Dear Poet Friends, Torin Galleshaw from Charlotte NC, a Member of this Site, had requested me to compose about the Rise of Third *****. Therefore, I have commenced with the causes for its Rise in my Part One posted below. Planning to compose Part Two with ******’s Blitzkrieg campaign of Poland later. It is unfortunate that I am unable to post related Maps & Photos for better appreciation of my Readers! Such options are not available for us here! However, I have managed to post a copy with maps & photos in the E-mail ID of my friend Torin!  Kindly give comments only after reading this researched work of mine, during your spare time.  Thanking you, - Raj, New Delhi.

            STORY OF SECOND WORLD WAR – PART ONE
                            RISE OF THE THIRD *****
                                       By Raj Nandy

                                  INTRODUCTION
In this part I shall mainly deal with the causes leading to the Second World War,
Which had also created favourable conditions for the rise of Third ***** under ******.
The word ‘*****’ derives from old German word ‘rihhi’ meaning ‘realm’;  
But is also used to designate a kingdom or an empire in a broader sense.
Historically, the First ***** was the Medieval Holy Roman Empire which lasted till the end of the 19th Century.
While the Second ***** was the First German Empire from 1871 to 1918, when dynamic Otto Von Bismark had united all of Germany,
Which ended with its defeat in World War One and birth of the Weimar Republic.
The Third ***** refers to the **** German Empire under ******, Which lasted from 1933 till 1945, for twelve traumatic eventful years!
Historians opine that the ending of a war is equally important as
its beginning;
Since the causes for the start of a war is often to be found embedded in its ending!
The First World War came to an end on 28th of June 1919 as we all know.
With the signing of the Treaty at Versailles by the German Foreign Minister Hermann Muller and the ‘Big Four’.  (Britain, France, America, & Italy)
Yet it is rather ironical, that this Peace Treaty of Versailles, considered as President Woodrow Wilson’s ‘brain child’,
Had sowed the seeds of discontent resulting in the outbreak of the Second World War, and Adolf ******’s dramatic rise!

Though several causes are attributed for the outbreak of the Second World War by our Military Historians.
Let me try to summarise those causes which are considered to be more relevant.
Commencing with the harsh Treaty of Versailles, the British and French Policy of Appeasement, followed by Hyperinflation and the Great Depression of 1929, and failure of The League of Nations to maintain peace;  
Are relevant factors which collectively combined resulting in the outbreak of the devastating Second World War, scarring human memories for all time!
But not forgetting ******’s forceful and persuasive eloquence which mesmerised the Germans to rise up as a powerful Nation once again.
Since ****** promised to avenge the humiliation faced by Germany following the Treaty of Versailles,
Which was drawn up with vengeance, and dictated by the victorious Allies!

THE  ARMISTICE  AND TREATY OF VERSAILLES:    
Armistice means a truce for cessation of hostilities, which provides a breathing space for negotiating a lasting peace.
Now the Armistice ceasing the First World War was signed inside the railway carriage of the Allied Supreme Commander Marshal Foch, in the Forest of Compiegne,
On the 11th of November 1919, sixty km north of Paris, between the victorious Allies and vanquished Germany.
But in the meantime naval blockade of Germany had continued, and the German Rhineland was evacuated and partly occupied by the combined Allied troops!
Release of Allied POWs interned civilians followed subsequently; And the Reparations Clause of monetary compensation was strictly imposed on Germany!
Now, following a wide spread German Sailor’s Revolt towards the end of October 1918, Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm-II had abdicated;
And on the 9th of November Friedrich Ebert, as the new Social Democrat President of Germany, authorised his representative to sign the Compiegne Armistice.
We should remember here that this Armistice seeking cessation of hostilities did not stipulate any unconditional surrender;
And the signing of the Armistice by the German Social Democrats, was considered as ‘a stab in the back of the German army’ by majority of the Germans!
These issues get repeatedly mentioned by Adolf ****** in his eloquent speeches subsequently,
To arouse the spirit of German Nationalism, and resurgence of the ‘Master Aryan Race’ of the Germans, - in Germany!

The Versailles Treaty was signed on 28th of June 1919, exactly five years after the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand which had sparked World War One.
Let me mention few aspects of this Treaty which was detested by the Germans!
Germany lost 13% of its land, 12% of its people, 48% of its iron resources, 15% of its agricultural production, and 10% of its coal, following its implementation!
German army was reduced to 100,000 men, its Navy reduced to 36 ships with no submarines, its Air Force banned, and its union with Austria forbidden.
Now to use a Shakespearean phrase the ‘unkindest cut of all’ came in the shape of Article 231,  the ‘War Guilt Clause’ of the Versailles Treaty,
Which provided the legal basis for the payment of war reparations by Germany.
The reparation amount of 132 billion gold marks (US $33 billion) to cover the civilian damage caused during the war, now had to be paid by Germany!
Thus the humiliation, resentment, and the virtual economic strangulation following the Versailles Treaty,
Was exploited by extremist groups such as ******’s **** Party.
And in the decades to follow, ******’s Nazis would take full control of Germany!

NOTES: Following Versailles Treaty, Alsace-Lorraine captured by Germany in 1870 was returned to France. The SAAR German coalfield region was give to France for 15 yrs. Poland became independent with a corridor to the sea dividing Germany into two. Danzing, a major port in East Prussia, became a free city under the League of Nation. Finland, Lithuania, Latvia, & Czechoslovakia became independent. Industrial area of German Rhineland, forming a buffer zone between Belgium &France,was
demilitarised.

WOODROW WILSON’S  14 - POINT PEACE INITIATIVE  & THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS:
American President Wilson was an idealist and a visionary, who in a speech to the US Congress on 8th Jan 1918,
Introduced a 14 Point Charter as a platform for building global peace, based on the principles of transparency, self-determination, and Democracy.
But for the first time in US history, the Republican-led US Senate rejected this Peace Treaty, and prevented America from joining the newly created League!
The US Senate wanted to retain its sovereignty without external entanglements;
Free from the League of Nation’s political dictates in its foreign commitments!
The Irish immigrants refused to support Wilson's Fourteen Points because Wilson was concerned about stopping WWI, rather than forcing the British to set Ireland free.
Many Jews also refused to back Wilson, since he was paying too much attention to the War, and not enough to the Balfour Declaration of 02 Nov 1917, -
Which promised an Independent Jewish State with a distinct Jewish identity.

The League of Nations had emerged from Wilson’s 14 Points on the 10th Jan 1920, with its HQs at Geneva, Switzerland, but it had no peacekeeping forces those days!
The League had failed to prevent invasion of Chinese Manchuria in 1932 by Japan;
Italy’s invasion of Ethiopia in 1935; annexation of Sudetenland and Austria by Germany!
The Axis countries Germany, Italy, and Japan, withdrew from the League subsequently.
Thus the League of Nations was disbanded in 1946 officially!
But President Wilson’s ceaseless efforts for global peace did not go unrecognised,
Since on the 10th of December 1920, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize!
While his disbanded League of Nations, as the first global humanitarian organisation,
Continued to survive in spirit with the establishment of United Nations Organisation on the 24th October, 1945.

ECONOMIC CAUSES - FOLLOWED BY THE GREAT DEPRESSION OF 1929 :
Germany emerged from the First World War with loss of 25,000 square miles of territory;
Loss of seven million inhabitants, and a staggering debt imposed by the Versailles Treaty!
The Wiemar Republic, after abdication of Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm-II  to Holland,
For the first time in German history, established a Democratic Constitution with Friedrich Ebert as its first President.
But The Republic first had to consolidate itself by squashing the Spartacist Revolt of January 1919 led by the extreme Leftists, and inspired by the Russian Bolshevik Communists!
The Freikorps, in March 1920, an Ex-Soldiers Rightist Group, tried to overthrow the Wiemar Republic with support of their Rightist allies and their own veteran troops!
This was soon followed by a Communist attempt to takeover of the Industrial Rhur;
But fortunately, all these uprisings against the Republic were effectively subdued!
But the 33 Billion Dollars of Reparations hung over the Wiemar Republic like the legendary ‘Sword of Damocles’, followed by the Great Depression of 1929;
Coupled with the ‘Policy of Appeasement’ practised by the British and the French;
Became the most important causes for ******’s expansionist ambition and his short- lived meteoric rise to fame!

GERMAN PAPER CURRENCY & HYPERINFLATION:
Gold Mark was the currency used by the German Empire from 1873 to 1914 only.
But to pay for the costs of the ongoing First World War, Germany suspended the gold standard, and decided to fund the war by Borrowings entirely,
Hoping to pay back the loans after Germany achieves Victory.
But having lost the war, and faced with a massive debt imposed by the Allies,
Exchange rate of the Mark against the US Dollar steadily devalued and declined!
Papiermark became the German currency from 04th August 1914 onward, when link between the Mark and gold reserve was abandoned,
In order to pay for the ongoing expenses of the First World War with paper marks, which was constantly being printed!
But later after the war, when the London Ultimatum of May 1921 demanded payment of war reparations in gold or in foreign currency only,
Even more paper marks got printed by the Republic to buy those foreign currency !
By December 1922 hyper-inflationary trends emerged, when the US Dollar became equivalent to 7,400 German Marks, with a 15-fold increase in the cost of living !
By the fall of 1922 when it became impossible for Germany to make further payments,
The French and Belgium armies occupied Germany’s Ruhr Valley area, its prime industrial region!
French and the Belgians hoped to extract payment in kind, but a strike by the workers of the Ruhr area their hopes belied!
The Wiemar Republic printed more paper notes to pay and support the workers of the Ruhr area,
When hyperinflation had peaked at 4,210,500,000,000 German Marks, to a US Dollar!
Paper currency having become worthless, some form of ancient barter system began to be used instead!

STABILISATION OF GERMAN ECONOMY WITH ONSET OF  THE GREAT DEPRESSION:
Following the hyperinflation Chancellor Josef Cuno’s cabinet resigned in August 1923,
When Gustav Stresemann became the new Chancellor of Germany.
Stresemann’s Government had introduced the Rentenmark as a new stable currency,
To end the hyperinflation which had plagued Wiemar Germany.  
Rentenmark was backed by real goods, agricultural land and business,
Since gold was not available in a beleaguered German economy those days!
When One Rentenmark was equivalent to One million, million, old German Mark;
While One US Dollar was equivalent to only 4.2 Rentenmarks.
Though Stresemann’s Government lasted for 100 days only, Stresemann continued to serve as the Foreign Minister in successive Coalition Governments of the Republic,
Till his death in the month of October 1929, but working for the betterment of Germany all the while!
His ‘Policy of Fulfilment’ stabilised German economy with a 200 Million Dollars loan from America under the Dawes Plan in 1924,
Which had also ensured the evacuation of France from the occupied Ruhr area, with their future reparations payments ensured.
Stresemann’s signing of the Locarno Pact in London on 1st Dec 1925 with France, Belgium, Great Britain, and Italy, was considered as his achievement and a feat!
Since it made Germany to enter the League of Nations ensuring stability and peace;
While the Noble Peace Prize was awarded to Stresemann for his efforts in 1926!
Later, the Young Plan of 1929 further reduced German reparations payment by 20%, while extending the time frame for the payments to 59 years!
But following a sudden Wall Street Stock Market Crash in late October of 1929,
The American Banks were forced to recall money from Europe and the Young Plan;.
Which created acute financial distress when unemployment soared to 33.7%  in Germany in 1931, and quickly rose to 40% during the following year!
Lausanne Conference was held in Switzerland in 1932 by Great Britain, Germany, and France, to further reduce the War Debts imposed by the Versailles Treaty.
But in Dec 1932, the US Congress had rejected this Allied War Debt Reduction Plan completely.
However, no further payments were made by Germany due to the Great Depression;
And by 1932, Germany had paid only 1/8 of the total sum required to be paid as per their pending wartime reparations!

NOTES: Rentenmark was issued on 15 October 1923 to stop the hyperinflation in Wiemeer Germany. Reichmark was the currency in Germany from 1924 to 20 June 1948 in West Germany , when it was replaced by the Deutsche Mark; but had continued in East Germany until 23 June when it was replaced by East German Mark.
During the Stresemann Years of Stability from 1924 to 1929, (prior to the onset of the Great Depression), with help of American financial aid, created more housing & production in Germany. Dada & Expressionist Art forms flourished, followed by modern architecture; also the Philosophy of Existentialism of Thomas Mann – influenced the Western culture. Paul Whiteman's Band for the first time brought in American Jazz to Germany, and Jazz signified the liberation of German youth and women folks of the younger generation generally. But the US Stock Market Crash had unfortunately ended this short lived euphoria, and as it soon became a global phenomena!                                


FAILURE OF THE WIEMAR REPUBLIC & THE GREAT DEPRESSION WHICH BENEFITED THE NAZIS:
Last Days of Wiemar Republic:
Ever since Otto Von Bismarck that ‘Man of iron and steel’, united Germany into a single Empire in the year Eighteen Hundred & Seventy One,
For the first time a Constitution for a Parliamentary Democracy was drawn up in August 1919, in the eastern German city of Wiemar.
Wiemar was the intellectual centre of Germany associated with musicians like Franz List, and writers like Goethe and Schiller.
The Wiemar Republic of Germany which had lasted from 1919 till 1933 had seen,
20 different Coalition Governments, with frequent elections and changing loyalties!
Due to a system of proportional representations, and the presence of very many political parties those days,  
No single party could obtain absolute sole majority in the Reichstag Parliament!
The longest Coalition Govt. was under Chancellor Bruning, which had lasted for only 2 years and 61 days!     (From 30 March 1930 to 30 May 1932)
Now, to understand the reasons for the failure to maintain a Democratic form of Government by the Wiemar Republic,
It becomes necessary to monitor its ‘dying gasps’ during its closing years so to speak!
Since faced with the economic depression Chancellor Bruning had worsened the unemployment situation by adopting stringent and unpopular measures!
Thereby having lost popular political support, Bruning with the approval of President Hindenburg, invoked emergency powers under Article 48, to survive his last few months and years!
During the years 1931 and 1932  it is seen, Bruning had used this Emergency Clause 44 and 66 times respectively!
Thus his so-called ‘Presidential form of Govt.’ had undermined Wiemar Democracy!
If Burning was the ‘Republic’s Undertaker’, now remains a debatable issue of History!
But Burning’s vigorous campaign made Hindenburg to get re-elected as the President;
Thereby he had removed the defeated Adolf ****** out of the Presidential race!
Therefore, later when ****** became the Chancellor on 30 Jan 1933, Bruning had very wisely fled from Germany!

Following Bruning’s resignation in May 1932 came Chancellor Papen’s ‘Cabinet of Barons’ consisting of individuals who were not members of the German Reichstag!
While in the election of July 1932 ******’s **** Party won 230 seats, making it the largest party in the Reichstag.
But ****** refused to form a coalition with Papen, because he wanted to become the Chancellor himself !
Now General von Schleicher advised President Hindenburg that the German Army,
Would not accept Papen’s use of Article 48 to remain as the Chancellor of Germany!
Therefore following Papen’s resignation, Schleicher took over on the 04th of December 1932 as the new German Chancellor.
Schleicher tried to restore a democratic form of government to get the Wiemar Republic back on its feet.
But in the ensuing political power struggle Papen wanted to take revenge on Schleicher for his removal from power and defeat.
So Papen persuaded Adolf ****** to become the Chancellor, and retain for himself the post of Vice-Chancellor.
In doing so, Papen mistakenly thought that he would be able to reign in the self-assertive Adolf ******!
Papen finally made President Hindenburg agree to his proposal, and on 30th of Jan 1933,
****** became the New Chancellor, with approval of the President!
A month later a sudden fire in the Reichstag made ****** invoke Article 48, in order to squash the suspected Left Wing Communists;
But while doing so, the Press was muzzled, and many Civil Rights of the German people were abolished, inclusive of their right of assembly and free speech!
****** acted swiftly, and by passing the Enabling Act on 23 March, 1933, armed himself  with dictatorial powers for enacting laws without the approval of the Reichstag whenever necessary!
Thereby ****** threw Democracy to History’s wasteland most unfortunately!
Following the death of Hindenburg on 29 June 1934, ****** combined the powers of the President and the Chancellor, and became known as the FUHRER!
Historians generally agree the Enabling Act of 1933, as the date for establishment of The German Third *****.

THE POLICY OF APPEASEMENT AND GERMAN AGGRESSION:
The horrors of trench warfare with the rattling of machine guns and bursting of poisonous nerve gas shells,
Even after 20 years remained fresh, in the minds of all World War One participants!
Therefore, it was natural for British and French Prime Ministers Neville Chamberlain and Edouard Daladier initially,
To grant political and material concessions to an aggressive Germany, for the sake of peace and stability.
Thus the diplomatic stance of Appeasement between 1935 and 1939 followed by the French and the British, was mainly to avoid another dangerous armed conflict!
But the trusting Mr. Chamberlain had underestimated ******, who had served in the German Army as a Corporal, winning the Iron Cross during the last Great War!
****** was not afraid of war, but wanted to avenge the Treaty of Versailles and its punitive dictated peace;
And also establish for the superior German Aryan race a lasting Third *****!
Therefore, having consolidated his power as the Fuhrer along with his trusted **** Party cronies, he withdrew from the League of Nations in October 1933.
Introduced conscription in March 1935 in Germany, and embarked on a mission to rebuild a new modernised German Army for combat on land, air, and sea!
In March 1936, in another open violation of the Versailles Treaty, ****** re-occupied the demilitarised Rhineland, followed by a Treaty of Alliance with Japan and Italy.
The much desired Anschluss (or merger) with Austria, the country of birth of ******,
Saw the German Army in March 1938, triumphantly and peacefully marching into Vienna!
Now with the Munich Conference of 19 September 1938, this Policy of Appeasement is said to have reached its climatic peak!
The Sudetenland area, consisted of 3 million Germans were made
to join Czechoslovakia when the frontiers were drawn in 1918-19,
Much against the wishes of the Germans!
When ****** wanted to annex this Sudetenland area, Britain, France, Germany and Italy, met at Munich to diffuse an explosive situation peacefully.
It was agreed at Munich that once Sudetenland joins Germany, ****** will not invade Czechoslovakia and honour the terms of peace.
But on 15th March 1939, in violation of the Munich Agreement, ******’s army invade and occupied Czechoslovakia, thereby openly flouting the Policy of Appeasement!

NOTES: ******’s desire for ‘LEBENSRAUM’ or ‘increase of living space’ for the Germans, commenced with his ‘Border Wars’, which soon turned into a Global War because of the ‘appeasement policy’ of the Allies. ****** had secured his Eastern Front with a treaty with the Stalin, since fighting on two fronts would have been very difficult for the Germans.

Now when ******’s army invaded Poland on 1st of September 1939, it became ‘the last straw on the camel’s back’ for the Western Allies!
Committed to the Anglo-Polish Defence Pact of 25 August, 1939, both Britain and France declared war on Germany,
Which I propose to narrate in Part Two of my Second World War Story.  
The Policy of Appeasement no doubt gave some time for Britain, to regain its depleted military strength,  but Adolf ****** had viewed it as a sign of weakness!
With Russia and America initially as non-participants, ****** became more confident and arrogant!
Thereby turning his border wars into a global conflagration lasting six long years.
When the use of advanced technology, resulted in greater loss and casualties;  
Which was followed by the holocaust and unprecedented human suffering!
I would like to conclude my present narration with a poem by English soldier-poet Seigfried Sassoon, who participated in the First World War on the Western Front.

DREAMERS  -  by Siegfried Sassoon
Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land,
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win
Some flaming, fatal ****** with their lives.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.

I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,
Dreaming of things they did with ***** and bats,
And mocked by hopeless longing to regain
Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,
And going to the office in the train.
…………………………………………………………………………
Thanks for reading patiently, from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
  *ALL COPYRIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY

Let me declare in the opening of this article that at the time of writing this article I was a young man aged almost 23 years but have never had *** as a personal choice based upon my experience. My reasons for not getting laid till now are not many but just three reasons:
1. I am a guy who is a one woman man.
2. I believe that whatever may be my future wife's virginity status, I am not to loose it to anyone else but to herself.
3. I have analysed and found that for Indian men the best age to loose their virginity is not before 25 years of age and similarly for Indian women, the best age to loose it is not before they themselves are at least 23 years of age.

You all might already have labeled me various titles till now, but wait let me tell you the whole story and I would rather recommend you to be ready for trashing all your presumptions. It's all about self-control that this article is about. You can easily relax and lie back as you are going through my article.

I have a female friend from a big city in India who has been subjected to the raging problem of today's world. I'll be referring to her as Dhara, she was in the first year of her college life when she fell for a good looking rich guy and this guy, Sagar, was her classmate.

In the beginning of their relationship, they both were like the very much perfect 'made-for-each-other' couple like in stories. They both shared a golden relationship between each other and neither of them were aware that one day they will be made to separate away from each other.

The two of them seemed inseparable and one fine day Dhara even eloped with Sagar to start a new life with him. Sagar took her to a new home that he succeeded in procuring for them. It was a farmhouse away from the city. Dhara started following all the daily chores as an ideal housewife would. Both of them ceased attending the college and dedicated all their time to love making. Three months after having eloped, Dhara happily told Sagar that she was pregnant.

In the mean time, Sagar's father who is a powerful person in politics decided to make him marry a different girl for political benefits. And this way a problem arose from this fact that Sagar was told by his family that soon he would be married to a girl for political reasons. Along with this, both Sagar and his father were jailed in a political context. The trouble which had befallen was resolved by another powerful politician who bailed both the father-son duo out of the problem with a condition that Sagar married his daughter.

Sagar then told Dhara regarding the same problem at his home. Dhara straight away went to Sagar's home hoping to win hearts and showed them the Mangalsutram which Sagar had tied around her neck. The Mangalsutram turned out to be the same which Sagar's mother had found missing.

Dhara was accused of thievery and was put behind the bars for the same in the followup time. Sagar somehow succeeded in bailing Dhara out from behind the bars. Soon, Dhara was asked by Sagar to take some emergency contraceptive pills which halted her pregnancy in a period less than three months. Then Sagar ejected himself out from the unregistered marriage, resumed his regular college studies and ditched Dhara.

Here, both Dhara and Sagar were at fault according to me. Neither of them were at an age which could be considered marriageable, either medically or morally. Both had studies to undertake which they turned to for diverting their minds.

Dhara shared with her elder brother regarding the same event having taken place in her life. Then one fine day, I met Dhara at our university's Students' Activity Centre - SAC, where I had been to the University Food Orbit - UFO, and I started conversation with a group sitting there and we both got to know about each other and exchanged numbers at her insistence.

So much experience had made Dhara a wisecrack when it came to making friends. She accepts that it was her mistake that she took a rush of hormones to be love.

In addition to this Indian viewpoint over the subject, a Western viewpoint needs to be mentioned separately because of the biological differences between our bodies' biological observations and our differently made up societal liabilities and settlements.

The West has a superior physique for both men and women and professional services. So the ideal age to loose it dips by 2 years.

To end with the article, I would like to summarise the best age and conditions of loosing virginity globally with a special localisation to India:
1. Get married firstly and then loose it only to your life partner.
2. If you must still have the pleasures of love making before your marriage with the person you have your first *******, keep it safe and pleasant. Use a ****** or similar contraceptive if you must have *** before the ideal age but remember that these may fail as well, even if rarely.

I am tired of writing love songs about you

Because they do not work
Because I cannot bring myself to summarise the hurt
When it's greater than just words

I traced your lips with my fingertips
As you held my neck and drowned me

I tried to keep the bubbles in my hands
For the day you'd come drown me again
Funny how a heart so small
Could wreck such treacherous trouble

Will you hold me closer?

When you say 'sing me a song'
And I think it's because you love it

But you were right all along
You were in love with my need
A need for something more than greed
And I could not play along

So the songs sounded the same
Because all we had was a blank page
Blander than a desert tongue
Will you hold me closer?

And still I begged
Because it is all I know to do
I crashed walls through
Just to get to you
A fool a fool a fool
I played for you

I turned tipsy as the world went spinning round and round in psychedelic swabs
Liquor after liquor
Anesthesia
Only brings out pain
I gave in
Because it is all I know to do
In a dark place full of wastrels waiting for love

Will you hold me closer?

I came here
Ready to regret
A little revelry to rock the bland away

Yet how far could I run with your clutches round my neck?

I tore up the pieces of paper
That I wasted all on you
Happier times
Haughtier lies
I tore up all the words I gave to you

No more poetry for the first time your lips touched mine
Or how you playfully pushed me by the seaside
The days before you showed your wicked side

No more circles with endless lines
Here I'm staring at the blank page right before my eyes
Ready to rewrite

What was life like
Before you?

Your eyes meet mine amd smile

One last time
Will you hold me closer?

Sign in the staffroom at work.
Stay positive they said,
Stay positive I read,
Stay positive in the work you despise,
Turn a blind eye as your life goes by,
Leave your thoughts at the door,
Don’t think they implore,
Pretend there is no sun,
Look out of the window at your life on hiatus for eight hours,
Can’t get rid of the smell of this jail even after a thousand showers,
Take solace it’s for the money that I didn’t even want to use,
The books you could be reading now will only get you confused,
The songs you could be listening to now won’t speak to you anyway,
Silence your mental jukebox and toil for your pay.
Stay positive today,
The cash they flash,
I can see on my face a fiscal rash,

They can say put down your pens,
Strip your pencils of lead,
Tell creativity to slumber,
Put your canvas to bed,
But can’t stop us drawing in our heads,
Stay positive,
Like don’t start on that waitress and treat her with chagrin,
Cos she doesn’t bound over with your pie and chips with a leap and a grin,
“We’ve paid for this food, she better start smiling,”
Or the tip it is non and the polite police I’m dialing “
Have a word with yourself shes working,
And more than that she could be hurting,
Cos John in the kitchen isn’t flirting,
Or she could be wearing that frown,
Cos shes realised she only got £30.00 for her night out in town,
That’s not much when you consider the taxi back,
Plus after shes done serving you shes got dishes to attack,
But no she has a grimace,
Shes finished,
We have all felt like that, bit lonely and that,
Stay positive.
Stay positive,
Cos sometimes words cling to the air,
Like candyfloss to hair,
And birds sing for their bread while the cat bosses just stare,
At the endless charade of hierarchy,
John then Paul then George then Starky,
But star key unlocks the door to the skies,
Hope is life, I summarise,
There’s beauty in your summer eyes,
Don’t count the calories in pies,
Dietary information often lies,
Distracting from the truth with garish rides,
That only seek to compromise,
Our promise and delightful ties,
Forged from friendship not to buy,
Feel your waist and touch your thigh,
Dietary information often lies,
Love is all,
No chance to take,
No dast to cie,
Be brilliant and hear them sigh,
Stay positive.
I feel like,
Tintin going exploring,
Paths opening up, new days dawning,
I’m done with yawning it’s a waste of breath,
I don’t feel lethargic, I don’t feel bereft,
Heads down dive me a test,
About anything cos this beat in my chest,
Means I’ll beat Kasparov at chess,
Armani couldn’t make a sexier dress,
Allivate stress quicker than Prozac,
Cut the beanstalk down faster than Jack,
I can stretch my mind more than that guy on the rack,
Cos I think if our lips locked together we could throw away the lucky heather,
No more boring days of monotony,
Fingers crossed watching the national lottery,
Not just waiting around thinking I’ll chill,
But striving for the horizon over the hill,
Stay positive.
But the best thing I saw recently,
Was when I’d just finished my tea,
And I saw these two old folk who live near me,
One about 89 the other 93,
Twilight of their lives to say the least,
Real hunched and stooped over, all false teeth,
But the way they held each other’s hands the tenderness was palpable,
Cradled and soft the care undoubtable,
Cos some things are not withered by age,
They stick through this life to every page,
Decrepit vocal cords that would have a job to sing,
But there demeanor hit the high notes bellowing loves the greatest thing,
And whatever they think the next life is, earth, air or above,
At least the opening gambit can be, “we ended that one with love”
And everybody wants that, everybody,
Everybody with this life to live,
Peace be with you and bless you
And stay positive!

This is a prose tale about the great superhero, SNOGGO
(as told in the first person by SNOGGO to his amanuensis, Edna)

*'You can't have "Jew",' I said.
'Why not? It's a perfectly good word. Are you anti-semitic or something?'
'Jew has a capital J,' I said.
'Not necessarily. I've used it before.'
'Not with me you haven't. There's the dictionary. Look it up.'

Jumbo grudgingly picked up the Shorter Oxford and looked up "Jew". He sniffed loudly, slammed the dictionary shut and removed the tiles from the board. His replacement word was a sodding disaster.

'That's twenty-four points you've cost me with your nit-picking, you *******,' he said through gritted yellow teeth, his flabby body shaking with rage. 'The J was on a triple letter score.'

I sneered derisively and laughed long and loud, making Jumbo froth at his ugly fat nostrils with anger.

'Watch this and weep, Jumbo,' I said, playing out all seven of my tiles onto the board to create a stunning word: UNZIPPED. 'The Z's on a double letter score and it's all on a triple word score, so that's 90, plus 50 for playing all my tiles, 140 in total and the end of the game,' I declared in triumph. Jumbo was caught with 14 in his hand (remember: he still had the J) and thus I, the great SNOGGO, became Greenwich Scrabble Champion for the 25th year running. Not only that: but 25 consecutive defeats in the final for Jumbo.

Jumbo roared in frustration as he saw his hopes of taking the coveted 24ct gold "Queen Anne" cup away from me, SNOGGO, dashed to the ground yet again. And, by centuries old tradition, 25 consecutive victories meant the priceless cup was now mine to keep for ever. Jumbo's scream of uncontrollable, incandescent rage could have been heard as far away as the Vanbrugh Hill Municipal Waste Disposal Centre.

'******* you for all ******* eternity,' he bellowed unsportingly as he waddled out of the cheering hall. In so doing he flouted the gentlemen's convention of always staying to take part in the closing ceremony. He missed seeing me, the great SNOGGO, receive the shining gold cup from the gnarled hands of the Lady Mayoress, the Hon. Mrs Snotte-Wragge, who whispered in my ear 'Fancy a quick **** later, back at the mayoral parlour, SNOGGO dear?' For the fifth year in a row I told her to go and get stuffed as I didn't go for ugly old bats with arses on them like a double-decker bus.

Later that evening, as I sat in the splendid Georgian surroundings of Snoggo Manor, cradling the gold cup and admiring the row of 25 Championship certificates on the walls of my elegant dining room, finishing off my second bottle of Bollinger Grand Cru '89 and stuffing my 18th oyster down my happy throat, I heard a knock on the door. Who could that possibly be at nearly midnight?

It was Jumbo, my fat defeated foe. He looked downcast. 'SNOGGO,' he said, 'I've come to offer my apologies for my inappropriate behaviour earlier. You deserved to win, you are the finest scrabbler in all of Greenwich. I have come to offer you the hand of friendship and to invite you to my humble home for a midnight snack to celebrate your stirring victory.'

'Jumbo,' I replied, 'that's uncommon civil of you, old man. And your timing is excellent, as I've just finished my apéritif and was on the verge of kicking Mrs SNOGGO, my new 17-year old Thai mail order wife, out of her hammock to make my supper. So what's on the menu, squire?'

'Well,' said Jumbo, 'I was thinking of pâte de foie gras - naturally made by Mrs Jumbo using our own force-fed geese, with a bottle of Château d'Yquem '78 to start with. Then perhaps a kilo of blood-red filet mignon avec pommes frites, washed down with a rather good magnum of Brouilly '99. Then there's Mrs Jumbo's famed cheeseboard with a tumbler full of vintage port, followed by a dozen crêpes suzettes, a few petits cafés, a monster Armagnac and a giant Havana each.'

I considered the proposed menu carefully before replying. 'Sounds quite good to me, Jumbo,' I declared, glancing over his shoulder at the Bentley waiting outside. I could just see the peaked chauffeur's cap of the diminutive Mrs Jumbo peering myopically over the leather-covered steering wheel.

And so, having told Mrs Snoggo to tidy up a bit whilst I was out, I went off to dinner with Jumbo. In all our 25 years of Scrabble rivalry I had never once set foot into his house, so I was eager to check out what sort of lifestyle he enjoyed. Once inside Jumbo Villa, I cast my eyes over the luxurious furnishings with an expert eye, evaluating their immense worth and rarity with incredible perspicacity and knowledge.

'Not a bad pad you've got here, Jumbo,' I conceded. 'Not in the same class as Snoggo Manor, of course, but still ****** impressive.' He was visibly flattered by my compliment.

'A glass of sherry while we wait for Mrs Jumbo to serve us?' queried Jumbo jovially. I sniffed at the huge portion of delicious amber nectar appreciatively. 'Lustau Amoroso Bodega Marquès de Mierda '42?' I guessed instinctively. Jumbo nodded. '******* spot on, SNOGGO,' he admitted in stunned amazement.

I took an enormous gulp and felt the alcohol hit me like a slam in the abdomen from Cassius Clay's butcher and more vicious brother. The room spun and I closed my eyes in resigned delight.

When I came to I found myself hanging unclothed in chains on the wall of a dank cellar. My head was pounding and I felt distinctly below par. I looked over my shoulder and beheld Jumbo standing there with a sjambok in his hand. He was stark ******* naked, naked as the day he was born, and I have never seen anything so repulsive in all my life (with the sole exception of that incredible day when, as a child, I caught my paternal grandparents bonking on the Persian rug in the Great Hall at Snoggo Manor on Christmas Eve). Jumbo’s huge pendulous ******* sagged over his bloated fat belly, which itself hung so low his genitals were mercifully hidden from my view. He was a ******* monstrosity.

The tiny Mrs Jumbo stood to the rear of the cellar, also naked, pallid and with her public hair died a shocking pink. She was a skinny freak, a vision of *** Hell. I noticed the tattoo on her belly. It showed a depiction of the crucifixion which I felt was in dubious taste, especially with Jesus sporting an enormous *******.

What I, the wonderful SNOGGO, suffered in the next few hours was truly indescribable, so I will only summarise it. After a seemingly endless whipping from Jumbo (assisted by Mrs Jumbo, but her puny lash strokes were almost pleasurable), accompanied by their combined frenzied cries of demented hatred and loathing, I was forced to suffer the supreme humiliation. Jumbo mounted a set of fine Regency library steps, positioned his Hellish lumpen body behind me and unceremoniously inserted his tiny ***** into my outraged ****. Oh the shame! Oh the shame!

‘O Jesus Christ help me!’ I yelled in rain and pain. And suddenly a voice spoke unto me. 'O great SNOGGO,' it intoned, 'thou needst not suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune so needlessly. Only have faith in me, the great loving Jesus, and I shall give thee strength to deal with thy ******* awful tribulations.'

It was a miracle! SNOGGO could and would be saved! Quickly I mumbled a couple of Ave Marias remembered from my youth as a leading mutual masturbator in the chapel choir, and I silently promised a quick twenty thousand quid to the local faggotty priest ******* fund, and my chains fell to the floor with a blast of heavenly thunder. Halle-*******-luliah!

'Right, Jumbo you fat ****,' I snapped, 'you have ******* had it.'

And with one mighty blow of my right arm I smashed him against the wall. His huge hideous body crumpled as he slid to the floor, blood oozing from his fat gob. I gave him a ****** good kicking in the face and in the heart region and shortly he went to meet his maker, with a sickening grunt and expulsion of *****.

Then I turned to the horrified naked ugly skinny tattooed Mrs Jumbo and said: 'OK, *******, where's my ******* supper?'

She shrugged and headed upstairs to prepare the meal I had been promised by Jumbo earlier, as I was seriously hungry by this stage. Little did she know I would be obliged to put her out of her misery later. Or if she were lucky, I might offer her a position as unpaid toilet cleanser chez moi.

Yes, it was yet another stunning victory for the fabulous SNOGGO, thanks to timely divine intervention for which I am very much obliged.

And don't forget my luscious 17-year old Thai mail bride would be waiting to give me a really good ******* once I got back to Snoggo Manor. Either that or I would give her a good belting and send her back to her grotty poverty-stricken village with a demand for a full refund, chop chop.

talk of empire can be a tedium to say the least,
the Maharajahs of India never felt more
at home with european literature and
culture overall, but class system doubly
emphasised - or as the television series proved -
hardly an affair for the pithy concerns of
pitiable folk - first season i never bothered to
sense a tightening -
you see, looking at colonialism is not looking
at racism - racism has a dynamic to it,
colonialism has a hierarchy - the two differ,
second season in i sense colonialism as the
intelligent form of racism, presuppositions too many,
racism for the poor and the idiotic and
colonialism for the rich and cultured and
Gentlemanly - pork buttocks for the fork to my care,
i said once i'm not into these post-colonial
dynamics in England - the only winners are
Australians, former convicts who care much about
preservation of the populace of crocodiles -
this 2nd season is really piling it in to differentiate
between barbaric discrimination and civilised
discrimination - i guess a prior history of instilled
hierarchy made the Maharajahs akin to the Brits
(the caste system, untouchables in Bengali),
the "great rulers" didn't mind, they were actually
trying to be kept in the commonwealth -
such aristocracy easily scared and even more easily
scarred - the aristocrats of communism came from
the intelligentsia - bookworms and hardly the
pompous old farts ready to hunt tigers replacing
goats with little children tied to wooden poles -
that's what capitalism fears, a coerced class of
intelligent people, coerced into a class, they fear this,
it's hard to control such people, collective ignorance
is too easily dissected and denied, via doubt -
hardly a reason to be a recipient of existence (out of
every instance per se, hence the sigma unfathomable) -
and to only be rewarded with entertainment?
these far-left intellectuals breed on thought to be
the sole existential reward, and subsequently entertainment;
i too find thinking a pleasure, when you assume that
there's no reward for it, or a reliability to it
being a kindred of an ***** phallus -
never mind - you see, this talk of empires has given
me an ideal conclusive remark:
landlocked empires, or, should i say,
empires that thrive on spreading via land alone,
ref. e.g. to the Mongol or the Alexandrian empire...
they're short lived, they increase landmass exponentially
and very successfully - their motto:
strike the iron while it's hot -
they depend on constant success - they require
a bacterial like membrane of being seemingly
invincible - these land locked empires come and go
very quickly -
unlike the second type of empire building,
those which also require more than horse hoofs
at a gallop, the ones that treat the power of the seas
as its arteries, and land as their veins -
the British empire, the Roman empire -
once an empire is dependent on sea and subsequently
trade, it will be convincingly successful and will
outlast all those brutal empires that spread via land alone -
russia is indeed an anomaly - but then again hardly
an anomaly given the harsh terrain it encompasses -
no one wants to live there, who in their right state
of mind would, anyway?
the russian pride has a weakness - siberia -
oh **** looks great, a 12" protruding **** of geography,
but it's Siberia, -40°C... the way i see it, Russia
is the size of from its borders with Ukraine
Belarus and the Baltic states and the Ural mountains...
the rest is Mongolia - the peoples are steppe Eskimos.
so to summarise - ambitions of empire building that
do not utilise the power of the sea are indeed
the largest but also of the shortest lifespan -
like that old fable of an old farmer dividing his land
among his sons - sooner or later it ends up
a complex intricacy akin to the Holy Roman Empire -
or as the Romans said: dub the germans holy
and you're going straight to hell! little princes that became
major beggars and leeches - the louse jealousy took over...
breadcrumb like land ownership:
20 kilograms of potatoes a year for each son,
enough to feed a pig for a month...
and yes, doubly conclusive, i don't know why
Christianity is blamed for the desecration of greek
culture, the so called "robbing of the greek culture" -
i can't imagine any singled out people
to be infused with ****** and keep it up -
Nietzsche blamed Socrates, the modern intellectuals
blamed Jesus of Nazareth... you know who i blame?
Alexander the great, a Macedonian after all,
and Aristotle (partially) -
that's the greeks though - the Mongols had nothing
prior and nothing after of note on the blank page
or care for a library, and perhaps that's all the better,
you hardly hear news from Mongolia in our
present age... they had the wind to write their history
in that great Genghis Khan Stampede;
i did tell you that the communist experiment took
place in Mongolia, didn't i? before it was accepted
as counter-Tsar pyramidal and later in the satellite states
it was first tested in Mongolia...
if you don't believe me, believe the guy who
sat in the UCL history library and was writing up
essay notes roughly 9 years ago.

the greatest lesson i learned concerning life was what Ezra Pound refuted... it came from Tao - and on that 86 bus heading to school i have learned it like an arithmetic rubric - my only lesson came from Tao, all my lessons came from Tao - from a Buddhist revision... the lesson? the only way to aid the world is to let the world forget you, and you in turn forgetting the world be. for that what speaks to the entombed heart, the heart of hearts when the mountain crumbles into rubble, and you're left picking your fancy until the diamond is found among seashells, before you the sea of time gnarling with gnashing of shattered teeth - shoo shoo shoo as if tiresome of the green-bottom flies who's spawn is readied overly... the *******... i can't call them anything respectable in African sensibility... the ******* at the back of the bus and the white harlots too... me in the middle sitting reading a book... Stendhal romanticised me, but Tao taught me reality... i know it wasn't the original Tibetan slit eye, it was Japanese... the only way to help the world is for the world to forget you and you forget the world... which i relearned reading Heidegger, who suggested i should be transparent in engaging with the world through concern (being there, or dasein), even a Heidegger apologetic in me turned into Ronin - Asiatic apathy is courtesy, European apathy is simply impoliteness - the latter has too many ****** expressions - i summarise my life with the anonymous Taoist monk who said these words... anti-celebrity culture, they burn like fire in my mind - they burn like fire in my mind - they are my mind - but i had to show him the European verbiage and the ferns of European thought to prove him right, and i did. Heidegger's concern became the ***** Berufung, soon the concern fizzled and was masked by wife and children - but better a Heidegger apology than a Christian one - what meditation can a crown of myrrh provide while being crucified? none! the Rastafarians keep singing about Babylon... the tree wise men came from that region... so the fourth magician... the four horsemen of the apocalypse? Melchior, Caspar, Balthazar, Jesus  it's still a profanity of the tetragrammaton - four horsemen, four canonical gospels... and that ***** that's Gematria - the undermining of all serious study - you can keep those Rabbis in the museum with Grecian  marbles to collect dust, as i mention Tolstoy and that passage from war & peace: pierre bezukhov - the freemason friend (chapter 13) - l'empereur Napoléon  (666) - l'empereur Alexandre - la nation russe - comte Pierre Bésouhoff - sub z for s (Chiral Gemini) - + de und le - le russe bésuhof = 671 - omitting e (incorrectly) - l'Russe Bésuhof - BINGO! - the orthographic gag - most Anglo never heard of such graphic, having never made auxiliary use of it - but i stick to the lesson in Tao - the world does not recognise me as acting in its fate, and will not remember me as even the hushed - i rather not remember it in whatever guise it might provide for me - the first lesson in Tao, is the last lesson in Tao - Stendhal might have taught me romanticism of the ideal heart of woman - but that one maxim of Tao taught me how to not hunger for women, as if i were the Paraclete - perhaps what Christianity wished for was a placebo of the Paraclete - given that so many already believed the other figure being extinguished in the wake of the 20th century - but in talk of religion, such is the limited vocabulary, and such the impossible task ahead, in that grand masquerade of identifying all with one, and one with all:
as an atom:
                                       omni
                          
                  omni           mono         omni

                                       omni                                  or

(around me everything, i must concentrate on myself)

                                                        ­      nihil

                                         nihil             omni          nihil

                                            ­                  nihil  

(around me nothing, therefore i must encompass it all)

whatever the answer, i sought, and found mine,
it was in Tao, and nowhere else.*

there's never a talk of transparency
in politics - politics isn't
about transparency - it's about
the vaguest and the foggiest -
you all should know this by now -
but ado with George Orwell's double-think,
or simply doppelgläuben -
you believe to disbelieve - that's what the
doppelgläuben does - if religion be the ******
of the masses, then engaging the masses with
politics is engaging them with
hell-raisers - diluted alcohol from 40 to 15%.
no wonder they're ******-off being prescribed
status quo placebos;
politics was never about transparency, all those
near the pigsty troughs know the motto:
you scratch my back, i scratch yours.
the electorate think this applies to them
also true between their daily squabbles, but it doesn't.
doppelgläuben: you believe to disbelieve;
and of course we want objectivity, we want
cages after all... Darwinism is perfect for
an objective expression, which is why poetry
is sidelined as Loser St. -
we all want perfect abs and the opportunity to
sell yogurt rather than Mongolian Yurts
in swimwear shorts... but how long will this
Siberian talk of rationality serve the mammalian heart?
how long will objectivity given Darwinism seem
sensible to keep? are we at the butchers' or
reflecting on life? raw meat, maggoty meat, well done?
we all know that the majority of us are losers,
but drilling this in will never allow us to
speak objectively... well, it will... like in Munich,
an 18 year old lashing out from what he heard
his father being called: Scheiße Auslander -
this is the rational benefit of objectivity so keenly expressed
in argument - which is why so many people have
turned to poetry, but they don't yet see that
the ****** was worn for much too long -
and given democracy, they get lost in the whirlwind
of so many people feeling the same.
hence? Tao lesson no. 1 - aid the world by the world
forgetting you... and you in turn forgetting the world
so the world can be best aided, and you kept free
without minding the c.c.t.v.

sometimes i just have a few words masquerading as cobweb
and spider in my mind,
      sure, they're custard, clogging it up,
but then i wonder why Einstein was
such a big deal with the two worldly
distractions, and was necessarily dubbed:
still wrong.
             then as solomon predicted,
all is vanity, including the necessary 15 minutes
of it, could F. Sinatra ever cling to
such a forthcoming?
                   yes, all is vanity,
and only a few of us experience sanity
(that rhymes on purpose) -
so away from what's overly-prefixated
with words like un-, anti-, contra-, neo-, sub-...
     anglophone intellectualism is basically
a fixation on using prefixes as one might
use adjective, in that the former case
doesn't formulise the arguments,
in fact, trying to revitalise dialectics
seems a bit like finally saying: so democratically
speaking, we had no disagreement to keep
zoologically best kept hidden,
       because we said democracy and how
tribalism left a small minority roaming
the Amazonian rainforest (as if we were visiting
a Vishnu temple on Mars ping-ponging a huh?),
            people hate the queen ant as much as
they hate the rebellious worker ant...
       since the latter extends into a despotism
  the former outrightly allows,
        as long as the herd: alter. name for republic
and democracy survives and is left unchanged...
no cognitive virology can affect us...
        this is where the Cartesian model (originally
thought of as a dualism) becomes monistic,
or monastic... hmm hum hmm: mongolian harmonica...
        can there be case for cognitive virology?
if there is, where's the placebo? the standard base
in saying 0, 0, 0 is the basis for all big-bang coordinates?
that's like asking Copernicus where's east!
        the beauty within the eye-of-the-beholder has
to accept 1 fact, but still favour fact 2 to coordinate
successfully... it needs a spherical earth to not look
barbarian... or simply dim... but it also needs
a flat earth for an atlas and a "pseudo" truth to transverse
from A. to B., because, as it turns out:
satellite navigation personalised can lead a group
of Japanese tourists steering their rental car into the sea...
  like me... i have a few words floating about in my mind,
and they won't go away until i write them...
   pomocnik / labourer / helper
         nocnik / chamberpot
             noc / nacht... night...
    inżynier / engineer...
               the ridiculed version?
           pomagier, cow-eyed slacker
    who pretends to labour under or not under
                           a scrutinous eye of big baron Bartholomew...
      polymathic expeditions are one thing,
but to really explore globalisation you need
bilingual entrenchment... it gets psychological,
there any sort of economic sensibility in applying
two languages to a single cause...
    and being polymathic is a just excuse to
be, actually quite useful...
         quit quiet and quite... that's the q. q. q.
session without an answerable rubric...
                that's one proof of what happens when
diacritical marks aren't used...
             we're all bound to collide with the re
to our ego... it's only that poets and writers have
the topic enshrined in them as: now you should
feel ashamed... trying to not conceive a south
to a sunset, trying to not conceive a west to a simile,
not taking precautions that allow deja vus...
                  well? what the **** can a plumber say?
sure, it might be a marble rather than a ceramic toilet,
but it's clogged-up just the same...
                   and when writers realise they're not
St. Augustine of this world, they'll knuckle down
and write a Stephen King oeuvre...
         and by that time writing will become everything that
butchering a cow takes...
the title though, it means something...
           rumbles, in a well...
  (you always need to insert the a / the
     articles... a chair has to be asexual in English,
but you do need to orientate yourself by either pointing
at it - definitely - or "abstracting" it - namely
becoming a pioneer in suggesting it,
because Farsi akimbo by a Japanese table was never
quite right, as with due the revision of chopsticks)...
      dudnienie... see: once again the stutter...
          akin to lekki... just short of k-he... or khi...
or ghee...
                      even i thought the alkaline metals were
the pinnacle of hypersensitivity when dipped in water...
try language dipped in haemoglobin...
                    dudnienie? a noumenon expression,
as in: in itself... a far far away grumbling in a far far away
removed space for out pithy concerns...
            studnia? never mind studies and studs...
or Scandinavia...
                       the cork of the sewer system...
the tip of the iceberg...                
     and i appreciate the fact that all wars waged these days
are based on a retaliation against the mono-linguistic
parley of globalisation...
  the Arabs were naturally going to rebel against the endorsement
  of proto-Latin given the "popularity" of English...
some call it the remnants of the Empire...
           stresses on the q... as is due for desert folk:
m'qaba... it's almost glutton-bound nasal...
    it will take more than McDonalds to make them give up
their tongue... as hard as skimming across Lake Geneva
the Ayers Rock...
                           that's the one thing you can't take
from people: with what language they speak, no matter
how gravy that Father Crimbo is...
       gravy (groovy)...    you just won't extract bleach
from these people... basically: my great great great great great
great grandfather rode a camel from Mecca to Medina...
therefore my great great great great great great grandson
will also ride a camel from Medina to Mecca
    and say the words and mean them in saying them:
al' habbu Deqa; a bit like saying plandeka
   when saying tarpaulin - and is that tar-pau-leen
or tar-pau-lyn?                       hence the ambiguity,
given that people made of iota (ι) a necessarily invoked
diacritical certainty, without having judged:
or could it be umlaut... or acute?
              well... if i managed to complicate language,
i'm as fastidious in asserting that i have
                   as Shiva might be to answering Vishnu...
    someone was bound to write something like this...
having grasp of the language without questioning it
would eventually summarise itself in a perpetuated
yawn...             but wasn't it obvious?
   for the same alphabet to be formidable across an
"empire" that never slept, and for the same alphabet
to be written "naked" without auto-insinuating accents?
       anyone could pick the **** thing up,
and talk Bindi-Hindi bud-bud in Bollywood,
                      as they might talk the Texan drawl
                                    and cowboyish ye-ha! in Hollywood.
how many Hindus does it take to unscrew a lightbulb?
    dance *******! just, dánce! (yep, posh-boyo club,
      daaa'     beatbox um'pss um'pss wet-snare rockafellar
   fat boy never slims             'ys - mind you yoyo back
that variation of Lyn and Mince).
                                             **** me! Zukofsky.

There are a lot of important things needed to be happy in life,
that stop the dark rising and save the mind from strife,
like hilarious acts and moments we find funny
and as much as it pains me to say a bit of money
so we can do other fun things like go on a night out,
singing the hours away with a beam and a shout,
or a sweet song that glistens around the head,
or an engrossing book to read in bed,
ordering a take away and gorging can give a thrill
or back to back box sets on a Netflix and chill,
and just as crucial as having a top mate to phone
is having a place that one can call home.
Having an abode to go to when employment is done
or a domain to grab some water to quell the heat of the sun,
a space to collapse when infused with inebriation,
when getting tired of tracks, a warm safe station,
a place to get ready when revving to go out in the mix,
yeah, you were all of the above dear Flat Six.
Yeah, I’ll hold my hands up, you've been a ace place in which to live,
okay you were full of damp and the bathroom wall flimsy enough to give,
and when the verdant Eden outside was chopped down it made me mad
but you were only a short walk from my Mum and Dads.
You had plenty of perks,
fab tree out back and close to work,
a 24 hour garage a stone's throw away,
that sold the ***** at night and day,
you were near a cracking paper shop that had had 2 bottles of wine for six quid a go,
suffice to say, el vino did flow.
Your living room was massive enough to play big with a cat
"always a good time here" etched on your welcome mat.
Under your roof was awesome, you engendered joy with ease,
effortlessly making great, just like the cleanest breeze.
Now although you as a building yourself is a important component in amaze
other factors also make a simply brilliant phase,
Like when friends came round for fun and revelry
after we had left the club just after three,
we'd all pick up the ingredients for a ***** do
and jump, and groove with soothing coo,
the ether resplendent with "I love you!"
finely balanced between boom and cautious,
chatting committed, gabbing voracious,
sunk into fun under your light,
the wonder of spun on Saturday night.
Now, it wasn't just at the weekend when friends came to say okay,
there were some sweet gatherings on a Wednesday,
no women, no, just a range age of men,
it could only be mid week Breadren,
we could be having a conversation about how New York seems most tourable
when a voice pipes up, "by the way bel ami my cousin has cancer and it's incurable."
There could only be one guy who brings such depressing roars
the harbinger of gloom known as Two Doors.
He'll bleat on about how his niece has no womb and is totally barren
and next to him lives a kingpin drug baron
"they are shifting units at a furious pace
and ski in more in more wizz than ******* Scarface."
He'll change the subject in the blink of an eye
and go from talking about love to who's going to die,
he doesn't like most women, thinks they are a squawking flock,
he loves men though, yeah, he really likes ****.
A mate can come out and say sobbing he doesn't want to be with a lass
while Iain does think, "Ross, let me in your ***."
His friend could weep and cry with a whimpering cough
while all Iain thinks, Ross, **** me off!
Never mind Grinder, get on my fleshy old man log."
The third guy Martin is off shooting up in the bog.
Yeah, lots of people talked in your four walls
but you provided the space for those stupendous *****,
you were brill in December, springing in May,
really awesome in September, probs cos that's when Louise came to stay.
You held our pre festival clutter with happy behest
and often covered in bottles on Monday, a big glassy mess,
oh you had everything, simply one of the best.
As I’ve said, Flat Six you as the area were great
But a paramount importance in that was housemate.
You see some people can bond and connect in the hub of a club
but when sharing an address each other up the wrong way they can rub,
although they can go to a gig and have the most divine of laughs
when they abide in the same abode they go together like low ceilings and giraffes,
arguments start over the heating not being turned off
or who hasn’t took the bins out or who’s had some of the others food to scoff,
they bleat that “you shouldn’t have gone out for that night on the *****
And then made noise when you got in as you knew I was trying to snooze!”
or “why did you have that night on the coke, you see more of Charlie than an oompa loompa
and have World War 3 over a borrowed jumper.
So yeah, it's sweet when you find a shared space dweller
and who you think is swell and you get on really well,
as when after a day at the office and you perhaps want to chill alone
when they rap on your door to discuss the day you're glad their home,
skating through conversations with the p of pace
raucous at pontificating and waiting in the listen space,
bringing the talk with dazzling natter,
singeing the fork with frazzling chatter
to ensure the words cooked go down warm,
go down a treat, go down a storm,
discussing that wowing tomorrow is pay day thrill
and who was to blame for the initial breakup of Ross and Rachel,
top gabbing, it was brill!
Someone who when the elephant in the room is sniff
you both realise it quick and score in a jiff!
And never entertain the waste that is a tiff,
not for us the sign of a rift
simply super, a kind of bliss,
see I love Joe Flat Six, I love him to bits!
Although, like you  and your constant mould
he wasn't perfect (like everyone), if the truth be told,
you see if you follow all the biblical teachings you've been taught
you'd think he would have thought,
"I can help myself to the dental care and washing hygiene, it don't matter that I haven't bought,
I can use what I deem, Si's not the selfish sort,
he'd give me the last drop of his shower gel if he could,
he defiantly would,
so do unto others as they'd do unto me
and as I’ve got this human cleaning fluid for free
I’ll leave him some plentiful dollops on the side so he can bathe in a Lynx Africa infused sea
and I can leave some mouth polish laid in the shape of a cleansing leaf
so he can keep the fillings to zero in his teeth
then I can take the rest as I’ve been true to my sacred beliefs."
Yeah, that's what he could have done.
Instead he grew horns and committed a Luciferian act
and thought "I'm taking all of that!",
Sartini, you Devilish ****.
Nar, I bet you didn't even think that at all,
you were too busy imagining going out and having a ball,
beautifully bouncing off every wall,
riding the waves of Wet Dreams with total aplomb,
spinning tunes while high fiving Tom,
cool as ice cream and hot to trot
country hopping and swigging spirits by the tot,
at least Shannon seems to have diminished, that ****** robot!
she had more wires than C3PO's thighs
and glazed over R2D2 eyes
fair dos you digged her metallic allure
but did you really want to make love with the Terminator?
Ahh but who cares about a bit of shower gel and your cyborg fawning
it was great singing along as the day was dawning
And obvs I know every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end
But it’s only natural to miss living with one of your best friends.
So far be it from me to encourage your narcissistic gaze
but Joe you can add top housemate to your list of fortes!
So dear Flat Six to summarise
I’ll miss sitting out your back in summer rise
looking through your big tree with my eyes
at the Saturday sun azure blue skies,
I’ll miss that whatever there is to unfold
won’t happen over your threshold,
I’ll miss coming in your space with loads of beer
And chill with tunes while mates appear,
I’ll miss the midnight moving across your floor,
miss my key going in your door,
miss that it’s not your clock telling my time
miss that you’re not mine when I say “who wants to go mine?”
But now you’ll always be more than an address and a collection of bricks
I’ll always love you,
dear Flat Six!

why is it that the over-******* of drum & base, or whatever stem of 20th century's alternatives of music (the footnotes) makes listening to classical music equivalent of choosing to be a conductor? as if it were black classical (i.e. jazz) we'd be reciting poetry - instead a quasi St. Vitus dance of the dyrygent's swan wing flapping - what an Auschwitz's tow weight to assert - Cracow snow during the famous English smog, the new, Hindu, horizon - with Adolf's mustard gas junkies on the front in the trenches - karma oh sure - karma - St. as in street or saint? only Calcutta's knees are bent to tell the difference - well, can we at least call the future appreciators of classical music the futurism of lepers, i.e. those prone to gangrene and amputation? apparently their hands gesticulated prior to the ears vibrating for the heart invoking the eyes to tear... and can we call western society the society that gives people all the freedoms it can imagine (Disney and Hollywood), but not the freedoms of ultimate vocabulary? given the democratic signature of X on the polling card? ultimate vocabulary comes after we censor images, byproduct of iconoclasm and the Islamic fetish over words and Niqab, we're using penultimate vocabulary - when Christianity translates images into words, and Islam translates words into images, from the latter it will mean a woman and 72 male virgins... prostitution in heaven... d'uh!*

that i equate Siberia with Prokofiev's - Lieutenant Kijé,
does that mean Red October?
i don't know anymore, the democratic choice
of vocabulary became more important
than the choice of parliamentary representatives -
which is a shame; there was more concern in how
people spoke than what people spoke about.
Putin was like: let the dog run, bark bark bark...
he'll come back grovelling - mother Russian
was the one time we could have kept
beauties in Poland - now they're Arabian
hum-z-ghee lovers on Friday -
little **** big argument? may-be... who knows
what excesses are being thrown!
but that's beside the point: how do i summarise
my pain? via arithmetic and some algebra:
i summarised it... the way experience pain is
like a metaphor, via arithmetic akin to:
1 + √90 - 10 x 5 ÷ 0.1 - 1 + 25 x 3/4 ÷ 3(299 - 81)...
this is my expression of pain, an expression
via arithmetic - i'm not saying you can't
calculate the answer, i'm talking about the soft-sponge
sensation you get from attempting it, that sponge-blank
absorption of the problem but not the solution -
i rationalised the pain i experience -
using mathematics - which made me relax when
utilising language.

Bedsit lights flicker
floorboards  creak
the night prolongs plans
to see through the situation
An envisaged train journey to Canterbury
may just reawaken this
side of reason
realising clear thoughts  
the richness of discourse 
where I may visit some folk club
summarise these my questions
through a better door

To write a brilliant poem:
Use a concoction of ridiculous words.
Non-sensical message conveyed.  
Show off your manipulation to language.

Stop. And pause. And start again,
your repeated point no longer in tandem.
Then for some unknown reason ignore all logical structure and ask a question?

Darken your mood.
Randomly: use colons.
Where do; you use; semi-colons¿

Only poets admire your work.
The rests are ignorant gits,
who cannot see how your use of a thesaurus can bring upon untold bliss.

Reflect. Unreflect.
One or two words don’t quite make sense.

Finally summarise, your all-knowing point takes flight
Filled with silent anger; you’ve written utter sh**e.

Today the sky decided to resemble you and your mind;
Overwhelming indigo for your iridescent eyes,
how they turn from blue to grey
until they reveal the way you're aligned.

Soothing violet for the depth and majesty of your thoughts,
bright enough to warn you,
yet vulnerable and velvety enough
to ground your knots.

Groundbreaking blush for the colour of your cheeks
and the warmth that evokes from your touch,
ceasing every feeling of cold
one has ever choked on.

Faded orange, for the sun against your skin
and the way you breathe.
How it stings against your spine
and the way your tan chest rises
with every gasp of air that's underneath.

And last, an almost colourless yellow,
worn-out by the vehemence of your craving,
for the light in your eyes when you gaze at what you adore
and the power within your heart's palpitations,
begging you to live life to the core.

How I wish,
when you looked at me it ignited your eyes.

And when you stared,
your eyes would be blue instead of ice.

How I wish,
I could grasp a bit of what unravels in your bewildering mind.

I want to feel your lukewarm touch against my skin;
the cold has latched on to every corner of my being
and I am in need to leave it behind.

I long to graze your sun kissed skin
and for the sun's burn to linger there,
I yearn to even my vague breathing
with your stable gasps of air.

But if you beg me to summarise,
I just wish you would stare.

The words brewed steam itches
Switches that are unexplainable
twitches of mortal flames
the ******* stones wrapped
like a newborn baby unknown

The look in your eyes is pale
the thought of you ails all flesh
in the window of my life
you have no place or reflection*
like blurred mirror of the unwise

Professors and supervisors
transcend and ascend crafted fibs
Is it too late to try and sculpture?
Refine you to a mastery of change
like a culture of spirits rising

I would like to hold you inside my all
in the softness of my brain summarise
a scaffold structure of analytical glory
I would like to caress you close to me
kiss the dimensions of the edgy thesis
a trifle of paradisiacal pleasure and taste

Should I try and see your worth in a system?
A world whose lease is an unending debt
Where we are human competing for labour
A world where we are slaves of economy
Where we hustle along the automated robots
*A world where ready or not we sink in demise

When your flesh turns to dust,
and you become nothing more than cigarette ash
scattered on Atlantic breezes, they will decide
how human you were while you breathed.
On your tombstone, they will etch the essentials,
and summarise your million heartbeats in hastily carved letters,
by an impatient man. Each slab of silent sandstone
only reminds him of his ever fading mortality.

Each heartbreak, and each smile
contained within a single photo.
You have been reduced to a captured memory.
You have become nothing more than a collection of dates.
They will not remember you—they will simply remember
the moon's beauty as you said your goodbyes,
the corrupt idea that burned away the very life that
everything counted on.
You announced your presence, screaming ****** murders
that you were one day to commit.

When they embalm you with salts and pure white rags,
when they trap you forevermore, to sleep silently within
a cruel, confined coffin, they will speak dramatic eulogies in hushed voices,
standing over your grave-to-be.
Quietly, they will remember you,
as if frightened that they will wake the dead with their muffled,
forced tears. And as they lower you into the ground,
will your mother cry?

With aching arms,
the once happy,
will seal the grave with a kiss and a headstone,
and there will be no epitaph.

Your humanity reduced
to sandstone, dates,
and a name that will cease to mean anything
Except to the moon, except to the stars,
except to the lonely dead

Parents Evening;
At the tender age of two,
What will they tell me,
about you?
From the beginning,
You sat there - legs swinging.
Posture slouched,
Lips placed in pout.
You looked at me,
With A smile so sweet.
Then glanced across,
Towards the empty seat.
You fidgeted you fiddled,
You picked and you nibbled.
Your teacher entered,
And she read,
Your report that clearly said -
Ava is A lovely girl,
Who speaks so well!
When in defence,
She can raise hell.
So kind to her friends, and shares a treat!
She rather has a stubborn streak.
To summarise, without much time,
Your daughter is doing perfectly fine!
I looked towards my little girl,
Our thoughts linked, our eyes synced,
So we could swap our secret smile,
For she truly is - Me as A child.

unbelievable, i suddenly became entwined in a cultural project of argument, and had an opinion... what could suddenly come next?! i start biting my nails, and farting into a cushion, and think about ageing, seriously, buy seriously i mean: buying a car, a change of clothes worth a month, and forget cooking my own food, eating out on the town every night... yeah... growing up... looking serious... looking primmed for the worth of life: wholly political....... sign me up!

when i hear talk of the *superego
and the id
i don't think of anything to say,
i feel they are akin to the necessary
constructs of the world around us,
e.g. (foremostly) the self-employed...
the same with the "hierarchy"
of these supposed psychology unionists...
these so-called fractions...
  what kills fictional exploits?
i.e. writing books?
well, the premise that the superego
and the id are feline, cosy,
cushioned in their reclusive naturalisation
of our demand for dialectics or argument....
these constructs are merely
automata... they are fractions
of the automaton...
       they are auto-
       concise and precise enough
to stress an ego...
    and god... didn't we **** off the Romans
to a point, that still engrosses itself
in keeping the last remnant,
the Vatican care to call a colleseum a church
and the two akin in being eternal?
you seen the anglican congregation lately?
  it's hardly worth a comment akin
to a football pitch.
        it's enforced narrative...
all the cases for superego's or id's existence...
       both best summarised by the prefix auto-...
or: lacking the ability to imitate Dumas...
   you don't actually get far with both / either
of them...
    this automaton schism of what the ego
can actually propose is gone...
                it's a new age schism, after all...
but unlike the ego, which you can actually
control, or cage within a pentagon of the sensual
barricade... thankfully the ego is too
prone to evaporation... too trickly,
             too out of reach...
hence the need to recount a counter
trinity of the religious tradition,
with a superego and the id....
               just enough fakes to **** of narration
altogether...
   superego and id are of the same strand,
i.e. auto-,
   meaning they are the foodstuffs of narration...
just about the same time
a plumber fixes a toilet,
an intellectual (also paid) will talk of
the superego...
         to me the said intellectual is nothing more
than an automaton...
                   because i think the dissection
of the individual is nothing but fake,
contrary to atheism and theism:
truly of man design...
       i see it as nothing but a quick
escape,
  both superego and id are made into auto-,
i.e. for the easy narrative...
for they are just that...
          maybe my argument comes from the fact
that i have no narrative to give unto
these two entities...
but thankfully god...
                 and how i can see
ego, superego and id in a Christian dogma...
but please tell me where schizophrenic
symptoms originate, in which unit,
please?!
          oh wait... you can't!
it's easier treating everything with a crucifix!
and stigma!
          happy days... ah...
i'm starting to think of pooh bear
and have a need to cry...
         but as i already said,
writing novels is about nearly dead...
  given the dictators of superego and id...
meaning that the only non-automaton
fraction of a human psyche is the ego,
that false sense of identity, of the nearest
testing ground for mortality...
      when i hear intellectuals really get to grips
and make grit with the fractions superego
and id i start to summarise them with
auto-, a prefix denoting that they're robots...
    and if this could only be the crowning achievement
of a modern-day heartfelt scene of alienation...
nope... i'd rather be a fishmonger
  at Billingsgate at 3a.m.
              i like these Freudian fixations,
they express the fact that i can't write novels...
and i can spot auto- narratives derived from them...
       just like i can spot priests and
devotees climbing hills on their knees...
   as ever, to give the ego stability...
    to give it everything that death apparently
"robs it of"...
                it wasn't enough to give the ego
   a pronoun reversal and a free-reign on using
i with all that much, unnecessary theory...
      it wasn't even for a theory base
on the care for: keeping the tick-tock ticking....
       i can only suggest that we're mutilated
beyond hope,
          and that the only hope we have is that
heaven is riddled with all things bureaucratic...
    and that hell is merely guided by:
take to things as they are, not worth being
taken to by two.
              the Koranic nadir-principality of forlorn
statistics comes only ever so often,
and when it weakens, the arguments begin -
alias: how to avoid a tautological argument...
    that's me, thinking i invented
a refrigerator.
  that's really tautology...
    i mean what's happening now...
   with a sudden stench akin to foot-stuffs
from a supermarket with a u.b.d. and b.b.d.,
akin to the Koran... having sentenced one
of the either acronyms to current affairs...
       still...
i hear the arguments to keep the Freudian
architecture, and i can only think of one
human and two robots in the construct.

I like to be called Harley.
Outside of this world I am called by something else,
In the other world I go by another name,
But this name allows me to forget,
Forget who I am and what I've done,
All the things I've ever said,
And those who I let lay too close to my heart,
I'm a liar and a cheat.
I suppose I deserve everything that has ever been done to me,
Deep inside me where evil lies,
I am a spawn of two wicked ties,
Forces joined to birth the child,
Who was never loved,
To summarise..
I was planned but funny enough still a mistake,
Never birthed as a symbol of their love,
Hatred took its place,
How *** can so easily be used,
As not a form of love but only a tool,
To hurt the other all while hurting each other,
I'm here now "mother" and "father".
I am me.
Uncertainty consumes me,
Is this who I really want to be?
Conflicted and confused,
Internally abused,
I used to hurt myself.
Found it to be an escape,
All just a ruse...
A way for me to forget,
I am not me in this minute in time,
I am Harley Quinzel.
The sad little girl,
Mad as a hatter,
I am Harley Quinn.
Call me by no other name,
Not in this place,
This is my space.

you sometimes just wake up, **** into an empty plastic
bottle (because you're too lazy to leave the room and
go to the toilet), open up an autobiography of
West Berlin ****** ****** addicts, compare
the beautiful account with the macabre works of
Burroughs and feel this lazy need to ride the groovy train of
empathy - then you go downstairs and drink
two glasses of water to ease the throat, smoke three cigarettes
for breakfast, flick on the television as background noise akin to
the ambience snoring of a refrigerator and grind your eyes
on a Sunday newspaper... which is something of a novelty,
given the headlines, it's the perfect horror novel,
even though i know that it's not a novel (yes, a misnomer) -
but like that matters - newspapers are scarier than any
Stephen King novel - so you summarise the day ahead:
that Frenchman was right, hell is other  people...
and by people i mean the people you have no childhood memory
with, or of,
                  when it just goes back into
the basics of social tact, manicured conversations,
and all manner of woo ha...
                                                 the blatant disrespect of
literature: celebrity's dogs getting published -
how can you take a society like that seriously?
so you bask in the remaining whiskey -
                              wondering:
   why is everything so suddenly auburn,
or so amber? and why is most of the amber
the stuff of legends from the Baltic - and why is half
of Europe forgotten, marginalised into
living out a dodo fate?
                  ἤλεκτρον (ēlektron):
never quiet the order of things, a car - škoda -
how the English pronunciation avoids the law:
said: shkoda - not skoda.
                                 as above, a prolonged eta -
with a caron, or runic kaunan -
eta-macron                                       reversed back
into Greek: eta-caron                 thesaurus rex argues
synonym-variation, suggesting Bach was never
the first in polyphony - as such - at this moment?
when writing turns into painting -
             etymological genealogy of amber?
'anbar                     'aah           like a macron -
            Arabic, from middle Persian
ambar -                                          hence the vowel
dancing and provisions in Hebrew to
hide                              e, i, o, u                            but
keeping two aesthetics of alpha      , i.e. aleph
             and ayin                          -
mistook as silent, yet blatantly obvious, i.e. written -
          then the variation of aleφ and cheese: aleθ -
so much beauty, yet so much pain -
and the everyday rigidity of language when buying
potatoes -
                    and all manner of haggling.
so back to the etymological genealogy -
                 via middle Latin ambar          and
middle French ambre                            M. Hombre -
                  so when the Latin world was conquered
and the grapheme æ was cut open and separated
as with Milton's Satan - the fruit bore ash -
                                          the French harked the R,
the Russians said Я                        and the English
softened the trill                  Ra Ra                 Ra Ra -
it was almost like singing opera -
but the history teacher spoke Latin in Catholic
school inviting the trill back - the French used to trill,
instead they preferred harking the phlegm back -
Kabbalah - or the exclusive anatomy of the mouth -
podniebienie-er - i.e. R said with the tongue
touching the palate for the momentum of the sound -
as too the vector of grammar changed:
easiest example? left to right, not right to left -
Copernican dispute over the sunrise and the west:
e.g. King of Denmark, rather than Rex Dania,
no, that's wrong, translating compounds sometimes
never does prove correct when crafting
carbohydrate polymers of bundled blah -
                              wise man - but the reverse
man wise            i.e.                  **** sapiens -
thus the acronym i.e. became a conjunction
                           like e.g. an             and-type-of-word.

So... Fa' Real Fa' REAL...
What Is The Deal...
With... " Keeping It REAL "... !?!

It's Just An EXPRESSION...
That Has NO Test Pressing...
of Things Some Be STRESSING...
It's Message Be Sending... !!!!!

I'm Just Asking The Question...

Because What It's INVENTED...
Seems To Be An EXCUSE...
For DUD MOVES People Choose...

I Prefer... Keep It TRUE... !!!

But DON'T Get It Confused...
I Do... KNOW The Coup... !!!!!!

What I SEE As TRUE...
May NOT Work for YOU... !!!

Which... Leads Me Back...
To The Question At Hand...

Cos' The Issue I Have...
Is With How People Choose To...
Use It Like... " VOODOO "...

Some....

METAPHYSICAL, MYSTICAL...
... PRINCIPLED RITUAL...

That... When Undertaken...
Some Would Say Is...
.... " SPIRITUAL ".... ?!!!?

"Okay calm yourself V,
that's clearly too deep,
fa' peeps in the streets !"

"You know, I agree,
let me change up the theme !"

Now Apparently...
Fa' Some... " Keep It Real "...
Means They Can ROB and STEAL...
Like It's Their DAILY MEAL... ?!?

And NOT Just In The Streets...
I Mean... Corporate Peeps... !!!!!

How REAL Are The Heads...
of... Financial Trends... !?!

It Would Seem They Conceal...
Rather Than... " Keep It REAL "...
And Could CLEARLY CARE LESS...
About... TRUTHFUL Concepts... !!!

They... " CONCEPTUALISE "...
Clearly DIFFERENT Vibes... !!!!!

More Like... " KEEP IT MINE ! "...

And For Those They DEFINE...
As... " Minds Out of Line "...

The Line They've... DESIGNED...
IS... " KEEP THEM CONFINED ! "...

Just Like The Fine Rhymes...
From... Poetic Minds...
Who Use ALL Their Might...
To Write For The Blind... !!!!!!

Whose Vision of... REAL...
Can Be... Quite SURREAL... !!!

Indeed... Quite BIZARRE... !!!

When REALNESS They Deal In...
Leaves Young BROKEN Hearts... !!!!!

They're REAL Like White Sharks...
That... Hunt In The Dark... !!!
And Seem To LIKE FIGHTS... ?!?
That Leave NASTY Marks... !!!

Because of The Wars...
That People... ENDURE... !!!

Because They Are REAL...
And Are NOT Quick To Kneel... !!!!

Talking of... KNEELING...
When Girlies Be SQUEALING...

How REAL Are They Being... ???

You KNOW What I'm Meaning...
of A... Morning or Evening...
These Girlies Be DEALING...
Like POKER SHARKS... "Scheming"... !!!!!

Of Course There Are GOOD Ones...
Who Deal In... REAL LOVE...

But They Aren't THE ONES...
Who I'm... Speaking of... !!!!!!!

The Ones I Speak of Are REAL...
YEAH... REAL FAKE... !?!?!
NO NEED To DEBATE... !!!

FAKE HAIR...
FAKE EYES...
FAKE NAILS...
FAKE MINDS...

The One Thing That's NOT FAKE...
Is What's... Between Their Thighs... !!!!!

MOST Now Should Wear SIGNS...

"I KEEP IT OPEN,
BUT THERE IS A PRICE !"

And NO I'm NOT Joking...
These Girls Are REAL BROKEN... !!!!!

So I'll Speak On The Guys...

REAL Gangsta' or PRANKSTER... ?!?
These Days You Will FIND...
An ABUNDANCE of SLACKERS...
Whose Gangsta' DEFINES...

A... BIG CROCK of LIES...
And Being Called WANKSTERS'... !!!

When It Comes To The Women...
These WANKSTERS' Contrive...
To DROP The... RIGHT Lines...

VERBAL or WHITE... !!!

To Get Women SMOKING...
The WRONG Kind of Pipes... !!!

THIS Time... I AM JOKING...
Quick Question … ” AM I ? "...

My Rhymes Are Inclined...
To... Summarise Times...
And Human Designs...
That People Live By...

UNLIKE... " Keep It Real "... !!!

That's Just A Cool Line...
BEHIND Which People... "Hide"...

How About... KEEP IT RIGHT... !?!
Or As Said... KEEP IT TRUE... ?!?

Well Let Me Just Tell You...
My Theme's... KEEP IT ME... !!!!!

If You CAN'T Keep It There...
Then Folks... TELL ME WHERE... ?!?

TOO MANY... "Conceal"...
And See MORE APPEAL...
In KEEPING It...................... FAR.....
From Who They... REALLY ARE... !!!?!!!

So... Buy Into STARS...
That HAVEN'T Seen MARS... ?!?
Or... Planets AFAR... ???

Because They're RIGHT HERE...
HUMANS... Get It CLEAR... !!!!!

Who Walk Down The Road...
of... ACTING For SHOW... !!!

How REAL Can They Be... ???
EVEN When They're... OFF SCREEN... ?!!!?

I Believe KEEP IT CLEAN...
And Now... KEEP IT ME... !!!

So NOBODY Can TRY...
To Say That... I LIED... !!!

Because... What I Now FEEL...
Is MOST PEOPLE... "Conceal"...
And DON'T Like To REVEAL...

So What Is The Deal... ?
... When They Say...

... " KEEP IT REAL "... !!!

i treat profanity as i'd shakespeare, given it's the 21st century, its mightily odd, but necessary, given the specialisation of bypassing the middle-men, and becoming engrossed in mint-fresh "print"... hell, imagine marquis de sade without profanity, all i can imagine is a calculating constipation artist.

the ego's worth of question,
given that thought is:
question perpetuated -
do the gods remain worthwhile
toward the child... or the man?
is man worth a gods' presence,
or is it, a child?
  i find that thought, being
an anti-thesis of sense -
overcomes the sensuality
of the five, that be
the sixth refining "achievement"...
if thought be not a sense,
why is it, sensed?
                 the question is
not that of morals:
why do we sense a moral question,
          when while sensing a question
there's no guarantee of a question at all!
        mere thought does not translate
into a "sense" of hearing, or of seeing,
or any other parameter akin...
to summarise beyond sense:
a moral, question.
                     cogito esse caecus sensus:
to think is to be blind to the senses,
and to think via a blindness regarding
the senses, is to be morally upright,
    and to be morally upright,
        is to have a morality cleansed from
having to make a "moral" choice...,
       the trinity that god exists,
is as measurable as whether god, does
exist, as is the sameness of the argument
whether thought exists,
   as is whether god can exist
beyond the animate or the inanimate -
or whether thought can concern
itself beside narrative, without a
desire to incorporate choice....
    whether thought can be anything
beyond the lazily invited narrative...
                  to imply a desire to express
the nadirs of either good or evil,
    or the zeniths of good, and, evil.
god is just a minor enigma in the scale
of things worth investigating,
   thought is the most recurrent phenomenon
that cannot be grasped by
schoolboy error of phenomenology -
           mere thought is more interesting than
god...
                   given that
there's no kantian antithesis for
the patriarch of existentialism:
  what can arrive from noumenonology -
given that post-modernism arrived from
the precursor of existentialism, i.e.
phenomenology?
                   i'm subject to as fascination,
regardless of the almost ancient dualism
which is actually a dichotomy, akin
to medicine and quasi-medicine (psychiatry) -
       in that there's
the notion of *cogito reflexo -
       and the cogito cogitatio -
               thought as a leisure activity -
    to think reflectively,
but at the same time not conjuring up
narcissus...
   and then there's thought as reflex,
which is hardly a thought (an ought)
to begin with...
                 for all i seem to care,
thought believes itself to be the puritanical
narrator,
                      it is vox primo se,
per se, pro se, and nothing more,
which is just a nibble off the idea of "god" -
the freedoms we adore to exist in our
heads, we translate into a belief of
the same mirror-bound object of our
original intent,
the the child in us dies,
and the games we pleasured ourselves with
so do too.
                   imagine:
to fear madness more than death...
as they say and continue to say:
a death is the end of life,
but alzheimer's?
that's a death within a life that knows
not either the beginning or end
of its life, nor the beginning or end
of its death.
god is but an inanimate object
in the enigmatic sense, compared
to the animation of mere thought...
        human thinking overshadaows
an existence of a deity...
                       by said calculation,
to imagine an animated god,
is to make the idea of god non-existent,
which is also to imagine
an inanimate semblance of thought
consistent with a counter-inanimate body...
impossible!
  the irritability of the existence
of thought is comparable with the already
irritating answers to the pentagram "questions"...
but when it comes to by bewilderment,
the existence of thought is
   more devastating to question,
than the existence of god is to be
answered...
              after all, thought does not
implore prayer, but a god does...
             thought is self-perpetuating,
it's the only genesis ex genesis ex non genesis...
        at least: deus habeo autem genesis -
               at least god has a beginning...
thought?
                                 thinking as no
genesis...
              the mere existence of thought
is more perplexing than either the existence
or the non-existence of god,
since thought could be the balance for
a moral ought that we transgress...
                and not abide by...
               or could be much more than:
a narrator's preferential desires to
mask behind a puppeteering scheme
of wild-card antics.
to merely contest the existence of thought,
is to immediately distrust the
existence of god,
since that sort of belief is
invested in an inanimate object,
whereas the concern is to form an
inanimate narrative from a holistic animate
"subject", worth a "competence" to
be guaranteed an ego.
                 who the **** cares
if god exists, i care whether i exist!
i better not be plagiarising someone,
or running the text verbatim
of an "original" intent!
   existentialism, the bastion of saving grace
against post-existentialism,
i.e. deconstructionism -
paving the way for reconstruction -
a language once opaque -
   once this that & the other -
necessitating a revival in an interest
in poetry, and the instruction manual
simplicity, of an i.k.e.a. staccato put together;
because authoritarian rule
couldn't decide whether to call it
index, or whether to call it, thumb;
i hate stressing a "need" for an uncomplicated
use of language...
     the crude tongue for limb attempt -
even as much as the post-modernists
are worth being despised,
   an overly simplified use of language
is twice are bad as the jargon of parisian
  jeromes...
                because the antithesis of
the postmodernists is that:
there's always some impeding
   and a necessarily "to do"...
actually...
there is no "necessarily" to do...
there is, rather, necessity of
                           the necessary being...
we can do blindly,
     it's only by being enlightened
can be forthright: beyond
                   illuminated, i.e. illuminating;
and yes, i always imagined
myself being a con artists,
esp. this current vocab of mine...
a con artists, who conned people,
  writing motivational self-help books;
i wonder whether i could pull off
being a con self-help guru.

More Than Gorgeous
Deep Brown Eyes
Smooth Tanned Skin
To Just Summarise

She Needs A Hug
She Needs A Kiss
She Needs A Lot
Let's Go Get ******

Green Goblin Grass
Glass And Jewels
She Need Some Fun
Let's Get A Pool

She's Almost Perfect
A Sight To See
Pain To Numb
Filled With Glee

I could spend a lot of my time writing of the ways in which you make me feel
but really, nothing can summarise the way that you laugh,
or the way that you smile at me,
when I say something dumb or confound,
or tell you that I love you.
Nothing could represent the tilt of your head,
or the dent in the corner of your mouth
or the way your eyebrows raise in sync with my own.
I can't put into words the feel of the butterflies knocking against my ribcage -
fighting to escape from my abdomen -
jumping and clambering up desperately until they reach the back of my throat.

Nothing can tell anyone exactly how I feel about you.
I think maybe that's for the best.

because why would you want to write something, that might make people do things? why bother writing coherent instruction manuals for televisions? why not write "incoherent" Kandinsky moments? why not go along to the Cabaret Voltaire? why not say that the only twists in the plot of philosophy books is based upon contradictory statements of the narrator? why even bother requiring that Apollonian sensibility of making things ultra-geometric rather than hyper-geometric? if there's an opposite argument, i would recommend reinventing the ******* wheel.

the difference between a pretentious ***, and a pretentious ***
that has any venture into a self-reliant awareness
of the thespian act,
  can summarise it by using the pronoun
scalpel -
        i wouldn't go on youtube and talk...
luckily i know how the pendulum of
power wrecks havoc -
never feed them regurgitated passive crap,
get them flexing the mental straits -
get them to the gym!
       for the love of doodling -
              and all the reliefs from thought
being dubbed *agony, and subsequently
institutionalised and given the jacket
in which you can't scratch your head, or nose.
just like today: i know that i don't
have a novel in me... schizophrenics on
the other hand are walking examples of a novel...
     just look at them like an atomist might
and you'll see the electron smog
         making them finicky between engaging
in pro and neutro.
                    they have decoded language to
the point of language being rejected as sacrosanct,
iconoclastic, muscular verbiage...
i like them... they're my culinary patriots of
the same (dis) negation of ease...
         and was it not said that to classify poetry
you have to rhyme, as it was later termed:
to classify philosophy you need to ask a question?
why?
        can i just call philosophy a need to encode
something? i'm making parallels with modern sprechen,
   i'm liberating myself while in the background
people are writing code and deforesting the Amazon
patch of land.
             and i never bothered to write in the pixel
market-place: ta' 'un fo' un' banana!
i never left a single comment in the comment section
on any website...
   websites... funny concept...
   they're like a library with only blank books in them....
  you enter and scribble on as many books as
you can... you never really have the audacity to
hear someone else talk...
you're always gagging to write something on
a blank page... like a graffiti artist...
   or a giraffe... but the bricks are approx.
   the segments of Beelzebub's eyes in pixel...
but i could have used the article scalpel -
which is a proto-Socratic variation of the debate
concerning particulars (the) and universals (a)...
   or... i'm pointing as something clearly defined,
or i'm a magician conjuring up something
that hasn't been clearly defined...
   and the 20th century summit of philosophy,
the pronoun scalpel said i (self) and you (other) -
subjectivity objectivity tumbleweed and a whistling in
the background...
     man and his extracted canvas...
hardware and software...
                        the barons of software cannot
understand the importance of hardware,
hardware is always the lesser thing of interest...
butchers and surgeons...
     while the software brokers known as
psychologists tell you to paint a pretty picture...
let it be known that Freud created the psychoanalytical
scalpel, he coined is as the id -
vector, pointer, incisor, that... later morphed into
verb-neuter: it.
             is my writing perplexing?
  isn't the world perplexing? we get exposed to so much
variation of what function we are supposed to
   perform, that we aren't being taught the grit & grime
approach of telling people: money has absolved us
from thinking of any nation, of any tribe,
of any ethnicity, money can't rekindle tribalism
of "primitive" societies... why then fool people
into having these intense convictions of "belonging"
and "solidarity", when the world still stands
on a cliff of (a) takes out the garbage, (b) sells you
underwear, (c) fixes your car, (d) speaks for
you before a judge with some authority... etc.
  and i'll write ******... why?
i thought you might be more offended by
a dyslexic variation of certain words...
but then i have this book - the ****** factory
by gil scott-heron... the revolution will not
be televised, that guy... mjumbe is Swahili
for messenger... i feel itchy...  i feel this
orthographic urge pinching me... primarily because
english as a language anywhere and everywhere
doesn't even convene over the concept
of orthography, because it doesn't have a concept
of utilising diacritical syllabification of words -
   when i look at english i'm watching ***** amsterdam
hoes doing the hokey-pokey, ***** ******* me
       to replace my eyes with a pair of *******...
    m̄-júm̄-bé... there, now that looks like a proper
cane, cravat and bowler hat gent, walking
   into a 20pence per use toilet at Liverpool St. station...
    because it was never about writing
an instruction manual for a "do it yourself" selling
price of an Ikea table...
                    that's why i said m̄-ài or (ma'ai) -
mmá ài          - well, there was no point in elevating
the competence of literature by forging a forgetfulness
   when reapplying a second level of configurative
complexity with the little additions,
otherwise known as trying to imitate the semitic practices
of words and women, hidden.
                 it was never going to work...
    but that's what we're left with...
     a gigantic mess...              every single one of
us to our idiosyncrasy - or collectively bound by idiom,
   which is the opposite side of a piglet-skinned european.
       it's still bewildering how chinese ideography
survived... maybe because it was always abstract
    skeletal, and not hieroglyphic definitive owl,
snake, or pyramid...
                  all dues to them: invest in complication
prior, move away from sing-along a-to-z simplicity
and save money on the health service when
people get erosion of the brain while watching too
many voids, encapsulated by q, r, o, p, a, d, b...
        we have as many ailments as there are
easily accessible routes into speaking this ****** language...
and the reason behind why so many accents
exist of it being spoken: because there are no
diacritical regulations to talk chav or cockney in
the first place... or why people would
make this eloquence of abstracting sound with
            modern acronyms akin to c u l8er.
the fact that i'm writing this partially intoxicated
makes it all the more pleasurable, relaxing even,
        would i write something sober sometime?
once in a blue moon, when i'm feeling constipated
and get a headache... it's sign language from
here on in, like this mobile phone advert:
   phones (index + thumb extend, other fingers folded
to imitate a telephone)
    for (4, folded thumb, four protruding fingers:
  index, middle, ring and the pinky) -
you (u, the bullish horns of rock and roll,
   headbanging and a few dead brain cells, \m/,
i.e. protruding index and pinky, thumb folding
a clenched marriage of middle and ring fingers)...
  as it goes... when i read a message by other people
i usually bypass the emotional content,
   and sent them packing to Alcatraz with a bunch
of chinese chess masters.

Someone once asked me
To describe you
They wanted an answer immediately
And they wanted a detailed one too

I attempted to find a way
To summarise your existence
And I asked them for another day
But they lack not persistence

Eventually they granted me
A minute amount of lenience
But quite frankly their request was preposterous
And a huge inconvenience

How do I describe someone
So full and complete
Yet so barren and cold
Someone without a heartbeat

I tried to tell them
I tried to tell them who you were
But my words tripped over my tongue
And their interest didn't stir

I played them some of your favourite music
Songs that meant something to you
But I must say they were quite choosy
They hated all the artists you knew

Perhaps they would appreciate a visual
Something to display your personality
You're such a colourful individual
I simply couldn't convey my thoughts ;        they didn't see what I see

I gave up
No one understood
They didn't know you like I did, dear
They didn't know they should

How could they have known
What they'd be missing out on
And now I'm out here on my own
Still cheering you on

And so I gave them a conclusion
In exchange for my release
"He's ripped at every edge
But he's a masterpiece"

No.
No they didn't get it
How could they ?
Did they ever ?

All I think about now
Is how to capture your essence
How to describe how wonderful it was
In your presence

We always did live in our own world, dear
And I know we saw it as our one
But sometimes I wonder what would've happened
If we let them in on the fun

You left me behind
Like something old replaced with something new
And now I'm left wondering
How to capture you

I live to speak and dream
And to have a lot of ***
To self observe, to criticise
The things that I know best

To run and jump and scream and cry
To make no noise at all
Listening, imagining,
To ******* and to crawl

What are the days, the things we say
Those on whom we depend
Our deepest lies, we summarise
To lovers and to friends

A heartbreak, an art work
A scowl or a smile
All tangled up, in everyday
I'll just watch for a while

i look at you
and my mind rehearses

lines of poetry,
words that define
the creases around your eyes
and the way
the deep brown haze
glimmers like a million stars,

sentences that describe
the way
your smile taunts
even the saddest of minds
into recreating that
perfect half moon,

emotive imagery
that instills
every heart in the universe
with the feelings
that you
cause mine

but no words
can summarise
the details of you
because you are
complex
and eternally endless.

I came to realise that the girl I passed on the street who didn't smile back wasn't ignoring me because she was consumed by a deep underlying sadness
She was just a girl who didn't like to smile

I came to realise that the abandoned house I pass each morning doesn't have a dramatically tragic reason for why it had been abandoned
It was merely because no one seemed to want it anymore

I came to realise that a lot of people aren't cruel as a defence mechanism due to wars that may be taking place in the furthest corners of their minds
They're just cruel

To summarise
I came to realise
That life is only as meaningful and poetic as you fool yourself into believing that it is

We worry
next we worry
about our worry
  we persuade our self
  not to worry
   and not succeeding
   brings in a new worry
   to summarise:
   the culprit is
   the first worry
   which leads
    to the need to worry
    then that worry weighs on
    the second worry
    a vicious cycle
    settles in
    and there's nothing
    to stop the worry
    so used to worry
    the worrier couldn't be happy
    if there were no worry
    believe me
    this is serious poetry
    not reckless comedy!

they are to never find a path, akin to our,
an insomnia of the sun,
they are to be forever quasi-Eskimo
blonde...
               but the English are *******
prunes in that department... ******* prunes!
hawk-nosed liars!
                         pop and the great escape
of anger...
                      sheer me custard-skinned
and i'll do the tøtengruß salute...
Stasi... right to poach the "free" people,
simply meaning: the impolite people...
i too wish thing were different,
and we could summarise over tea and biscuits...
but some people have never experienced
the notion of the flux, or: change...
they're still strapped to the Mary Poppins
of imagining things...
had i a son or daughter, i'd never have either...
because i wish i had wanted either...
but never care to churn a cherishing of as said:
totalitarian memorisation in me overtook
thinking, i simply stopped thinking,
memory demoniac took over:
the renegade in a Swedish village was never to be,
the internet gave the public a moral compass,
and moral superiority, meaning
that artists had to agree to a public moral
consensus, or write no art at all...
ending in? ****-poor art, or no art at all:
hence, the applause... well done;
well done. you've just invented a ****** communism
that suffocates everyone... well done...
speaking as someone who's ancestors experienced it
first-hand with the Mongolians... no!
there isn't an advert involved! you ****** up!
you little ****** crazy squatting at university
born at 5 a.m. thinking is going into the bin!
that's where it belongs... ******.
i have to ways of saying tøtengruß... you,
i presume, have only one...
just you watch me mark you idiotic by a
non-existent plebiscite...
is it alright? first of all you'll soak me in honey,
then walk me into the desert, then the bees will
come... then you'll disperse...
as you have already... then you'll start to think:
who's y neighbour? should i ask him
for a spare cup of sugar?
then the neighbour will reply you:
that idiot is blasting music at 11 a.m. and
it's disrupting my sleep! lock him up!
and then you'll go among the throng and think
nothing, and comply, and just, shut, up;
like you were meant to.

When I was certainly sure
You broke my faith
At the eleventh hour
When I was about to pave
My journey alone
You tracked my way
When I was going to decipher
The codes of life
You jammed me with more mysteries
I can summarise
In a nutshell
You are the one of my cacti
Who gifted me a world of hell
Thank You for this blissful present
Which had left my soul a mere barren tract..

Forty thousands, love has bound us, tied us up yet not confound us.
Are your lips an image fake, or has my mind just come awake.
What has happened darling mine, I thought I had you all this time.
Was I wrong or was I right, to love you this much, to put up fight.
I was wrong and so's my brain, for thinking we are one the same.
Follow me for I am done, no more love is there to come.
So maybe wrong or just insane, I summarise my life in vane and so I beg you girl, all I've ever caused was pain.