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PK Wakefield Nov 2010
(1)ones laughing like a dog with 2 22's
who're like 3: a whorish slightly giggling mess
3 prods the carpet by footed semblance of leather
assembling her flesh in the left corner of a lazy
rectangle cinema cube. 1nes still cackling throat
******* cords vibrating stupidly on every face              with the 2 maybe 23's

mouthhanding and eyefucking with his fat grunt syllabary. 3's uncomfortable
atthe sycophantic panting of her 23's atthis masculine discharge
wetting the silence a pulsing ***** of tongue barking *****           .     as an usher ushers fleetly our
moist intellects to the quiet little. the quiet little notch. of waiting excited
screaming visuals a screen crucified blathering.

the 1's ungiddy prance detonates by the skinnyjeaned legs pumping fetid motion. in company of long femininity. and the ovals of 3
grate swift bile at they're lump. and they swallow inthedarkness
his moronic spit. and puke  .    .                                        .
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
the older i become the more it hinders my output:
volume, quality, whatever you want to call...
perhaps it's censorship (in a way) -
a ****** lenovo keyboard: not wide enough
to properly place my hands to not look down
but ahead at the genius of QWERTY...
since... believe me: the classical order of the alphabet
conjured up by the French (perhaps i'm
remembering incorrectly) is not really important:
what matters is the entire body of the scripted
language... words don't unravel from a prerequisite
of abcdefghijklmnopq...rs...t...u...v...w...x...y...z
is that all the letters?
i actually don't know fingers dart backwards &
forwards... or, not really... when playing this
"piano" anyway: as long as all the required
letters are invoked in the required words:
hey presto! meaning!
                      there ought to be 26... funny...
there are 32 letters in the ****** (western Slavic)
alphabet... the same number as the teeth
in my gob...
but sometimes i "lose" a poem... whether it's censorship
when i make a post: ****! gone...
or whether i'm callous with the ctrl + c / + p / + a
scenario when i drank a little bit too much...
i don't know... perhaps i'm writing for
some elite that doesn't want the public to read
my work... i like to think of it that way...
but losing a poo'em can become so disheartening
that i i sometimes want to forget that i speak:
let alone write... now longer periods when
i can rekindle a makeshift monologue:
but then i have to find something technical in language
to reorient my purpose...
it's becoming less & less easy...
esp. since i'm not writing fiction...
  just... grass is green... butternut squash soup is
more than hearty: but it will never match up
to my better take on the Heinz canned classic... period...
not enough chilly in the Heinz... canned classic...
& never eaten with a slice of bread...
it requires vermicelli... like most soups do...
like a decent ****** chicken broth...
which also requires... well: poaching the carcass
but  base set of vegetable...
a leek... a celeriac root slice...
parsley root... a carrot... garlic... celery stalks...
parsley - the green leaves...
salt, pepper... & vermicelli...
oh... & plenty of time...
i'm disheartened when i lose a piece of script:
it's not Shakespeare (obviously) but so much emotion
can flow into the cascade that:
tabloid newspapers are given bragging rights...
are, ahem... "important"... so... my writing...
whether by censorship or not...
or my clumsy fingers when putting across
a body of text from one canvas to another... goes wrong...
hours become days when i find a new:
desire to write... since... writing is much easier
to thinking...
writing is much easier to thinking...
as thinking is much easier to speaking...
- but all of a sudden my life has changed a little...
writing is so much easier when you're
not "doing" anything...
mein gott... poems flow & flow... snippets
of narrative arrive at your forehead & fingertips like
postcards from your ex-girlfriends missing
you dearly from exotic locations: as if being married
& having children is still not enough because:
they didn't have your children & aren't married to you...
the poo'em i lost was about... two days ago...
travelling to Wembley Park for... an induction...
the role? being a steward...
i figured: enough of youth can be wasted on dreams...
literary dreams...
let's inject some... proper... grass-root ambition
with... RE-AH-LI-TY (****... phonetically that's
REE-AH-LEE-TEA/EE/AE)...
this writing "business" isn't going at the pace
i want... sure... i can brag about...
wow... almost 40 thousand views of one poem...
there are over 6K poems of mine, just here...
Wembley Stadium can host 90,000 spectators...
one poem of mine can muster up... almost half
of the capacity?
not bad... but... not good enough...
lucky for me i can relate for this sort of thirst when
drinking... sometimes i'm content with
a bottle of wine... at other times i need a liter of whiskey...
go figure... but not when so many idiotic pundits...
when there's this media masquerade happening...
i'm in the shadows: i'm listening to what people
are listening to... i never leave traces in the comment
sections: a waste of time...
makes thinking about certain things easier:
when you don't air your opinions...
after all: that's pseudo-rhetorical...
the true art of debate is... withdrawing from:
debating... the dialectical position is:
first mind diacritical marks (sorry... none in English,
& yes... it's still more ugly
when phonetically charged with graffiti "mishaps"...
misnomer: "shortcuts")...
- where was i? oh right... perhaps i "missed" something
in my original lost sample of a narrative:
although (last time i checked)
this website provides automated save as drafts
when you stop typing - after a prolonged period
of typing: my bad...
writing is so much easier when life is uneventful...
i could tease that word: uneventful into
a katakana syllabary: i almost want i almost have
to i therefore (not almost, but) must:
un-eh-vent-ful...
oh look at that: sitting pretty like a toddler
with a drumstick of a chicken (leg)...
**** it: my writing is going nowhere...
i have more ambition to simply let it... sizzle in its own
juices: or whatever better expression is handy...
none come to mind...
i need to look at people: i need to study people...
the internet is an echo-chamber to begin with:
it used to...
a jukebox narrative... such freedoms were
once available... mein gott... what music
i discovered when foraging on youtube...
in two years... gone... the algorithm got ******...
period: bad grammar is an exemplification
of this load of: hot-steaming... mix of **** & *******...
i need a real job... wasting my youth on writing
is not enough: perhaps my writing will catch up:
or my readership will... either way:
i'm not aiming for anything under
the title-weight of a Bukowski:
lucky ******... but i'm also not aiming for
the almost near obscurity of... the Black Mountain poets...
who was their leader... Larry?
Lee-rrr...       eh... it's not like a tarantula didn't
crawl into an English mouth & "somehow"
numbed the tongue for the end result of:
nein zu tremolo! ****'s sake... if i only asked:
why the French Fwench... but they hark so:
never mind...   yes, yes... Larry Eignar...
**** me... that took a while...
but there's another... a "renegade" on the...
ha ha... steppes of "Cambodia"...

          Russell is a likely connotation...
but incorrect... let's see....
     wait... Charles Olson... ol' Ollie...
he? he was a black mountain poet?
you ******* kidding me...
no chance in hell that will pass by me
given.... concerning his Maximus poems...
like: **** no...
i'm a critic i'm a nobody i'm a porveurour...
now i remember the ******'s name:
Robert ******* Kreely...
him! Kreely: Creely... Creeley...
**** it... fling in the vowels...
lets see what sort of a trebuchet **** master
you... ought... might... make.
oh.... wait.... important "news"...
an... apostrophe "missing": plain Jane typo....
where?LET(')S i.e. implying the shortening of:
the inclusivity of the collective... "US"..
      wunderbar!
                 schön!
that's the umlaut O... ergo... shoo... shoon...
great!
                           kaninchen und...
                        rosa ball-ons!  
i know a ******* balloon from a *******
ball-on... it's like telling me...
what's the difference between an omicron
and an omega...
i.e. do you really need to tell me
the difference?
sure... if it was an upsilon: you *******
clueless Greek!
what audacity:
you ******* clueless... Greek...
what... better some Iranian...
arriving from... Belarus?!
oh sure... i really want to live in Kenya...
among the ivory beauties with skins
that hide their bodies...
******* milk on toast... some chocolate:
sprinkled... i see teeth & sclera...
& some mahogany...
  ****? i'd **** anything that moves...
even south Korean girls geared up for a game of....
ping-pong....
my bad... what?
or is that: WAT like... WATT...
the energy unit or the Samuel Beckett novel
that over-competes James Joyce's Ulysses?!

your is the roulette... yours... hmm... your's...
for a while... the latter was underlined...

life used to be so much simpler when...
language could speak for... "itself"...
no one could use it: somehow, "somehow"...

i applied for the role of a Wembley Stadium
steward on a whim...
i thought: **** it... writing is not going toward
a projected: Ginsberg stastus...
i'm not going to compete with the leftoid jargon
of the 1960s... lucky me...

i'm just a terrible "millenial"...
i use an apostrophe like i migh5t secure understand
of the Pythagorean hypotenuse...
some C "squared"...
Wembley Stadium steward...
this... cacophony of hierarchy "suddenly" hits me...

i can understand authority...
tier one, tier two... vampire... zombie...
sure, sorted...

of the supposed 12 rules for life...
one of them reeds... i suppose that's reed: read:
reeds... sorry.. n'est ce pas...
pet a cast on the sreet?
you know, how hard it is... to pet a cat..
on the street?!
if you lived in England...
wolves... what wolves?!
foxes... oh yeah... plenty of those...
but... petting cats?
a bit like explaining...
a jpeg. take up less volume... ha ha: "volume"
than a pdf. file...

why i was mo4e than ready: i'll never known...
perhaps i'm a closeted fan of Ed Sheeran,
perhaps i like children in the role of:
a fathering figure...
perhaps children like to
poke my beard & lips...
perhaps this... perhaps that...
perhaps i'm ******* Santa Claus...
or what's Satan's Claus(e)....
all these freebies... cough up!

or... i just like making people "feel" included:
"feel" is one "thing", REALISED... another...
it might sound like newsspeak...
but... i don't want to ingest another...
Manchester Bomb Arena spectacle...

SAA... a week in Brixton... 7 days...
but they require a cohort of at least 12 applicants...
it elevastes your status as steward to:
someone who can: "juggle"...
be legally obliged to utilised force:
if necessary...
i like... i like... i like...

first ZOOM call in my life... ******* Ludite...
luddite... ugh... that double D kills me...
surd: you don't hear(d) to: begin with...
so... what... spelling "mistake"?

oh sure... the ****** transit & traffic...
train from Romford through to Liverpoool St...
then the Metropolitan Line to Wembley Park...
great... the arch...
a black coffee from McDonald's & two croissants from
Lidl... morning... done...
no more... morning sickness....
come late afternoon Somali girls eyeing me up in a black
tie... o.k. sure... fair game: "gamble"...
hunting what?
i like this understudy of what's man...

i arrived an hour early...
waited the tad bit... of a little... we exchanged formalities... but then i watched as...
two groups formed...
the ****-shock-show of the multi-cultural urban... ahem... "class"... with one rep. & the other... mostly... asian men... with their... asian rep...

12 rules for life... seriously?! do you know how hard it is... to pet a cat? sorry... can i make you reiterate... petting a cat... lucky me... for petting two cats today... "strays"... but... do you know how nearly impossible it is... to pet cats, is?! you don't pet a cat because you can... you pet a cat out of the whims of: the cat willing you to pet it!  just like i like... sitting on my windowsill listening to foxes bemoan their lack of ****** adventures... it's England... foxes... ergo no wolves! d'uh! cull the foxes... you cull the erotica of the nights!

between... sigourney weaver... &...
mmm... winona ryder...
raven 'air...
two winners... how harems work...

Tuba Büyüküstün...

apologies for the phrasing...
if all the supposed gems not donning niqabs
that are western women
are so... *******: NIGGERCOCK mad...
Tuba Büyüküstün... oh... look at me...
you think i want some anemic blonde:
stereotype?!
raven... hair!
sure... the black male specimens are
handsome, attractive: if i were a woman:
i would... ha... "problem"...
why don't i want to...
the ****** antonym... because a white girl
really wants to... do a black guy...
do i... "have" to have the same
compulsions with regards to a black girl?!
Turkic! **** yes!
Mongolian... probably!
Tuba Büyüküstün...
or... swans probably don't have necks...
no... swans probably don't have necks
when you see this:

(although sophie skelton looks
better in the initial photograph...
papa best preached)...
swans don't have necks...
not with her...
around... to... curate... a balett of
nodding  approvals...

Caitríona Mary Balfe... i'm so loved up...
in that i once remarked in private:
bemoaned: that the Scots have forgotten
their native tongue...
swans have no necks...
swans don't need necks...

the neck of Caitríona Mary Balfe
eyes... too...
or the short-styled hair... & eyes
of Tuba Büyüküstün...
don't get me started on the hands...
those petite Antoinetes of joy...
the most ****** aspect of a woman is bound
to her hands... i'm missing a knuckle! or at least
*******!

woo-man!                         woe-is-me!
woe-is-man!             woo-man!
i'll bark i'll gargle... not for the sold-cold "soul & eternity"
of the d.n.a.:
but rather for that Muhammad never achieved when
competing with King Solomon!
then again... King David had the better tale...
the love of music, the writing of the psalms
&... defeating Goliath...
king Solomon was... compensating with
the excessing in the exploitation of women...
eh... Solomon &... proverbs can be tested...
true... or untrue...
but psalms... unconditionally...
sung... or... lost...
no antonym-synonym dynamic...
you either remember or you forget...
you don't merely remember & pseudo-remember
via changing the narrative a little: or a lot...

what a neck... on this Irish beauty...

two frotiers formed.... one side...
the cosmopolitan, readied to talk to women
in possible women in authority, etc.
whatever are the preferenfes....
i really adore the ROYAL: third person:
ONE might...
or the plural WE....
"genger plural pronouns":
not since the existence of the "crown":
i am subject to ol' Lizzies stipends!

i am her mouthpiece wherever she's:
not m'ah ******* grandma!
on zoom calll i was sked....   (scared, for sked)
what were British values....
i was asked....
i replied... universal?!
i passed some mythological...
Kennsington Test...
ooh p'ah! ******* hurah
join the Union Jack brigade!
who's kidding who?

              the red coats are coming!
last time i 'eard?
not enough of 'em are "coming"...
come to "think" of it: beside staring at goats...
"going": where?
do "we" need to "go" to Afghanistan
when... Afghanistan is coming to us?!

sorry... what?

two groups of people at Wembley...
mostly Asian men... an Asian rep...
& a group led by a Jewish girl...
talk of tortoises...
Sikh... Tamil... Sanskrit... men...
& women... ******...
Stalowa Wola: Iron Will... which is
an actual town...
Harry... the guy with tattoed hands...
Ewelina: Evaline...
**** me... another single mother...
how many more single mothers will i have to pass?!
i don't mind it:
ancient Rome replies with:
the surrogate father...
chances are...
i could be a bad genetic partner...
i wouldn't mind... raising children that weren't my own...
i swear to the only god available on such
matters...
he'd just nod approving me as
surrogate father...
to hell with it...
CORALINE - DREAMING...
ancient Rome sends you a postcard...
you'll reply?
        no? fair enough...
i could i wish i could...
a little: BAMBINO of my own...
bit then again...
investing in so much of my own...
what if... they are killed...
hell! ****** is one "thing"...
but what if by some stupid circumstance of
a traffic incident?!
ergo?
i very much like the idea of raising children that
biologically "belong"... ahem...
"elsewhere"...
not their souls, their minds.. though...
n'est ce pas?! VOU... that's not how
ALTHOUGH is assembled?
AUL: ALL.... VOU? it's not VOW...
ate the G... no, kiddy?

i love children... esp. those that are not my own...
i could love them & love them like
an Abraham... nein... i could love them like...
a god... i could love children in a way that...
mirrors.. the moment they arrive at...
exploring the game of:
hide & seek...
there was never any playground invoked
to summon: the game of bulldog...

i'm glad i have no children of my own...
more of my seeing and less of the eyes of my "choosing"...
petty tender heart-felts: demands...
i'd rather father the children of "unavaliable" fathers
than father my own...
ancient Rome is messaging you...
dearest...
   look how much easier it all becomes!
you raise someone else's child... but...
should said child die... become murdered...
erm... what of it?
a statistic... i feel no inclination to give a ****...
i invested in the mind... the soul...
the body can ***** itself to death...
as it does... but it's not my own...
i can be as much detached from its fate as is most purposively
ridden: to riddle me...
i'm glad to not raise my own!
it dies... it's murdered... do i care?
no... life replaces life... here we go: the grand
carousel... it's not like i have name like:
McKenzie or... McDougal...
so... no... no lineage... i'm a baron of the most
atomised of times... the individualistic
sanctity: real or supposed...

ancient Rome replies:
the negativity of single mother households....
compensated with... the freedoms of...
paternal surrogacy... give me a break!
ha! it's Eden! i come with not leverage of....
ownership! i owe nothing due to
the Darwinistic impetus!
i'd be freed from whatever is expected of me...
there are no investments...
in pronouns... might we:
the royal one?

ha!

it's no much easier to have children
that turn out to be girl...
ha!

i'd rather be a surrogate father to a "daughter"...
come to think of it...
i'd only want...
to be a father... to a son... biologically....
a daughter can...
Mayflower herself... or ***** herself all she wants...
from a father: unto a son...
like that "******": Matthew & Son (cat stevens)
or... "dreaming": Coraline...

the inquisitive cat... the teenage girl...
the "felix"... the Urdu... somewhat...
the inquisitive cat... kommen die nacht....
alles ist nacht...

if there's no democracy in poetry:
then there's no democracy at all!
maxim: non-la-rochefoucauld
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
somewhere between:
the mash and the fury... sycamore feeling...
shades of marble...
   & neverglade...
                
can you really... live... enough?
again: can you live... "too much" or
live "too little"?

i imagine myself living a life
of the highest expectations
in the full view of the public...
then i drift and recede among
the shadow-folk...

if on that blatantly glaring
carousel of ups-and-downs of fate...
bound to nothing more than
the gambling of gods...

perhaps i haven't lived some magical
quota of "enough":
to leave a statement akin to:
life is beautiful... even due to all
the suffering...

      perhaps i have attempted to live
the minimum of what might
be expected: if not asked of me to live...
perhaps i didn't want to...
congest my faculty of memory with
too many... repetitive: anti-introspections...
perhaps too much of the same
"thing" wouldn't allow me
for a cinema of... circa 10 very distinct
memories...

how "they" eroded our faculty of memory
when we were still children...
spelling... arithmetic...
random historical dates....
we weren't allowed to remember
something beside was kept in touch
with the narrative of the past 100 years
or so...

have i lived enough: or perhaps not enough?
perhaps i have forged
a memory bank of about 10 memories
that i keep like diamonds...
this sigma-sum of me:
how i might gladly give up these limbs...
to be a thought inside fire...
or water... to be restored to my original
dismemberment...
of how this body came together...

live "too much" and i suspect you won't
be able to remember... a third of it...
this "too much"...
live "too little" and i suspect:
your memories will be of no use...
reduced to the ash of...
2 + 2 = 4 / a b c: barnacle rigidity...
philosophy...

memory is such a fickle creature:
perhaps it would be less fickle if it wasn't
eroded at first by pedagogy...
would it be oh so embarass...
   embarasing... embarassing...
embarrassing... i was going to get
the correct spelling one way or another...
to forget spelling altogether and
make a barbaric return to pure
phonetics... perhaps even as far as
Japanese syllabry... syllabery...
   syllables... katakana: syllabry...
syllabary... syllabery... syllabary...
              
freel will: it's not a question of whether i have it
or don't: whether i'm labouring under
Greek fatalism of German Protestant docrtine
of predestination...
memory is a fickle creature:
i can't remember what i've like to remember:
to hell with all this memory recycling
and forgetfulness...
it's not even that i forget certain
events in my life by choice:
but who or what has staged authority
over me: to remember the "things" i do...
beside the vanity project:
in no way is this a source of becoming
something better: or for that matter: worse!
just... immobilised in this cosmic stasis!

obviously i can't remember everything:
but why do i remember certain things
more: that i remember the spelling of words...
well: that has been drilled into me
with all the scrutiny of ember, amber and cold
coal... of the times when my eyes disappeared
into being fully pupil:
the iris and sclera having lost track of:
there should be an iris and a sclera:
now there's only a blackness...

it must feel terrible to have lived a supposedly:
enough... so much...
to later have no memory of said life...
a fate most cruel: esp. prior to death...
notably governed by the noun dementia...
elevated within the confines of Alzheimer's...
it must be cruel so cruel: to have lived
such a full life... yet not once...
probably never... strained the mind
to remember something trivial...
i have about 10 trivialities...
i return to them because: one must...
sitting on the curb...
at night... drinking... a she fox sits opposite
me on a green lawn...
we have a staring contest...
a woman is walking by from a social
event...
she walks past the she-fox... the she fox
is staring right back at me...
she ignores the woman who is: a *******
meter away from her...

i'm the supposed *** having a staring contest
with a fox at night...
the fox doesn't budge when she's staring at me:
not one bit she allows the woman to walk past
all done... in the confines of a silence
that could only emanate from the deathly hallows...
of the gallows...

running with deer: i was the only stag
metaphor ready to easy the traffic
while this tender creature looked for
inspiration to gallop back into the woods...
it still looks funny in my mind...
holding a can of beer
slightly overweight... steering this little
harem of deer back into the woods...
so the road could be unblocked...

coming out a drinking session from
a park... climbing over a fence...
picking up a disgruntled teenage girl...
rolling her a cigarette...
giving up my phone so she could text like crazy...
she just attended a house party...
had an argument with her friend...
leech...  we talked... she ran back and forth...
we sat down and talked...
a black cat came up to me:
i picked it up and caressed it...
the girl went twice mad...
oh we did find her friend alright...
lying face down on the pavement...
i ran up gave her my hoodie: which dwarfed her
even more...
the mad girl texted her dad about our location...
walking to location i flicked the girl lying face-down
baseball cap: it'll be alright...
said suspect was allowed a selfie...
the girls were taxied home safely...
hmm... Sarah... Everard?

hello warlock me... even by any standard of truth:
you know how impossible it is to...
be emanating what might attract
a black cat approach you in the street at night
sitting akimbo with a clearly distraught
teenager girl: she just leeched onto
a stranger who was climbing over a fence
of a darkened park...
cats are most suspect... a good tendency
to have... tendency: there's a better word for that:
scrutiny... better than scrutiny...
stereotypically sieving through bull-*******...

of the 10... these are the 3...
i'm not going to disclose the other 7...
well... 4th... the widow Swan or widower swan...
Zeus came down and decided to eat
crisps from my lips
when i was still with Ilona as we spent
the sunset at Loch Lomond...

i'll not go into the 5th... it would require me being
a child again...
it's so far dated... that it involves
me... the Danzig Zoo... and a bear similar to
me in height: and him eating a button of my
cardigan...
a traumatic experience:
he ate my button! he ate my button!

again: fickle creature: this memory...
but i guess people too busied with life...
don't spare it much attention...
they hardly invest in memory...
to the point that they forget they're somehow
alive and have to subsequently... shockingly...
"remember" that they have to die...
but... that doesn't happen and so:
dementia seeps in...
there's no science behind this theory
only the words behind them...

memory is sacrosanct: however fickle the ***** believes
herself to be: however much eroded
by the structures of pedagogy...
i somehow filtered through and "remember"
the glory of the Mamluks vs. the Mongol Horde...
but i have my own memories:
i don't suppose that one's life is supposed
to flash before one's eyes when one is
instanced to death's fore...
if you didn't keep "certain" memories
sacred like you might keep: arithmnetic,
spelling... or the geometry of the triangle...
what is one to expect if:
there's a congregation of cognitive failures
culminating in dementia?

i'd want to remember something else beside
what i grieve as being the kept "consolations"...
i truly do...
but what i keep seems to give me
the required momentum...
of the many prostitutes i...
                           well...
          good to know that i'll go down
in history as: the hearty-second-best of...
Jack the Ripper...
but history is not a theatre of good-will people...
is it?
perhaps the man-child complex
of the ancient Greek philosophers...
"complex": ha ha!
in the current climate of
the woman-child...
             i'm not going to bother: grieve...
do anything more than the prescribed:
as follows...

it was so much fun having to romanticize
women in my teenager years...
my 20s are amiss...
i came back to the "narrative" in my mid-30s
and... well... if i'm not ******* the queen
of England while singing songs
akin to; WERE DIU WERLT ALLE MIN!

as much as any: kinder or kind-at-a-loss...
come tomorrow's 9am...
i suppose i should be grieving less...
kinder...
  and all the jokes and balloons...
and... candy-floss... such are the demands...
such the times... such the impossibilities:
and the justifications for having them
to begin with!
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2020
to write and autobiography:
   better to write an autobiographical sketch,
like this one, for example,
a very same-same / mediocre /
uneventful / predictable /
     it only matters that i have
bothered to look at the clock and the date:
9:50am / ten to ten a.m.
    6th of december two-thousand-and-twenty
(6/12/20) -
because otherwise than that...
it's a "make-me-believe-otherwise"
sort of a sunday...
as such... yes... an autobiographical
sketch...
         if nothing happens by a standard
definition of what does happen
when autobiographies are written...
then at least: this happens...
language happens /
    my use of the english language
happens... out of nonchalance...
        or good humour...
             or a must celebration of
soberness -
               since, well... since at some
point weeks / perhaps months ago...
a saturation point was reached
and... drinking and staying up into
the night and scribbling became...
pickled in... monotony...
          to have drunk so much as
to be bored of it...
       or rather: to have drunk and
as a consequence... sat and then shat
on one's laurels - for lack of a better
expression... i.e. written ****-all!
or written something, which was...
substandard... which is worse than
having written: zilch! nada (ナダ)!
if Charles Olson can be a self-described
'archeologist of the morning...'
(i am deliberating whether
to spend £40+ on the i maximus,
gloucester poems - hardcover -
please... any cheaper?!)
   then i can be an autobiographical
sketcher...
exhibit (a)...
                 otherwise it only insinuated
itself yesterday, it being a ghost
of an idea that probably haunted
by mind for periodical bouts of
dangling etc.
             some better wording (rephrasing
necessary - but not here
or now)...
   the term "****" doesn't really
do it justice... but it's most certainly
a variation of archeology -
   notably / concerning what?
how the moon looks from beneath
a tree...
    in winter... when the tree is all
but the bare branches -
           like a splintering bone of sorts
like something akin
to the alveoli in lungs...
     but obviously less cauliflowers
and less pride of a full crop of hair...
/ no crown of leaves...
but it's how the moon looks from
behind those twigs...
     arrested and devilishly motionless...
add to this image the odd
cough-up of a murk / a murkiness
of a tease that might be
a freezing of candy floss...
that is a cloud...
    and... how nature abhors a vacuum...
and i guess i am simply
standing in someone else's place
just prior...
if it wasn't written down...
   it is now... but it probably was...
but not in this way...
and since man is the antithesis
of nature as such that
nature doesn't hoard and man
tends to - notably time and time
wasted...
   but how rooted into the earth
one can                                                 be
to stand before this archeological
find...
which probably isn't to be treated
as something archeological...
but peering at the moon
in said way.. with added derivatives
of elevated sensation...
and i am, most probably...
that same-same variation of
primordial man...
               perhaps not him:
perhaps with a syllabary or perhaps
with a D'OH     R'EH
       ド       レ       ミ           ファ(fa)
            ソ (so')                        チ          
                   (la la la la la,
la la la la la, la la la la la ' la la, la, l'ah...)
to sing a little...
               10:17...
                   and that's that;
i suppose i now have enough justification
for the day to begin, proper.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2021
**** me, what a... "predicament"... i'm applying myself to, eh... "cultural relevance": whatever the hell that means, even if enclosed in "misnomer" bracketing... but... of late, hell, more recently than "of late"... i am applying myself to a culture, a people, that's, simply put, a dodo-project... i'm not going to mind my contemporaries, i have three structural dynamics, all three are negations, i.e., since my grandfather died i have: NO peers, NO contemporaries... NO elders... i do have a graveyard of necromancy to deal with, i.e. my own private library, of actual, physical, stinking books... minimalist man and his ******* shortcuts, 'links in the disclaimer' blah blah blah... to write this worth of *******... while surrounded by a culture that, clearly, is hell-bent on... at best: shooting itself in the foot, at worst: committing suicide... because? oh.... universal suffrage... women... the instigators of downfall... women... whatever man built... has to topple, on the whims of a woman... it's not longer: woe to man... woman! it's... woman?! run! hide! save yourself... hunt a, ******* mammoth while you're at it! what the **** happened to romance? that ******, flimsy, whatever it was that was sold to us when growing up nearing the year 2000? gone... ****! in a flash... a droplet of water in a frying pan with a puddle of hot oil... in the meantime the ol' lovely jukebox that was once youtube was hijacked, circa... whatever year prior to 2020. I'm here, sort of waiting for death, death: by that i implore: release... as i also invoke the question: why do crows fly in pairs over England, while  on the continent they flock? huginn! muninn! truly, crows congregate in flocks on the continent... clouds of them... messerschmitt clouds or black, iron, crosses: looming shadows... yet over England... happy to see one sit it out, croaking, some the sunset, bound to find a crow paired... not paired up with a hooded crow, ever see a raven mingle with a magpie?! me neither... ever see crows display ****** attraction in a way that's atypical to pigeons, i.e. the whole routine of courting & subsequent failure? no... i guess crows do their "****" at night, in the forest, donning, for ****'s sake... leather S&M suits, gimp gagging *****, etc., no? no... i'm not writing this because it's pleasant, it's funny as hell (though)... but i'm sort of part of a culture that's dying... it's a dodo-project... this might be seen, if i am allowed, the same status as a mummy can... there was a man alive at the turn of the 21st century and he wrote, this... well... i'm all for hope... slowing down on the intake of alcohol too... i switched from whiskey to cider... her presto! i find myself animated... like cider was mixed up wit amphetamines, or caffeine... i raise my emptied bottle of cider like it might be a horn awaiting / celebrating a procession of a god through an avenue of spectators... i can't possibly here to "save" a culture, that, inevitably (however that might be phrased otherwise) is not willing, is making too many "anschluss" decisions... **** it... let it rot... let Pakistani men run rampant in Rotherham...  i'm just weirdly here, while it happens... Pontius Pilate once didn't say, while washing hi hands: i'll have nothing to do with this... let the dice roll... there's nothing to upkeep, there's nothing to conserve... questions, question: all that ought to be addressed by some supposed variation of an Elder... no elders though, just Alzheimer buggers... unto the youth, strain their shoulders.. perform the Atlas pose... ****'s sake... no! i will not defend this culture, i'll fake being part of it, sure... who wouldn't... thank god i didn't invest in carving replicas of DNA into this schematic... i'm happy not having children... oh i love the children of strangers, esp. toddlers... i can "talk" to them in onomatopoeias... that's fun... i can't disagree... no... beside this... no ******* chance in hell... hell first... my engagement in this world, second... i'm out... convince someone, otherwise, to take a spin, on your current variation of a carousel... what once there was, is no longer more, or for that matter is... sure... i will die childless, but also freed from the looming responsibility of the world in which, i left only words, but not a dire imprint of physicality having mated with someone, producing offspring... oh how glad i have to be! what relief! what release! if the structure of the argument follows its logical conclusion, one less of me, or a Russian.... then the Tutsi, Twa & the Hutu weren't slaughtered by Rwandian militias? my my, almost like the Yugoslav debacle, remnants of the Ottoman Empire... after all... it's not like the macaques staged a war against the baboons... come to "think" of it... i only visited Kenya to, "make-sure"... that the macaques were as boring, as easily spotted, as easily available as... pigeons... not a lot of birds in Africa... plenty of primates... falling asleep outside while those little rascals ravaged the possibilities of existence in the trees... perhaps the croaking of crows at night during winter is, some sort of "compensation"... but, not really...

my next door neighbour "thinks" it's necessary
to start rapping in the dark,
rap, or rhyme, whatever,
what a waste of breath...

there's a passage in Plato's Theaetetus
where Socrates
arrives at something
resembling a Japanese unit of language...
a unit of syllabary...
i.e. consonant + vowel...
why oh why does Japanese
allow for the stand-off with
the five vowels and one consonant (N)...

ΣO... something about knowledge,
so what?

don't ask: i'm grooving to...
Alphaville's Big in Japan...
to be a teenager in the 1980's...
going to the cinema with a sweetheart,
going to the cinema to watch
a horror movie...
hell... what a time to be alive!
Duran Duran, A-Ha... Roxette...
the Cure, Depeche Mode...

we don't have any cultural ref. markers...
Tool? seriously, o.k.,
i can give you that one...
i'm not even going to mention
the Comic Book film adaptations...
Unbreakable... that film consolidates
all the rest of them...
the soundtrack is tantamount too,
more a bonus than anything...

ΔO? do i?
well... ***!
ΔO is more: ΔΩ:

to doo... otherwise, what's that?
DOUGH?
we're baking bread, now?
oh the dreaded return of the facemasks...
muzzles... how near are we to a gallop?
there's no silent H in Greek...
"silent", technically a surd...
no, there's no dow or dough invoked...

i've just spent an hour writing up
a writing assessment for an NVQ qualification,
i find relief in having abandoned
all that formal language...
in the first scenario i was writing
a newsletter for a local volunteer project
concerning a recent vandalism of the park...

in the second scenario i was writing an article
to reply to a nutritionist on campus who
spotted that only takeaway quality of foods /
fizzy foods were available,
so no salads etc.,
she also mentioned that the students
were not getting enough exercise...
i agreed with the hypothetical she on the grounds
of food... but i implored her,
as a nutritionist... to not meddle in affairs
of exercise, was she implying that she's a nutritionist
AND a personal trainer?
everything hypothetically staged, of course...

ugh... this dreary formal language when employed
to examinations...
does my head in... no knowledge of the three dots
as an authentic punctuation mark...
the hanging suspense.

how do the Greeks laugh? if H is the capital
ref. to eta... is eta less prolonged than epsilon?
oh i know that there are obvious similarities
between Omicron and OOmega...

do: pool, do i just pull?
omicron, omega, upsilon...
sounds almost the same,
how the meaning changes when written down...
excesses, "excesses" of the lambda...
pulverise... most certainly not pull-toward-the-averse...

come 2am... all is self-evident...
i can't possibly be an additional chapter in
this culture's self-expression...
it's the end... a culminating perspective of cul de sac....
bring me fire, bring me waves...
even those ethnic minority groups
who have established themselves
in the parameters of this languages
are... pretty much aware that...
they're not safe...
well... their status isn't...

            i might think of myself as an Anglo-Slav...
but... there are plenty that wouldn't ascribe those
words to themselves...
then again... most Polacks are staying put...
blah blah, one confusion after another...
here's to planning a ***** colony in
Botswana!
me, you... let's hire a dingy!
let's cross the Strait of Gibraltar!

we won't worry... we didn't invest in having
children... don't worry...
it's not like the culture we were leaving was
anything but fair to us...
it was willingly dying...
i stopped to bother about it,
when it stopped bothering about itself.

strange... of a people that most espouse this
whole Darwinism tirade...
all ******* theory: very little practice...
the English be ****** for their Darwinism!
seriously!
all their little explanations, their ergonomics,
their ******* sensibilities...
their cricket banalities...
yet when facing an immediate and obvious threat?!
where's the carpet? where's the dust?
the broom! the broom! quick! quick!
******* to Devonshire!
people ought to learn to be heartless...
then again... when was the last time the English
were asked to be heartless,
when was the last time they were subjugated
by a foreign entity, in a historically legal sense of
noting history?

so much for their pompous posturing within
the luxury of historically reading about the greatest
empire that could ever be envisioned...
i wasn't there for the partitioning
of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth...
i'm so sorry that i missed it...
but i'm here for "this"... and boy... do i have a hard-on
for what's to come next...
i'm just waiting for the Welsh & Scottish nationalists
to put in some more momentum!

after all... if you're going to deconstruct Warsaw...
you need to do it: brick by brick...
so that... no brick stands on another brick...
here we go... looking forward...
a future: that wonderful plateau!
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2021
chukkie choke:

baha / ars
replica - res cog.
pap.                                502 error message bypass, now for
                            the actual content:

in my years as a hermit i could really appreciate
any and all interactions on the internet,
esp. those ones that were exchanged in a written
medium...
at school we never managed to get a programme
going: of having pen-palls in either Germany
or France...
i guess it would have been sort of: nice...
                since emerging from my hermit state
going back among people, into the workforce...
i'm finding... conversations over the internet:
unnerving... seriously unnerving:
all this walking on eggshells from time to time...
you never know who'll end up talking to...
in my training as a steward at football matches...
a scenario:
i'm paired up with someone pitch-side...
for an hour the hypothetical person in a hypothetical
scenario is going-on-about
how the team i support are ****...
London rivalry between the east and the north...
the east and the west...
i'd love to see a time when West Ham meet up
with Millwall: if i were totally honest...
but the training states...
talk to the person that's ******* you off...
first... before seeking help from your supervisor...
on the internet there's that easy button
to press: the block button...
not even at school was i able to be liked by
everyone... so... no surprises...
i much preferred being: reasonable than being
liked... nice lesson to learn in your
formative years...
that's the hypothetical scenario...
in real life?
me and Danny stood pitch-side about two weeks
ago at Craven cottage...
he supports Arsenal, i told him: i "support" West Ham...
the old West Ham when they could play
really good football against the high tier
teams... while at the same time
underestimating the teams below them...
he was ashamed of Arsenal, or rather: didn't care...
i told him... it's not like i could ever be
a fanatical supporter... have the team's scarf...
have the team's jersey, know the chants...
i just like watching the game... the per se closure
and opening...
local patriotism, for me... is a borderline between
London & Essex...
both get beef from the rest of England...
esp. Devonshire... western *******...
always the pompous ones...
but it's never a local patriotism that could
be translated to a support for a football team...
what an alien concept.... no... not even the need
for the people to have it: it's more effective than
religion... it's for the rich, it's for the poor...
the intelligent and perhaps the less so...
not my place to discuss the need for people to support
football teams: if they're happy...
i'm also very happy on the job
when i hear them chanting, being so engaged...
considering that i attended Catholic Mass when i was younger:
i had to... to attend a Catholic primary school
i needed to attend mass... have my first communion...
pretend to go to a confession: where i lied...
i had to think up of something...
by a Catholic high school...
i "forgot" to get confirmed... all the other peers
were confirmed in at Brentwood...
i was reading up on the Gnostic Heresies...
my mind was made up then and there...
so seeing the lack of energy of the crowd in a church
as mass... comparing that to... the energy at a football
match?! wow... people need to feel something:
however trivial it might be...
better it be as trivial as a football match...
year in, year out...
it's good to know people can simulate a passion
for something...
they splinter up into their local patriotism...
yet at the same time: if they're called up...
they rally up together...
my second shift at Fulham i was actually smiling at
their passion...
impossible to fault it...
right...
               in my hermit years i would really cherish
exchanges on the internet...
then i was banned, excluded, banned somewhere
else... probed...
i knew the gig was up...
someone who had beef with me didn't resort to
allowing me elaborate, so that we could establish
a discussion... the first mistake of sorting out
a hostile situation...
currently?! A SOCIETY OF ******* SOCIOPATHS
AND LITTLE DESPOTS! CRY-BABIES!
with Danny we ended up talking about
his interests and passions... mostly crypto-currency...
he asked me for mine: music, mainly...
and cycling... he too was an avid cyclist once
before crashing into a tree...
but mainly talk of crypto-currency...
oddly enough we remained in-earnest throughout...
taking out time as a hermit allowed me
to become extroverted when otherwise
i wouldn't be...
i still like periods of introversion but i never
managed to have too much capacity for small-talk...
i guess spending time alone for over a decade
has allowed me to learn this skill...
time alone can teach you all manner of things...
your observational skills, esp...
a heightened sense of alertness...
although i have to say... initial small-talk is still
as painful as ever... the nicety of greeting people...
o.k. o.k. let's get it sorted...
we're not here for coffee... let's get into our roles...
then it's a breeze...
oddly enough i love the cushion of hierarchy...
why?! ha ha...
i can easily cover my back... do the Pontius Pilate
like... it's a ritual of pouring myself a glass
of milk... i am responsible for so little it would seem...
passing down the message to a supervisor is
a silent giggle in tow...
i grant myself all the benefits of returning to people:
it's so impossible to live without people:
esp. in a professional environment,
in undertaking a role...
in giving a cigarette one minute,
then asking the same person if they can bring you
a free bottle of water, which they willingly bring...
it's impossible to live alone...
i'm not implying having friendships,
i'm more prone to the allegiance to a professional
relationship with people: in stating boundaries:
in keeping them...
i was supposed to go on a date with this fellow
worker tomorrow, she texted me that she's not
up for it, a bout of flu: or is it flute?
no problem, get well, blah blah etc.
maybe some other time...
also a learning curve... first experience solipsism:
a thought experiment of an actual
condition that plagues autistic boys & girls...
then return to interaction... refreshed...
yet what i've experienced on some platoforms:
no one should experience...
people are unable to talk, "all of a sudden"?
they need to be supervised?
how about the block button? if that's ultimately
necessary?
society doesn't have to become this: rigid authority
seeking...
sometimes when writing... hell...
writing is primarily nuances / nuanced...
it seriously can't be taken literally...
a poetry platform: em... metaphor?!
listening to Bach's Goldberg Variations (BMV 988)
on my part a statement:
I'M THINKING ABOUT EATING YOU...
what harm?
said recipient only identified that statement
as referring to cannibalism...
sure... i was thinking of... the eloquence of
Hannibal Lecter... i might have been thinking
of cannibalism for the fun of...
the unknowable comparison:
closer to beef, or closer to chicken,
closer to mince beef or steak meat?
prawn?
             a texture that combines... almonds with
butternut squash?
do i look like a cannibal?
i heard that cannibals have really small teeth...
milk-teeth... and if the cannibal
is of an African disposition: their teeth are
not the ebony-envy... but that they're yellow...
like the teeth of a piglet aunt up north...
well... there's also the Kuru disease of New Guinea...
killer protein... killer proteins are also mentioned
in cases of Alzheimer...
Alzheimer being therefore something akin to...
an acne resurrection attack (acne, being dead
white blood cells) of brain cells... last time i heard
the brain was mostly fat... so... protein eating up fat...
or...
hours later... i was ******* to photographs
of Alexis Texas' *** being eaten... literally...
this one guy had his entire face... enclosed in between
her ****-cheeks, almost like a face-hugger
scene from the film alien...
well... i filter out ******* when i'm tense...
the sound is ever hardly on...
mostly photographs...
   is it so terrible to ******* to pictures of women
getting pleasured?
on the rare occasion that i manage to find
a pregnant girl *******...
i'll put the sound on... or...
hardly a need for scented candles & a comfortable
chair...
more like... take a ****, take a ****... *******...
take a shower... a Lester Burnham in reverse...
at the end of the time... today's closed chapter...
i sometimes try a morning routine
but i limp off since it feels like...
the sort of **** that might be associated with
having your beer spiked with a ******...
- i used to love internet interactions...
now... it's like an agreed observation i shared
with my grandfather... i'd love to chat...
but... over the phone?
i need to see your face, i need to see your hands...
i need to be invited by your idiosyncratic
gesticulations! over the phone it always felt like:
oh, you have a voice? well done...
there's clearly a scale of escalation...
one user does not agree with another user...
options available?
1. block them...
2. talk to them... clarify the problem...

the 3. option of making a complaint...
we're talking about platforms!
anyone can publish... that's the idea!
and they can publish anything they deem fit
within the platform's regulations...
i'm backing up my argument...

come to think of it... i trust people in real
life more than i do online...
it used to be the complete opposite...
people online how become hyper-sensitive:
authority riddling their own, ahem...
"safety"? oh... i see them...
later in life... the sort of Sarah Everard types...
frothing at the mouth... authoritarian:
getting other people's accounts suspended
online... invisibly "powerful"...
little despots, pseudo-sociopaths... mimics...
echo chamber half-wits...
yet in the great big world...
gullible little children...
it's that same joke...
a wannabe-sociopath meets a real-life sociopath...
their first date is always their last, date...
there's always a hierarchy...
there's always something in place
for whatever karma can be translate as:
in terms of... lessons to learn / to be learned...
it's always too late...
that microcosm of a build up...
people never go over the edge over things
of great importance...
it's always the little things that push them
over the edge... thereby? making
their lives all the more grandiose...

i could have been pushed over the edge
a few times...
we're talking about platforms...
not publishers... at the same time...
we not talking internet service providers...
we're not talking about
electrical companies, are we?
so if we're not talking publishers...
we're not talking internet service providers...
electrical companies...
this one where: he said, she said, behind closed
doors? **** it, publish everything!
i think this a way to implore these mediums
to take into account:
their absolute inauthenticity when caving
to one party's demands / concerns...
without fully exploring the other side of the story...

last time i checked... i checked out
as a minor presence on a platform... 3K views:
my highest grossing poo'em...
now?! in at 41K... i've recently been to
Wembley Stadium for the Women's FA cup final...
in attended... 43K... well... then...
i have perspective what circa 40K looks like in real life...
it doesn't matter what it reads on a screen...

tomorrow i'm going to paint my room,
refresh it... take all the books out... clean them...
take out the vinyls... the compact disks...
i just can't wait for the 14th of December...
i hope the woman who does my mother's
manicure / pedicure brings her one year old
daughter with her... and all the albums i lent her...
oh i don't care if her friend with a Scandinavian
physique / physiognomy comes along...
who's looking for dating...
i just care that she bring that little bundle
of joy with her...
planning ahead is never right...
you plan ahead: you're bound to come against
disappointments...

a flu, for example...

but i'd love to play with an onomatopoeia and
the basic foundations of speech with this
rugrat... (furgrat chimpy - a googlewhack...
oops)....
   obviously i wouldn't be thinking about
vowels and consonants...
i'd be thinking about syllables... about Katakana...
they say MA-MA first, no?
i'd love to explore her response to syllables,
syllables come first, as what's to be deciphered first...
sounds or gurgling are not exactly
qualification to make distinction of vowel or consonant...
man begins speaking / man becomes understandable
via the system of syllabary...
much later... the atomic vision of A... B'eh / beta...
for that matter... Na: that's sodium / natrium...
since my serious date bailed on me this coming
Monday... the 14th... that's Tuesday...
i'm really hoping for a date with this lady barely
a year old,
i'll put on some vinyl and we'll pretend to talk,
or... we'll end up talking a little.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2021
qp
such episodes do happen...
  when i write more than i read:
by that i invoke
even the wait... necessary for
the weekend edition of a newspaper
and... all the reviews come in...
of books, of t.v. shows...
imagine: people have employed
people to ingest... digest...
ingest... digest what's on offer...
while lying in bed for an hour
i had to cling to the idea
of having enough time
to listen to an hour of BBC radio 3...
call me a snob or whatever
but this is where the taxpayers'
money is being well spent...
bbc radio 3 is a flagship model
of "arrogance": well... more or less
a perfected taste...
or not that even remotely
being allowed... to pass (with)
my breath let alone off my tongue...
i'd rather employ my tongue
to trill an R or wriggle in between
chewing a decently arrived at cut
of beef - that hasn't been doubly
butchered...
although... if my memory serves me
right... the folk in england
prefer their beef done to a synch...
well-done...
doubly-butchered...
eating among the natives
i'd soon turn to a diet of
   the Jain... or thereabouts
with that plethora of spices
and lentils...
but i would go begging vegetarian
if i were served... well done beef
all the ****** time...
undeserving... rearing a colt bull
for the slaughter and not appreciating
something either bleu...
rare or medium at the rear of
rare...
a bit like contaminating
whiskey with lemonade (when bourbon
just the trick)...
or not... or when gesticulating at
something in Braille...
reading the air: or as one might
have to... tackling the Linear B...
but there are certainly not enough
hours in the day for listening to
bbc radio 3...
for a while i thought that radio 4
had the prime status...
conversation: mmm hmm:
very important...
come to think of it...
i have got used to walking without
needing the cushioning of my fatty
brainz with two pouches of
electric-current seizures... at the snap
of the fingers (etc.)
- that the wind doesn't play flute...
well i neither **** out syllables
of trombone either...
a bizarre interlude of when i actually
read less than i write...
oh i'm pretty sure it shows...
when i write more than i read...
i start to choke on my own subjectivity,
self-importance... "autism" / solipsism...
by the hand that does
imitation ****** in the no. 3 on
the throne of thrones...
sitting in an akimbo pose
at the end of the day
when what has been necessarily *******
out has ******* out
and there's only a prayer
for a tapeworm: no, no champagne
to not be... ******* out as proof
that... dieting revisionism works...
but like my fickle memory:
otherwise exposed to that almost
diabolical Pavlovian stressor testing
within the confines of pedagogy...
(k)nitty-picky what's on offer from
history... ah... the Angevin empire...
the Capetian dynasty... culminating
with Phillip II...
Henry II...
             Otto IV... not sure...
thrown into this cauldron of time...
what's on offer...
we most certainly fill this world
to the brim...
        so much so that there's no reason
or capacity to keep up...
at a time when i write more than
i read...
an exhaustion with a self
and all its abstract *******, comes to mind...
it would be so much easier
to doodle back into reading something
"important"...
but it's not like Delmore Schwarz is alive
and it suddenly dawns upon me...
apart from reading newspapers...
the odd opinion section daily...
waiting for Sunday's news review...
lately... dissatisfying...
and all the book reviews...
  well... perhaps i'm writing more than
necessary because, simply because...
well... if the substance / topic
is oh so very interesting...
the punctuation is without "umami"...
of note: the english language is
without diacritical marks
so there goes the whole idea
of meditating on intra-verbum
punctuation / syllabary...
no... i did my stint with katakana and i'm
not going back...
i need to see holes again...
to x-ray through and onto the canvas
holes in: a, b, A, B, R, O, o, P, p, g,
   d, D... q... Q...
bring me back to seeing letters
for their sounds...
after all these letters look like
they were intended for
lip-reading...
   and most of the time they are...
quirky awry ******* a lemon almost: Q...
qp
       cute: parrot... cue moi... again...

- not that i can say i eer played
the violin...
but after a morning shower...
a day spent curating the garden
so the patio looks presentable
to the "palette" of which there
is no taste to be minded (solely for the eyes)...
an uncombed beard
does feel... less than a **** garden
kept by chance (or miracle)
of its own doing...
scratching my ***** "altar" is more
rewarding...
but, come circa 12am
and the beard is finally combed...
with its full bloom
and volume restored...
well then... the chin and the entire
jaw line can retain its
mythological status of being
hidden under this *****-galore
wonder...
a full hand of this specific rustic
is what keeps me from
having any ***** envy...
although my hands are expansive
enough to be able to hold
a basketball in one...
no wonder i prize a woman's
hands as the most ****** part
of her body...
clearly exaggerated exfoliations
of the hind and **** would
drive any man bonkers...
it's almost cartoonish but at heart
primeval / prehistoric...
what might allow me to gravitate
toward identifying an mammoth
without the word mammoth...
or a squid without the colour of
a mountain drowning in a sea...

qp... i believe that       Ф (ef, fe, phi)
are its closest "abbreviations"
insinuating "marriage"...
but unlike that Siamese coupling
of ancient-doodle-this-doodle-that
of twinning vowels (æ)
qp... did emerge as F...

      i abhor being reminded
that language is volatile...
that it "evolves" that it's an algebraic
x, y, zoot...
            confiscate one of my tongues:
for the love of god...
push me into a structure
of psychology that has only
room for one zunge...
not these bi-schizoi-duo-d(wins)...
apparently each to their own...
- because it's not even that
i'm expecting the natives to scratch
a furthering of exterior possible
with a 2nd tongue...
i'm half-way: meeting...
i'm ****'s sake all the half's need
to be passably involved for
the natives to interact with:
alias - pseudo n.p.c.
graffiti giraffe etc.

qp = ϕ
if æ = a + e...
         yes... let me return to the letters
that represent sounds...
i don't care...
mother goose, alias superior...
what the mandarin hieroglyphs are thrown...
synonym them otherwise
are emoticons, ideograms. etc.
hell... throw in the Linear B...
that whole Mycanaean shabang...
i need to see what can be later heard...
not what can be "insinuated"
what is an otherwise
simple...

my boa my 堡 (ba-o)...
my f-ort...
                    but sure as chicken crazy
******* pigeon glue
that's not a mind-****** of a su-do-ku...
for the reason that i might
love english pragmatism and abhor
the "zeitgeist" / vogue of Darwinism
like it might be a Copernican revolution...

i will not learn to decipher
Chinese hieroglyphs not because i'm
lazy but because i'm of a musical
lot... a#...
                even though i'm almost tone deaf
that's an elephant stepped on
my tongue... base my reason(s)
on an ability to whistle...
i'm too agitated to want to learn
this labyrinth of squat: x-ray...

three alphabets available on the word
go...
but it's nonetheless redeeming
to caress a bush of a beard
with a mythological chin...
all the more since i can't play
the violin...
self-                         -love?
                +
stressing my own self-
                                            -worth?
no one, beside my own toils will
write such... taming...
              beside all the lost ideals of love...
lesbians!
when kissing my teenage girlfriend in
the park when i donned long hair
like a Hindu priest...
etc.
            way before the internet was
established as this gimmick of status quo /
a Sisyphusian task-load of
bogged down in baritone...
cull of toads...
  and... gurgle... and gluttony of gurgling...
and soap bubbles...
and adventure... of skim-reading
encyclopaedic entries...

come to think of it...
reading and rereading an encyclopaedia
and somehow a revision
of a day...
come the same old spring
when in the loosening of air
come the exfoliating magnolias
that steal everything necessarily
not a vanilla mono-
                       glitch of the toast of taste, & buds...

how refreshing it must all
be: tamed, with(in) the confines
of atoms, of letters...
so far removed from the constraints
of syllables...

how "poverty" riddled
the complexity
of :
       ン   ナ    ニ    ヌ    ネ    ノ
             ア     イ    ウ    エ   オ
fudge packaging...
   might i "want" to use )( brackets...
what about an apostrophe?
to hide a surd...
e.g. gnostic = 'nostic...

   i mean... all these idiosyncratic
very latin-esque junctions
of keeping up
aesthetic practices...
    it's hardly ******* Bengali...
and even if it was...
what saved the blues (indians)
was their cuisine...
that rupture that explosion
from a standard of salt, pepper...
rosemary... thyme...
how the red (indians) didn't survive
the surge... how they admired mustangs...
how they didn't spice-up...
their bread was beyond flat...
how collectively: a breeding of man...
had to allow such curators of:
what was readily available...
left to waste... that land of the frontiers...

then came a claustrophobia surrounding
the great basin of hearth...
this spec of near impossible trajectory...
having a lace
of recurrent for a spin:
spring fresh... rekindled emotion:
once more... greater tasks for god
to contest: best nothing...
while there being a blister...
a homage to purpose within limbo...

if nothing was the mind-bending, enough...
that acting was what allowed
shadow-thieving...
from no pulpit
but i find it impossible to curate
what democracy is all hot & bothered about...
i can't find the vein...
of "purpose"...
agglomerate my first come last...
suppose there's this over-arching comfort
of predictability and
this snooze buttocks for skidding
into "purpose"...

       i'm less than agitated
by this core, defining... "purpose"...
since the purpose of journey is well
established...
but that there's also
a "well done" a pat-on-the-back
a sense of accomplishment
when laced with the "claustrophobia"
of death...
an oozing through a membrane
peeking from beneath a curtain...

     sensibly being allowed to focus
on sphinxes... cats... bonsai tigers...
because as much as i love dogs
and have, loved, dogs...
ageing the leash is a non-starter...
i much prefer an intelligence
in the eyes of something petted
than the eyes that will otherwise
merely implore: scrutiny not available...

no wonder the blah-lah muslims
implore a scrutiny of letttering
of dog | god...
in english... i ask...
all?                            aaaah...
        so who's more adhan ready?

for the sake of jumbled orange
and its jelly offspring...
at some point i might have...
most probably... encountered a completion
of rho-****...
that trilling-R-monkey...
****-similis / similis est...
         but not since the replica
coliseums burst open onto the stage
of footsie fancy...

squat... scrutiny... beside the meaning
of words...
first come the sounds....
only later... whether or not
i kept vigil over having
spelled them, proper...

any "deviation" from standarised
punctuation inter-verbum
is my own...
and as my own: i keep it.
by all the possible exfoliation of mannerism
to breed a sense of concern:
of Heidegger's da-sein: of being-there:
as opposed to there's-being
i cannot, but, feign...
the football season hasn't begun yet
so the tribalism usually associated with
club factions disappears
for a while, in tune: in harmony and rhythm:
what's the difference between
harmony and rhythm?
i think that's an authentic question to ask...
but given the current atmosphere
of the Olympic games:
look! we all know that Duplantis won that
competition fair and square:
but if you managed to watch woman's
synchronized swimming event:
that French team's belly flop with gymnastics
at the opening of the routine
was not deserving a first placement...
the Italians shrugged it own with a clean
feet first incision of the water...
but Olympics is not a tribal sport:
not fanatical...
fanatical pacifism:
but that's not what controls the mob with
mindless stupor...
i'm yet to find an intelligent drinker...
i hone in on the poison and utilize it beyond
comparison:
for me it's really a question
of:

aqua

       status quo:

today i woke up at 7:30...
i didn't have to:
now i'm writing this at 12:00 exact...
and i feel like i have only woken  up
at 11:00am...
but i just spent the past three hours
talking to my baby
and in intervals of bad internet
connection

21sec
18min
22sec
25 sec 30min
18sec 22 sec
18min

   unless the Empress is streaming and
cutting off our connection
i would imagine this is a game
you're playing:

the cat came out to play with a mouse
went into the garden to sniff
at the evergreen tree
in my garden:
noticed a fly:
then noticed me...
yes: i was that, once...

         when the lord of the flies
came face to face with the lord
of mosqutos
mosquitos:
quitos: piquant: moss: mosquicktoes?

**** me... mosque of the quick toes?
Mt. Niqab?
and i said to him:
what a strange fruit...
this bread soaked in wine:
what a strange fruit...
don't you think? Lord Jesus Lord Christ
Lord of MOSQUITOES...
what a strange fruit:
this wine soaked slice of bread:
don't you think?
and what a strange tree:
on a Hill the Barren Hill of Golgotha...
were you trying to be me?
Cosmopolitan Messiah
O belittling Rome...

            for all the canvas of free speech:
more then: worth more then than
worth now:
people debate free speech
but we're talking free speech to zombies
and ditto-heads
of the journalistic mantras:
no one is bothered about free speech
as such:
people are just bothered
about not being heard
because everyone is so fat, docile,
intimidated by the luxuries of life on offer
than confusion seeps through
and debilitates even more:
numbs and doesn't confront:
the grand anesthetic for life
which comes from the anesthetic toward
the piquant pleasures bound
to pain...

of course the riots are happening!
too much sport!
you are televising too much sport
on the t.v.:
people will get bored
from being average:
not from soap opera antics
of the football pitch
that mindless sport...
with pundits blah blah and that sports
commentary for football is
a graveyard shift by the choice of
words: these days...

people are having a frenzy
being exposed to the Olympics:
after years of routine in mindlessly following
football...
seriously...
some honor some prestige is involved
in competing at the Olympics:
but then the Chinese can't be snubbed
for doping:
yeah: they took the alternative route:
they went meta-human on the rest of "us"
and started to genetically engineer
people...
but that's not inhumane to think about:
it would be inhumane of me to think that
i am an incubator of pinworms:

/ 'iny, parasitic nematodes that live
in the intestines and lay eggs
on the skin around the **** /

i had to copy and paste those words...
that's why there's an apostrophe instead of a T
for the word: tiny: heiny hieny high-knee
  heinee...      English is so ******* ****:
no clear phonetic correlation
to what letters are used what letters
are said: no proper vowel to consonant
correlation in no syllabary...
of the Japanese:
or the Polacks: Samatrians...

even the Aryan Deutsche:
i never said ihr: ich or isch?
ich is IX
       but isch is iś: which is almost Croat...
funny this daydreaming
like i don't have a day to live...
but what can you do:
when in love you primarily love to talk
when in love you love to listen
when in love
you love to communicate like never before

c'echa... the apostrophe there indicates
a stress
to surgically cut into the word
with both sound and meaning:
since the two are dichotomous rather than
by dualism-bound...

you think i have pin-worms?
really?
so you've been reading into my dreams:
my mortal show of horror
of becoming came in the version
of Pinhead: the priest of hell...
and now you're telling me
i should de-worm myself on a regular
basis because children don't
wash their hands after taking a ****?

wait wait... so i wasn't so special
having attempted ******* aged 8?
children are ******* flirtatious?
seriously?
so the question is how one controls
infantile: born of original sin: flirtations?
it's so original that it's actually
a duplicate: that the original sin
is actually: plagiarism:
that's inherent for the survival of the species?

that's when god realized:
****! i didn't create anyone as unique as me!
i just create another sea!
i just create ants!
but ants that share my understanding
for and of potential
but there will be so many averages
and only few glimmers of hope for me
to push through a Newton...
but average is good: Sir...
average is good: if you have a Her...
i don't mind being average i don't mind
being a security officer
i don't mind being a taxi driver:
provided i can have Frankenstein's Bride
and a Bridge to you:
with many thanks, Sir...
i don't mind being demeaned by some hierarchy
that does no align with your existence
in the presence of fleeting butchery of intent
and genuine authority of the pen...

there was more freedom of speech
when people were not exposed to literacy...
but since the advent of literacy
freedom of speech is debatable
because you'd think that
by being given the crafts
kept hidden and secret for so long
by a priestly class...
it's not a crisis of Christianity:
it's a crisis of literacy:
the ******* idiots walked into that one
on the blind...

the priests used to be the literate ones...
but now?
everyone is literate:
but as literate as their literacy mistakes show:
too throw: not to soon: my son...
but yeah:
throw into the mix the unearthing of
the Nag Hammadi library...
as R.D. Laing
opened a book with... citing St Thomas:

Jesus said to them:
when you make the two one, and
when you make the inner as the outer
and the outer as the inner and the above
as the below, and when you make
the male and female into a single one,
so that the male will not be male
and the female not be female, when you
make eyes in the place of an eye,
and a hand in the place of a hand,
and a foot in the place of a foot,
and an image in the place of an image,
then shall you enter the Kingdom...

mischievous ******* *******...
because what Socrates said was a dialogue:
you couldn't turn that into a religion...
how much dialogue do you get
in the Bible?
how much dialogue in the Quran?
so someone is always: just listening...
taking orders...
what about a back-and-forth?

too much sport created this rift!
too much sport on t.v.!
the averages came out and out-performed
other averages and disappeared
or will soon disappear into oblivion
out of sheer respect for the roulette of life
the chance to excel
but not milking it... that's what Olympians
ought to represent:
not some celebrity stature of being
like children given candy
these people and money are like children
and candy... sugar rush of no poetic justice...

it's still Jesus trying to revamp the Genesis story...
the serpent on the tree
the tree just morphed into a crucifix
and the apple became a wine soaked loaf of bread!
**** me! that's it!
hey presto, job done.

— The End —