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Trefild May 2023
his own & this world's realities are like the fuzz in the States
they're ones to escape
that's a plan of attack that's, on the lines of a wraith
switch side of Jo[ɑ]hnathan Blaze, running up on his brain
like Donald the dung piece, today
he feels bold, so maybe there'll be, like abundance of cake
["bald"]
fortune coming his way; this one's a schmuck thing to say
["fortis fortuna adiuvat"/"fortune favors the bold"]
but this club reminds of Ukraine (what?)
he, like motorized cavalcades
from the next-door empire, invades
its territory causing, like unaccommodating controversial writer, a sla[ɛ]m
[Eminem & his "Unaccommodating" song]
as he shuts the door frame; obvi, sO̲me people may
find them bars offensive, like an armed aggression
so my apologies, I'm somewhat ashamed
mainstream house stuff is on play
a thought in his skull: "this is lame"
Michael S. straight after he turned around & stumbled on blamed
Toby F.; through the crowd he cuts like a blade
[the ending of the "Frame Toby" episode cold open from "The Office" series]
having hopped U̲p on the stage
as if it were a narcotic substance you've ta'en
he, so loud as if with his cullions in grave
nU̲t-wrenching pain, bawls: "THIS ****** *****!", like a brace
of thigh highs colored with stains of blood; yanderE̲[eɪ]
["*****"; "so[ɑ]cks"]
schoolgirl; disgruntled, he makes for the f#cking DJ
delivers a verbal punch in his face by the fo[ɑ]llowing phrase:
"boy, go house-sit with your confounded
boring house sh#t, just like a housewyf"
whereafter thrusts him away
ending the uproar with "ciao, drip!"
music-wise, it's gon' go hard as nuts in this place
as if a flock of ones who're deranged
["who're" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "whoor"]
swung by a club in the wake of a ****** **[ɑ]spital break (nuts in this place)
he puts on midtempo dark cyberpunky synthwave
Gesaffelsteinish mid-paced
type of music; that's what drives his crumpet insane
speaking of crumpets, he spots a buxomish babe
while nodding his ******* nut to this cray
music, he feels like a **** being aimed
at, for she stands with her sight, like one of a gun, fixed his way
for a few secs, at each other they gaze
she's quite a fox with her vibrant locks
reminding of flame; somebody call a fire brigade
hourglass-shaped & rigged out in tight pa[ɛ]nts & a blouse
with a U̲-neck, like a fella without
*****, & leaving her waist a bit out
["******"]
on display; he makes his way to this frau
salutates her with "ciao"
she greets him with just the same, then he mouths
the following: "babe, you're way like a house
for lodging that's nowhere to be found
that is, in the deep of a labyrinth"
she's like: "what in the void's name's this about?"
he replies: "I'ma translate that one now"
"the way you look's amazing, ten out
of ten", like that "KleanColor" skin bro[ɑ]nzer
["a maze inn"; "Tan Out Of Tan"]
she makes a soft smile, then replies: "ain't you nice, pal
when you lay your thoughts out?"
"not being nice would be a crime
when you face a fine gal
like you", - he replies
"if so, rejecting the company of a guy so gracious would count"
as a crime too", - she replies
the guy asks the gI̲rl if she
fa[ɛ]ncies this sound
her reply is affirmative
she says she, mostly, faves underground
kinds of music; they vibe
to these tunes being pU̲t on, just like
that loony gobshite the whole liberal community'd like
to see wind up ruined, just like
Aleppo or Mariupol; stop, I'd
like, before the main telling resumes, to rewind
a little: they vibe to these beats being put on; he finds
out, when asking her what drinkable fluid she'd like
to have, that she deems it uncool to imbibe (*****)
he replies: "to tell you the truth, so do I"
so if there's somebody to end up lit during this night
it is the moon in the sky
["some body"]
soon after having their soft drinks taken, they bounce
like the music style brought into this wO̲rld heaps
before chicks twerking
blew into the mainstream like "blaow!"
["hips"]
like a sick pervert that digs scourging
while engaged in a bout
of carnal fun, he's got a whip ordered
they wait for several mins for it
finally, the motorized conveyance comes out
like a deb girlie
[debutante]
he trails this fox like she's prey to hunt down
watching her proceed to[–]ward it
in a way like she's on a catwalk waving around
a rig splurgy
having hopped in it, to a lodging place they set out
the saucy look in her eyes
once his palm is put on her thigh
a sort of luminous sign–
–board reading: "absolutely alright
with going on a lewd spree tonight"
"a night out rhyme tale, part I" by TREF1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)

"a night out rhyme tale, part II":
hellopoetry.com/poem/4883683

"a night out rhyme tale, part III":
hellopoetry.com/poem/4883684
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
.i can hardly feel nostalgic, when youtube was what it was, i could waste a good liter of whiskey and stay up all night trapped in the labyrinth of the most superior - ingenious algorithm, a personalised algorithm that was pure a.i.: it would learn from you, in the suggested feed, it always learned from what you like a priori and it would suggested a thesaurus interpretation, those were the fun odd days, a man could immerse himself in foraging for new music as well as butchering a liter of whiskey... lately my exploration days on the platform became nothing of human concerns, more a rat in a maze, even the drinking became dreaded labour of: "boredom"... some things had to change... what was the point of wasting a liter of whiskey per night on a screen that became as unshakeable as a mountain... so now, instead of wasting 20 quid a night on a bottle... half a liter will give me the lullaby effect... in terms of drinking that half a liter of whiskey: considering i will not enjoy using the internet as much... never mind the view count: i know that some written has a lower view count and that if it has a view count it builds up slowly... after all i am a modern contemporary... there's so much tolstoy to get through! the tally... but i will not allow myself the brahmi tally system, it's too complicated for my liking... and i can't write the european ||||(/) into html for some reason... let alone the chinese (正) version... i had to invent my own tally system - the braille tally:

           ⠁ ⠃ ⠇ ⠧ ⠷ (⠿)
           1  2  3   4  5  (6)
           a  b  l   v  à  (é)

    it's quiet a sobering experience...
                     only yesterday i drank about 250ml
and pretended to be asleep for six hours,
got up so refreshed that i started to decorate the kitchen
and made the most badass tagiatelli meatball sauce...
the trick was... onions garlic and two fresh chillies
fried first... a teaspoon of chilli powder
a teaspoon of paprika fried first,
   chicken stock added, then some tomato puree...
let that thicken...
meanwhile make the meatballs...
the breadcrumbs should be made into a paste
by adding milk... the meat fused with the breadcrumbs,
salt, pepper and italian herbs:
oregano, thyme, rosemary, basil etc. fried
and left to the side...
    a can of chopped tomato, worcestershire sauce...
some sugar... salt / pepper to taste...
then the meatballs would go in...
            the old youtube: explorer-tube is
not coming back...
        and... quiet frankly?
           exploring these alt. media outlets is a bit
of a headache...
what good is gab.ai to me,
                                         when i never used twitter?!
whatever this current: "culture war" is...
                  it's not worth fighting...
                             at this point videos gain
the traction of "count"...
         but then the "count" becomes diffused into
stupid comment sections where people need
the obligation to shout and pass the queue with
raised elbows...
                            repossession - a synthwave  music
mix...
                tomorrow i'll finish decorating the kitchen,
save myself another 10 quid...
try to find about 3 hours of sleep...
                     and i'll look back at the years
from 2008 through to 2016 as a glorious period
in internet history that has:
   unfortunately died and how the future generations
will never experience what i've experienced
when it came to an a.i. music shop assistant...
   so they say: a.i. will take away many professions...
by the looks of it...
   the first a.i. job for an a.i., as a music store curator...
the first a.i. music shop assistant?
fired... out of a job...
            it's strange...
                            oh but not so very strange...
a.i. to steal the jobs of humans...
    looks like humans hit first...
   and stole a.i.'s first job prospects,
on a site like youtube...
                     and what a fine job this a.i. did...
i never knew so much alt. music existed...
      well i did and i didn't: that's up for debate...
in translation? if you buy a vinyl copy
of a record... you still get a code to a site that lets
you download the mp3 copy...
so the best of both worlds...
                                a vinyl... and mp3s...
but bye bye wasting away every night on a site
that turned against its a.i. music shop assistant...
here's to sobering up...
                    by gradations...
       after all: one decent "poem" a glorious night
is enough to five spewed like venom spat from
                                                                      an u.z.i.


even i become remotely "o.c.d." when it comes down to
the english sway of notation.
                 i'm talking a basic arithmetic,
a basic arithmetic of notation in english, or quiete simply
english notation.
                         i deem         "    "       to denote:
                        a quote, of a quote - as in: third party
resources being cited.
                                            what i'd definitely be satisfied
with as deeming a quote, would be a    '          '      
                                                         encapsulation;
but the way english speakers denote a quote a quote
by using "         "     encapsulation? to me that's arithmetically
unsound...  or to use a blunt knife expression: simply wrong.
first of all             " = ditto
                 perhaps the english are unfamiliar with
continental standards of linguistic coding, but  " = ditto,
but of course         ditto ≠ quote...
                               " ≠ quote,
so why would you utilise the ditto symbol to imply, quote?
            it doesn't matter if it's either side of said words,
the symbol is not a quote-based symbol to be used...
   '        '       is; yep, two *******... now who's feeling creepy?
" = /as above/
        where no 2nd or 3rd party sources are cited / quoted -
at best the     "     "   encapsulation can only mean one thing,
and one thing only: ambiguity:
                        a bit like saying - a friend of a friend, said
that he once ordered k.f.c., and in it he found
        a k.f.m. (kentucky fried mouse)...
                                                but that's about it.
the ditto mark implies                               paraphrase,
you're basically rewording something,
                                  borrowing from the already stated
     in the above, given script, of your own original output.
so you see, i don't know how "      " encapsulation can denote
a quote, if the basic arithmetic states,    ' + ' = ",
                         and by the time someone supposedly quotes,
the notation of supposed citation will morph into  "'       "'
                       type of enclosure.
Jowlough Mar 2019
I am the process;
The traversing of mountains
In threadlike loopholes
And narrow passages
Of patient waitings
And trembling muses;
Stronger and sturdier
Than the age old woodwork,
Patient like hachiko
Emptiness was never
A strange phenomenon
That should be pondered
Wandered, instead conquered
Purposely testing
Water depth mocking
The norms and the usuals
People are unusual
Strange as it may be
Talkish boy you come and see
Coastal air and hot tea
Staples of synthwave
Let me be.
Eleanor Aug 2020
When I think of you
And a Synthwave beat plays
In the back of my head,
I don't think of Rambo two,
Nor bad guy vs nice guy
Cheesy pick up lines,
Nor a world of Vice City,
Nor Vanilla Ice,
Nor Sarah Connor,
Nor John Connor,
Nor a text based program
That sends lovely little notes
To your highschool sweetheart.
When I think of you
And Aha's Take On Me
Blasts keyboards right below me
All shying away
From a single thought of you.

When I think of you,
And a Synthwave beat drums
And races the BPM of my heart,
I close my eyes and picture you
Dead, stuck inside an eternity
Of colours
From your father's favourite T
-Shirt.


-- Eleanor
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
weird... but it's one of these feelings...
a gust of wind... a package from Sahara...
some sand...
right... now i have to climb over the ledge
and clean the roof outside of my window...
scrub scrub... scrub some more...
thank you: dear god for the postcard:
wish you were here too...
then... something marvelous happens...
you get a random suggestion on youtube
like it's... 2016 jukebox style...
the quadroholics' overdue (2022) -
synthwave - USA... no... it's not going to be
as big by anything by Foster the People...
drinking bourbon still reminds
me of the scent of brothels and leaves me
with an aftertaste of bubblegum...
esp. since ol' Jack is on offer...
£20 for a litre of the juice...
                after 200 press-ups:
oh, the hardest are the ones when you clench
your fists... and do them on your knuckles...
too bad if you're doing stomach crunches...
why would you even go to the gym...
buy a bicycle... ******* into the sunset...
or swim... i don't get the idea of the gym br'uh...
bro...
         i'd rather swallow metal pebbles:
i remember that moment... grandfather brought
a bag of these metal pebbles from
the metallurgy factory... i'd roll them up
the balcony... watch them roll back...
then swallow them...
  i pity myself for having sometimes to have to
succumb to these existential outbursts:
35... why am i still single? why am i not coupled?
why don't i have a debt of mortgage...
these outbursts last for about an hour...
from time to time... then i realise...
oh... right... only prostitutes and single mums
in my age range are left: available...
and they are loaded with horror stories...
i really don't feel like dating down...
too much to catch up... educate... culturally...
they's no common language...
   all that would be left would be...
making babies... mindless drones...
               i really don't feel like getting together
with a younger woman...
mind you: i don't have the sort of money
that would allow me the... ahem: luxury...
but finding someone mine own age...
who isn't childless?
same old story: you made your bed...
now sleep in it...
         i'm pretty content with my bed...
no Freud is going to bother me...
trying to interpret: "nothing":
no... not nothing: NOTHING...
  not a google search result of a black square...
that's... something...
nothing id est the ego of god...
             since nothing is a pronoun...
it's not a noun...
                     i'm sort of lucky i found an alternative
outlet... i sometimes watch these "red pill" channels
and think to myself:
the world can *******... i'm not interested...
all those journalistic hacks too...
i implored them for a media sabbath:
a Monday... no print...
     did they listen? of course they didn't...
libido and journalistic insomnia...
sure... i can counter these existential outbursts of
wanton... of want...
         but i sober up, sooner than never...
from these outbursts...
   i'm not going to foster this kid... he's not my own...
i'm not going to pay off the debt your
ex ex-boxer racked up to pay you in revenge...
it's liberating... but sort of enchaining
with the freedom...
   i'd love to take on responsibility:
but not the irresponsibility of others...
             it's enough that i have to clean my roof
from all that gust of Saharan sand landing on my roof...
even at work... two girls decided to call in sick...
well... that's what happens...
when 5 or 6 of them star playing you...
and... the game's over...
even the **** has become overtly-cautious...
do i **** with him? slander him?
what do i do? can i talk to him?
         and i was so willing to become a foster daddy...
oh well... it's like that argument normie people
have concerning homeless people:
it's because they chose to be homeless?
that... same old **** mea culpa *******?
it's their own fault? no external factors involved?
*******! grief got to them... their self archtecture
broke down... collapsed...
              you don't choose certain scenarios in
life... unless, of course... we're all ******* altruistically
autistic... nice? play nice?
we're all solipsists?! the external world doesn't
exist?! hyperventilating individualism... load
of ******* *******... that's not how physics works...
even if it downgraded to human interaction...
there's always an external force...
   you get a push-back... spontaneity ought to be
something pleasant... not when:
you... "spontaneously" end up sleeping in a tent
on the side of the ******* street...
*******...
              sure... aged 35... you'd think...
"something"... even if you write poetry... no luck with
women...
            better luck with prostitutes...
that's a hyper-woman: that is...
             beside... i'm guessing these existential
outbursts will pass... once i breach the age of 40...
by then i'll be like...
Roger Moore... the only Bond that ever was...
fair enough... Darwin was wrong...
beta-provider was right...
                  the physical reality is awry...
the 6ft2 100kg... will not reproduce...
             the cuck-will, will...
                              survival of the fittest my ***...
survival of the most agreeable...
i'm not agreeable... well... i pretend to be...
before i start getting annoyed...
great! back to the brothel for when i'm in
the mood... games, games, more games...
             i want these existential pulses to become
extinct in me... i really don't feel like raising someone
else's child... paying off someone else's debt...
mind you... i loved the kid...
but there's only so much freedom you can
sacrifice...
     i'm not going to sacrifice what's allowing me
the borderline status of: non-existent.

— The End —