The rainy season is at
The door once again,
And loneliness has
Brought me a new pillow,
But who is to defend
My repugnant soul?
Can it be the Gods?

Hear this! The rain has
Began knocking at my
Slammer door gradually,
Oh no, it is knocking
And wailing so heavily,
With his icy voice
Of storm and cold
Arresting my hearty dreams,
But I will retch at his smell
And hurry for my handkerchief,

Where is my lantern?
May be, the native doctor
Has the answer to the
Cylindrical jar containing
Her eternal juniper organs,
Indeed, it is my misfortune
To go about with the priest,
For even the child of
The priest even dies at noon,

Ah, I thought she was
Vigilant and ever-ready
To make the debtors
Chew the palm kernels,
But she became the
Portion of the exterior of
The *** that skin can cover,

I have lost my heaven,
Oh no, I have lost the
One whose neck is like a
Bunch of small-fingered plantain,
I have lost the whetstone
On which I sharpen
My thirsty sword to
Perform deeds of valour,

Let the Gods weep!
Let the ancestors wail!
Let the people of Africa,
Give me condolence of
The talking drums,
For their child is gone,
The wise woman who cut
Her thumb in order to get
A wise husband is dead,

Mother, the Okro full of
Seeds of children and literature,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
The toad likes water, but not
When the water is boiling,
Send me something
When someone is coming,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
You and I exchange gift.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
  then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
           journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
    you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
   even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
   man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
    in terms of history and biology:
     history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
   well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
                  after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
   monument valley: utah...
  a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
    ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
           just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
   that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
   that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
      it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
               not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
  i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
        talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
                        so here's what i found
   (band - song):

wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
                                                mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
    smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
               unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
              jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
                   datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
   colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
                    earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
   zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
   rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
     kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
              the secret - bell of urgency,
      unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens  -
                                                out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
    ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
    lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
     wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
   goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
   earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
           tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
      burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
        slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
         shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
     sutrah - el septimo viaje...
  

who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
   imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
   to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
      you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
     sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
     to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
    drunk? getting there...
       it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
            while buying a russian
standard liter,
   asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
   but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
   so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
   rekorderlig...
   mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
    sorry... magners:
               irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
     but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
  ålska and K  ö   nigsberg
                            *œ?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
    cider...
- what was i talking about?
  ah... the "dreaded" past...
     the people who say:
  but you can't live out a life,
   holding onto a private past,
a memory...
    so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
                i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
   and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
         one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
    and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
           to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
          i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
        of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
    however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
  is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
      there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
    "dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
    given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
   working from dasein...
            hierjetzt -
      or in english?             presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
  that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
   the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
   that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
  and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
     but with my privacy?
    you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
    and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
           i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
     two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
   glass of warm milk,
  an egg yolk,
     and a good scratch of butter...
  (on the rare occasion,
  milk infused with garlic)
mixed together...
before bedtime...
  if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
     well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
        in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
       no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
   the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...

  and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...

oh i get the youtube creators:
   living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
        annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
  i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...

men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
   ah ha ha!
             what's the ratio?
   last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
   mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
                    seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
                    when Islam was quiet radical...

well... i cook, i clean...
                what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
              rent, in london?
extortion...
                   housing shortage...
                 well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
               or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...

   i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
      no... not really...
          i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
               honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
               get the picture?
                 paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
   maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
         books and music...
                     mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
  neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
           aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!

i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...

two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
    clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
   what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
          oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
       even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
   sign-language: na migi...
               i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...

i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...

that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
             a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
                 old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
        what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
          you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!

integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:

y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!

there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
       as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
   wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?

   so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...

it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
           jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
      clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
              but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
                 casimir III...
                        jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
                           kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
  gott mit, uns!

              mit eine leben wert leben:
    erinnerung ist die nur kino
             wert sehen eine film beim;

hell... could be worse:
   i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.

reinventing the resurrection of the Roman Empire with
a pseudo-Christ in tow will prove fatal -
or simply propelled to an established
norm for all the wrong reasons
other than a quasi-Narcissism fully embracing
fetishes beyond the standardised
practises of human evolutionary concerns -
see how Darwinism is incubator
of fatalist vocabulary? too much arrogance -
they're nothing more than Spanish
Inquisition leeches - because when was
atheism intended as a fashion statement
with mismatched socks and matching
loafers? probably never.
we already sought to put atheistic economics
on the guillotine tablature -
the temple named: all men are born equal
was always Samson's prize for demolition's
just escapade, in or anywhere outside of
a Glasgow housing estate -
a Scot making a joke about Scots:
how was copper wire invented?
two Scots arguing over a 2 pence coin...
a stretch Armstrong moment i'd like to see.
all we need is Hillary for the unholy alliance
to materialise - the birth of horse racing
and womanised politics -
and are you the baby tarantula on the back
of mama tarantula? no? oh... don't
expect much from mama tarantula
if you're not part of her family and genetic vector.
the resurrection of the Roman empire as cited
by Divine John has a major fault...
the original intention prior to the authority of
Augustus was based on republicanism -
not democracy - the autocracy evolved from
republicanism, not democracy -
and if this be the McDonald model of work
ethic and success, it will be hard finding a few wise
old men to quench a rise in despotism -
the naive-expectation will over-power them -
we could see America as our safety laboratory once -
where the fates of Greek democracy and Roman
republicanism were played out -
rule of the many v. rule of the informed worthy few -
if elections came about the former would
have a lot of numbers anonymously signed X -
while the latter a few numbers but identified with
articulate signatures - democracy is basically
a stab in the dark, that precipitates to a vote of
no confidence - and an immediate imitation of
Pontius Pilate's quest for conscience and washing his
hands in pseudo-Dostoyevsky's the machinist,
with bleach - ****** courtroom -
when older poets recite their republicanism knowing how,
the newer ones recite their democracy knowing neither
how or why - thus the resurrection of Rome built
around democracy and not republicanism -
the washing of the hands and loss of conscience -
this prophesied resurrection of Rome was not based
on republicanism but on democracy, for the simple
fact that democracy had its martyr - a republican member
should another be fixed to compete with him -
no Platonic notation of the idea behind the republic
was ever established - but indeed a lot was noted
concerning democracy - which in practice wasn't
a practice in dialectics, but in dichotomy -
the polarisation of opinions in the simplest terms:
man v. woman, old v. young...
the republicans only had one dialectics ruining them:
the dichotomy between one man and the many -
is man to be as automated as insect or Satanically
rebellious and in his own sway "himself"?
there need not be a conjuring of biblical myths with
this concern - man was not temped for insight
into the disparity of good and evil and subsequent
confusion of attributing each its invested share
of expression in the world of choice -
but man was made an ontological alliance with
the famous villain (i too, akin to Milton's sympathy
a pledged allegiance do make an oath to consummate
a rival marriage, kindred of celibacy shared
by truth or perception, royal, named Elizabeth I) -
for if not by rebellion Satanic not make elemental conquests
or at least improve on them?
Francis Bacon died attempting to conjure up
a refrigerator with a dead chicken - dying from
hypothermia, or a really bad cold; never mind that,
if the resurrection of a united pseudo-Rome is to be
established it cannot take root in democracy -
but it already has, and is doomed to fail
given one of its former provinces risked all to exit -
it has to be rooted in the origin, in republicanism -
but it can't take root there, given the lost vitality of ancient
old age and modern old age leaving behind
only disparity - audacity of youth in every sphere
of life - and the blatantly over-stretched comforts of
old age - the American experiment of having
democracy v. republicanism staged failed -
that was the intention - to see which one was more the success
story of the revival - i appears neither or precisely both -
in that democracy has fuelled the city-states once again:
globalisation and the city-states: London, Paris, Germany...
they exist as separate entities in a web segregating
themselves from national politics and associating themselves
in global politics with only their counterparts -
the Greek city states have been revived by such dynamic;
so if democracy fuelled that, then surely republicanism
has fuelled what happened in the British exit from the union?
coup d'état in Turkey (on the waiting list, joining in
2020 along with Serbia and Albania etc.) - if you can't see
xenophobia and a choice of politically correct vocabulary
you don't see the naivety of Polish pensioners and English
pensioners - Turks at home in Germany - but let's revitalise
the memory the Iraqis share with Mongols and the sacking
of Baghdad and the Siege of Vienna between Turks and Poles -
i've assimilated into British society i don't identify with
such ethnic historicity - i was taught history including Roman
conquests; do i think the Scots will break from the Union?
i think they'll break for ethnic moral - that's
the other member of the unholy alliance, a real cat fight,
2nd Ms. Thatcher in Downing Street? the youth voted
in - the old voted out - when they were concentrating
on the gender gap a milieu gap was convening -
outside of London the impression of the family environment
suggested the youth didn't vote, in the urban environment
youth mingled with youth, to later hear their parents
or grandparents were dying ****-stained in care-homes...
strange: you always seem to wish to be part of a Mongolian
horde in such times for the oddest but the most blatant
reasons... oh yeah, and i read 5 books today...
well, i told you, once you read enough books of your
own choice you end up reading poems and reviews to
give yourself some slack...
- les parisiennes by Anne Sebba (review by Daisy Goodwin)
  (always women reading books by women,
   and men reading books by men... what sexism
   in this post-sexist culture of FEMININE EQUAL)
- Paper: passing through history by Mark Kurlansky
    (review by John Sutherland) p.s. best citations
    from this review... maybe some other time...
-  The Age of Bowie: how david bowie made a world of
     difference by Paul Morley (review by Will Hodgkinson)
-  the Girl who Beat Isis: my story by Farida K(h)alaf with
    Andrea C. Hoffman trans. by Jamie Bulloch (review by
    Catherine Philp)
-  Pinpoint: how GPS is changing our World by Greg Milner
    (review by Damian Whitworth)
and finally...
- All things made New: writing on the Reformation by
    Diarmaid MacCulloch (review by Robert Tombs)...
                                indeed,
                                 the terrible has
                                 already happened;
never leverage on
a positive thought when
working from Pompeii -
as the lessons of failure
from the past magnify -
there is nothing
but hindsight and pessimism
in the past to unearth -
while uncertainty and optimism
toward the future readying
itself for the burial rites
of the already unearthed artefacts
in continuum imito (in a continuum of imitation).

God Exists

The world has a funny way of reminding us,

God exists.

Sometimes I forget,
the freedoms I have as an American,
and I take these freedoms,
for granted,

but then,
the World reminds me,
and I remember,
that God exists.

God exists,

I see His Light’s reflection,
in almost everyone,
from the lowest slave,
to the highest pharaoh,

God exists.

For example,

I was on the train,
to Luxor from Cairo,
Aaron Lux headed to Luxor,
it only makes sense,

on the train I met an Egyptian man,
and I took this as divine intervention because I don’t believe in coincidences,
he worked/works for the United Nations,
as an assistant for economic development,

his English was perfect,
better than most Americans I know,
and we talked on that train ride,
to Luxor from Cairo,

once we arrived in Luxor,
we both parted ways,
but we made a plan,
to meet up the next day,

and we did and we went,
to dinner I brought a random Japanese girl,
we ate camel on a rooftop,
overlooking the Luxor Temple,

in the distance,

the lights of The Valley of The Kings,
reflected on caves of tombs such as King Tut’s you know what,
sometimes seeing death reminds me of being life,
and being life reminds me that God exists omnipresent in all things.

God exists.

We talked,
on that rooftop overlooking Luxor Temple,
we talked about philosophy and religion and politics,
and also about some new stuff,

such as the Arab Spring,
and each other’s family,
I told hime I was trying to reunite my parents in Thailand,
because of them together in this lifetime I have not a single memory,

and I’d like to see my parents together at least once,
before one of us three dies,
because you don’t get a second chance,
to live this single life,

I,

asked him about his parents,
he said his father had just been abducted,
by the Egyptian Secret Police,
see that’s what you call Boy Interrupted,

but this isn’t a cinema,
this a real life drama,
and I saw this young man of maybe 22 years old,
had had to grow up so quickly because of such adult sized problems,

he said he didn’t know where his father was,
he said the police had taken him just a week ago,
because his father was on the wrong side of democracy,
I guess that’s just how it goes,

see his father was part of The Muslim Brotherhood,
and had supported the Arab Spring,
which in turn had supported President Morsi,
who was elected democratically,

but old habits die hard,
and the Egyptians know that better than anybody,
not much has changed there’s still pharaohs and slaves,
this country is still ran by an aggressive military,

he doesn’t even know where his father is,
or if he’s even dead or alive,
but hopefully he doesn’t end up like Giulio Regeni,
found in a ditch with an X carved in his forehead and gouged eyes,

I,

realize,
then that I know nothing about “struggle”,
I realize then that the 1st world has nothing to complain about,
it is in that moment that reality popped my ignorant idealistical bubble,

I know nothing about trouble,
I come from a country where people complain about everything,
we get upset because a traffic light takes to long or a waiter screws up our order,
we feel depressed about nothing but we know nothing about real struggle or pain,

I will never again complain,
about being an American,
I mean my God this kid had his father abducted,
and he might never see him again,

God blessed it feels so good to be from a country with real freedoms God Bless America,

and I’m saddened and grateful at the same time,
I’m saddened because no kid should have his father taken,
I’m grateful because I was born in America so I’m entitled to amazing freedoms,
and I believe in the American Dream still wide awake in a country that feels Forsaken,

but there's no Sutherland,
in the original Empirical Motherland,
just brutal reminders resurrected like Jesus on Easter,
or King Tut's curse from Luxor's sands,

I am,
blessed to have freedoms and others don’t have,
simply because I was born as an American,
and I thank God for that fortuitous fact,

The world has a funny way of reminding us,

God exists.

sometimes I forget,
the freedoms I have as an American,
and I take these freedoms,
for granted,

but then,
the World reminds me,
and I remember,
that God exists.

God exists,

I see His Light’s reflection,
in almost everyone,
from the lowest slave,
to the highest pharaoh,

God exists.

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

www.amazon.com/Aaron-La-Lux/e/B00ODPJAOK

When I was stationed at Enoggera, as a young platoon sergeant with 9 RAR, a Merino ram was offered, and accepted, as the Battalion mascot. The diggers called him Stan. The brigade RSM of the time was outraged because he viewed our adoption of Stan as a direct and improper play on his surname, which was Lamb. And, of course, he being as bald as a coot the diggers called him Curly. As I recall, Stan was a lively, ill disciplined beast with little respect for the niceties of service life, hence:

When Stan-the-Ram met Curly Lamb a fracas did ensue.
For Curly stood beside the road just outside B.H.Q.;
His Sam Brown belt so shiny, his pace-stick 'neath one arm,
The RSM of our brigade was used to war's alarm.

But Stan, although a raw recruit and barely chewing grass,
Unimpressed by Curly, charged and knocked him on his ****.
"It's contact rear" cried Curly, as he struggled to his feet,
Turned about with arms akimbo his assailant for to meet.

Meanwhile Stan's poor handler looked ready to desert
'cos Stan-the-Ram whilst in his care had Curly eating dirt.
I guess he felt embarrassed, which was natural, wouldn't you?
If involved in such a fracas outside of BHQ.

Your questions are but natural and in answer I can swear,
As these events unfolded I was marching off the square.
Having Just dismissed defaulters I was feeling rather mean
But my despondency was lifted by that ****** glorious scene.

And in the mess that evening rang out laughter clear and loud,
For I'd told them all my story and of Stan we felt quite proud.
There was Sutherland and Massingham, and Peter Cowan too
And Tim Daly called **** Gordon from his room, well, wouldn't you?

And when **** heard my story he poured port into a glass,
And we drank a toast to Stanly putting Curly on his ****.

Preparations are gearing up for the iD Dunedin Fashion Show, which this year opens with a tribute to Australasian style on Anzac weekend.

The 120m-long platform of Dunedin's railway station is again the venue for shows on April 24 and 25, which are preceded by the iD International Emerging Designer Awards on Thursday night at the Town Hall.

Saturday night is sold out and about 100 tickets are still available to Friday's show, organisers say.

Labels Carlson, Mild-Red and NOM*d, brands synonymous with Dunedin fashion, were in the original show in a local bar in 2000 and they're still show stalwarts.

Company of Strangers, Charmaine Reveley, DADA Vintage, Storm, Perriam, Deval, GG (from Shanghai), Liann Bellis, BEATS clothing, Jason Lingard and Jane Sutherland are also strutting their stuff this year.

The shows open with a section titled Together Alone, Revisited, put together by Doris De Pont, featuring garments by four New Zealand and three Australian designers shown at an exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria in 2009.

International guest judge Doris Raymond, the star of documentary series LA Frockstars, is also bringing some garments with her for the show.

The owner of vintage emporium The Way We Wore has a fabulous collection of outfits and she will talk about them at an event in the city on Friday.

Six fashion graduate designers from the Otago Polytechnic School of Design will also show their collections in the shows on Friday and Saturday night.

Garments made by the winner of the emerging designer awards are also in the show.

The finalists were selected from nearly 100 entries from seven countries and 14 fashion schools.

There's a strong showing from Australian schools, especially from Sydney, says judge Tanya Carlson.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

The best thing about me is that I'm mute
I can say whatever I like and no one seems to hear me
I like being mute
I don't feel the guilt of my words
Because they go unnoticed

The best thing about being mute
Is that I can throw my voice around
And I can scream my words of pain eloquently crafted into the night
And I'm not deemed, "drama queen of the year,"

The best thing about being mute
Is that I can I sing "Hurt" at Joan Sutherland volume
And the only thing suspected
Is that I'm widening my range
Becoming well-rounded in my repertoire

The best thing about being mute
Is that when I'm approached by my comrade
Four years my junior
And am scolded for not taking care of what I was "supposed to"
And now HE must bear the burden of my carelessness and selfish tendencies
I can drop my vacuum and set down my washing
Beseech him to not use those words against me again
And am later chastised for usurping my lieutenant's role
Out of personal, hormonal hurt
No-one suspects
The fact that I am scolded in this way
Means that they don't hear

And that's when I start to wonder
When my throat is sore and my lungs ache
If I'm not really mute at all
And if they're just deaf

The best thing about being mute
Is that no one hears me at all
No fingers of shame and eyes of admonishment are cast

The best thing about being mute
Is that I can look in the mirror and tell myself,
"I'm strong"
"I'm smart"
"I'm generous"
"I can do it"
But the words mean nothing
If there is no fog of breath
Ghosted against the glass

My love knows no Louis Vuitton  or Cartier
she doesn't belong to the city
she lives in a farm with her parents and siblings
in the faraway country.

My love thinks not of manicures
her hands are busy in the soil
the flowers and plants relish their tender touch
from dawn to dusk she does toil

My love didn't go to uni
but she knows Keats, Byron and Shelley
even French, German and Russian poetry
lots of Sartre and Camus--she takes delight in philosophy.

My love is no Maria Callas nor Joan Sutherland
but beautifully she sings Schubert's lieder
opera and folk songs she takes delight in
like none other

My love never had music lessons
how she excels on the piano
she plays Mozart, Beethoven and Bach by ear
at the music-hall the villagers love her as she plays solo

I am the son of old John Mac Gregor
her next-door neighbour
I  went to school never
too shy to date her

Dad and mum said
learn to write poetry
send her a sweet love poem
if she likes it, she will marry you---happily!

This song, the man influenced my writing throughout my entire life
I think of it/him
often
as inspiration.;
Here’s a tale of a simple fool,
glance at a page or two
laugh ha ha
but you blush a bit
For  you realize
while you’re reading it
it’s also
reading you….

I write  myself a note each day
I place it in my hat,
a wind comes by
the hat blows high
But
that’s not the end of that.
For all around the world it goes
it lands here right beside myself
I pick it up and
I read the note
which is simply
to remind myself
I’m CJ Sutherland
that Who !
I’ve kept a journal since the age of 12
I have 40 of them Today. Writing is
who I am
it’s not WHAT  I do.
I would like to know
from everybody
who reads this
WHY DO YOU WRITE
What motivates you?

Draped in the Dior,
Gold diggers treat me like I’m Superman,
But I ain’t their saviour.
Materialism has turned some into caveman’s.
Entitled Karen’s that scream for the manager.
******* unenlightened specimens.
Dimes thinking they diamonds…
Yeah, diamonds from the dollar store.
Don’t look now, Donald Sutherland!
Affairs don’t fair well, at least for the common man.
Where it’ll leave em more down under than an a Australian.
And if a baby come in the picture,
It’ll cost ya just ask Nick Cannon.
Gotta keep that 100 acre wood in check,
& definitely don’t forget to protect ya neck.
Uh…
******* think I’m eeyore,
These ****** named sally;
Don’t know **** outside a seashore.
If they only knew;
I stemmed more hams than Seymour.
I may not understand the matters of the heart,
But I do understand it’s all the same in the dark.
Smell the blood in the water,
Yeah baby I’m the shark.
But before things get to serious,
Like a good old sailor I will depart.
Because I’m A most wanted man, like Phillip Hoffman.
That will never lose their decorum, unlike Roseanne.
Because I’ve witnessed worse ****,
Than x-mans last stand.
******* think I’m ludicrous.
Although I’ve had good chicks and bad chicks,
I believe that the comparison is superfluous.
Also, I’m not that fast nor furious!
But I am on the cusp of greatness,
While others are stuck in stasis.
The same ones whose words,
Are more cheap than Payless.
******* be like Betty Botter,
They be bitter and bother brothers.
That butter em up till they toast.
Should’ve listened to the warnings of my mother.
But it’s hard when you’re pride, not the only thing being stroked.
****, gotta watch out for ***’s and robbers.
Gotta watch out, because consequences have a cost.

.well... it happened... no point feeling better... but tool's fear inoculum at £26 with a book... it could be worse... guess i'll have to buy aenemia - having scratched it too much...

here's to... celebrating the glorification
of: shooting yourself in the foot...
and then doing a tango
while hopping on what remains...
here's to...
suppose all russians are geniuses:
suppose all russians are
a tchaikovsky - a tolstoy -
a kasparov -
                sorry: but that's truly
stretching it...
the russians were not also
black sheep and drunkards of
siberia...
  no truly: i think i'm done...
loitering with expectations:
       there was some standard of
hope long long, long ago...
tumbleweed and the smell of
burning rubber...
          it's still burning in my mind:
3 months ago...
you seemed fine...
on thursday grandmother called
and said that you were
entertaining agonia -
i was getting readied to fly over and see
you...
by 8am the next morning
she called again saying you died...
you were apparently wasting
away for a month...
each time we called she would
say everything was o.k.,
talk about the already worst
nightmare: re-a-li-ty (forgive me but
i will not invoke the proper
phoneticism when the word
is dissected using compound
hyphenation)...
a month ago, she could have called...
but... it's not like your death
was "sudden"...
i have only one sense of orientation
now... to salvage
the unsalvageable...
that opening quote from
anna karenina:

   all happy families are similar to each other,
each unhappy family is,
unhappy on its own terms...

hell... who needs to read the rest of
the book... replace the word
family with the individual (bore)...
spice it up with an -ism
and there you have
a workable categorical imperative...

it's not a happy truth to move forward
but it's the most reliable:
a thing of beauty - something probably
generic - easily replica riddled...
like how all babies are generic
in their physiognomy -
or old people...
                       unless of course...
it's a donald sutherland...
            
   i knew my grandmother was: x, y and z...
the "conspiracy" she started to knit with
her son...in conversation through the past 3 months...
just tiresome personal affairs
of the family:
    but you never expect it...
probably because you never want to imagine
how ****** things become
how you're stitched back together
using quasi anguish bordering on anger...
you want sorrow... you want closure...
but sure as **** you're at best
going to be tease with apathy...

   as ever, mr. numb-******* comes along:
this was a sudden death:
perhaps i was lucky enough
for the death of my great-grandmother:
teasing 91... a truly sudden death...
well hell: that's closure...
but a death kept in secret...

and all the hot picks concerning money:
7 months worth of pension "savings":
hardly a ******* hoard from under
the belly of Smaug...
that he died "brainless"...
yes... that's how you do it...
you call a day prior to the death
and then on the day of the death...
because... there were no 3 months prior...
because: whatever needed to be taken
care of... would be...
oh! oh so overwhelming for agrandson!
that it would require "professionals"...

it's hardly possible that my grandmother
is a maniacal *****...
come to think of it...
she doesn't deserve a description of evil...
that could be ascribed to
a vampire... perhaps a zombie...
but not a cenobite / xenomorph...
a zombie as bland as: horror staged during
the day: never to explore the architecture
of a night...

- she had three months to call up and
give clues:
his death will not come suddenly...
but she didn't...
- obviously she wouldn't...

well i'm almost jealous of other people's
families...
a caring grandmother calls you
some time before dearest grandpa ***** off...
but no... she called a day before
he died: in hospice... where no one
is given entry...
a day later she calls up to inform
the dearly beloved: he's dead...
3 months prior:
       there was a line of progressing
to the ultimate deterioration...
and death...
                my uncle her son even came
a month prior: insinuated about
putting him up in a carehome...
such grand talk of "perspective"...
and while the coffin was laid to rest
she was chewing gum along
with her son...

that i was born from her daughter...
family... oh family....
yes... i have been robbed...
i have been cheated...
whatever strangers have up their
sleeves...
i never expected those
of the same flesh to have...
such! ingenious plans for numbing
the heart!

if i tended to his nose-bleed
i would have tended to his ****-soaked
adult pampers...
if only for a sample of his old self...

no... these words are no good...
it is what it is...
it can't be anything more...
it will never be anything more...
i just imagine that cows are
brought to a greater pace
of peace in the slaughterhouse -
here's me chewing metaphysical
meat: a memory or whatever it is
i was supposed to inherit for a while...

and when she dies... grandmother dear...
looks like... i will probably
mourn a fleeing shadow come
the night when i will walk into
the forest and howl and call the for the beasts...
i don't think my grandmother
deserves to be mourned...
no... clearly...
                    right now she's just a familiar
face...
an annoyingly familiar face...
not enough mascara of lipstick could
disguise it:
but enough sandpaper just might...

the same day he was placed into the earth
i sat by the grave and played
with a candle...
i probably played with silence...
no great ode: no do not go gently
into the good night...
               i have no rage:
my heart has been thrown into
a mountain and: how unshakeable it stands...
how part of the whole...
i clench my teeth and pray for
tears:

                  apathy has suffocated
anger rage and grief...
until i face myself as the inquisitor for
the 3 months of silence...
and face her...
i'm sure she will disguise the answer...
how pitiable this old woman is...
how barren her schemes...
her last "victory" is...
                       a sentence i cherish more
than ever:

yeah, grandma, ******* soon,
the sooner you ******* the last reason
to visit Poland will have been
erased...
no... i will not visit that land
as a tourist... i'll wait for the tongue
to die in me...
with this enough of english...
yeah, grandma, ******* soon,
i don't feel like visiting Poland:
birth-land - any time soon.

I started my young years
Watching right on on television
Keeping up to date on my fave music
I thought I was the only one who loved music
But then I found out the real music fans
Loved young talent time and countdown
And I was watching them a bit
And I bought an album called CHOC-A-BLOCK which was a bit like the chocolate ice cream named choc-block really tasty
Then I watched the local soccer match where the local boys Lakes United were playing after feeling fit and tired running in a church carnival, and each this morning we watched the breakfast club, which was a children’s morning cartoon show they had in Newcastle with Art Ryan who had a Nick name ‘poppa’ and each morning when they delivered the orange juice my brother and I went to the door to collect it and banged our heads on the wall as I was thinking the song the Judas Priest song get arrested for breaking the law as we banged our heads on the wall and we used to tape tv shows like mork and mindy on cassette from tv and you could hear the background noise and when robin williams said at the end see you next week, my brother on the last show said, hey it isn’t on next week, I was walking to the shops to buy to buy lollies I came home and my dad and my brother were watching the cricket and then banana splits and in other room mum was watching bellbird which in some episodes me and my brother talked through it so she couldn’t hear it and then the underarm ball happened in the cricket with Greg Chappell asking his brother Trevor to bowl an underarm bowl to stop the 11th place batsman from hitting a six and this was outrageous because he wasn’t capable of hitting a six like that
They only needed six to win and we went to my nannas house and me and my nanny watched 70s rock music concert and everyone on everybody gave me a rock music concert cassette and it got me closer with my brother who fought constantly like all brothers when we knew nothing about each other and nanny used to hold Christmas every Christmas night while granny used to do Christmas Eve and my cousin Alan played Santa and nanny’s do and I used to count the dongs on granny’s clock and when it struck seven I got up to watch the breakfast club
This was every weekday morning and every afternoon I loved the Mickey Mouse club but granny loved talking on the phone and someone rang about 5 minutes before the Mickey Mouse club started and I had to lip read it for a while and every Saturday morning we watched SOUNDS with Donnie Sutherland and me and my brother said daddy Summerville as a joke against daddy’s age and I was bullied in a taxi with the only good thing about it that we got off at the oak factory to buy a fresh ice cream, we loved to listen to our fave music, I liked the beach boys and my brother liked the Beatles and my dad loved jazz and mum loved the soaps back then but not now, when I moved to Canberra I found out about Australian rules football where we all went for Carlton and my brother and I played Aussie rules competitions in the front yard and occasions a few of my school friends walked past teasing me because they were jealous of my great imagination playing footy in the front yard, what is he thinking and I had a rough friend who bowled like Harold larwood and a strong league tackler and at that time he was a good friend along with Brett and Brian and Carla and frank as I invited them to birthdays where we had donut eating contests where we hung donuts on the clothes line and we tried to eat the donut off the line before it fell off the line to it’s timely death and because we loved to camp as a family in a tent, I wanted to put the tent up in the backyard and we all had slumber parties in the tent pretending we were camping with family, our stuffed animals were the kids, when we played front yard footy we used to go to the squash court to play squash and I played racquet ball and I was pretending to be the footy player unwinding after a long day of playing footy, and afterwards we went to the Yass footy club for dinner and I made rissoles, orange pork chops, and other things and we all pretended to be in a restaurant ordering the same music
I used to play bus routes where I pretended our drive way was the Belconnen bus interchange and I drove all the buses in and I developed a few new bus numbers like the 666 Which went from kippax to Belconnen to Dickson to city to the airport to Manuka to deakin to Woden to Cooleman court to the cotter and finished in Tuggeranong and I used to collect toy cars and smurfs and bus timetables and I was the go-to man when my parents wanted to catch the bus, I used to play tv shows in my room on my granny and nanny’s front torch with people telling me to be quiet all the time
I watched rage and I sang all the songs reading the words from the cassette cover and sometimes when I sang music with my cousins my uncles and aunts were wanting me to stop because I dragging their kids down the wrong way and I played with two cousins in the pool having a lot of fun and I was letting the kids do anything, mate I was just a kid and a mate jumped on and off the pool ladder going the big ummmmmm
I was scared and sat there thinking of all the fun I had as a kid, who cared if I got teased I had fun
Ya know fun, it is what people did before computers took over
I was a normal child

your compliments are overwhelming
never have I felt so much love, so validated
it feels like a ticking time bomb, too good to be true
I'm not used to this feeling, and I don't know if i'll ever be
strangers across the screen who may be miles away
nicer and kinder than the people I call family and friends
why do you take the time out of your day to compliment my words and sentences?
why do you say such nice words although you don't know me?
Lumim, CJ Sutherland, Liana, Sora, friends and supporters I've made here
And so many more
Thank you

Our sins are back.  And they're ******.

                  - Keifer Sutherland
                         in Flatliners