me!
I am eager to see her again
But I won't obey the winds
Below, below, the sacred Nile
As far as fragrance is concerned.

I often remember with a lot of thrill in my spine every time I reflect on the Writings of Miguna Miguna in his book peeling Back the Masks, a certain sub-plot that most of Kenyan students in Canada, America, Britain, Germany or Australia often fail to go through pre-university examinations and then they opt for faculty friendly courses like carpentry and electrical-wire man offered at some polytechnics in this countries. Then these students end up living as informal sector workers in the Diaspora, and hence putting themselves into a cash strapped condition that they don’t easily come back home. This is also the same texture of revelations I have been encountering for the past five months of my regular reading of the literary pages of The Saturday Nation, in which a most of Kenyans write alongside some foreigners, but notably Professor Austin Bukenya as the foreign writer, Bukenya himself being a Ugandan.
The revelations are that the writers who were regularly writing on these pages sometimes ago have gradually waned up, not because of anything but due to their intellectual irrelevance. Mostly caused by a defect of intellectual inferiority. They were the likes of Evans Mwangi; Mwangi was forthrightly coming up with a tribally fine-tuned niche in the name of being Ngugi wa Thiong’o scholar. He had a specialization in writing about Ngugi because Ngugi is his tribesman, they are both Kikuyu’s.He also had substantial writings on Ngugi’s children; Mukoma, Lee, Nducu and Wanjiku wa Ngugi, who are in similar stretch of their father struggling to be established as writers. But all in all, Professor Evans Mwangi has already ended up as an intellectual without consequences.
Another writer in point was one; Dr Tom Odhiambo, who also teaches literature at the University of Nairobi. He had been writing on the same pages but with a strong bent towards Luo Chauvinism and stark Conspiracy against Luhyia veteran literary Critic Professor Chris Wanjala.
The only Kenyan literary activist who has been trying to remain globally vogue in his literary writings on this platform is Dr Godwin Siundu; he often displays Global relevance through his pataphorous approach to literary appreciations and criticism.
But whatsoever the case, professor Bukenya has towered seriously above these Kenyans.Bukenya’s command of English language and literary command has no match on the Kenyan literary market. Bukenya Tackles globalectics of literature as Kenyans struggle with tribalism of their home literature.Ethinicity is the enemy of Kenyan literature and as well an established foe of any other Kenyan professional perspective.
Why Kenyans are threatened with intellectual suffocation when exposed to otherness is because of a few reasons. As cited above ethinicism remains a dominant factor. But also, lack of homogenous public language, absence of ideology in their political history, failure of politics to achieve common nationalism and corruption in the public sector are contributing forces among others.
Your consecutive  look at the literary pages of  the Saturday Nation of the previous three weekends will be an empirical testimony to this position.Bukenya’s stories have surveyed dialectics of English language, aging of African literature , translation and greatness of Uganda orature with a focus on Okot P’ Bitek. And this weekend he has beautifully lime-lighted on Julius Nyerere’s Intellectual tigritude. Nyerere’s as the killer of colonialism but while at the same time he lingered as the staunch lover of Shakespeare.
This is simply a farcical repetition of the previous tragic history, as reflected in the words of Karl Marx in his 18th Brumaire, which made the Ugandan educated Sudanese Poet, Taban Reneket Makititiyong Lo Liyong to look at Kenya’s literary poverty and then take a synechedochal stand to decry that east Africa is a literary desert. He was right, but in a sense he did not mean east Africa per se, he meant Kenya .Kenya at that time had only an English Department at the University of Nairobi. The department was poorly performing in terms of research. It was desperately tethered duplicating of the European classics as its literary overture.
But when the foreign and radical blood came to Kenya, in guest of helping Kenya to overcome the fog in the seasons end from colonial mire to literary and cultural freedom, Native Kenyans were surprisingly never friendly to them at all at all. Some of the intellectuals who had come to Kenya that time were the greats like :Ezekiel Mphalele from south Africa, Okot p’ Bitek from Uganda,Okello Oculii from Uganda,Ayi Kwei Armah from Ghana, Joie De Graft from Ghana, Walter Rodney from Guyana, Austeen Bukenya from Uganda and Taban Lo Liyong from Uganda.
All of these foreigners in Kenya have later on been absolved by time and history  as literary greats.They have proved clear intellectual and literary superlativety  over and above all Kenyans. The point of contrite is that, Kenyans of that era did not give them a chance to share their intellectual resource with the peasants and masses of Kenya. Instead Kenyan bureaucrats began their usual came of intimidation and tribal nagging whenever intellectually outshone.
Austeen Bukenya was condemned into poverty at Machakos girls high school to be an English teacher or a teacher of English without a salary. Liyong and Pitek were perpetually witch-hunted out of University of Nairobi by Ngugi and Wanjala. Rodney and Armah were frustrated until they desperately moved to Tanzania from where they wrote their respective oeuvres. Armah wrote Why are we Blessed, While Rodney wrote the world famous book How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. Mphalele was frustrated to oblivion, only for him to die mysteriously when on a literary tour in West Africa.
But sadly enough, the Kenyans who were seriously illiterate, in the  likes of : Daniel Moi, Jomo Kenyatta, Ezekiel Barengtunny  and many intellectuals so-so’s shamelessly made themselves to be  chancellors of the Universities .They were chancellors who never went beyond class seven of primary schools in their child hood. They then became bovaristic if not atavistic only to begin writing lame books like Nyayo Philosophy, Suffering without Bitterness, Facing Mount Kenya and other literary trash of the same calibre. It is this intellectual sludge that they again turned to impose as compulsory reading materials on sons and daughters of poor Kenyans.
By
Alexander K. Opicho
Eldoret, Kenya.

A poetic drama (One Scene)

( Egypt’s parliamentary farce)

(The spokesperson on the presidium strikes the table with a wooden hammer and asks for order. Participants become quiet.
Raise your hands and reflect your views on today’s point of argument— The Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD ) on Blue Nile. Various people representatives raise hands,
The spokesman says let us start with Mr. Hydrologist over there.)

Egypt’s globally
Topmost voluminous
Underground
Reserve of water
We could use later.
So via our media outlets
It is better
We dupe
The global community with
Much-touted chatter
“To Egyptians
Demand of water
To cater
Blue Nile is
A life and
Death matter!
As thicker than blood
Is water! ”

Of course,
From the Mediterranean
Or Red Sea
We could extract, desalinate
And use water,
But why should
We talk about that?
We better
Ask on Blue Nile
A farfetched exclusive right.

Though hydropower dam
Has no significant harm
We shall flout it
In a way it runs
Out of charm.
As  the Nobel peace winner
Premier  Abiy Ahmed put it
"Almost all Egyptians
Enjoy the supply of electricity,
While over half of Ethiopians
Are thirsty of such necessity.

Tragically, to date
Using a lamp
Covers most of Ethiopia's map.

For the rational,
It is a source of worry
Innumerable Ethiopian mothers
Still on their backs carry
Backbreaking firewood
So that go to school
Their children could.
What we say
Is if you  are remiss to help
don't stand on our way
While we're flapping wings
From fettering poverty
To break away!"


Also via a conduit
Diverting Blue Nile
Across the Sahara desert
A financial return
Egypt could get
That delights its heart.
The water from
Upstream countries
We do not buy
But paradoxically sell it
We shouldn’t why?

Like Israel
Using drip irrigation
Must not
Draw our attention.
We shall be extravagant
For Blue Nile’s water
Is abundant.
Unchecked lavishly
It must flow!
Pertaining to that
We have to remain adamant.

Also, the
Silt accumulation
In Aswan dam
Could be disastrous
The outcome,
Yet we have
To cry foul
This challenge-averting
GERD must not soon
Generate region-
much-needed power!

Though it is 50 % of the
Annual trans boundary
Water outflow
Other water-generating countries
Are willing to let go
Unwilling anything below,
Kind Ethiopia ventures
Holding only 13% of
The yearly flow to follow,
However, ingratitude
Must feature our attitude.
This may
Provoke a  dismay
But attention
We shall not pay.

(A tumultuous applause shook the parliament. Once more the spokesman asks for order. Then he invites a former diplomat saying “ it is your turn.”)

Once, by famine hit
When Ethiopia   asked
“Help me not why?”,
While others extended help,
Mocking, we did turn
A blind eye.

As our former bent
Whenever Ethiopia
Seeks  grant
From international
Development Institutions
On grounds of
Fighting poverty and drought,
Greasing palms  
We shall bring
Ethiopia’s plans to harness
Blue Nile to naught!
Use we shall
Many a phony diplomat
With a tongue of honey
And a heart of gall.

Tact we do not lack
So cautiously,
Our sanctimonious mask
Our targets
May not hack,
All out
We shall engage in
Self-selling talk!

From all things that fall
In the technical matrices
We shall make a sham politics.

(He sits enjoying a standing ovation. The spokesman invites a representative with a military background.)

We shall blow our
Trumpet in the air
“In lieu of
The reasonable 3 years,
Cooperatively,
From 4 to 6 years
To fill the dam
If Ethiopians dare,
War on it
We shall declare!
Barefacedly claiming
Fifteen to 20 years
Is what is fair!

In such infeasible way
Before it sees the day’s light
GERD will suffer blight.”

(He hiccups and continues)

“With a bellicose bent
To remind ourselves
Deliberately we shall fail
So many times Ethiopia
Chased out every
Egypt’s invading army
Between its legs
Shoveled its tail.
(Ex. Isma'il Pasha/ 1874 –1876
Gundet &Gura March 7–9, 1876)
But why should we care
Arsenal support
Hypocrites, who want to exploit
In the Middle East
Egypt’s political purport,
Will bring to our port.
The current catchphrase
"I can't breathe"
Demonstrates hypocrites'
Justice has no teeth!

We shall
Continue to brag
About GERD’s full actualization
Foot to drag.
I’m afraid
If we strike GERD,
On Aswan dam
Ethiopia will certainly inflict
A similar harm.
Its infantry
Acid-tested hero
Within finger-counted days
Will march into Cairo.

Its top official or
One from its mob
Cold blow up in Egypt a bomb.

We have to understand
As its former PM
Meles put it
“It is not
Its football squad
Ethiopia will deploy
On the terrain rough
When the going
Gets tough!”

We shouldn't worry
We have no history
Of battle front victory.
Poking our nose here and there
(Sudan, Somalia, Yemen,
Libiya, Palestine, Israel)
We shall make political trouble
As we are averse to self
-politics burgeoning dabble.

(He sat after enjoying a heartwarming laughter from the audience. The spokesman himself could not help unzipping his lips and invites a hoary headed historian.)

Subjects of colonization
It is our
Historic right
For the hanging-over
Mentality of predators
To fight
“Gobbling down
All resources
Is our right!”
We shall espouse
Unjust and inequitable deal
“Ethiopia fairly
GERD must not fill!”
We must gamble
Regarding the water division
There has to be a deal
That serves our colonial
Legacy a sign and seal.

There is nothing we hate
Than the following sentiment
Pan Africanists activate.
"We have to get
Behind our back
Days dark!"

(He sits accompanied by an affirmative nods. The spokesman invited Miss Environmentalist "it is your turn." "Thank you for the opportunity,"  she said and  standing she scanned the congregants
before speaking)

In parrying evaporation
GRERD being built in a gorge
Than Aswan Dam
In the desert
Draws better attention.
Though logical,
This we do not wish to hear
So we shall turn a deaf ear
Saying
“Your nuisance
We no longer bear!”

Of course
To avoid siltation
In GERD
Also to ensure
The continuous flow of water
Towards Green development
Ethiopia is making an unprecedented &
Unflagging movement.

Yes , Yes
Green development
Draws rain
Though that is
To our gain
From expressing
Appreciation to
Ethiopia’s timely move
We shall refrain.

From the voice of
Sagacious leaders of
Africa
It is better
To heed a hypocrite
From America;
That could not be a shame
In the political game.

(She takes a seat enjoying a high five. The spokesman invites a parliamentarian who is a member of the Arab league.)

As Sudan poses
A rational gait
Its voice has weight.
Our sugar-coated talk
It may not buy
Hence, the fuel-intoxicated
Gluttonous Arab League
Its voice
Needs to raise high.
White supremacists
Must try hard
To sweet talk Sudan
To our side.
Otherwise
Creating political heat
In to two its people
We have to split
To unseat
Its incumbent president
Popular support that ride.
This  insidious tide
From Sudanese mob
We have to hide!

We have a toy League
That doesn’t ask itself
“ Why
War-fleeing Arabs ,
Shunned by Arabs,
Seek a safe haven
Under Ethiopia’s sky?
Why  of all
In Prophet Mohammed's eyes
Ethiopia stands tall?”
That no one could deny
But we must
Neither wonder  nor ponder
“Why
For own advantage
Arabs-eating-Arabs
That commit  
Political suicide
Could not
Stand by
The reasonable
Ones’ side?”

Creating this and  
That pretext
We shall derail
The all-out task
To bring GERD’s to end,
At long last
To make it
As good as dead.

Why should we care?
If Ethiopia or the region is
Thirsty of hydropower
In so far as
Our conceited
Pride remains
In glory tower.


Moreover if soured
Pushed to the end or angry
Reflect  we must not
Ethiopians could tame
Its this or that tributary.

(When a wealthy merchant raised his hand the spokesman gave him a green light to speak.)

Pampering with money
Fifth columnists cruel
Let us keep on using
In Ethiopia
As runs the adage
Divide and rule,
Along ethnic
And religious lines
To  drive a wedge
So that Ethiopians will not
Come to the same page,
While turmoil in their country
Opts to rage.

We could ignore the fact
Ethiopians soon display
Unity and solidarity
When threatened gets
Nation’s  sovereignty.
In Ethio-Somali war
Ethiopians Karamara’s Victory
Talks loud such history.

I'm afraid
Our  divisive action could
Bring together Ethiopians,
Be it on left or right end,
Their sovereignty to defend.


Robbed of
Their alluvial soil
By a prodigal river
Ethiopia’s  farmers
Undergo a hard toil
If we are asked for that
Compensation to pay
“No!”
We  have  to say.

Note that
Using industrialization
Like Japan
Develop we can
Than irrigating  
A- scorching-sun
-smoldered land
Full of sand.

As the  jealously insane
What should worry Egypt
Must not  be what  it could lose
But  Ethiopia gain.
What I fear
In the diplomatic arena
With GERD Ethiopia
Will come forth
Shifting gear.
When Ethiopians' development
Proceeds apace
Ethiopia could Egypt displace.
So on its development
We  have to pose a roadblock
Or a spoke.
.

(This much  farce is enough for today .Parliament is dismissed says the spokesman.)////////

Alexander  K  Opicho
(Eldoret,Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)


Dear Beloved potential victim to my foul intentions,
How are you today and your family, I covet it most
I am a citizen of Sudan but currently staying in Burkina Faso.
My name is Miss Ngara Deng,24years old daughter of the richest Sudanese
My wealth in prankstery is spilling over the tumbler of truth,

We originated from Sudan the confused kingdom of penchant tribalism
I got your E-mail address/profile through my justifiable slyness
in the internet search from your country of prank victims,
In the national chamber of commercial fraudulence,
When I was searching for a good and trust worthy person
Who will be my friend  even I con him to the apex of my efforts,

And I believe that it is better we get to know each other
Better and trust each other so that I determine your degree of folly
Because I believe any good relationship depends on your callousness
Will only last if it is built on truth and real love of I frauding you,
My father Dr. Dominic Dim who gave birth to me
A universal queen of fraud an pranking
He was the former Minister for SPLA  contraband Affairs
And Special Adviser to President Salva Kiir in regard to tribalism,
As the main virtue of South Sudan.

My father Dr. Dominic Dim Deng, blessed be his name
And my mother including other top Military officers
And top government officials in this game of ours,
Had been on board when the plane crashed
On Friday May 02, 2008. May be Museven Knows
After the burial of my father, all pranks were there,
My uncles conspired and sold my father’s properties
To a Chinese expatriate and live nothing for me.

One faithful morning, gave a twist of fate;
I opened my father’s briefcase and found out the false documents,
Which he have deposited huge amount of fake money in one bank
In Burkina Faso with my name as the next of kin in prankster,
I traveled to Burkina Faso to withdraw the money
so that I can start a better prank life and take care of wiles.


On my arrival, full in arms as you know am a liar
The Branch manager of the Bank, a Burkinabe
Whom I met in person and desire he was my prey,
Told me that my father’s instruction, vicious ones
To the bank was the money is released to me ,
Only when I am married or present a ****** s trustee
Who will help me and invest the money conning guys overseas
I have chosen to contact you after my prayers and ploys.
I believe that you will not betray my trust.

But rather take me as your own sister in crime
Though you may wonder why I am so soon revealing myself
to you without knowing you to be good in pranking,
Well, I will say that my mind of a thief convinced me
That you are the true foolish person to steal from.

More so, I will like to disclose much to your folly
if you can help me to cheat the police  by hiding in your country
Because my uncle has threatened to counter prank me,
The amount is $8.4 Million and I have confirmed
From the bank in Burkina Faso that am only lying,
You will also help me to place the money in heavenly treasure
In a more profitable swashbuckling venture in your Country
However, you will help by recommending to me
A nice University in your country from when I get a diploma
In thieving and frauding,
So that I can complete my studies in this marketable field


it is my intention to dupe you properly
As you get trapped in my rackets;
The balance shall be my capital
In your illusive establishment
As soon as I receive your interest in helping me,
I will put things into action immediately
In the light of the above of the nonsense
I shall appreciate an urgent message from you
Indicating your ability not to sense a lie
and willingness to handle this transaction in foolish sincerity.

Please do keep this only to yourself as it is fortunes fool
You should contact with my prank email ID below;
missngarad@gmail.com
Sincerely yours,
Miss Ngara DENG

She’s underhand throwing words with her mouth
The boy leans in past natural borders, to study the agenda in her eyes
He is built like a bent paperclip,
with bottlebrush forelocks, a barracuda jaw.

Between her bare legs, she gently squeezes
a cup of iced hibiscus tea.
She reaches down and lifting it to her lips,
I feel mine part, in thirsting sympathy…

Her upper thighs blush wet with condensation as
The boys eager fingers click on her knee,
like ice cubes in her sweating berry hibiscus,
floral melt cascades down her throat.

Fairy breath lands on my shoulders - my silk overcoat
It makes me dissolve with memory
of my beloved tea picker,
a cocoa skinned Sudanese girl
traveling the road to market in Al-Junaynah,
swaying in the truck bed under a warm sun,
dreaming of red karkadeh flowers
and a paper clip boy.

We sat,
******* the shreds
Of chicken
From our teeth,
In a cloud of smoke
From tempers flared
That burned to the quick.
The record spun,
The needle stuck
In the endless
Circle groove
At the disc's
Center, but
Neither of us
Moved.
We didn't change
The record,
We didn't
Shut the
Player off.
We sat,
And watched our
Fingers and toes
Evaporate.
We looked on
As the
Room dissolved,
We made no pleas,
Or any noise at all
As our world
Was erased.
In the eggshell light
Of our rebirth
The seasons passed,
With no attention
Paid, like
Sudanese children,
Left to collect sunlight
In the pores of their flesh,
Are ignored
By their God.
The air was a sea
Of vibrations,
Writhing and alive
In the periphery
Of our perceptions.
Do you remember
How it felt to
Be reconstructed?
Cell by cell
We came together,
Our blood vessels
And lymphatic tunnels
Wove through
Tendrils of bone
And wisps of
***** tissue,
Our nerves snaked
Their way through
The jungle of our
New-found existence,
A supercomputer
Materialized within
Each of us,
And they began
Discovering themselves
And each other.
We had arrived prematurely,
And our flames
Were snuffed out
In the claustrophobic
Incubators.
Here we now sit,
White noise
Filling the void,
Waiting for
Something we'll
Never see
Come to be,
But can't avoid.

Although I haven't witnessed
Darfur's eyes run red.
Rivers full of skeletons,
and bodies torn and bled.

I've read about the pigment
of fearful hearts so lost.
A dreaded world within a world;
there are no lines to cross.

Money paid for power.
Power, bodies, bills.
The Janjaweed at noon,
are cleansing for their drills.

Washing down stern orders
with blood on unclean hands.
Babies and their mothers
decomposing in sand.

Weapons worn like diamonds.
Lust and **** colliding.
Torture becomes normalcy.
Living only hiding.

So long as Omar al-Bashir
sees families as roaches,
death is understated.
In greed, he people-poaches.

Pity is for damsels
parading in a tide
of much needed attention
with ego on the side.

To you, my friend
who listens, but fails to comprehend:
Those who live for nothing
are nothing in the end,

I ask you, pray for Sudanese
fed horrors for their lunch,
their bones becoming rubble,
under tires they will crunch.

BILLS BILLS BILLS !!!!
  
Soooo Many ... **** Bills ... !!!
I don't like Destiny's Child ... !!!
This ain't a Dance Drill ... !!!
  
I’m writing this poem
cos i'm ... TIRED ... of ... " BILLS " ... !!!!!
  
BILLS ... for the Electric ... !!!
BILLS ... for the Gas  …!!!
Soon … they'll be Billing ...
For taking a .... "SLASH" .... !!!?!!!
  
BILLS ... for ... The NET …
BILLS ... for your Texts ...
BILLS ... for those ... HOTLINES ...
For .... Telephone *** .... !!!
  
What will they bill next .... !?!
They're Billing .... Soooo Much ....
They don't even want ... Cheques ... !?!
  
Just Tap In ... Your PIN …
that's how they'll begin ...
to steal ... ALL Your Money ...
  
Why don't people see …. !?!
are they REALLY .... "THAT DIM" … ???
just look ... In Your Bank ...
  
"The Beast" .... Lies Within ....
  
Cashpoint machines .... “FAILING” ....
The service is .... “SICKENING” .... !!!
  
Meantime ..... YES ...... Your Bank
is … “HAPPILY” … Billing ....
  
Now ... I really would CHILL ....
if I ..... Never Again .....
SAW  .... A **** .... Dollar Bill !!!!
  
cos ... AMERICA’S ... used them
for Killing ... at Will ...
  
kinda gets me to ... Thinking .......
that ... even .... " Bill Clinton " ....
just bombed without ... Blinking ... !?!
  
Sudanese People .... DIED ...
as the U.S. .... just .... LIED ....
  
While meantime .... Bill Tried ... !!!
to STOP .... his **** .... SHRinKing ... !!!!!!
  
Lewinski .... for sure ....
Was NOT .... "FINGER LICKING" …. !!!!!
  
But doing ... Her Thing ...
while thinking ........... Ch-Ching ... !!!!!!!
  
Meantime .... Bill's career ....
was about to start .... SINKing ....
  
" TITANIC " ..... Indeed ..... !!!
  
Bill ... fulfilled ... His Need .... !!!
  
but then came ... The Press ... !
Monica's … "All DISTRESSED ... !!!"
  
but Bill ... Tried his Best ... !!!
once again .... to .... “DECEIVE” ….
  
but ... All of A SUDDEN ... !!!
BILL made ... "A NEW SOUND" ...
  
“Okay, Yes I did it … !!!”
  
The TRUTH ... did ... come out ... !!!!!!
  
So, how many Bills ... ?
are feeding us ... LIES ... !?!
from BILLS ... that we pay for ... ?
To … “UNIFORM GUYS” …. ???
  
Oh Yes ... The ... “OLD BILL” …
over here ... NEED TO ... chill … !!!!
They're beating on ... BLACKS ...
"RACISM" ….. “INSTILLED” …. !!!!!
  
Blacks Dying in ... Cells ...
All Show ... but ... No Tell ... !?!
of how this ... CHIT ... happens ....
  
“THE YOUNG MAN JUST FELL !!!!”
  
See, that's the ... Hard Sell ….
that's what ... Blacks Deserve ... !!!!!!!!
Ask .... Warren Mitchell .... !!!
  
Alf Garnett …. I MEAN ... !!!!!
  
See …. On TV screens ...
for years ... they've been showing ...
Blacks being .... "DEMEANED" ...
Drug Dealing .... or .... VIOLENT …
  
Then they want to ... BILL ME ...
for a **** ... TV Licence ... !!?!!
  
They may well be ... "Jokes" ...
to … “OLD SCHOOL” … White folks …
  
But .... Listen up ... CLOSE ... !!!!!
  
A Joke is a Joke .... !!!
but some ... "OLD BILL" ... these days ...
are those ... “*******” ... blokes ... !!!
  
So ... who in the end ...
will have faces of ... YOLK ...
  
Well .... NOT .... Rodney King !!!
Try this for a name ....
PC .... Julian Glyn ....
  
A .... Leicester .... Policeman …
caught .... " CHILD MOLESTING "… !!!
  
See i'm SICK of ... these Bills !!!!

We're paying .... "TAXATION" ...
for these ignorant ... " SICKO’S " ... !!!!!!!!!
to get their ... "CHEAP THRILLS" ... !?!
or to use ... Dollar Bills
to get people .... KILLED .... !!?!!
  
So ….

There are a FEW Reasons ...
why ... Bills ... get to me ...
amounting to ... TREASON ...
  
Haven't YOU ... had your fill ... !?!
  
Well ... maybe you ... Have … ?
Or ... maybe you ... Haven't … ?
  
I just want to ... RELAX ...
and be able to ... " CHILL " ...
and not have to ... Worry ...
about these ... " ****** " ….
  
BILLS … BILLS … BILLS … !!!!

In the garden in Corniche
In the playground bound by a metal fence,
While the Arab teenage kicks the ball,
The feet of the Sudanese, sitting on the stone bench nearby
Start prickling;

Cries out that
For one who knows how to score goals,
The hunger to kick a ball
Is the ultimate one!

Me? I shall remain nameless!

The fisherman
Whose whole body tingles
As he espies a shiver of gigantic sharks
Even while swimming for life,
Having lost his boat and fishing net in the deluge,

The nun, whose ******* start secreting
As she watches a bawling baby,
Standing amidst toddlers of the nursery

The swimmer,
Who crawls through the desert
On camel-back

I do not ask for anything else
Just the ball and the opposition
Let a thousand, or tens of thousands come,
Let the goal-mouth
Be miles distant,
I do not ask for anything else

Once, while carrying a load of cement
On the tenth floor,
For a moment,
A moment,
The sun tempted, as a huge ball.

The scar of the beating received
While dribbling the sun on the sky meadow
Remains on the back..

There are ***** anyone can play with.

No, all surges ahead
Do not end in goals.
There are no games that do not have ‘foul’ -
Even in dreams.
There are no Arab children
In the playground now.

Jut the ball, ball, ball alone.

It scurries hither and thither
By itself,
Races outside,
Speeds towards the goal-mouth,
Sometimes ducks out of sight.

Very privately,
And even more secretly,
Ball smiled at me.
A shudder of incarnations
In my toes.

As soon as the ball and feet
Left the playground,
Two legs
Started dancing,
Betwixt twilight and night.

co ma piernik do wiatraka a kóra do pióra?

immortalised mortality: Achilles -
some also quote Zeno on the matter
suggesting that anyone can be involved
in the question of turtle shells:
mortal-ised immortality - meaning
it's democratic, any mortal can think
about it, since there's only one Achilles.

what has a gingerbread to a windmill?
Don Quixote. again:
what has a chicken to a quill?
Nietzsche's handwriting - kura pazurem
a człek igłą.*

but there's a majority of us that think about immortality
seriously, only because he haven't fulfilled an
adequate mortality - we haven't, there are so many
of us that haven't fulfilled mortality to depart with death
with agony, we're just happy it's over,
i end up drinking beer like it's apple juice
on the after taste - we're called the depressive ones,
but still they make money off us -
the fault is the stars, we're not in it -
and why did he drink? the shame, the travesty -
i too wanted to fulfil my mortality to the ****,
convene on naked-concreteness, on bare concrete
and cover it with tar, so that someone might
watch television...

i don't know the result of the referendum,
i woke up early, took two acidic ***** into the bowl
and thought about my mouth spitting venom,
too little, too late,
walked for three beers to balance the metabolism
and walked back, waiting for cat-food to arrive -
nearly sunstroke saying under my breath:
'if you really want to make Wales into Sudan,
go the **** right ahead, book a Disneyland trip
to Florida, for all i care, i'm a Kentucky fried chicken here,
oh no, go ahead, i'm really eager to read your journalistic
attempt to be serious like they were about Watergate,
no, please, no Pelican briefs, just socks... oh come on,
we can't be seriously, we're trailblazing the **** out of
whatever we thought about the penguin continent;
Green Peace? here?! you have to be kidding me,
i have Arabian playboys playing chasers and racers
on real-life Playstations at Knightsbridge, they think
Harrods is the only shop beginning with H in London;
what about Hamleys? i'm sure the playboys and blonde
****** would be better suited to race around Regents
Street... matchbox Ferrari ***** -
i'm not going to be some Sudanese suntan just so
you can jet stream to elsewhere -
i'm guessing they all had ***** when the Reign of Terror
happened, 'cos what i'm seeing right now is a bunch
of eunuchs biting their toenails -
me? no one gave me a firearm to shoot someone
like Napoleon said, i just posed for a portrait;
i'm not into torture, i have a memory of goldfish
reminded of a globular tank, given Newton's explanation
of the curvature of the eye, upside down and all,
i'm goldfish Bob, dubbed 'the all-seeing eye'.
i have to admit, the artists were crude when they
painted Elizabeth I, or anyone prior -
they didn't exactly represent them as human,
humanoid, yes - quasi ****,
i'm Darwin in Tate Britain looking at canvases
and regarding mascara as the new adaptability tactic
for what the Galapagos "Rhodes" colossus turtles took to
over-sizing  and imitating boulders - the art those days
was a Bayeux Tapestry - Shylock after Shylock after
an oversized ***** graffiti inserted somewhere instead
of an arrow piercing a neck - the artists weren't sloppy,
they were simply unkind - i'm shocked that so many
kings took to up-keeping their vanity of rule due
to the sloppy hand of artists painting them as if ******.

I watched you shudder
pick up a sweater off of the floor
drink from a bottle--
then slide across the couch
wars raged on--
and I faked an excuse
to stand up
miners were stuck deep in earth
and I sat down and put my arm around you
sudanese children were ravaged
and I looked into your eyes--
you laughed at my blemishes
then went to the bathroom
I was hurt deeply--
I thought
I'd deal with all the  suffering in the world
if I could avoid all the **** that was going on now.

I got up--
poured myself a glass of water
and drank it down--
I listened to the toilet flush

You know they have these,
           those groups for
people who are,
          were,
        are going through addictions.

Well I was going to one such place...
I'm not addicted not like these people.
My failings are
              light compared to those others.

I was hooked on the deity addiction,
              I was raised to believe in certain
                          noncorporal
unsubstantiated constructed fear factors.

I was for many a immature years fearful of
           what I was doing till I was 7 years old.

Questions were my maturity, I'd read that
            these man made constructs, well the
top of today were all
                      with an area of minimal distance..

                                               It was like,
the central point for god creationism,
                   who had the most followers,

who had the snakes tongue, the intellect
              to make other listen to there lies..

But so it happened, there were the old gods
   fading into obscurity..
they were real for a time,
           but the thing about time, everything dies.

But the words huddled the masses,
      you see there was a religion,
religions already around that stood the
   testament of time.

These new ones approaching gaining ground,
they were either an off shoot of
                      there disagreements,
of the word of there god not others
                                                   as they weren't real...


No there's was real, but the gods before were wrong??
                                            ok...…..

But moving on and we have the oldest religions still
around. Some have the masses where some have but a
only a few followers not as many as way back when.
Here's a quick lesson in gods and spirituality,
counting down we have:

1. Hinduism (Circa 7,000 BCE)
2. Judaism (Circa 2,000 BCE)
3.Zoroastrianism (Circa 1,500 BCE)
4. Shinto (Circa 700 BCE)
5.Buddhism (Circa 600 BCE)
Jainism (Circa 600 BCE)
Confucianism (Circa 600 BCE)
Taoism (Circa 500 BCE)

So you see that there are some old that still remain..


But the thing that people forget is that in the old times
wars were fought on the premise of there gods words
were the truth and the others were distortions not the
right word of god, gods.. look down, I know...

1.Second War of Kappel
2. Lebanese Civil War
3.The Crusades
4. Second Sudanese Civil war
5. First Sudanese Civil War
6. German Peasants’ War
7. Nigerian Civil War
8. French Wars Of Religion
9. Thirty Years’ War
10. Eighty Years’ War

I know what your thinking what the fudge has this
got to do with now, quite a lot it would seem.
We have new religions popping up, some are just
plain ***... and people follow these.

But the good thing is time is awaking the masses to
the ridicule of what these old books stood for.

Hate, Love ******, ****, intimidation to believe or
                                 pay a levy or pay with your life.

But the world is awake, more than ever.
         So I sit here in this room, listening to the
stories of what made them rescind the notion
of belief in a deity, that controlled them now
                                          they have cut the strings.  

I just hope one day that we all can look behind us
and wonder why we were so immature to think
that  these things helped us find our keys,
                         but let a child die of starvation..

if you don't see the contradiction your still blind I see...

the proof of the soul is evident with a continuation of the Einstein particle, from theory into practice - the proof is short-lived, the indestructible attache of man lingers on, his the soul, democratically a medium of revision and certainty - improved instruments of investigation, the purity of reasoning later meddling with the senses of other's being given certainty:  σ (total) - ¼ = σ (¾, i.e. remnant and electron cloud symbiosis of partaking in Gemini simultaneous coordination) - the thunder and lightning, a 747 and the delay vacuum cleaner "echo" - on a less grander scale plumber's apprenticeships - perhaps less grand, but therefore all the more necessary, zenith of self-worth, rather than god-worth, audacity on the dance-floor and no prim-cut hopes kneeling in a church for added fancy to desire clemency.

i do believe the Hindu polytheistic theory of reincarnation exists -
but in no way related to the resurrection of σ -
a totality of a person - whatever given characteristics in total,
i mean replicating mannerisms
as a form of adaptability will only make
a clone a clone on paper (in theory),
but the original experienced whatever
environment was to be experienced -
to have a true clone would also mean
replicating the environment,
and that's impossible - in science as in
nature we're susceptible to ungovernable
forces - a tornado uproots a mid-western
house and juggles it about like a boxer -
a tsunami and the sun with its 5,000 starving
Sudanese children - whatever -
but reincarnation does exist in a different
psychological medium, in the id - the shortened
version / unit of ideas - it it it or that that that -
ideas are resurrected or reincarnated (passed on)
all the time - i can understand a Hindu
in only this reality - not in the reality of an
entirety of the individual and the environment
for the individual's individuation -
an idea can be resurrected - there's always
continuity in philosophy, whereas history sees
disconnected events due to it's prime tool as a hope
for averting them (hindsight), philosophy in historical
terms is always a seance of connectivity - lubrication,
evolution, adding to, saving up, discharge, mid-life crisis.
i can't understand the Hindu concept of reincarnation
when it comes to people - each adapted and each
an ongoing process - ideas can be reincarnated -
by egos? *not really.

As humankind evolves in time
What used to be primitive tribes
Guarding territory, people, progeny
And food, have mutated into
Governments flaunting flags and political
Agendas to fulfil, within four years,
Drafted on greed, implemented
By concocting fear.

Rulers hence redraw, imaginary lines
Based solely on war, and conquest
Fostering survival of the fittest,
The law of the jungle established
In allegedly civilised societies,
Lobotomised by technologies,
PCs and mobiles made of black
Sands, from Congo with love.

Four million people killed by war,
For tantalite to be mined,
Purchased and transformed
In modern gadgets we all own.
Other resources elsewhere up
For bids by unbidding forces,
‘Take what you like and as you please’
The silent motto composing our wellbeing.

Gold, blood diamonds, petrol and water
Conflicts, justifying decades of ******
Worldwide, from Middle East unrest
To Rwandan genocide, passing through
Sudanese Darfur to cross the ocean
Fight for land, tear down forests,
Grow soybeans for vegans,
Pastor sheep for jumpers.

Now modern times have come
New notions are ****** to hypnotise,
Overpopulation for minds to criticise,
Though calculations unable to mystify
Grant eleven thousand square meters
Of inhabitable land per person. Space
Thus not being the issue rather, resources
Are deliberately unevenly distributed.

When twenty percent of the people
In developed nations consume
Eighty-six percent of the world’s goods
Leaving an average of thirty thousand
Humans die of hunger and malnutrition
Daily, there is no morality. When consequently
The remainder, comes knocking for survival
On closed doors, there is no humanity.

When we hide behind phantomatic
Risk-like borders and fake needs,
For two phones a PS4 and three TVs,
As we throw our dinner leftovers
In the garbage and let water
Run warm for 5’ before we shower,
Neglecting collective guilt, responsibility,
Laying fresh sheets on king-size beds,

Turning blind eyes to the news
And deaf ears to the door bell,

How on Earth can anyone sleep?

Until the day we shall all wake up
Notice NASA photos of our planet
Taken from above show no lines
Of separation, and that Earth is
Home to all, in equal measure.

/                                             bit-chute diesel
                         car engine analogy -

you really have
to watch it for a "reasonable"

amount of time,
before the site "behaves"
like

               a youtube page of
"instant gratification"...
   "up-to-speed"

       connection expectation

     ...(diesel car engines have to run
on stand-still for a while,
as any scottfish roofer will tell you
at 5am in the morning...
   give it 30 minutes...
  the giraffe should turn into gazelle...
                  any minute now)...

                          pixel-white
interaction...

  ­ given the fact that samsung
has demonetißed
    all of american content creators:

using a samsung tablet?
   i haven't seen a single advert in
probably two years...

       not, one!

(not a single video on youtube
is allowed advert streaming
when utilißed via a samsung
                 outlet device)...

                 it's like a free pass
into the red light district of amsterdam!
no nonsense policy
     pass into "deviation":

  do men still travel to amsterdam
to experience the legality
of marijuana?
                     seriously?

                 so not the prozzies?

the same mad american was
working the newly arrived tourists
on the streets,
   supposing it was like visiting
detroit: and the night
customers were not akin
to the sudanese starving masses...
can't remember
his name...
   he did say it...

      but ended up speaking
with a spaghetti tangled tongue and i'm
half trying... and half...

  i can see his face...

        it's neither pretty, nor ugly,
just memorable...
                 i don't even think he
was out to squash a con
            to fit into his pocket,
                  and lace it with pennies...  

could i really be that bad,
to go to amsterdam, spend three days
among the sensible dutch,
and not go there to enjoy
their lax laws convened around
marijuana use, but instead,
go to amsterdam to ****
  a plump puerto rican
   with an african pageboy
who was supposed to bring
      extra heinekens to her neon tower,
of a cermic tiled boudoir?

**** me!
                if that isn't amsterdam?!
and the sensible dutch?
no wonder the english think
that peasants shouldn't even
allow themselves the relenting
) outside the bracket joy
of ****-a-billy-billy...
  ***!

                 too much "excuse" from
being ashamed of
1960s' ***-infused humour,
  i guess to aspire an argument for
suggesting an exposure.

  england is experiencing
     a...
               hmm: misnomer at every turn...
A 1960s SHAME OF
            MAKING *** FUNNY...

apparently i'm not surprised...
     because if *** isn't niqqab serious
in how two bodies attach themselves
for a brief moment?
   then there's no a priori to begin with.

what with the everyday? spoiled brats locked up in their bedrooms where they think their individuality would matter in China... like **** it would... up comes the atheistic harvester and you get 1 billion obedient citizens, not in the west, with it counter-constructive anarchism that butterfly-punches the status quo, and in the words of Freddy Mercury - the show and the show offs march on.

and how many truthful poets will you find here?
or elsewhere?
every look at them as idle idealists? ever think
why they write about the essentials like they might
later write about kettles? love and love-hungry
heartaches are like a shopping spree in a supermarket
for them... they hide in shadows wearing masks -
they hide in shadows wearing masks -
i repeated myself because that's how prose fiction
is usually quoted by critics: finding a needle
in a haystack and nothing else, talk of fried eggs
on toast as one Sudanese rebel said to
a marine in Black Hawk Down: you live long and
boring lives; you reach old age not as a celebratory
march into the grave... but as a march into
the Hostel chambers of sadism... nothing to celebrate,
unless you've got all that science to later lie
in your excrement and gangrene... whoop whoop!
tug that steam-engine klaxon of Thomas for castrato's
release of opera with the steam.
back to the unit of family, you know why these poets
fake love as they might fake a statue from the Renaissance?
it's not about gym membership and:
god is dead, born the dietitian -
i'm not that much of a boorish bore to mention kcal
of a glass of milk of a tomato -
(self-conscious moment, listening to the radio,
piquant sadism, ****! i can't change the song or
even replay it... pain... pain... pain) -
my father sometimes argues with my mother aiming
his argument at me... third person party,
a child's involvement in family life:
the reason why they ****** and gave birth to you...
hiding behind Oedipus won't help,
the more you give yourself to memory,
the less you imagine (in the pop realm)
or theorise (in the education realm, the ****'s pretty much
the same, theory is like imagination,
it's just that the latter gets a bigger following) -
my mother is visiting her mother, gone for 3 months solid
if not more... being a woman (which is a crucial point),
she used to have a regime of cleaning the house
every day... i'm in charge of domestic chores and cooking...
i clean the house once a week... 2 cats.. after a week
the house looks like it has been lived in...
with her cleaning regime it just looks like a hotel...
my father's line: this isn't a hotel.
now i get it... he wasn't scolding me, he was scolding his
life-partner... i don't get reprimands for not cleaning
the house every day... i brush my teeth with a pea-sized
amount of toothpaste *once a day, this mouth
ain't a ***** toilet... no nicotine staining for 3 years...
get used to it. i'm not going to make a dentist happy -
buckle on teeth of a horse smiling exposing the gums...
knee high! so you see... honouring your parents isn't
exactly having a million on your bank-account
so that you can pay for their stay at the home for the elderly...
it sometime's just investing a little introspection into
the unit that you're part of... no point locking yourself
up with Chinese society against you and you with only
a begging chance at becoming a karaoke fest with only
one original song written by someone that ain't you.
i clean the house once a week,
i'm not a woman... i live in a house, not a hotel...
remember what i told you about the un-diagnosed o.c.d.?
2 cats, so the fur (obviously).
but my father plays ping-pong argument with my mother
through me... we've been alone for a few months...
and i hear no complaints about the household *******...
just the odd tale from the construction industry in England,
Romanians that gladly sleep on sites and work 7 days a week,
how Poles rebel against the golfers / "managers" visiting
sites under their responsibility once a month for 15 minutes...
the daily depression you won't find on youtube...
so you ask me why i retort with words like leprechaun
fascists? from those stories... don't worry, western society
idealises too much, they think they suddenly sprouted angelic
wings... you think these poets are being honest?
i think they're idealising, blind-dating their way into the choir
of pristine white virginity of having no absolute effect
on the world, that they've already changed.

You push through all the hard times.
Look where you are now!
Successful.
But where there’s success,
There’s hardship.

Shrapnel lands around you.
Your wide eyes watch your scratched and ****** feet,
As you run.
Run away from the horrible sights.

Now you’ve made it.
You’re in a refugee camp.
You’re doing better now,
But there is still internal pain.

After many camps,
After many years,
You’ve finally made it to the U.S.!

Look at you!
Finding your family from 20 years ago.
“You’re so grown up!”
Your parents say.
“I missed you!”
You say through tears.

Where you are,
Is much better.
You’re happy now.
You sit there,
Thinking.

”I’ve made it.”

i don't know whether contemporary writers
appreciate the fact that, well...
(a deep take of breath, and a hmm with added
pff flaking)... yes, today was a most horrid
day... a hangover... an oddity for me,
can't remember the last time i had one:
headache included - it just came out of the blue
with that melancholic bile seeping through
(hyphen? oh, the hanging punctuation?
i know, unlike the ..., what do you call that
if not a prolonged pause?) -
i'm blaming the heatwave - sticky sickly honey
goo of the sun... i don't know how or why
they managed to colonise south america and Africa...
i couldn't stand a day there, i Kenya i was
doing the opposite of phototropism: whiskey or
brandy in hand, in the shade, at one point
sleeping on a deck chair while the sprinklers drizzled
me - sure, i could have been abducted by Sudanese
or Somalian pirates: out in the open like that on
a holiday resort at night, but **** me, the heat was
just too much to bare... i'm pretty ******* sure
a lot of anger and banal human brutality comes from
heatwaves, or just the heat... i'd colonise Greenland.
like i said before, fair dos to the theory of evolution,
but i have a different way to approach it,
i call it the Scandinavian model, not the Anglo model;
the difference? shorter timescale, beginning with
monkey vikings, and reaching social democracy and
no rabbit ******* instinct of the Chinese and the Blue
Indians... that's manageable (that sort of timescale),
ah ****, someone should really buy my a navigational
system so that i don't digress;
so here i am, revitalised by a whiskey sharpshooter
(ratio of whiskey to cola... probably 5:3 or 5:2, never mind -
i'm going to start a petition, to get those two words
compounded, but first the appeal will have to begin
with sending those two words with a hyphen preliminary
concern, i.e. /: never-mind - before the digital dictionary
doesn't underline it in red) -
                                                  what i'll finally
say and say it with good faith... you pick up a 20th century
artefact up, in this case a book,
then you turn on the computer, and start typing,
you turn back to the book, and would you
believe it? you end up saying the words:
******* antiquity... and that's about something from
the 20th century... the 21st century is when
history became exponential, it's not as it used to be,
a slight increment day by day... the thing's gone
wacko on an exponential scale...
back in the 20th century i'd be writing,
and getting rejection slips...
now it's like the American Wild West all over again...
i'm pretty sure the majority of people
don't appreciate this fact... and we kinda are
saving the Amazon rain forest by enlarging the digital
bank... honestly, the freedoms we are experiencing
have never been greater, even reading 20th century
books feels like reading Plato, or the Epic of Gilgamesh,
as i said already, but to repeat myself for
the citrus relish: ******* antiquity.

I. From a Vietnamese / Cambodian / Egyptian / Israeli / Lebanese /
Sudanese / Syrian / Afghan Child’s Garden of Verses

Flare light
Flare bright
First flare I see tonight
I wish I may
I wish I might
Not be blown to death tonight

II. From an American Man’s Twooter of Self-Pity

Subtle beep
Subtle beep
‘wakening me from my sleep -
Oh, no! I’m going to die!
Not meeeeeee! Don’t wanna fry!
It’s all about ME – boo-hoo!
Poor ME! Poor ME! I’m gonna SUE!

Its art was so intense and intriguing
They named it deep!
Deep was its soul
Deep was its colour
Deep was its intensity!

Beautiful yet undervalued
Generous yet undermined!
So beautiful it irrigates the fields,
Assertively, gorging its four ends

Diverse cultures and religions it combined,
Uniting my residents it signed!
Black, White, Yellow or Brown, I shall leave no skin colour behind!

Young East African, I defined myself
In a Northern Sudanese tribe is where I content myself!
A Muslim Sudanese female, I elucidated myself,
Capable of fighting my black I confided in myself!

Privileged enough to stand for my rights
Thankfully never had to experience being held against my rights!
Stereotypically speaking, I shouldn't be granted my rights
But religion and culture protected my rights!

In this enormous land of green,
I learned how to be diversity competent,
North, South, East & West,
Different traditions and nationalities it held
I learned how it is viewed in the world and how it views the world,
Respect for its land and people is all it offered and asked for.
Nothing less than powerful & privileged it made me!

"My Africa" I called it,
With my heart, soul and mind I solely protected it!
I am proud of my culture and heritage!
I am confident that I will achieve with red, black, white & green colours
I am African!
It's my name!
It's my language!
It's my blood!
It's my rhythm!

out of balance? out of balance? my fist in your face is out of balance, but it isn't there, and it should be there, and the "out of balance" part - if your maxim is in my head, that equates itself to the out of balance of a missing fist in your face of a crafting of a jackson ******* squish, or a plum tomato, well then... maybe i was right to avoid punching you and making modern art, as i was: completely discrediting your words, esp. as an old man as: complete *******. it would seem, better write in youth, than to write in old age; or write at all.

it would seem, that we need to see much more
mathematical terms - the new form of replacing
1 = a, and 2 = b....
    i "think" we need to introduce the square-off...
that the √ be the nuo ego... letters falling fast,
new units, end even newer nuance -
    like autumnal flakes of oak -
the last revealing promise:
lost, to the things salvaged
                                    as, "old".

atomisation correlates directly
with a big "bang" theory -
a "bang" in a vacuous space?
you ******* kidding me?
bangs happen in a vacuum?
what i am, a ******* deaf numb mole
who has a hard picture of
comparing a mozart to a tchaikovsky?!
what's that, rattled siberia,
while finally residing of the riviera?
***** twice doubled -
     and i thought i had readied all
the ******* fur milkin'...
seems poetry was always a *******
guise for all artists...
i don't mind,
  writing a ******* is as amusing
as looking at seals in a zoo...
you just end up clapping
alongside them! ha! it's infectious!
miraculous in the onomatopoeia sense of
ough, ough, seals & seagulls
combined: + an oink,
and micagrammatons...
     moink, moink...
  how does a man write
    a proper woof / meow,
and not make it sound as mundane
   as a knocking on a door?
- but you should seen me when they
handcuffed my father,
who? the home-office... they said:
what a nice computer...
and they took him away...
i remember the day they spat onto
my father's head in chessington's world
of adventures... i remembered that...
but you know what i best
remember... the evil sly look i gave,
akin to ex machina soundtrack -
    hacking_cutting - by that moment,
the ball, just, sank...
                you like being called
"illegal"? you try explaining your
"legal" sudanese immigrant brats,
hoarded by political correctness?!
    
you want to talk to a kid,
punching a wall, imagining it was a face
till the plums came home?
****, the kid could,
he'd make a ******* apple pie
from that face, and leave you some
apple pulp's worth of a face for a jam...
you really, really don't know how
this will brew?

i god forbid anyone in defence of these
germanic tribes-people...
  they deserve their turn on ****,
i never had a thing for a gloria steinem,
or a claudia schiffer...
but i do remember punching a wall,
imagining it to be a bulldog's worth
of an english man's face,
licking his tongue into a somali ****
pretending it was a lamb sandwich...

and then i cried wolf:
                           and a wolf - i became:

ah-woooooooooooooo!!!

best exacted - the dirtiest look imaginable,
what the arabs call the *evil eye,
i? i call it the death stare -
            the song already mentioned -

the english are the least apparent into
their moral monopoly -
        they're either the retards,
or the rejects... i can't and never will decide
which...
        but from what i have read,
they really do deserve an a.i. paranoia -
to have created something that
overshadows them, bewilders them,
they really do need a guardian and protector,
that is half-based human: origins of,
but is also half-based artificiality:
   the frozen congo - remnant of
the baked alaska -
              that monkey in an igloo,
             playing with a pair of chopsticks!

i can't even believe how people can become
so naive, as to be naive enough:
to spread naiveness beyond themselves,
and craft the architecture of
  jung's collective unconscious reverse -
people always speak of en masse hysterias -
en masse psychologies -
  group think,
                   naive-ness is what what constructs
the antithesis of jung's collective
unconsciousness...  it's always the certain
sleepy tomorrow...
   being naive is the conscious agglomerate,
there was always a conclusive collectivism -
it sprouted in the failings of
             capitalism: being defended.

who, the, ****, brings, a book, into, a forest?! it's like these people living in the desert forgot, "somehow"... this fertile land of Europe is what? formerly sand dunes and fantasy? you know how much effort it took to uproot these trees and make this land fertile for a harvest?! like... this is a forgetfulness?! because the sands were easy and the mountains that were before them?! you ******* **** ****** ITES... this... this?! was easy?! to turn the forests of Ukraine into the bread basket of the world?!

Uzair! Uzair! you ******* myopia glue
to glass!
Ooh: Zer!
not ******* Za'ir
you ******* plonker...
check your goggles
make sure they're not sunglasses...

for ****'s sake...
that stubble is no beard!

and if i were to give all this
up
for some cougar ***
on Kauai
with suspicions of psychopathy...

but i did nothing to the girl

FAUN
FAUN
there's the labyrinth there's:
Leopold Göth (Amon):
i'm tired of being the "good guy"
in the lexicon of American
English with
equations of winners
and losers

like mortality is this antithesis
of a sickness of this tongue
this scribble...

so i wandered into the forest
no... no psychological parody, please,
i'm into the racist nuggets
and nothing could,
quiet match up to:

UZAIR!
you ******* goggle eye my
******* google or GANDU
what?!

so...
i took the sin bin approach...
walked into the forest...
found my artifact of antithesis
monotheism
for which the newly arrived
tribes of polytheism
weren't too, too... sure
about...

beside Amir and Ahmed and
Hah'med...
MEDI-TERA-EAN...

the ******* looking at
me all blank:
you ******* Sudanese donkey
bring sprout:
stop coughing up useless
phlegm at me!
******* Jewing ****!

yeah: constricted language usage:
MAtthew will *******
hear you and pass it onto the STASI
police...

"**** me, like i had some sad
sort of wriggling hand of authority..."

NETTLES...
NETTLES...
baptism by nettles
pinch puncture: will do...

i feel... alive!
if not mint in my mouth then
nettle teasing on my fingertips
which is not akin
to the Swiney Tricksee Canadian
bull...

      oh the *******?!

here you are: castrated and de-bollocked
if you were ever to be asking
but grandma grand hag
i took

my spintzer mah fizzle
you never
know, truly,
how to, dissociate the Germanic
from the Saxon
to the English: ping ping
almost "pre-history":
like Sudanese is the Lingua Franca...

what the **** Uzir...
Uz I Air Ear...
one ******* ear?!
one ******* ear?
i stomached ancient Romans:
oops... long gone...
the Jews are still here:
renegade in genocide...
you people ought be sleeping...
but you're still here...
so let's assume you are the genuises
while i conferred with
St Andrew and came up with:

with all the thyme, oregano...
mint is to the mouth
and lips
what NETTLE is to body...
MINT-NETTLE...

    if you were me and you see
the compulsion of having children
without having any
subjective attachment
you might know
how to credit
and differentiate and how to:
put the **** to locker by tow
and toughening: a together...

or via: i walked into the forest
and what came missing?
my shoes
my sunglasses...
possibly my ego...
if this was the appropriate time
i applied a deodorant of itch
where mint was missing

itching body itching fingertips!
why i, wasn't allowed to
be an SS-man! why?!
such a ****** affair of...
"ambitions"...

you call this good existential advertisement?
like some ****** Schmuck
Chopin wannabe
wht ******* concerto: NOCTURNE...

i've been grinding metal like
culminating in paradoxical thing-thinking:
from a diamond
to graphite of scribble...
no itch to etch on stone...
hmm... i do... begin to realize...
relish...
the Hebrews should have followed
suite akin to:
the Assyrians becoming: Syrians...
the Romans becoming: Italians...
the Greeks becoming: Russian...
the Raj nee: Raj... whatever...

Matthew Matthew MAtthew...
thank **** i don't use my second name,
no one's seconding...

but i did walk into the forest and played
a very rare instrument of purpose...
dead tree is a guitar...
pillar of giggling when
there is smoke, and fire...
and a wooden stick as bow...
i clamored for the indentation of echo
and hollow...

what did i receive?
i can't remind her, Edie,
of the terrible men in her life...
but i can't suffocate with all this
revival and hope for:
by simply: being: good...

i left the forest having foraged for
baptism in the nettle
like any Roman centurion... good: to: go...
i foraged for feeling
i foraged for music
i foraged for touch
i foraged for aloofness
i foraged for:
egocentricity
and politics...

          turns out the Israel of formerly-known
Hebrew is more alive in north Amjerica
than in Europe:
i'm glad ISlaam came to Europe...
there's nothing to defend
not scripture no nothing...
i welcome Islam within the abode
of threat of the ergonomic
and work:

ha ha: even Socrates didn't invent
a philosophy of work...
Heidegger teased at the idea: prospect...
of people talking metaphysics while
compulsively averting
that not sold mantra of:
ARBEIT MACHT FREI...

oh sure... the universe is a clepsydra
of nuance and parody...

but i did walk into the forest
and scrubbed my body like a baptism
or like any reverent Islamist
before prayer...
i scrubbed by body with nettles...
because i had no mint in my mouth
to give me Pavlovian giggles
of ooch ooch pouch a kangaroo:
indigenous
the ******* ****-worshipers
want to do with a "decapitation"
of a limp... ****?

it's not that i don't enjoy women
but...
there's enjoying and there's: "enjoying"...
mantra of the polytheistic
and polygamy and the harem!

*******
*******
*******

let me just grinder my reindeer
and army of metal
and we'll be sorted... savvy?!

Good title for a Nollywood flick,
Script writers assemble!
One week to belt out a wobble,
But try not to get into trouble;

So, rumour around town,
That a Sudanese man is actually...in Aso Rock!,
Wonders shall never cease in that country,
But what effrontery!

"Well, could be fictional, this matter,"
"Don't take it literally,"
Posited a recent opposition egghead,
Playing advocate for the other coconut head;

That country is in trouble,
Caught in several problems,
There seems no respite in sight,
Even with assurances from the president, the other night;

Hell, what's the difference anyway,
The real one was no better,
The people of state should accept their fate,
Now, before it is too late.

In the era of "Omar-al-bashir" president a.k.a the Con man.
A man, black and tan,
Wearing a caftan in capital of Sudan

Protesting against the price of Food and fuel
To raise his son named Abdul;
Trying to save some money and send him to a good school.

The situation's started getting brutal
People went down to gruel
Do you think it's unusual??

Chemical weapons, rapes in Darfur years ago
Ignored by United Nations Security Council
Now, Sudanese tortured again by a military commando
"Hemedti" the scoundrel, Head of Military council.

Meanwhile, Bodies dumped in the Nile
The river known for its crocodiles.

People lost life for democracy
Watch the world burn in hypocrisy.

Authorities Broke down the internet to disconnect
Hiding actions incorrect;
That may have been broadcasted weeks prior on our television set

Others are so obsessed with World Cup as a sports fan
Ain't got time for the world fam.

Armed van with symbols of middleman
Humanity is something that ends, when you **** a man
Who needs Satan??
Humans are already doing what he can
Don't let him control your mind, pray for a better world and help people in SUDAN...

Southampton vs Leeds
today at Wembley

yesterday the whole of
Manchester came
to London (also Wembley):

there's something infuriating
about the spirit of the north
especially in England
some old tale of Vikings

because the north like
the north Norway and Finland
is: well
the Polacks had a long ago
allegiance with the Norsemen

but the spirit of the north
in England
that land between London
and Scotland
because i don't think
i can relate to the spirit of the dragon
of the west of Bristol

no: much different
but in the same vein:
i think i should travel for a weekend
trip to Manchester
or Newcastle
or even perhaps Leeds

but i'd need to own a car for that
and not use trains
get out
experience a driving holiday
across England
and write...
i think i need a writer's holiday
unlike what could never
have been promised on Kauai
in terms of writing
and growing:

i think i need to grow intellectually
and for that i need alone time
perhaps i will not philosophy
maxims or aphorisms because
i find that when writing
wisdom is cheap because not actually lived
counter to the wisdom invoked
none of it is ascribed to a life

only from word of mouth
sorry therefore
but from word of mouth i find the accounts
of Socrates more involving, inviting,
sensibly middle Buddhist path...

but i don't even have a driving license...
that's plan B
so plan A is to travel to Poland
and get a driving license
and from there look in on Martin
in the care home now
walking
but obviously the mind regardless: fried
scrambled or i best
like to think an omelette...

there's this favorite Indian place of mine
just in the shadow of Wembley
with great great Samosa
vegetarian
something i see too much meat
i want to try some ape-thinking
or rather

     koala in an eucalyptus tree
like some birch standing upside down
but no
the forest shifts to bamboos
and a panda
this forest this river this sea of people:
the people: regardless of the social
construct of sobering democracy
rather than the drunken ripple into time
en masse
like circling around the Kaaba
in Mecca
or circling around the Pitch (Pi)
or Wembley in London...

sporting events replaced the failed
christianity in Europe
the failed christianity in Europe:
which is not to say that
Christianity isn't thriving in Africa
Asia
South America is the New Europe
of Christianity
and pockets of insanity in the North
of the Americas...

but Europe isn't dead: it simply turned
covert...
there is a narrative i need to be part of
and this cannot invite an Edie
and a Reyla when i am of the "class" of people
that need to hear people
speak
and i need to listen and watch and record
but unlike journalism
poetry is a question to the butcher:
would you butcher a meat twice
by overcooking it?
beef is safe
but dare to under-cook chicken? no...
would rather eat raw fish
than under-cooked chicken...
TEXTURE...
a problem with texture regardless of those
allergic to peanuts
and all the microcosms of what if Darwinian
laws were in place
not nature's as ontological specific to man
but rather as Darwinian laws
of appropriating the stasis ontologies
of animals
to the singleton humanoid-hood of mankind

Darwinism is an Ontological Disney-Magic-Place
then some recoil back
to basics of: morality as prejudice...
not as something crippling
but as a prejudice of character...

one shift we were singing Champagne Supernova
then i got high
when i was alone at home
and listening to headphones
i'll still drink in public
but alone
at Marleboune...

a new lease on life...
took a different route than my usual
using the stop ahead
of the crowd
going back to Preston Road
on the Metropolitan Line
then ahead to Liverpool St
and perhaps chance the express Greater Anglia
two stops to Romford
otherwise speeding to Shenfield
and then onto Southend

Diamond Boy Diamond Boy said this one
Leeds fan...
another promised me to jug jug down a pint
of beer
before me and then kissed my clenched
fist with a wet kiss of charcoal ego of the sun

now  i feel the love of humanity
like it's a welcome burden
it truly can be i can allow myself to differentiate
the good from the bad
only today i passed a man
lying with head exposed on the pavement
outside Romford station
to later come home
and find him sitting in decent clothing
and temporarily homeless
because clearly he broke someone's heart
and not all rough sleeping
is a horror but the same sun and same
moon in the sky
and by so transient and glass like
to the everyday mirror be behold
those homeless men peering at themselves
in glass
to those homed and baron with silver spoon born
looking at themselves
in mirror
and even in the future now of the photograph
and movie and what used to be the arena
of the artist's self-portrait...

                   more in the idea of riding
my first worm of steel
if any myth the metal worms of the geology
of a planet equivalent to a desert sea...
yet in the ultra cold
less the fiction of Dune and more the Reality-Mars...

but the original plan is to travel
to Poland to get a driving license...
then probably buying a cheap car
and travelling alone across Europe...
that's more realistic
than anything concerning Edie as far as i am concerned
that is finished...

i saw Warren send heartheartheartheart
emojis...
out *** has returned to quick(s) and quirps
and talking points
we still have talking points of wonder
and bewilderment
but i know: those several days have been long
and thorough on the observant i

Mary Le Bon! that's it!
i found her...
                 she was hiding in my favorite places
of London
less a trainspotter but but but
more an aesthetic appreciator
notably when it comes to the London Underground
but more so
i wondered there are poems plastered across
the worms
and people get bored and sometimes even read
or rather start to write not having
read enough to bury gems among rocks...
better still
the aesthetic of the Bakerloo Line
a living museum in transit...
please do not update the Bakerloo Line
petition.... 1st signature: X
please do not update the Barkerloo Line
the Jeckyll and Hyde Station that is Baker Street
while sorry:
Sherlock Holmes will have to move
in with Shakespeare's Shylock somewhere
on Bond Street...
to give us James, King and Country...

                         but Mary Le Bon station is just
another weird ******* beautiful
ginger cat story
especially after having your hands kissed

but a holiday like that
to live a life my uncle should have lived
but instead didn't
probably he didn't love just yet
a woman who could perform both
******* and absolute freedom all at once
by every ounce of one more once
and how this memory and her as memory
will mold me i don't know
but if i'm not seeing women differently
then i don't understand why women are
looking at me differently...

i do wonder: the CCTV rat network
and couple in the cult of the soap opera...
well: mismatched with a football sulk hug-out
of a ghoul: pelican -
if i can't solve be-done crossword
puzzle i think i just wrote
a question:

football sulk hug-out
of a ghoul: pelican -

          i.e. a hooligan:

   ave maria ave maria
now i want to understand christianity but only via christ
or perhaps
socrates' life through his ****** sons?
and the younger argumentative seller of **** potions
of a wife?
well:
perhaps islam can be understood through Maria...
just saying:
lost - no annals of children of christ
although i'll admit: i'd like to see a book made up
of little words and little nouns
with no names of people and no history...

              for the aesthetic...

but a holiday for myself...
getting a license and exploring further further
that only oar and boat could
but couldn't solve on Kauai
and no Polynesian dream then
but such good ****... it wasn't about the ****
although that was a learning curve
away from the brothel...
a ******* was nothing like having ***
with this woman,
this fruit of carnage from apple juice
to cider of 55 springs moisturized...
into a glowing Aladdin's rub rub rub rub rub
*** up blind
hurt
definitely hurt

definitely a life ahead of me
still talking to parents
about relationships
and opera
and they seemingly know i'm planning
a solo trip and
this trip alone
no i'm not going back to Ilona
come on
some new treaty of not from Versailles
but adventures with cats
the two gingers will gang up
on that brutal thung
who is ****** himself into a spirit
of the culled pets
who have not been given the snip
yes
pets
pets can be given special treatment
as pets
as petted-animals
only if there is the imposed cruelty
of castration
leaving the best genes in a harem pool
which doesn't translate into humanity
employing this already human maniability
of: cats and dogs replaced
angels and demons
because they could become more real

i have a life here too
i don't mean
a girl wants to live in London type of life
whereby i meet my dad for
a football match and we patch up
on our commute but ****'s going
wrong and the conversation drops off
as: we can't relate
by the glass wall of people gorging
on burgers at the Five Guy's of Baker Street:
genius marketing think-tank of solo-tank
periodical that ought to be
written about:
because saved up so much on adverts....
just glass and people eating
best "anti-AI" advert
because it's also a real place... ha ha...

                   yes....
on Kauai i'd experience true schizophrenia:
premature dementia...
what i experienced as god
in my 20s early beginning at 21
was probably me readying myself to the future
that would encompass me aged
38
her being 56
me fulfilling all my wanking
******* watching fancies and fetishes
oh god this was anti-Oedipal
seriously she looks nothing like my mother
oh my god
she was like
a breach of justice for me being attracted
to black and asian girls...
Sudanese though... now you have me curious...

concerning Ilona but there was
not real breakdown because of her
no... even when i remember it now
she was a ghost
i was 21 and my peers were seriously afraid:
this has nothing to do with Edie
we live several lives apart
i mean she throws away Depeche Mode vinyls
while i collect them
and now
i think i'm so calm and the breakup was
so amicable in my mind
that i know that i want something more
and this argument is not based on who used who
or who gained what
we gained and lost some time...
that's it...
we gained and lost some time...
could i would i should i...
first two yes
but on count of three?         no... *****: me just a man-child:
no sorry mate...

       ha ha: sorry mate...
middle aged women still desperate
are only allowed Harry Styles...
last time i heard the butch-*****-slap was single:
a name a persona
i know his tenderness does not speak
FREAK PR HERNANDEZ gaPPa...

i experienced something with Promis...
of the three names:
Promis, Ilona, Edie..
these are my free...
what? how many i ****** like the ****
actually meant a hug?
do i want, to?
don't think so...
but if i'm 3D and i'm currently 38
and i have no ring on my finger
and i'm still to have a driving license
because i preferred
horses and bicycles
to traffic jams and M25 songs by Chris Rea
and Grandma
and the sexuality of pedophiles as
as i die he will **** you
and **** Reylah
then yeah
you have, dear Edie... dementia on your side
and brain-freeze on my side:
oh so Martin my mother's brother
is ******* "JARGON" TO YOU?!
EDIE! *******!
******* EDIE!
FOR TREATING MY MOTHER'S BROTHER
AS SIMPLY MY UNCLE!
******* EDIE!
*******!

f.y.f.r:n.t.y.

for your future reference: no thank you.
you ******* north americans
and your shenanigans of acronyms...
******* too! you Ginsbergs and Olsons...
you shoved Ezra into a mental
asylum...
he's the only sane America left...
and the joke being:
he's the DEAD, SANE, AMERICAN...

******* America...
i think i retain my Europe...
well 2000 years of yids...
tickled by Mongols and Turks
who aren't Arabs...
so it's not we didn't like in Serbia
side by side
i don't understand this awe-shocker
who's who and who done what?

it's a... LIFE PROJECT
or a life projection
me?
i've been readying myself for this
break-up
since i was 21
i didn't experience god
i experienced this break-up
in advance:
and no i was not out on a look-out
for a replacement model
this was my epitome
my va va voom
my all **** and all thigh
girl
this was my girl we're talking
about
i mean my EX
like something out of her
sprouted in me...

like i was never a guy for dating apps
but poetry website ruined that
avenue for me
never a poetry website
relationship
not come to think of it
i can replace the bicycle and the horse
for the car

standing on my feet for 12h
it feels comforting
to kneel and "break the shins"
because sitting down
is a fake comfort
to be honest,
kneeling best
after 12h of standing...
this dodge-god giddy style
like i envy the possessors
of both wings and tails,
regardless of halos and horns...
regardless...

wish you were here
with a question, an exclamation mark,
colon, full-stop:
pinkish piglets in a yellow ring of fire
so so
calm
i managed to speak human with the crowd
from Leeds
i think i need to head outside of London
maybe even move to these lands
and accept: goosebumps 2nd or 3rd spring
chicken...
or see an opera or a musical
with me and
at the same time take off all that make-up,
or are you too afraid?
i can understand fear:
but there's a you in between
that conjures the fear of you
and the horror that's you...
how far part
in geo-psychology
is woring: OF from THAT'S...

i ask out of sincerity but no sicerity
here if there's talk of sardines
and the itchy train
and Dover my point of entry
and not Southampton...
because Devon, Heavenport,
some made-up thingy-madzit...
Sir Majid
like aging guitarists
a Layla on the ukulele...
   **** tested sweaty *******...
salt to sprinkle salt to sprinkle...
like goosebumps with an itch:
hard to thrill the... breeze...

                 all these hazards of trees
in the stretching cats before snooze
squeeze: extending by parameter
and parameter and no excuses
for a bad hair day...
all the fringe and paws
like i some vague hello and a vogue of
goodbyes
in the grey and silence...

what bothered me was her reaction
to my mother's brother
and that's what ended it for me,
like my mother could never possibly
have a brother...
like it would forever be
her and her daughter and her mother....
and some future nuisance of
inheritance tax of a sister
from the same mother but a different father.

and when Qais blacked out after a sporadic
moment of "malnutrition"
on a Ramadan bout of "purification":
o.k.: i get the medieval insistence
on the practice, esp given the desert environment
but now: it almost feels like
a stance: albeit i know, i know: it's not that
but in this other kind of desert
of concrete, jungle, concrete:

            anyways: apparently he was calling
me for me or he imagined
i was the face he saw... but i was: "miles" away
yet...
   so it's not even about being "re" educated
when it comes to foreign cultures, peoples,
i'm not going to write **** poetic immigrant
ballads about not fitting in:

as i told: let's call him Richard...
a West Indian: although Indian is hardly
a way to describe...
so now collaborative effort on both parties
involved...
a sensitive topic, considering the bleaching
of history
and how i love Heidegger and his obsession
with historiology:
his, is a writing: filled with allusive -
let's say metaphor-morphing:
i love how he understand his own writing
and the reader: is not supposed to:
like Nietzsche predicted:
the German ethos of idiosyncratic
endeavor:
       even in Thuringia they were spelling
out to the English hooligans
a "welcome home" party slogans

          because Brexit happened because
the Polish plumbers got the better of them:
so i was telling "Richard":
there was once a "thing" called a:
protestant work ethic...
which is not to admit to drinking too much
alcohol on the job...
or the night prior:
           even i don't do that...
but there was such a "thing"...
even...                                          now...
but Brexit happened because
the Slavs "invaded" Europe: or were merely:
neighborly: brotherly: well, apparent: **** that!

so the Empire imploded
and there was no Hippy Regeneration
no Trail of Cid and Acid
and multi-color versat: versing: shortening:
quickened: equipping...

Qais... 21... such a tenderness in man:
wants to bulk up... Hulk mode...
weighing in at 90kg...
give it time, Qais, gravity and time...
by the time you're 40 you'll put on weight
some of it will be useless
like the grudge i now have for cycling
is...

                     just ******* impossible to
deviate from...
i want to canoe, ******* paddle...
then i saw a glimpse of evolution
in the origins of the Polynesian people
a glimpse a ***** a blink
a Thai wink
in this: "brute": and it coincided with:
well thanks for the olives (and skin)
but where did you get your HASEL:
not hustle: HUSSEL? no, not Husserl...
hassle... ah: hassle not hassel:

glum eat the vowel: 'sle not fish netting
'sel
                by what date? sell by?
well...
                    DAHOMEY & ASHANTI

perfectly honest: i don't understand why
these English folk put up with
Sudanese Ahmed(s)
who s.p.e.l.l. out the stink of India
and Israeli skunk bombs
with terms like: NOT ABORIGINAL
but native and PUNK is butter is cute
is like: nothing rebellion against
the tectonic status quo of people
like water constantly: constant "being" born
and "being" dead...
like this preserved instance
in a format of a democratic fashion
exemplified with: squandering the use
of these idle tools of communication:

my grandfather Joseph would be proud
i hate being told
like no other ****** would be told
just endeared with "mr trouble"
but the moment i give Qais
a ******* 10min runner ahead
to catch the train i'm involved with
c.c.t.v. paranoia like the "almighty"
control room doesn't see how
i do my verk...
    
       because that's how shifts go
and how people get all ******* friendly
at work: then start whatsapp groups
and try doubly friendly to be
boss ***** and poor poor pooh bears
and that's just ******* disgusting
i'm not in high school but: there's the yard

one bourbon two bourbons
the kingdom of Burgundy and that was
me ******* into the cup of wine
to spike the aging fruit of garden
and Jerusalem
feeding me happy thoughts...
because new serpent arrived
without an apple but a morphed bunch
of grapes and some fudge packing
**** into bread
resurrected on the crucifix

at least i know that Islam is a religion
for men
and i can't be doing with this
hijacking of words with images
that culminated in emoticons under
the banner of Christianity:
i think i'm smarter than to have to adhere
to Christianity
this religion that's zenith came without
but with the Exodus into Dust of Auschwitz...
and clearly: no one panicked
or picked up on the slaughter
since so much was "achieved" given
the numbers...
now i will clearly spot a few Watermelons
gleeful in my scribble and:
no matter...

              i stopped admiring the American
intellectual English this is just my
Lingua of the commerce of ideas some will
go no further than the sputnik of ****
i flush down the toilet
while jerking off over a could-be Madonna
such a pretty face
but such ugly **** and stomach cramps
when reaching ****** with multiple dudes
and ******

*** some amphetamine vitamin numbing...

i'm still so bummed out about
getting a Green Day t-shirt
from the shift...

do you know your enemy...
do you know your enemy...

sad story about Qais: 21... already
traumatized by women
had a girlfriend and a *******
but still a ******:
was accused of ****
the girl wasn't a ****** but probably
wanted a notch on her girth:
hardly a belt... smacker: push a plum
into a piece of bread:
but him: unwilling became a HASHTAG
memorandum of: dangerous loop...

origins of ****** dynamic failure:
too many drugs now i'm
waiting for the death of the last Holocaust
survivor like i'm waiting
for the last instigator of the 1960s revolution...
when Paul "the pauper don" McCartney
and McCarthy are but recycled newspaper
click-baits: i'll go swimming with the alias:
skinny: for naked...

       i think i might just feel fine: then...
until then:
Qais... i don't suppose i can recommend
you an objective-affection for loss of sentiment
for emotions when having ***:
with prostitutes?

     but why the **** do people speak to me
so openly
then i remember those little ****** and little *****
bothered about social hierarchies and
climbing ranks
and i'm reminded by the demeaning language
they use concerning the roles
they once filled and it's so ****
sad
makes me want to think about being
a garbage man or a poet:
apparently a Swiss entrepreneur would know
how to understand what poet is these
days: a LOSER or NOT a fifty shades
of grey scribbler:            but that's just fine
i'm sort of happy not having
to laugh out loud into his face...

it's a slow burn sort of erosion type of
happiness...

          but i will never "feel" English among
Englishmen and i will never "think"
to be Polish among the Polacks - the John
Lackland luster of history:
sold a land for paupers and Gypsies...
and then bold: behold: bowed and blew
into split grass shafts for lack of proper flutes...

so demeaning that i didn't learn
how to whistle by putting *******
into my mouth:
but sure as **** i managed to teach myself
how to regurgitate doing the same
and whenever overeating
i will resort to a now perfected reflex
of the oesophagus: BLURP BURP BLAH...

but i still feel suffocated by:
well who knows who's right side of a WHIM
i will wake up on and what
sort of SPASTIC MR FANTASTIC
SUPERDYSLEXICMENSCH
will find my writing and achieve a realization
dynamo of: OFFENCE OFFENCE!

i believe that: if the Chinese government
and the Moscow Mongols
are not after my skin:
any attack from the Western Echo Ethos
is more likely to give this feeble dream
of democracy and freedom:
otherwise pandering to the loud-mouth cripples:
even i have to queue even
i have to commute but SPEZIAL TREATS
for SPAZ is like: glory to god the sun is shining
on four wheels and aubergines
contortions in cubism... alive...

because: just because: someone had no
******* clue about the dangers of ***
so they had *** anyway...
sitting in a brothel contemplating STDs...
perplexed: so how come i haven't had any?
personal hygiene?
that's a good start...
            maybe i'm more of a cat or a dog
and i'm sort of able to lick my *******...
although i can't:
but maybe i'm just surrounded by these horrors
and find myself imbecilic
not having to deal with such instances
of being accused of ****...

              so there was Walt Whitman
and i'm dry on pride:
just don't have the stomach of being forcefed
a sexuality
my own is distraught by the distance
from London to Kauai
and i'm not about to go "hunting" for some
fertile 20 year old
just bored of the conversation
just not: having one...

                 the ****** revolution (supposed,
"revolution") brought nothing but
a deepening of: anti-resolve to the revolving
glitter of moon and earth around
a star of many
                       and i'm... not about to start:
but happy to know that other people
will breed indefinitely in grey
to the matter of fact of: like everyone
might need a plumber or a bus driver some
day: like tomorrow...

as long as "we" persuade all those nurses
to stop dancing and making TikTok videos
miming sirens...
                          even writing this: *****.

what's in a name what's in a name
in the end
within a name there is no name
but a pre-noun and a pronoun
and          that glorious word THING
and boomerang not a boomerang
of I to It
           to I as It           and It a non-It
a spoke
              the spokes in a wheel...
a wheel is an Ezekiel
                     is my first learning of the name:
little Yash                 and jesz? i.e.
are you eating?    my words my silences
my atonement for say:
the miraculous spring afternoon
finding myself enjoying the act of reading:
regardless of what i'm reading:
or rather i am actually reading Frank Herbert's
Dune but i should be reading
al-Masudi's the meadows of gold
and currently that's a first edition
on amazon going for
£47.99
            so until i get a wife and a surrogate
daughter i can and will splash out
on books in the purchasing window
of £30 to £50 and since i'm not rich
enough of rich-autistic enough
or autistic enough
to be splashing on paintings
like that story of the founder of Barbie
no not Ruth Handler
before pornographic magazines
the Swiss invented the Susie Susan Sour-****
to gag men into
the predicaments they found themselves
in as world war ii bomber pilots
then came the infamous poster reel
from Shawshank Redemption and
boys those girls those flinging-mig-magic jazz
of ****
those lonely nights
and days
but mostly the nights
and on my 38th birthday i masturbated
like 3 times
because a day prior i was talking
to a friend outside of the Spurs' Coliseum
and we talked about being 38 and 72
and cancer of the prostate and how he got
it removed and now can't get an *******

i would have killed to venture into
the ear to eye osmosis
of being at the
Boris Brejcha at Arènes de Nîmes...
artist to artist
this is not me Matthew Arnold
a limp **** poet
crying to bed after seeing Liszt play
because music has changed
and there's no genius of music
but a genius of music-inclusion therapy...
"therapy" / therapy?

Friday came a little late: now that i'm imagining things,
writing on a chrome book
in my own room i remember days
when i used to drink a liter of whiskey
and write from 10pm to 5am
having given up smoking marijuana
at the age of 21 weighing in at 65kg
after an experience
with: what i'm guessing...
not Jesus and not Yashwa...
but rather: and i only learned of his name today:

dualism of monotheism: the little yahweh...
                       A

           E          Y         I                   𐤃

                                                   ∇
                  O       U

yad dah...
           YDDH...

                     turbulent lessons in how the consonants
are props and vowels drift in and out
to allow for Semites to transliterate nouns
Semites need to transliterate nouns
which cannot be said
of Matthew of Mateusz of Mateo
but Matthias says it's possible...

the angel: Metatron...

                        i'm seeing Mega:
like the movie Tron (updated like Dune updated)
and the soundtrack and something megalomaniac...
like the affairs of non-existence
of supposing within
pre-noun pronoun
preposition and proposition
are so why can't a pre-noun
exist before i learn the names of things
before i inject conjunctions and adverbs
big and small
i usher in a chemical laboratory of
Ar Na Cl He Fe
no Ar...

natrium chlorum
    helium            ois

                 ferrum...

terra ferrum: iron earth
                              in akimbo venturing for
broken bones and fixation on bones
206 of these...
and i overheard that Muhammad Ahmed
knew the exact number of bones
in the human body (does that include the teeth?)
32 teeth...
   that's 9 vowels and 23 consonants
in the Polish alphabet...
bad tooth England only has 26 letters
and boast all it can about Latin VQ
it does not have...

oh not bones then joints
i heard about the number 350 being cited...
although i sometimes wonder
about O and little o
of degrees and that's really thinking about
the 0 and to the power of
infinity is infinity oscillating in
a duality: even and especially if it's
a monotheism:
why then o why i wonder
at the predicament of Islam
because it is not out simple migration
but the excesses of Dubai must
be hitting the average muslim hard
if they be wanting to move with us
European paupers, no?
us drunken savages we are savages
and we returned to our pagan ways
just as i might have predicted why
Poland defended the pagan power
of Lithuania and why Christianity
never really spread to certain parts of Europe
but was kept in check by some
Russian Greek or Varangian...

i saw it in his eyes when his father
head-butted one of this soldiers
i'd bet i will put a bet on, everything i have...
on Usyk beating Fury...
the odds?

Fury 5/6 ahead of Usyk at 11/10
strange numbers...
i saw Bohun in his eyes
the cossack romantic figure in Sienkiewicz'
with Fire and with Sword...
yes saw it and this is the only sport
i'd bet on with a heart of a gamble
beyond the £1.00 threshold
unlike Bukowski betting on horses
i did similar antics
betting on scores in football...
but nothing major always stingy no greater
thrill than earning money
and saving money
and then spending it on kayaks or canoes
or books or compact disks or
£12 summer dresses and what not
however the trend is these days
last time i tried tapping into anything
relevant on the internet
but same old:

men, bears and £12 summer dresses
that are like the rule
pulled up in the forest on the sly
with no suspenders or tights
just the suntanned skin with no wintry
attaches of still ***** still
playing chess still not playing
backgammon still no chess
unless with a kid
and i loved how i saw the engineering
of AI in chess games
and how the kid was losing and
just because she's a girl doesn't mean
i'll let her win
or that i'd let her win no because
i didn't but i don 't mean playing
chess with a ****** partner
or watching t.v. with her
because no unless there might be physical
dimensions askew like how could
we possibly do it, physically speaking
i mean how could we when we couldn't
and that would be her licking
the eyepop pop-sickle sickly sweet
no teeth grandma ***
or me and her already wrinkled *****
slurping oysters
Bang Dan... Bang Dan... sounds Vietnamese...

why would: ah: authenticity...
38 outside the range
but in the range 21 - 35 have to complete
3 months of agricultural labour
to qualify as citizen of Australia...
i think that's rather nice...
i only submitted the form on a whim
but i received no automated response...
instead a Jamie Chirpseer
got in touch: apparently they have been calling

now i don't know but
last time i "measured"
that's only an 8h50 flight from Auckland
to Hawaii
so i'm thinking why set my foot behind
a door with a mother in law
watching scoop me up Jesus
t.v. and being all paranoid about my status
as ******* on the closed enclosure
of Kauai
but i sure as **** threw a decent birthday
party by the pool
well shared but this is claustrophobic writing
i.e. claustrophilic my ego
says there is a cursor and pre-
to nouns so i'm cleared: cleared by I'II"
however many that is:
1 foot 11 inches last time i checked...
ego-**** that is: the little horn on my head
that turned into a hovering 360 degree eye spin...

seeing those last words written days
ago, happily discarded
now upon return with a pop-sensibility of aging
no new music but there are some unavoidable
stresses in neu alles neu: billy and eddy's
Lunch not naked Lunch not naked
all food in attire:
me sitting in a tuxedo and sneakers
with a baker boy's cap: some unifying piece of attire
whether you're at White Hart Lane
or whether at the Boleyn -
                  unifying attire like some distinction
between the Tribes of London gone out
of the window with the babies in a circus of bathtubs
falling from the sky
because raining cats and frogs
had all the dogs drinking from puddles of beer
morphing into hyenas - crying over Benson Boone
singing all god is jesus
and no god of a muhammad
there is no transliteration of tongues and words on
tongues and words not on tongues
but abstracted thought and missing in crosswords
because like a dyslexic being good with numbers
because is such a terrible word right
now...
but good in manners of speech: or is that speach
like i want to bite into a peachy apple
                         like crossbreeding happens and you
could craft champagne from thin air
breed a german shepherd and a spaniel
or what was used to breed a dachshund
from a dobermann...

   the Q and the Mark i.e.

                     Mark              +                Q(uelle)

                    ­                        =

                      Matt            ­   &              Luke

i came across people interested in religion and
the mammoth goliath that is Christianity
of conversation
and a revamp from the year 1945 from Egypt
the Nag Hammadi library -
and all that invoked by the Church Mothers
maybe another Frank Zappa moment if i could
sing but instead i found my voice
my voice in giving SIA a briefing after having
worked with stewards on a bag cordon
at Wembley...

now how to find respite, next day the cycle
still not fixed so house bound
at least able to wash the bedsheets
and hang them in the garden of sunlight
to then dress the bed once more in all that air
and wool
like floating sheep and perhaps horses with
wings
and perhaps apes to
and perhaps men with four arms and no more
than two feet
and perhaps wheels and fire and the internet
and printing and copying
and all that towers and gardens from Tokyo
to Baghdad -
                               cascade of the human experience
ethics is apparently objective
well i could have sown the swearing ogre oath
i loath in **** me **** me oh **** me
jurisprudence is subjectivity par excellence...
so rarely do you have judgement by the peers
by the jury: jurisprudence -
instead English law and the barrister
and judge and triangles of politics -
i hardly speak in the court of law -
perhaps fellow human will allow
me to think before god:
perhaps i can think before god
if i can't speak in the court of law if i can't speak
in the court of man then perhaps
i will be able to think in the court of god:
at least there's hope with me writing this down...

yes, i put a weird bet on two nights ago...
Tyson Fury vs. Olek Usyk...
bets on, whatever the algebra of gambling
5/6 and 11/10 as a decimal:

      0.8333                  and 1.1111

ニ: 0.747747748
      ホ: 0.9213

if i were to see mathematics with letters,
notably division by the first number
and multiplication by the second numbers
(Ni                   **)

but at least no muddle with too many numbers
like too many notes in Mozart's
'seph II  Holy Roman Emperor (1765-1790)

    ヨーヨー                 (yoo yoo toy boy not
yo! or yo-yo                but no ideogram?

let me rummage...)

                         bandalore... idea: image at least
some     :)                  or some :'(

      maybe get a hummingbird tattoo on my neck
in devotion to the Aztex i.e.  Huītzilōpōchtli

pero āmo tēchentenderoa lo que tlen
tictoah en Nahautl                                 TLEN:
oxi         oz                       oxygen-c-c

                           TKANKA: tis            tss tis tss
Sue: Ssue...                   SS: Ś
                    i.e. tissue:
                                                       /ˈtɪʃ.uː/ /ˈtɪs.juː/

maybe a truly phonetic poem
or a truly transliterated biblical text
a snippet only a snippet because i have enough
of a day to live to spend another hour
or so in akimbo or on my knees
before the writing desk that's my bed
no no: but a short equip-me "poem"
a quirk like a sneeze to base my focus on tissue
and SS i.e. Ś
and other instances i could possibly see it in
in the English tongue...

all of a sudden working with Pakistanis, Bangladeshis
and the Sudanese is or can ever be
about a white English boy with some
post-colonial stresses and ancestry questions
about why the former Commonwealth
Empire imploded and no wonder
given the Civil War in Sudan
why then complain about the English i wonder
but i don't have that problem
given no one can really look sensibly accusing
the Polacks of imperialism and colonialism
base mention of Mongols and the Ukranians
while the Lithuanians dwarfed under Russian Stalinism
and what remnants of German blood
fused during the northern crusades
to give birth to a German fusions of
Estonians, Prussians, Latvians and the Fins
at least we know that the Prussian pagans steered
the gentle happy german soul
for some time or so the romanticism goes...

                  this is still writing under the influence
of Billie Eilish's LUNCH on repeat:
the glad days of my 20s spent never speed dating
not really singing sad songs of psychopathic love triangles
and later sycophantic bare minimum poetry
yuck cringe and are we of the first people
to be given a literacy adventure in proficiency?
so my little historical debrief:
well... it's all funny how i too came on a banana boat
with the rest of them
that astounding reflection of a Pakistani from Luton
born and bred with mosque like a seashell brought
along in the night of the crimson moon
the LESBIAN flag of ISLAM
i.e. the marriage of the girl moon and Venus...
because isn't that "star" with the crescent not Venus
unless that's Venus with a scimitar
and who was the woman of the origins of Islam
running between two hill tops with her son
looking for water?
Hajarah and concubine of Ibrahim?

              at the diner with Ismail having no dinner
but food for thought
in some absent heaven and in some absent hell
but rather in a limbo of grey objects
and a blistering itch of sunshine that
turns a hyperbolic white skin of the north
a golden serpent glee
and invokes spying for the Greeks or ancient
Romans in Lebanon
with: mind you: with all those Pale Orthodox Jews
might just fit in...
but wait: i digress... i've been looking for an ideogram
for a yo-yo... wasn't i?
a yahoo too: a yo-yo playing with a yahoo
when there was whey and rye and lasso and spey
and whatever way was in the where...

          ilocano: aj aj: moje kolano

         (exercise in pain onomatopoeia
         and possessive article: moje / mine
         noun: kolano / knee)

oh yes... and a rubric of the bets i made on the Tyson
Usyk match-up... tailors to the glove
a dash of Polansky on the ring...
left right tango with tango of men
so rough **** so not like ******* a woman
so unlike...

thus:

    no yo-yo: but axle:                        軸
my guess is as good as anyone's
with however many confines of
//     \ |               |||          /|/|/      \|\|\

to quiz up a T                 or an L
let alone an O because so rigid have to swim
to Yippon for the proper edible tongue

now to reveal the Gambler and how i will never be
able to write yet admire
a Hemingway and a Bukowski...

Usyk by technical decision (100/1)
stake... £0.10
Fury by technical decision (100/1)
stake £0.10
Usyk by disqualified opponent (100/1)
stake £0.10
Fury by disqualified opponent (100/1)
stake £0.10
Usyk by decision of technical decision (2/1)
stake £5.00
net return £10.00
Usyk by KO, TKO or DQ (5/1)
stake £5.00
return £0.00

any anyone who might read the newspapers
would tell you
the decision was crystal clear, scientific,
on the margins, within talk of inches and decimals
and... ooh... itchy...
115-112, 114-113 to Usyk
and 114-113 to Fury...

rematch? what is now to be disputed is by winning
through that bet i made: 5/1
or rather 5:1 but ratios would be any less if
using a colon?
                               enough bark to patch up a
cagey sneer and then return to kiss daylights: out
because now somewhat disputable
in the arena or the courtroom
better judgement watching sport
than those daytime zombie land drug-shows
of the courtroom melodrama soaps
and operatic demand for feeding the collective
consciousness split seconds per day
accumulating into binge potato peeling of skin
and intellect on the sofa...
even now: hardly a waste of good coffee
   and tobacco...                with the added "spice"
of BIMBER... beam-bear to spread out the letters
and transliterate: not to imply anything beside
the phonetic arrangement
of the letters as beam-bear: it's still the meaning
behind BIMBER the sweet 45% *****...

(q)uelle: yet there is hardly a similar problem
associated with Socrates...
given the accounts by Plato
Xenophon oh and let's not forget Aristophanes...
especially him
because he was hardly all luvvy-dabbling in
writing works of just fiction...
satire of the lowest man in the village as it were...
well:

who wouldn't have said:

     pleasure is not only unnecessary,
     but a positive evil

i too have had the pleasurable burden and agony
of being able to cite
maybe saying maybe not saying
either way experiencing:
i'd rather be mad than feel pleasure -
further still what of pleasure and happiness
as distinctly opposite or not:
re-imagines (i)
                         the recently digested divulging
on meanings
constricted to words like guilt
and shame...                   thus too:
happiness and guilt                           pleasure and shame.

let the orthodoxy of homosexuals
"debate"...
  post: stall stamping....
                    new groove a thing
"something" of french attire...
this... new summer...
new clued in...
       riddle...
              let the elder perversions
squander looting projects....

sludge: slug-sow-a-****...
my mt. death...
only by those well aroused...
like some:

towing tusk...
elephant hannibal
resurrection...
         new europe
and old africa:
the "inconvenience"
of... "sowing snow"...
          
i die coward of desiring replica...
this...
towing:
enough...
to tow a body...
to tow a hindering...
a heaving a ghost...
an aghast tow-tying
vatermelon-mensch:
dear *****... loser...
  german-prone;

best prune kept
cherry picking:
ordeals of charring...
skinning and
all that skinning of leisures...
knee capping
and fixtures
surrounding,..
this hallowing...

       a heave... a substitute of
heaving.... my best kept
sudanese ambivalence...
            my father the son
i am hardly becoming a life
to loiter around trash:
a "better"....
this *****... would never
make it to a q. or a variation
of moldovan hollow-wood...
come... the iowan prospect.