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Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
keep me in this prison: to recount the spinning
labyrinth of thought before falling
to sleep only 14 hours ago...
                      and having done so:
dreaming up the most uncomfortably real dreams -
not that detailing them would be worth
anything...

   begging myself: remember the words
prior to sleep: write them down: you fool!
the "other" man is speaking - rising from the depths:
the child "abadoned": to curate this tongue
has risen from the depths by chance
of you favouring to enter them in turn...

a protest concerning kenneth rexroth:
but sir... what's there to boast about?
    aren't you reading Proust as a translation?

keep me in this prison... as of today...
a few chapters from the pickwick papers:
yes... i do kind Dickens much easier on the eye:
and most certainly much more peacock-strutting
than Shakespeare...
            perhaps with the exception of Macbeth:
as ever... exceptions can and sometimes
must be made...
                      however: minor...

and in between chapters... well...
                         a swedish ***** and some tonic
and lime...
            and then the windowsill...
perched on a folded leg...
       smoking a cigarette... continuing
to sip the thrill zapping... crisp and cutting...
      warm snow...
                       and the song...
             qui nous demaine:

                  trois fleurs d’amour i trouvai
                  en la bonne estraine
                  voici le mai, le joli mois de mai
                  qui nous demaine...

in the rendition of corvus corax...

yet another moon-less night...
         such nights: where it almost feeds to be inclined
to conjure up some nearby nomad with
a robe attired with stars...
         a silver globus of glistening
romance and death...

                  such nights when the moon
doesn't appear...
            and frankly... the clouds have settled
for keeping the man in the ***** of earth:
never to aspire toward galileo and copernicus ltd.
in protest! for astronomy!

yes... between reading the pickwick papers...
and listening to some music:
never the two at the same time...
a parting of the seas...
the art of reading: in the sea of silence...
where you can fiddle with...
    a whisper from the buzzing aeon bound
to minutes: the sound of an electric demon
in a lightbulb...

and of course beyond this sea of silence:
a sea of sighs and yawns...
a flipping of a page: like a crease in time -
or a passing whale-shaped-tsunami
of sound...          to then the music...

as death would have it: beside the music...
perhaps once upon a time...
but i do not believe it:
a pen on paper - a hunched crow left scratching
with its claws...
while a fire **** between such
imaginary creatures took place in a candleflame...
but no music...
perhaps in the 20th century:
the radio... and the type-writer: machine-gun...
the radio static would have aided
the mechanisation of the type-type-typo!
scratch-rip! again!

21st century antics?
   pristine quality, earphones...
all the better to not hear the clicking sound
of a lineage of ten little hammers on a keyboard...
perhaps plucking oysters from the depths...
or for that matter pearls...
or perhaps searching for delicate mushrooms
and pulling them by the stump...
still the umbrella royalty still: that sucker's bribe
of pride...

of note: the old tongue wanted an audience...
concerning? drinking... and other... habits...
*****: most certainly... with the lime and tonic...
in "rationed" doses... and a good sleeping
hygiene... i must call it a sleeping hygiene...
at most 12am to bed... and at least 8am the rise...
the drinking:
one day upon a sleeping lake...
another day upon a raving lunatic of a sea!
a time for drinking: a time for thrist...
a time for living and a time for dying...

i tried to imagine myself in one of those a.a.
meetings... self-lacerating myself:
in that secular ugliness: without a monk's tunic
or: tools for: penitence...
after ten weeks or so: clap clap all round applause!
i bet...
       the dry stretch: applause applause:
lady gaga go-go! to live for applause...
b'ah! to ******* with that sort of attitude...
and this is where the old tongue spoke(:)

o piciu?! wersja: jak, pić?!
chcem tego psa na smyczy niż tą smycz: samą!
bez tego psa! ten "niby"
wzamian z tym marno-nerwowym
   człowiekiem! tą śpiącą pijawką!
suma sumarum?
   wole tego psa na smyczy - niż tą smycz
bez psa!
lepiej ja z tym psem na smyczy:
   niz ten czlowiek ze swą śpiącą pijawką!


tr.
     on drinking?! version: how to, drink?!
i want this dog on a leash than this leash:
on its own! without this dog!
                  that "so-called" alternative
with this feebly-nervous human!
                                    that sleeping leech!
<>
i rather this dog on a leash - than this
leash without a dog!
better i with this dog on a leash:
than this human with his sleeping leech!

it's not some eternal wisdom...
but...                                 it's a good enough start...
and yes... please... this prison...
every... single... day, and, night....
forever...
i can become the observant spy mushroom:
the hitchhiker in 1960s psychadelia
mingling with darwinism...
the mushroom that hijacked the ape...
etc.

                  it's a pretty simple list...
a dickens... a ***** and tonic and lime...
a windowsill... a cigarette...
   some... folkish song... i'd much prefer
the lyrics to the sung in anything but english...
french, latin... german... norwegian...
but please... not italian... i'll settle for greek...

if asked: why didn't you marry...
good question...
                why didn't i marry?
                        perhaps this... or perhaps...
i much prefered the 1 hour periods
of entertaining the company of prostitutes
in a brothel?
               honest transactions: stealing kisses...
the mainstream already laid the generic
framework: jack the ripper sort...

                      well: from judas to jesus
to me to the... "lowest denominator"...
                                            or so "they" say...
since if there was anything to be celebrated
at easter... outside of a homogenous catholic
nationhood... in england...
the lair of the huguenots...
         well... i teased reading kabbalah...
i teased reading the gnostic texts and i really did go
mad about the nag hammadi library...
after a while though:
can i change the direction of the Vistula
by putting a stick in the middle of it?
i certainly: ha ha! river... not the sea:
what can you do? turn the time and the flow?

anyway... catholicism...
                the usual suspect rubric check-list...
baptised? had i any say in it?
first communion? did i have any say in it
or would you rather ask whether
i lied when taking my first confession?
a first confession is a precursor to a first communion...
or... i don't remember...
i played the xylophone at the st. augustine's
primary school nativity play:
yeah... and drinking under-age...
crux of the matter: if we're all about peacocking
and comparing all the little richards
via the 3rd's **** or whatever...
confirmation?                      yeah...
          ­           so much for a church wedding...

all that... and i have to come back...
sensibly... catholic intellectualism or sorts...
bribe me and i might take it seriously...
love me and i might even throw in some fiasco
of apologetics... but then i'd be like
a monkey at a sushi bar: eat it? fling it?!
the only sensible consolidation of
a celebration of easter...

    the winter has been crucified...
                 and today was the first day i could
pick up a scent of spring...
in the rain... it trickled with...
earth... from far away... dry sand... mingling
with the water... the wind must have
picked up the sand from sahara and a dollop
of the evaporating mediterranean...
flung it to these isles...

                       yes: origins in catholicism...
which always more fun to break away from...
"apostate": notably watching apostate intellectual
jews and their spezial brand of atheism...
since: i mean... trust a catholic convert to
judaism? trust a *** reading into gnosticism?
or trust a muslim at all?
                         basic questions of: a priest,
a rabbi...                        a druid walk into a bar...
sort of jokes...
           there a litany of them...
a whole 'ymn book o' 'em!
                       sam's the weller! see the son?
moi noi'ver!

         but back and forth back and forth
within and without catholicism...
                                it's not as fun... black-clad
sober, serious, surplus of secularism...
                         all that: agitation from... what the persians
rebelled against... when finally the islamic
schism came so early...
and the ****'ites and... the persians like
the good choir boys of catholicism...
     one eye is said to be reserved for reading...
one eye is said to be reserved for admiring...
           it's hard to admire a text...
                          when it's even harder to read
into a sculpture!

oh yes... i like this prison... very much...
                                             where, is, my, mind?!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
it's not exactly Walt Whitman's o captain my captain in reference to Abraham Lincoln.

to społeczeństwo jest gnój...
to społeczeństwo jest... *szambo
,
daj mi kandydata na prezydenta
z koła Navajo! dawaj kurwa!
bo tego nigra nie zdołam przetrawić
w ramach jego Nobla!
pierdolona kukła białasów!
o tak panie prezydencie, no tak
panie prezydencie... dziecko chcem
wysłać na Harvard... może pan pomoże
z wojęnką na bliskim wschodzie?
pięknie panie prezydencie,
dziękujemy za zbieranie włókna larw ciem.
ah panie prezydencie, jaka piękna sciema!
jaka piękna mgła! ah tak panie
prezydencie... kultura nie była asz tak
zgodnie zparowana z siłą! hip hop hooray
nad top z pana wagarami władzy
chodem po cmentarzu!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
czytając filozofie po polsku, ojciec mój który wyrósł na chemika obudził dziecie, a dziecie pochłoneło ojca mówiąc: od teraz zaczne, carpe annum, carpe zenith ex tempus, filozofia z logiki czy to z rzeczy rosnących - i w garści magika które wzamian za słowa hocus pocus wymawiane są słowa jan nowak urodzony czwartego kwietnia roku 1912 / zmarł rokiem 1973; czy to z rzeczy stabilnych w sensie inspectio ex continuum, czy też na skali micro (atomów), czy też macro (gwiazd); to ja wydam wartości nie-czytne mym ozorem, abyś ty zerknoł na to co jest warte czytania - obudź mnie w ciele ośmio latka twym ciałem dwudziesto latka... bo sam wiesz że przez tyle lat, nic cie nie nauczono -nawet ten bat i ta dysciplina nie wzruszyła cie aby zgodzić się na kawe przy domu pogrzebowym wraz z myślą: jaki to ma być, ten nowy samochód? z dala - ‘taki aby i trumna też mogła zapiąć pasy.’*

zza młodu dziad powiada wnukowi: matematyka, fizyka i sport...
przed dziada rokiem młody odpowiada:
chłód zimy, spacer i myśl;
kocham obiekt zwany kobieta... lecz nie temat...
mój sam bardziej wypełnia sześć kątów niż jej obecność zmartwień,
co jest jakby gra przegrana, więź tematyki mniej
jako wąż a bardziej jak glizda...
lecz chodząc miedzy kratami i domami anglii dostatku...
widze więcej glizd niż kobr czy też pytonów...
skoro geneza słowa jest brana od onomatopeji imitacji bydła,
nic dziwnego że my tesz na bydło zeszli
biorąc teorie lingwistyki darwina przez ch i es -
nic dziwnego że nie jego,
ale czemu brać pod uwage słowem: jak się widzi
kogoś pukającego w dzrwi w tle “słów”
jakby nie jeden knock-knock żart, więcej limit
tego że z nie animowanych rzeczy nic mądrego nie przyjdzie -
tym bardziej dodając do słownika -
jeno ta pierwsza lekcja zagrożenia małpy bez drzewa
z tym pyskaczem wężem, czyż nie?
jaki jest sens utkwić nową lekcje od rzeczy samych
niewinnych swoją interakcją z cieniem lecz bez machania...
jakie zagrożenie od nich? ah wiem, jeno arachnofobia wedle
kamyka rozmiarem ciągu gór mienia: tatry.
więc szkeliet tego boga zwany: komunikat - przez poetów
wyzwany na igrek i mieszanke czasu w pralce
czystości pomieszany: czerń i biel nada szary -
aby zerknąć w igły dotyku bez wargi,
aby te zagrorzenia zostały które miały znaczyć że
zeszły nam z drogi... aby potem tym samym małpim okiem
patrzyć na rzecz dosyć stabilną i sprawdzić istnienie atomowego ruchy
w stajni, między ślepotą a ruchem, mgłą a cieniem.
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
ja, między swoimi? na wygnaniu? ja? jeden? z kim, i z dla kogo potrzeb? twoje, twej, tego, co mnie nigdy nie znał? tu?! tu nie ma na na narodu... ani ludzi wartych o przyjaźń, co by dało wartość, zwane: lata. o to zapomnienie, warte, złoto i gruz, na to samo w chinach, praca, zajęcie, ***, i to: tak, owszem, tak jest, panie profesorze, tak będzie... i nie inaczej... stara babuszka w lesie... skryta, skłania się po grzyby, potem na targowicy, w hustce, sprzeda sekret tych perfum. oh tych gnań... do tego: co było, i już nigdy już nigdy nie będzie. ah te piękne muchomory... polka-kropki w taniec, jak niby w twej bluzie... czy też w twej spódnicy, szyk, na tą ostatnią noc, gdzie mnie nie było, na tej zwanej, nad pamiętnej, studniówce; pisane, ręką, dziecką w rękach poronienia, o latach osiem; poronienia od narodu dar, co był bliskim tym co byli nad nim, w ramach lat, przed nim.

the saxons said the same, we don't mix with these people,
if i want to drink diluted ****-worth's of whiskey
i'll drink what the dogs **** out... and tell you,
it's like magic mushrooms!
    you know the difference between economic migrants
and migrants per se?
   the latter do not "conquer"...
    they don't make themselves habitual, comfortable...
they don't earn or learn a trade...
               they're here, to learn what the parasitic
government provides, taxation, en masse thieving...
only to exploit it, the system of benefits.
                                 akin to a saxon, or a norman, i'm
standing on these shores, and trying to thinkg of a good
reason to mate with the women on these isles...
   and i'm thinking... why dilute my d.n.a.,
     as the expression is made plain by the intellectuals,
my *d.n.a.
requires an upkeep...
     well, thank you for indicating to me where sensible
objectivity ends, and when true subjectivity, or poetry,
begins.
  i was planning to find out when all these objective
superiority statements would end, they just started to bore me,
sure, they made me feel uneasy,
     the internal dimensions of the object i encompass
are, so much less interesting than the external aspects
of the same object... within the arithmetic of 1 + 1 + 1 = 3!
3 + d!
       economic migrants simply show the ineffectiveness
of the host nation's workforce... it's in plain sight...
they're either lazy, callous, inefficient, irregular,
      low-quality proof (regarding the necessary output
for a satisfactory end-product),
                               in a nut-shell:
a bunch of wankers who just want to shove, but can't push!
              or heave!
why would i want to dilute my blood among these
people? sure, they can jingle and jive, and sing me a ******
christmas carol... apart from that? a potato famine.
      title? celtic-blood.... ginger-red-carrot-hair...
            sometimes there are just natural prejudices,
or let's say, personally experienced prejudices taking hold
of your writing, that you simply can't obstruct...
          some four-leaf clover ******* fairy of a boy tells you:
you should mingle with your own...
         you're polite enough to write an answer,
rather than tell it to his face... when you flying to dublin, you ****?
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
transcript from a cult movie

bolec: O! zobacz bracie! spójrz jak oni sie ruszają; nie sądisz że polskim chłopakom też by sie przydało troche luzu? przykómaj te kocie ruchy! mogliśbymy sie od czarnych wiele nauczyć... koko-dzambo i doprzodu! to moje hasło, dobre nie? czasami żauje że nie urodziłem sie czarny. hej! chłopaki! a może macie ochote objerzeć film? ja ogłądam po kilka filmów dziennie: pościgi, strzelaniny, wojny gangów, to mój chleb codzienny... mam nowy zajebisty film... "smierc w Wennecji", nieźle brzmi, co?                spokojnie, zaraz sie rozkręci...

fred: ty jak ty sie nazywasz bo zapomniałem? kolec? stolec?

bolec: bolec.

fred: no, więc posłuchaj mnie teraz uważnie, bolek... byłeś w stanach?

bolec:  nie...

fred: no właśnie... a ja znam kogoś kto był... i opowiedział mi to i owo... w iesz skąd przyjechali czarni do ameryki?!?

bolec:  z afryki...

fred: no właśnie... handlarze niewolników przywieźli ich z Afryki... A myślisz, że to taka prosta sprawa wysiąść na plaży w Afryce, złapać w siatkę zwinnego, silnego murzyna i wywieźć go za ocean?!?

bolec:  chyba nie...

fred: no jasne, że nie... udało im się to zrobić ponieważ wywozili tylko takich co albo nie potrafili spierdolić przed siatką, albo byli największymi głąbami z plemienia i wódz sprzedawał ich za paczkę fajek, bo i tak nie miałby z nich pożytku. i ci wszyscy nieudacznicy pojechali do ameryki. pożenili się, porobili dzieci... świat poszedł do przodu... pojawiły się komputery, amfetamina, samoloty, ale co z tego, jeżeli ich serca pompują tę samą krew, są potomkami człowieka, który na własnym podwórku dał się złapać w siatkę, więc nie uważam, że naszym chłopakom brakuje luzu... kapujesz?!?


and it takes just another big **** to have a one night stand,
and a big enough heart to have a relationship
so the soul enmeshes the juices - that famous
W.D. 40 moment - and a cheap U.B. 40 moment too -
it's a drag like that, he can run a 100 metres in under
10 seconds, but when he swims you just hear
dolphin cackling in the background - not **** aqua
for sure, that's me, with the myth of Atlantis -
orderly, please! line up! take your badges and disperse,
we'll be back here again at the fire-evacuation point
in the the near future - in the meantime do whatever
it is you do, and do it. shame really - you ever see
the fire equipment of 1666? a large water bucket...
people either had a lot of common sense back then
or had magnanimous airs about them
(see how many lawsuits were made in the past decade),
primitive technology - i guess people thought a lot
back then... no talk of dementia - they were hardly literate
but they thought a lot, becoming literate meant
becoming aristocratic degenerates - excess wine, *******
***, scab and crawling ***** on the cranium
intended as barbers - then too many synonyms came,
you said barber and he knew the beard and moustache
was an extension of the head - sure, softer keratin, the harder
version being - i've ***** on my face! i've ***** on my face!
short and briskly - freshly mowed lawn... mm, nice -
fiddle the other part, i'll take a Sikh's beard and make a
violin's bow on the sly - see how Mozart sounds after
that. the Mongol stank and conquered the Alexandrian
Dream - before the arrows pierced, the stench overpowered.
it's just a dreaded affair - in order to give pleasure
i have to give my inner life up - the Greeks called it
barbarism the over way round - words from a *******
as if implying i get really jealous and bring out a knife -
the wonderful phenomenon of the schizoid condition,
or as prior worded, premature dementia, yet such people
continue to be fully functioning in a sense -
language debris - a meteor's tail - politicised psychiatry -
the easy route - say the noun hammer and you know
exactly what to do, unless it's Heidegger's hammer
and you realise he's implying two labourers talking
philosophy while working manually - in that
the ego (nail) should be hammered into a plank
of wood (thought) as easily as the reverse - the reverse
being the hammer (extended into the profession that
uses it frequently - i, carpenter) utilised (being, a) -
i.e. i, being a carpenter, nails, hammering in.
i didn't think this through - what's bugging my certainty
in how to explain it without conversation between
two carpenters discussing philosophy, which never happens,
is not what i'm bothered with, the real issue is i have
with the inherent negativism of subjectivity in English
interpretation of philosophy, crudely:
subjectivity is bad, wrong, self-indulgent, pseudo -
this stress in English thinking with its glorification of
objectivity is, to be honest, strange...
it comes from a book review of Wagner's Ring of
the Nibelung - equatable words: banal and subjective -
banal - trite - well given the "success of the human species"
i'm surprised it's not a universal truth that
we've come a bit trite given the numbers - i've seen
cucumbers fresher than people, we're bound by
an approximate of 70 springs, cucumbers are bound
by 1 spring, you get fresh in a supermarket,
you don't get fresh in books, what with the third butterfly
species σκoνιςμυγα (skonismyga - so not -muga?
up Saigon? i thought you cut off the bits you didn't
want and put the other letters with the cut offs together?
no wonder - upsilon [u] isn't said - just like in Latin
in English we have why - iota not y - dust-fly, i guess
Babylon did survive, in the variations disguising "dyslexia")...
but why is subjectivity so horrid? i thought
we all had our take on things and none of us wanted
to speak for the whole of humanity? Nietzsche warned
and defended individualism like that - who
would want to speak for the entirety of humanity?
in the political realm in the west subjectivity is defended
rigorously - because if you begin championing objectivity
in politics the Iraq Invasion was a bit stupid -
despotism, d'uh - yet in England the tradition is to
have a culture of literature that shuns subjectivity
and champions objectivity - why is subjectivity so
negatively perceived? oh, you're afraid someone is
so ardent on their choice of interest they they might
by accident speak-spit into your face?
subjectivity can't be so ****** negative, it's an expression
of an escape from what objectivity already
defined in the pinnacle by Descartes: res cogitans,
(a) thinking thing - we only write subjectively because
we've been caged in that little no. 2 of a waiter's james
bond tux - we staged an escape, a self-worth fanaticism
on the subjects we love rather than "have to" investigate
without passions, just hubris - which is what
critics use - hubris, disdain - the study of language could
have a similitude to the math of
1 (hubris) and x 1 = hubris, 1 and x 2 = audacity, etc.
in the synonymous table - the lubricant factor.
so, anger over, back to Heidegger's hammer -
nail (ego)            plank of wood (thought)
hammer (therefore)                   a table (existence) -
so why need proofs? why do i need to prove i necessarily
exist (when i don't) or that god unnecessarily exists
(when he does) - why prove something?
so another million schmucks can come along and
prove it either way? it's the nonsense attributed to
Descartes - he stressed an impossible objective-subjectivity
(grammatically more understandable, rigid:
noun-noun doesn't work, ah, objective-subjectiveness -
noun-adjective, pencil-sharpener, pencil-needs-sharpening)
in terms of others - hence the existential other -
well impossible for anyone else to have thought it up,
the impasse of wanting to plagiarising it - a real cul de sac -
well, that's me done on the topic - sonic -
as far as i'm concerned most people keep rigidity
a tight collar of using language not coming across a speedy
suggestion to not think about:
the speed-game of preposition juggling and contras etc.,
the acquisitive use of a language v. the inherited use of a language,
two different ballparks - what i acquired i thus express,
what the organically-historic entity inherited he
will primarily convene to call Poles vermin - a little
perplexed by a more labyrinth style of language used -
it gets personal day by day - but of course the ******* are
a protected species due to their colonial roots - at least
with skin-shallow discrimination you have the obvious bang,
and the immediate retort... this **** is swelling, slowly...
slowly... slowly... those were 8 million or so
Polish-Jews... also vermin... this **** already imploded...
it hasn't exploded... it's a dummy bomb... it imploded...
it's swelling... slowly... slowly... slowly... and when you
won't know it... BANG!
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
ah... we have an intermediate: oh darling... hush... we know the higher ordeals of the arts or intellectual arguments - but don't debase the manual labour... you have an alternative! menial labour! bureaucracy! and brussels is rife with it! a **** forsaken bog where once the amazon rainforest stood proud! grrr! na huja pana i w: gwałt tego burdelu!

people have no time these days?
no time, in these days?
    what the space-time dip of
the earth into a wave of augmented
space, killed off time?
people have no time these
days, because: they have ready meals?
people have no time these days
because everything is handy,
say, an electric screwdriver compared
to the manual one?
  i still remember my grandfather
having owned a manual drill -
  **** me, those things were fun!
and how about those old telephones:
the old rotary dial telephones
(which were a lot of fun, let me tell you,
it made conversations important,
not the type on mobile phones
en route to a night of drinking:
- where are you?
- i'm on the bus.
- how soon will you get here?
- given the traffic? give me 15 minutes.
and that's probably the logest conversation
i had on a mobile phone).
- of **** me, and a phonebox to boot!
ugh: the disappearing spare change:
next on the list of extinction
is the post-box -
never mind the dodo, or the tiger:
we're talking the extinction of inanimate
things!
but had you the pleasure of
holding this mighty artefact that
the *old hand / "eggbeater"
drill is (or was):
join the club!
             you're prehistory, within
the space of 30+ years... you're a lizard
jedi...
                did i tell you that coffee
was alien to my hometown?
yep... my great-grandfather dumped a ****
load of it into the river:
because people didn't know what to
do with it... mind you... only western powers
drifted away to banana republics and
brought back chocs and harsh coffee brews...
the slavs just mellowed with chai tea
in the samovar...
              and all this, in the 20th century...
seriously?! no time these days?
what are people so busy about?
are they 20th century farmers without
a combine or a horse?
               they have to have with
the 5a.m. cockerel and go to sleep with
sun-set?
         they're into hibernating ultra-*****
rabbits during winter: glugging *****
and ******* silly: just to keep warm?
are they treating the electric "fireplace"
that's the television likewise?
     oh look, the spark electric invoked
by zeus himself taking pity
on prometheus is speaking!
      **** me, well, if i ever had a fireplace,
i'd only think of replacing it with
a television set...
      people have no time?
    what the **** are they doing?
no one in the 21st century seems to have
discovered the shortcut of a microwave?
what's it there for, this thing?
     oh, that's there to give ambiance when
we get bored of the radio...
  it just buzzes and we get to think
about bees...
         huh?!
               people have no time these days...
well **** me... who or what is making
all these people so busy?!
            when i say manual labour:
i don't mean menial labour -
oh right right, most ******* in this "arena"
of expression don't know either both
or at least one, given that the construction
industry is like the army...
there's a big ******* difference
between manual labour &
menial labour...
   you know the woring hours of a roofer?!
no?!
       starts at 8am... and depending on
whether its a day for deliveries...
can end as early as a school-day:
   fui-foorty!
              oh ya ya...
             you think than manual labours
gives a toss about menial labour's
    9-to-5 ***-scratching?!
   nice to look "busy",   isn't it?!
you gonna write a puny & by the way: ******
little column, or you going to also
write a covert propaganda essay akin
to ezra poond for the fascists?
      ah, the former...
   PEOPLE! HAVE! NO! TIME!
              where once manual labour was
championed and natural,
they now "champion" athletics,
and the "natural": oh sorry, sorry for doping
scandals...
              mind you, traces of alcohol
are not accepted on construction sites either...
     PEOPLE! HAVE! NO! TIME!
that's ******* einstein, that is...
    too ******* bored to cook,
too ******* bored to compare a television
for a fireplace...
  too ******* bored to listen...
but **** me: all too eager to talk when
the opportunity comes!
   hear me talking, ******?
   all i hear is: click-tick-click-tick-click-tick
of the keyboard...
             all you might hear in an hour
is that: and an annoying meow of
a ginger maine-****: the "i'm in need of
company" ****** of space...
PEOPLE! THESE! DAYS! HAVE! NO! TIME!
but you know what the saddest
essential of the modern critique is?
  people have forgotten how to
disagree, let alone levy a dialogue -
       trapped in their solipsistic-monologues,
i've seen this countless of times:
how fiction has overpowered platonism,
notably in terms of style,
requiring dialogue...
              no, people these days don't
know how to disagree, let alone agree with
each other...
        it's a sad end of dialectics...
                      no one wants to disagree,
to later agree upon a disagreement...
   i'd be fine with that...
                  i don't ask that people agree
at the end of their discourse,
             but that they disagree,
  and with good deed due, can perhaps
disagree within themselves,
                     to then chance the spectacle
of agreement with someone else -
but people... have no time... to disagree...
they do what the english do:
  they joke...
                            and you know what i find
to be single-most important
"cardinal" sin? let's just call it:
   the papal sin:                   ridicule...
i can appreciate disagreeing -
   but when it comes to ridicule?
   did i tell that i used to collect swords?
  yeah, have a stash of them...
          one's a long hussar cavalry mean
*******, probably the height of
      an oompa loompa with blade alone...
within the dialectical dynamic i can appreciate
the fervour of agreeing & simultaneously
disagreeing...
    but when people turn to ridicule?
     that hussar cavalry sword comes
to mind, and aristophanes' head on it:
   in my regard, the equivalent of a white
flag of defeat:  i surrender! i surredner!
                             (bound to the kind of laughter
within the epitome of loci).
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
Aniu,

dostałem słuchy na temat grafiki - nie jestem Surrealist'ą z poprzedniego wieku (tzn. dwudziestego), to już mineło... może i też miałbym pozory sfobody by skrytką zza popularną sztuką miałbym brać jakiegoś malarza na front jak by to było wydanie Ortodoksji zwane Penguin Publishing House, ale wolałbym mieć pod uwage geneze, tzn. kompromis braku koloru i tą nadrentą komplikacje modernizacji na tle "programming" szyfrem komputera - a ten kompromis? szyfr chemika... wiem że to może brzmić zbyt contra idei ładnego obrazka czy tez ikonoklazm'u wedle sukcesu sprzedarzy książki - ale jak orginał to orginał, bez kiszeczki, bo kto tak naprawde chce pokazać tważ niechaj pokarze ją niż maske pierw - wiec myśle o notatkach z sfer chemii w goły-trakt poezji. przesyłam jeden przykład, trzymam notatki inne takrze gotowe, ale to jeden przykład; nie chce sie chować pod skórą innych artystycznych wybryków - szczegółowo poza gruntem orginału pisma jako malunek pierw, a pismo po (ksiązka to nie Boeing 747: obraz pierw a dzwięk po - tzn. dzwięk pierw, a obraz po) - a więc i też skreślam zaufanie co do piękna malowidła jako przeciw tego samego niby ambasador'a dającego ochrone pod tytułem: brzydastwo wiersza konieczne; wole by jedno z drugim miało zaufanie, czy też wpomnienie obojga na począt i na koniec:  na trasie wątpień i zarysów warte twarzy w publicznym miejscu poza oh ah ah oh galerii. a więc zakończe - inne e.g. prześle jutro - ten jako prolog w temacie: o co mi chodzi.

Mateusz.

p.s. oczywiście ominołem ę czasem, lecz jest zachowane w przykładach głębin - ale to nazwe proto-ortografia Polaka poza Polską, takie potrzebne lustro w Angielskim 's - czyli liczby mnogej co nawet tłumacz by powiedział: sprechen Deutsche?
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i'll write my german like my father soap operas his english, mangled, and disturbed... i mean grossly misjudged.. i mean like: did anyone really understand him? they must have since he now has a house... but then i was too lazy to begin with... which is nice, to begin with... i mean: that nice: clap clap... clap clap... all i need is a hope for encore... it's Borat pseudo Kazakh nice... i mean, i can speak the most perfect assimilation tongue for my host nation and end up on the street... just like i might become the ****** argument in germany... where i actually left my docier... now i love to write a bit of dangling ******* in german, dunno, maybe the pole in me felt like it... thankfully no knows jackshit about Polish history, or Mongolian history after Genghis Khan, therefore i'm not prone to a phobia of repeating historical demands! i mean: who the **** remembers John Casimir in the anglophone world?! umm... no one?! hurrah! we get the blond penguin tuxedo quiff juggernaut into power... but allah'u akbar... it wasn't the playboys of Dubai!

nein!
du kann nicht eine
  zivilisiert brutus,
mit verschwendenvolk
führ hyänewirbeln....
ja... art sortieren kindsouffle
wie mehrsaga...
   hinweis papa-pauß?
deine ein sauer antlitz...
ein fuchs-hyäne: herablassend,
trocken- nordpol otto theodor,
                 ein! sú!

i basically write the broken limb tongue my father speaks
on a construction site...
          i mean he speaks out of time, and sometimes
out of place...
   and every time i write his invoice i am
left heart relieved, had i a romance: i've be broken.
                        but the funny thing is,
i write this ******* and i can't even own a coffee machine
having said it...
             he speaks pish-boor english and gets a house,
a t.v. and a car....
      i write this perfect assimilate english and get
a postcard from australia: thanks, move here.
                   i'd hate to imitate the jew and turn to be
a nomad...
               but globalisation evidently demands that of me...
   it just gets boring after a while,
with all these needs and Neds trying to compete,
i just want to end up failing with fireworks...
become god at the age of 33...
                     and **** the rest of it if i should live
to be 66...
                        ah, come on man,
show some veterinary bias...
            some cult, some basis and futurism without
a regressive attitude... give the dauch the scoop...
and the lady her pooch pouch of vogue!
                  ah, then you're like me
talking german, like my father talking english...
perfectly... via fuchs-hyäne: perfect to the laugh
defining night; or licken-icken:
          für deutsche! über alles: für deutsche!
do brody, byczo jest! und nichts est!
               nienen warschau mitteklasse!
schwarz zirkusegen schatten: krächzen!
                pirdolony or-zełek twy... hujnia i motywa
      na badziewie.... mówi: matka... a potym... kórwa.
ha ha ha ha ha ha!
a po co ty i ten cymbał azjatyk? ten czambo kazak
i  pierdolony cynamon?! huh?!
po jebaną plombe, kasztan, mogiła, figa i pflaume
            i śliwowice?!
Liban na odzew reszty oliwek?! pospolity ruch?
   wnikąt rzeszy! masz! masz marsz kurwa na stambuł po wnót!
Sobieski Sobieksi i na głowie szambo!
te pizdy znów ci zawrót i chęć i nadzieją dały z
          genezą na coś by początek nie smiały miał być?
   ale tak naprawde nie tu... rogiem of warszawe roku '44...
bo wszystkich zycek wybito gazem,
gina musztardowym *smrodem
... senfstinken...
                    furzschreiten...
to wtedy tak naprawde to:
tak naprawde poza Warszawą to powstanie do głuchych
          oślą mową wzdycha wzbogaceniem zdobytą
                                 psim sumieniem i czekam na zdobycz
            to zwane honor i państwo... czyli
wszystko braku na uniwerku... póki braku ideału...
no ta... cerkwiew Piłsudskiego! ach ten wąs! niby Stalin!
ale brak tego romantyzmu z nad Litwy!
co ma ten sławny wąs z pod Gruzji!
już mi miód w portkach!
       na ten twój! w ochote i zamiar tchuża i
                             żacier w mgłe i proch!
jak i w papier i piasta mrok w paproć o zacier modlitw
                         i czarów!
       kłam ty oczekiwań mioteł i motyli takich fabryk
których... kochasz...  
oj oj... wmojym gardle hydra!...
                 na tyle narodów ile da sie pokrewni nadrobić
brata i siory... tak, dam te wojenke...by tańczył mi kozak!
a o tobie wspominał mnie jakiś tajny Romon zwany Wład,
Piłat ******!
             ksywa: wampir... nie wiem...
sporo drwena na maczugi... ale nie wiem po co on chciał
  tak na ostrzyć jak na ołówki... w dupy macać?
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2018
pierdole, jade do Turka, bo inaczej ni-ma rady: pospolicie, czyli na pszysięge: klnąć! nad to:  ścisk ‘zora, o! tyle! gleba!  ścisk - tym ‘zorem siekać, i u-ci-sss-kać! no to dopić: pod ten brak  šatana - tego Ukrainskiego atamana - brak mu ręki - bo na ścisk - jak to mówie: cisza - szmer i śmiech! a to wiadomo czemu tak auto-matem iota ma główke - czemu nie ćιsza, jeno cisza? a no, dla tego! ja nie prosie by tak prosić na gotowe! a tu wysłane! cygan z dywanem perskim, a i tak nie wygoda! bo czemu kropka nad ι‘otą? a bo sie czyta Spinoze i sie pyta: nad literami grawituje tym pytaniem. - to też znaczy: poza lewą nie wie co prawa ręka robi - bo to oczy czytem jedno, a zór lepi drugie - kto by domyślił sie inno turkie ğ to jak ‘glika ha, ha gag - ab surd! grav’ niet kā’ron! bo i tak: śmierć metafizyki jest nowo-narodzonym szczylem (ščylem) ortografii - czyli dwa razy po krótkie i - jakby jota - głucho puste widzi-mi-sie (brakujący ogon, czytem: diabł ma rogi - a zatem: pytń  o ‘gon... jom ci pszepisze Ajrysza Finnegans Wake, tym bogatszy, a przy tym powiem: pierwsza cegła pod ten mur: al-buraq - czyli ten burak - czyli, die rotebeetemauer - jebaniec poniemiecki, jeszcze mu mało pożyczonych słowików... cirp ci kuźwa dam’nom, bedzie bi-da! bi-da! kozmopolitan tylko górali i szkocki akcent bawi na lublu... to cie kurwa zabawi, prędzej dziób pingwina skryje sie w moim łokciu, jak i dąb na tle mojej dłoni! pije, pali, konia wali... w imie ojca i syna, i duchownictwa szarańczy. post / pre scriptum: wolno myślący człowiek nie ma teorii ego, jeno mape, nie algebre o ten niedosyt znaka X - dawym imie - dycha! co pincet znaczeń, dycha! nie nie, aby podpis analfabety - tzn. X i ego, ** i superego, *** i id - tzn. to tamto, owanto. wu czy u - czy wiem i nie wiem, czy: kiedy piszesz i wydalasz cieć klaustrofobii - czyli: chłopie nie pisz jak plotnik fobii jesteś - ad abstractum - od nowa: Zyd na Gestapo - pewnikiem nie żaden: Brzeczyszczykiewicz - schusza - jakby odwrót: syty - szyschkami - šon - ko-kurwa-konery! jebudjed; budujem? da da... ja ni kocham tybi ty ni koi me. a to co? działa NA-WA-RO-NE-SO-LA-TI-DO. ponownie - sprość: ğnome - ğnostic - cisza nad gje.*

i to prawda,
   ta Grecja...
       kołyska zachodniej
cywilizacji -
   tzn. bahory,
      młode gówna:
   kakaшki -
lecz! Virgil i co Turek dobrze
wie... Grecja? nuda
i szambo murmur
w Edenie pirackim zwanym
Loon-dyn...
       bo ci powiem co ci powiem
a ci powiem jak Zagłoba -
   tym bardziej kochać
jak czerni syn w pieśń nad góry ‘niem:
   Bo-***! mój to ulubieniec.
           pisz wiersz ‘ciupki -
maciupki paniczku -
   pisz wiersz po każdej
książce...
              a co w Polsce?
meandry uczuć!
   tak, tak, z babcią ci powiem
nie o Greckiej piekności -
powiem ci o Turkeckiej -
    - co, za... SIKSA!
- i sam bym głowe w ogniste dupsko
diabła wsadził po modłach przed
ołtarzem nie jednej iskry Aten
                          blednącej -
   w tamtą strone jedzie w czern
ubrana żałobą piękna -
w pół kroi sie Ukraina i Grecja...
a tam, tam w post scriptum
Byzantina - siedzi wicher serca
cerkiew i meczet cukrzynka -
martwe to morze, morze,
martwe, lecz nie sól inno cukrem
lśniące błoto, jakby
   z Szanghaju *** świnski -
   córa dla starego i młodego -
Sühan - Sühan - Sühan Tuğba -
     po nią znów 100,000 łajb płynie -
dawna Troja -
  bo ci powiem co ci powiem -
     Turk nie Muzułman -
po Alim drugi - godny sfat Pers'a -
bo jak nie - Turk u progu Europy -
nawet i ja na podziw przed
    obchodem Kaab'y siedem razy
motłochu wart ogląd szkarabu -
i ten słodki adhan -
           bo dla szczoła śpiwać to
na marnie -
     boli też pruch po tych starych
bakach pośmiewiska papistwa...
   jebana kurwa mać w koło to samo -
nie wiem jak, ale
    wolałbym zdradzić chrzest
niż go przyjąć -
           ponownie -
ale jeno pod chorągwięm Turka -
jako janczar -
         chociaż tam jest: śpiew!
a nie, dzwon, dzwon w głąb 'pusciany!
czy też krokiem: kra kra krasnoludy!
fu!
     gorzkość i brzydota!
          mówie! Turek po łacinie
zacina? zacina - alfa-kurwa-becik
po jakiemu? nie po Ł'cinie
godnym Lwowa?
           z Turkiem moge, bo sie
chce, on i tak już lizał Bałkan
   i prawie zawstydził Wiedeń!
    ale to ciwilizowany Pan,
         bo umnie ubrać i nawet
pozwoli wypiç kiedy kości wychodzą
z ciała ogrzać cień!
     o tyle lepszy -
jaki przy Turku z Troją w ręku
i przy Perskim stygnięciu jest
ten prostak Arab...
     a jak im sie skończy czarny glut
to będa eksportować pioch!
    już wiem gdzie,
         na plaże Albionu!
             i tyle powiem -
   o Turka warto byłoby zdradzić -
bo skąd inne, piękniejsze od
  Greczynek niż ciup-ciup pijące
         wróbelki z nad Bosforu?
   Turek drugi Ali i trzeci podział
Izlamu - bo wkręt Ł'ciny -
             i tym też -
               sfoboda -
                 tym też dawny Byzan -
i Troja - i co jak nie Rzym -
        ostatni kalif -
                    i tym Arab w świecie
jak Żyd -
          ale o tym mniej od Żyda -
bo to bogacz na wielblądzie który
nie tylko nie może sie zmieścić przez
oko igły, a co też nie może
zmieścić sie w swe portki!
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
Sikorki tchnienie w locie musnęło ziemię,
Kresy, wrzosy, suche liście też na wietrze.
Na sykomorze dalekiej Arabii ustała,
skulonego u jej korzeni tego, co sonety
o Aleppo układał, wysłuchała,
i przeto myślami po raz pierwszy
swe osmolone smogiem skrzydełka przetarła:

"Ku czemu się wykluwałam? Ku czemu latałam?
Swym trelem, uwagi skinieniem, czego mam być wyrażeniem?"
Nagle poczuła w każdej małej kości:
"Odpowiedź jest jedna: Miłości"

Że ma ona twarz wszystkiego, niczego, spojrzenia naszego:
Dwóch samców złączonych łabędzia czarnego,
Smutku dla szczęścia innego znoszonego,
Sekretu czule z łzami deszczowi wyznanego
I drzewa z grzyba korzeniem splątanego.

Że ku temu radość innym daje, że tego jest formą,
Wszystkich uczuć, chwil i wrażeń zmową.

"Dziękuję", na tą myśl światu odpowiedziała,
z wdzięczności dla poety z dołu
korę drzewa pocałowała,
i z nową tęsknotą, ku niebu Syrii,
odleciała.
A poem for the children at heart (and not only) of a little *** that learnt on a faraway sycamore through a refuge’s sonnets that Love is all and nothing, with all facades, as revelations or any physical/****** manifestation.
Will translate into English if requested (haven’t yet due to many rhymes and figures of expression)
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/                  o'keefe music foundation's
   kids cover 46 & 2 by tool...

just a reiteration of
the bass guitar...

    subtle weaver of rhythm -
at first signature,
pronounced -
   suddenly deviating into
a murmur,
  allowing drums and rhythm
guitar
   a play on the ears...

then deviating again:
playing hide & seek within
the confines of other instruments...

and then merging with drums
in synch. making
it undeniably: "lost"...

   and then re-appearing again,
lost in every crescendo
that's not exactly a crescendo,
but a chorus...

and then back into
the verse, or rhythm section,
and then the bass re-appearing
once more...

****!
     26+ years in england,
and, could this be my first encounter
with an englishwoman?
    that stealth quasi-*****
**** cockney accent in these
outskirts of exaggerated london?!
26+ years, or 25+
if you count a crush on samantha,
curly burnt blonde,
   or danielle...
            screaming after me:
              run rabbit! run!

i'm such a heartbreak when it
comes to the littlest of expressions
of affection...
   the more fleeting the expression
the more i remind myself
to take root...

                 but 26+ years to be
given affection by an englishwoman?!
katie has been, only the 2nd woman
in some dire need to play with
my beard...
                      alas, the first was my
grandmother...

                  so what the **** was i doing
for the past 26+ years...
when all that **** was happening
in rotherham?!

                                huh?!

oh... right...
       i'm not actually english -
  but sure as **** i'll not
   (a) deviate from perfecting this tongue,
and
   (b) nie zapomne tego, z którym
            sie urodziłem.

p.s.
   there actually are orthographic
      jokes when it comes to polish graffiti.

tug a goat by the beard...
   tug a goat by the beard...

       a beard?
    it's like ***** hair, but on your face!
ah katie katie...
  your skin as the gallery
of tattoos...
   the three **** ribbons
intimidating french tights...
   that enveloping eye in
high detail...
          those chemical puddle
coloured fish scales on your
left arm's tip of hiding
       the shoulder, and blade...

26+ years for this sort
of conversation?!
  **** me... what was i doing not
"finishing up" in rotherham?!
i guess constant
copper, is not worth the brighton
tan...

            ah katie katie katie...
catherine, my dear...
                         look at how much you
gave, and how little i have
to reply with.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
chór! i duch!
               blady... rym...
ale i też wygoda powrotu
jako niby żyd... bo
te paluski... i ten *lajkonik
...
kiev w warszawie... na
tym tle: bo to gwar gadania
i autobus w pizdzie nocy i
zimy... ceka... ceka.

   o bodziem...
  punk kot w czekam
i czoło i glebe i rys islamu,
   i szkło skalu w czaszke
i gołote... i ten... pierdolony kosciół!
goły... naked...
         the cat weighs about 10 kilograms
i'm obviously going to head-**** him
to say good morning...

rrrrrryb ah! koscioł! groto i smród!
rekąpis!                   ryba! flu flu flu!
oj tu: pingwin sie zgina! huj! bra!
   tu! zeżre te polsche... te polsche...
zerwie z nią... bo co?
jakie narodziny mam, "celebrować"?
ja na typ o motłoch? baba?!
taki typ by na miet i slóp -czysłav?!
pats! prostak z... miasta...
  chleba mało... tsa zebrać...
seplień seplień se o se: nago
      i choroba... gniew... grób;
padaj! jak gwóźdz w trumne
czy tam gówno w toalete...
       tsa u... tu com sa, tam com sa...
ja na wygnań!
        ja wygnany, co mi te poloki?
półtłoki? boli, nie? zyh poza granicą,
tam, dam ci kwit i... kćuka!
                 kćuka! na witaj huju!
potem -senką: za casów Herod'a...
  co sfe: pio... senką; taki tanz: oi! ola ola o!

taki zemnie polok, jaki ten
pierw żyd, co pyta:
  
  pytam... bo czekam...

(choir and [the] ghost).

    warto pytać, oto wiem że o nic nie czekam
(nie czekam o nic... po? nie czekam o nic...
po prostu czekam; tak tak, nic nici nić nitka nikt;
kurvfa shoelaces... you ******* deaf
or watching kochaj albo rzuć?       );
tym warte pytać of -zyk-
kiedy nie w... kraju...  or-zelek... or-zelek...
              taki kwaśniewski co tylko sepleni...
blah blah blah... potem na gniew
vay vest vey kal it a p-cle... susumber: or cueue...
         oi oi! wrona! hej! wrona!              co tam?!
eh, ten rojs siber tesz popierdolony...
rrrrreeee lee, wrona! co tam?
o kurva... terz troche... mmm uhum... mm... eh?
   is bez powrotu... taki... niby...
dobry fason i wybór słów
    jako dobry wójek... po glebie jak po
grzbiecie psa
...
ah ten pysk.... taki dobry pies
mógł być, a potem, nagle, naturalnie:
wściek! pyska... harem! harem!
         harem! grypa! grypa! ugh!
                                golem!
    co tam wyrośnie, to tam nigdy nie było...
ani cebula co płacze, ani
           burak któremu zęby
   wypadają...
      oś? czy... osa? i z tym językiem
bez tego języka gwarancji?
            taki jam obcy...
   ja nawet obcy gadać obcym... do perfekcji...
jaki to musi być nud... aby było
              jak to musi być, skoro jest?
    last time i checked... pretty **** awful.
Dante Rocío Nov 2020
Odczucie zaparcia tchu w piersiach
jakoby przy chłodzie,
szoku w oszołomionej
czułości czy penetracji
przez ukochanego po raz pierwszy
podczas aktu cielesnego

odczuwam jako to uczucie
w klatce
ściśniętej
jakbym miał w dłoniach
właśnie
tak samo kruchą rybkę...

ledwo dyszy, cmoka,
jak niemowlę się miota...
i widzę siebie jako lęk,
że ona to ze szkła jest
i płacze prawie z niepokoju
o to
co
z nią

zrobię

że trzymam mięsień sercowy wyjęty
prosto z czyjejś żywotności.

I wiem, iż jeśli tylko zrobię
nieostrożny ruch, to ten cały
cud Życia którego
w oniemieniu i własnych łzach
nie mogę pojąć,
że mi położono między palce...

pęknie nagle jedna arteria przez ściśnięcie...

I pójdzie krew.

I pójdą jej wargi w dół.

I pójdą płetwy wzdłuż ciała.

A tygrysie paski bielu i różu będą już tylko tą gęstą czerwienią co nie zmyjesz z ramion tylko się wedrą jak zabrudzona skóra bez zrzucania naskórka.

Tą czerwienią w papce jak ta podczas okresu menstruacyjnego gdy ją badasz z bliska na opuszkach.

A Cardio będzie nieme.
Przeze mnie.
Zgwałcone takowo więc.

Lub każde inne dłonie, w które powierzyłem tą rybkę.

Dlatego takim łkającym lękiem jest dawanie tego w inne dłonie.
A oni nie wiedzą jak karpika się trzyma tak, by chodziło o niego i tylko niego.
Nie jego paski barwne,
powietrze wokół
czy inne tyczące się treści.
O niego.

Oto Słowo.

Osoba.

Język.

My.

„A Słowo ciałem się stało.”
Many consider my Poetry verbalised as utterly abstract metaphors I take straight out of imagination. Drawings of Mind.
Yet those elaborates are purely elected wordings to images, elations, with senses and clips that come to choose me themselves. Overlifely.
The image of Koi Fish is one of those allegories of any tries to show you what “body” is that of my Poetry.
Hereby the text.
So that it can be seen these are more than metaphors or the rationale.
(Translation coming provided soon)
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
.come to think of it... a fillet of meat never implores me to think about what's about to be eaten... nor does a whole chicken implore me to think about what's about to be eaten... but whenever i see my fellow man... esp. when my fellow man is begging to not be taken seriously... i do... tend to... in the back of my mind... attempt to bypass thinking about a butchers' cut... of what... looks pristine when walking or running... parcles of the "excess" of limbs... given a dead chicken... it's all readily available... but... working from a genesis of movement toward the study of both coffin and stone; and wind? i would most certainly understand ******... but then again... not all that ******... end up eating their intentions... which makes me make phantoms of nostalgia... ****'s sake... even the sharks these days will bite: but spit our flesh out... because... well: why **** something that you will not eat? because... there's a... Hadrian's wall counter-impetus?! but it's welcoming to think about ****** as... also a bit of a hunt... i guess that's what keeps me off a streak of tartare "justice": before i start gagging and imitation regurgitation... such a foul beast from an ownership of a tongue alone... forget that shambo of the mind... no wonder... man kills man without intentions to eat him... i'd sooner eat cat-****-and-puke... then again... unless it was the brain, the heart, the liver... those ackward limbs and muscles... i could somehow imagine eating the tender bits... never those... ostrich extensions of reimagining animate agilities of a kama sutra: study.

stupendous...

   i will hold a stone in one hand
and imagine a mountain...

i will hold a glass in the other...
and imagine the sea:

not from the brain...
but from the tips of my fingers...

stupendous... quiet so...

               otherwise less impressive:
most thoroughly...

then i will hold some ice in one hand...
and some black earth in the other...

i will scrunch some paper into a ball...
rather than fold it...
   then i'll lick a knife...
            then...
          
                if there's any more "quo vadis"
sensibility to go through with...
i'll remember: ask the anaesthetician
that question: quo vadis...

as he distracts you with the jab
before... that sort of "sleep"...

            i would like to feel the texture
of thought...
        perhaps even sniff it out
into a bottle - out from my head...
this perpetual (th)ought i...

had it been only a moral quest
rather than... picking
up stray lines that otherwise made-up
a concern for narrative...

                                yes: "or" this insomnia
narrative... all these bothersome
daydreams and counter-measures...

it's not merely enough to play
out monkey-dough roles...
tongue of a serpent...
body still functioning at best
in imitation...
inconveniences of noble feats
acquired from watching widow swans
in that term: monogamy...

or in a circus of a harem of walruses...
this chimera this man...
the loan animal and his loan
words: schnitzel puppy flip flip...

        unless it's pure history of dates...
it's... a mongrel of archeology
and etymology...
           to find the oldest word...
that has been translated: diffused...

beside og, da, i, am... om, to...
         w...      z...
           w tym: in this...
          z tego: from this...

a letter that can act like a conjunction...
i: "e"... and...
         or a pronoun...

wood does not have a chemical formula...
water does: inorganic matter does...
stones do...

air does...
            oxygen by whatever %... nitrogen by
whatever %..
i studied chemistry...
but the question only comes now...

what is the chemical formula for... wood?
well... wood doesn't have a chemical formula...
truly... even i'm astounded...

even Alain de Lille looks stupified...
i know... they have a list of formulas
for... ****'s sake... even the ozone!
O₃... which is "impossible" since oxygen
is doubly-binding...

shortcuts to god... i can't call them anything
but just that...
why doesn't wood have a chemical
formula?!

i will hold a book in one hand...
and a feather in another...

    you can have a chemical formula
for... stibnite...
    orthorhombic... Sb₂S₃...
of sure... you can have that...
you can have a chemical formula for:

millerite (NiS)
  zwieselite... olivenite...
          adamine Zn2(AsO4)(OH) -
   autunite Cu(UO2)2(PO4)2 · 12H2O...
benitoite...
                  
all these formulas...
these aquariums of inorganic matter...
but still... no chemical formula for...
wood!

lignin is only part of the equation...
what can be accounted for photosynthesis:
C₅₅H₇₂O₅N₄Mg (chlorophyll)...
      
you'd think water would be more
complicated...
    
beryl?
            hollandite?
         ­ tremolite...       so that's "earth"
all covered; no?

but where's that formula for wood?

good-luck looking for that holy graille...
either the cup or the cross...
cubanite... no problem...
   benitoite...
              goethite...

               am i drinking? oh right... that's me
waking up to a reality of not being
in a boyband...

all these chemical names coming and
going...
  glass...
trinitite,
made by the trinity nuclear-weapon test...
the libyan desert glass...
volcanic obsidian glass...

otherwise glass is:
silicon dioxide +
SiO2
calcium carbonate +
CaCO3
sodium carbonate
Na2CO3

             what's the chemical formula
for wood?!
any luck with paper?
a mixture... primer: cellulose (C6H10O5)n...

approx. 50% carbon, 42% oxygen,
6% hydrogen, 1% nitrogen, and 1%
other elements
(calcium, potassium, sodium,
     magnesium, iron, and manganese)

i guess it's one of those social media
relationship statuses: "it's... complicated"...
my bad...
   cellulose... polyose... and lignin...

something spectacular was supposed to
happen: there was an avenue of pristine
love waiting: i never managed
to wait for it... in the end...
run-of-the-mill stuff...
           there was this "this"...
and there was this "that"...
     pointers in braille...
      limintless echoes of uncaressed
agonies... splendours upon the attire
table of dead-meat: quasi...
     when inspected by the more eloquent
butchers of surgery...

            but the whiskey or the *****...
flowed like... it possessed the knowledge
of... gomme syrup...
of all the detailed memories
of: these people have lived...
the alchemists:
   - zosimos of panopolis
   - ge hong
- jean baptista van helmont...
    
  why is leonardo da vinci's mona lisa
so... forced upon us?
ever look at... Perronneau's
  madame de sorquainville?

i always "mistake"... albrecht Düre
with gustave Doré...
i implore you...
don't make me buy chocolates
or flowers... it's not one of thoese
dementia riddled "misnomer" takes
on Monet and Édouard Manet

here's my quadratic:
   albrecht Düre            Claude Monet



       Édouard Manet                     gustave Doré

very much a rhombus...
besides the fact that when i do pop the cork
"pop"... and "cork"...
the libido does rampage...
and i'm imagining myself in a brothel...
and i am the brothel...
and all that's love is about the basic
need for what's easil given
to a petter dog...
down my view no alley with
a grandma and a leash to look / feel
suspect... repetition of the times...
or some sort of allure for repenting
the deeds of youth...

              ****: to hell with stochholm cyborgs
and all that anemic clues...
those autistic plots and "twists"...
        
am i to suddenly come out begging
for my democratic right?
writing as an extension of thinking...
i hardly think it's an invitation
to speak...

              less... "inclined" to counter this freedom?
esp. now?
esp. now?
       now of all times... come... let's dictate
the future together...
let's start sharpening the meat-grinder!
let's keep up with the chisel for a tooth
of the grand earthworm:
wursecker... for the bone to become marror
to become: all but the plaster-work
of pâté!

         smear that **** all over...
                    oh right... what's being "debated"?
the self-employed being given
slave status or otherwise...
those given employee stature...
to be somehow above?
in england there are 5.5 MILLION self-employed
sub-contractors...

the bus driver gets a day off...
unions and what not...
  ******* kind and fellow examples of
non-replica me...
             unions, what unions?
here's to... what?
fizzying out the expandables?
      good lock and chain and "luck"...
no one came when i was i need...
no one came but they still had to ridicule me...

i am enjoying this... whatever "this" is...
i like to think of it...
what the darwinism ideologues
    have been spewing
all along...
recycling primer...
        getting rid of a tootache...
just enough to be... the sensible
english gentleman...
but not... a weimar **** in waiting ******...
sieve it...

we'd be lost in hope...
when all hope is but a blistering
bargain...
when most of us don't have
landlord credentials...

             pokey porky pie-yo!
i like this currency of a carboot sale...
happening...
i quiet like the clearance...
the easily available sale of death...
the darwinism that darwinism
doesn't exactly "like"...

hell... shove the weakest under the bus...
under the hittite slash and draw...
i'm trying to remain bothered...
so says the drunk...

or at least... when the government says:
curfew... no more than 2
in a public space congregation...
i start thinking about how pork torsos
are hanged in a slaughterhause...
then i start to imagine...
that meat-hook... plucked in under
the chin... that excess of a bonus tooth
for where the uvula and the tonsil
should be...

   oh look... it glides! it hangs!
to be crucified is such an obscure...
such an out-of-date symbolism...
how about hanging from a meat-hook?
for piercing those n.h.s. ambulances tires?!
or coughing in the faces of old people?
how about... being impregnated
by a pike inserted in a quasi-sodomite
pristine ****... reaching the ****** of
both pelvis and coccyx...
how's that?

   n'ah... i rather like re-imagining
the curcifixion dangling on your neck...
with a meat-hook and subsequent dangling
on the treadmill of minced...
right under the chin... where the tongue
begins... and ends... to lick
and slobber that last and lost retention
of vowels in oyster juices...
    from the concrete constructs
                                of consonants...
        
a hot-dog hard-on on for...
                                     for the benefits of
sigma humanity;
   i'll try to retain remaining obscure...
****... if i don't i'll probably have to beg
for the image replication of trimmed eyebrows!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
cienia krok, króka gambit, czy to samo pochylenie możliwe? czemu w polsce oznacza się na księdza: krzyżak, tu-ton, pruß? a na króka: sen barbarossy, siwa chmura, cień króka taki sam, co króka swoboda, nachylonym chodem, krók: cień przed moim cieniem; anioł stróż wyrytego oka, na-pół ślepego odyna.*

tu stanie twój pierwszy krok -
tu twój chłód tego
słońca zakrytym cieniem -
tu stanie twój pierwszy krok -
iglasty i wypasiony
                wiepsza śliną!
tu stanie krok, cień,
klątwa, gwar, i krók!
               piramida: PO SĄG!
wyryje swe imie w te brzytwy
londu...
      dam to imie tej "nadzieji" -
księga zmartwień,
ja sam, na marną nadaremno -
          z nad boga: o okruch błagać? nie!
       tu, tu, tu: wyryje
swe oblicze z nad zamiarów -
wedle tła: tego, co jest na co dzień
milczący jakby martwy syn,
        przed żywym ojcem -
krzyż - ten ojciec surowy -
czy też syn o krzyżu mówny -
przed martwym "ojcem":
synem wraz mówiący:
              przeklęta ta niby: niewiasta.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
tybi Bo'*** ciebie potseb: od tego zaklęcia w nagie rogi ostrzem wbić, wygnaniem ja dziecie a tych Lachów zbyt wiele, bo dorośli, laughter at the polish plumbers i ta WIOCHA UCZONYCH! uconych... tsa tsa wedle tsara!

as one Cossack said according to Shakespeare's
titus andronicus
said *titus
:
what fool hath added water to the sea
(if it be unsalted, i could understand such a fool
pouring a glass of water into lakes and rivers,
but did he mention salted water or unsalted?),
or brought a ****** to bright-burning Troy?
this defines the 21st century, this quote
(minus the bracket insertion)
from the early obscure play when performed at
the globe over 100 people fainted...
this quote defines modernity,
what fool would bring thinking into an arena
of so many discoveries! what fool would
dare to pour his own thought into the sea
of knowledge! well, maybe it sounds better in reverse,
but it doesn't, given the Socratic nothing bluff
having knowledge of undermining dialectics
rather than knowledge of nothing... ******* bluff...
the 21st century speaks like titus' exclamation...
pour a glass of water into the sea and
no fish will succumb as it might to a fishing-net...
bring a ****** to bright-burning Troy and it will
still not prevent Nero playing the lyre while
Rome is prevented from being a camp-fire that
warms the closely associated, yet disperses and
invokes panic... replicated thought original by
Nietzsche and the madman with a candle
in the marketplace at noon thinking he could
prove god or create the candle's shadow...
we're so, so bound to plagiarise, i fear that humanity
fears the onslaught of plagiarism and replicas
more than death... for plagiarism is so time-consuming
it takes a whole lifetime in order to lie to yourself,
while with death the immortals lie to us too being
immortal with a snap of their fingers, and, we're, gone!
indeed the 21st century is likening bringing a torch
to the burning Troy (London 1666) or pouring water
into the sea (Xerxes' madness lashing the sea for
obedience)... the 21st century just said:
what fool bring his own thought and postcard it
as of any worth to be mentioned as an addition
in the bank vault of savings, of knowledge that
the 21st century self-assurance has claimed to be
as zenith and no further attempt to climb
a miscarriage of physics and entry into metaphysics?
what fool dare usurp the savings of our prior inquiry?
by mere thinking?! who dare he claim to be?
what knowledge is he to provide by mere thought?!
perhaps a woman out there, not known to
the associates of the royal society of physicians might know...
but why bother with such hopes... let's leave it
as a stone upon stone could have been a stoneman
if idiotic prowess of man over cat snout and
missing mandible thumbs didn't instruct him to
construct a pyramid... then i'd **** into a sand dune
a hundred times and mould you father time.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
nagłon a ja lupa i ja
wgard... i mokra, ja,
Moskiev... koszule mokre....
na gawron... ja płacz...
i w noc, i w czar ten tło ka ka
a raczej w tło lupy iskr...
tak... bliżej.. dalej... bliżej! dalej!

ale ja Moskiev, i oto oi na wojne,
to warte: ęć - ha ha warte ojca,
i tego, i wolne, it warte watrę...
cię, you... or what was said
to be evil... a night spent in Warsaw,
or a night i never wished i had spent...

wedle barw...
na tło... o tu huja se ma!
ty mi nie centurion
deutsche!
  hałk i lombard ego!
prawie żyd, prawie taki owy pan...
niech mnie gnat i gwałt taki
obezwładni: czyli ten,
który, kto nigdy tam
  nie raczył znaczyć wprot: list.

oj ubogi, oj ubogi, ty.

ss-man, nein!
death to ****! life! ****,
not in america... bored from life...
smooch the two of
equal strand!
ya, deutsche!
as ire stupid, came to lay claim...
dumb irish are ready to join
islam, and make a bomb...
as the dumb irish are ready to do.
boo and readier with boom!

boom!
lost the concern for a shamrock
dance.

how i wish to forget having the capacity
to speak english...
ugh...
    how i wish to forget it...
it's so crisp, so pristine...
so worth being unfathomable.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
rombie sie drzewo, no,
a ja w szlak lasu szukania zapałki
by odpalić gróbego Malboro -
od tego mentol vogue;
Mickiewicz na Litwie a
Niemen na Ukrainie - komu
rynsztok u Turka? ha ha, no mnie!
gram nie tyka kilometra sąd,
to też ty, by była warta rewizja szkolna:
nein...                     pała!
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
panie! białystok!

kurwa:

szeptem lubelskie...
a gwarem?
                   kieleckie!

tzn. co?
przy tobie schudne?!

nein nien herr polschein!
kurwa!
ale dym!
tu sie pisie - pisze, ja -

ale tu trunek dymu,
pióro i rękopis,
a tu dym i fajka...
i tu czyka oko...

o kurwa, czeka:

to jest to "chyba teraz"
warte hejnał -
to samo co wmagać sie o iskre
na nago w tle pokrzyw;
co ja, jebanego syna w ojca
mundurze?!

    huja! daj na podziw glebie!

niech czarna mysz ma co:
dać ludu na myśl!

chłebem warty człowiek -
a winem warty bóg -
a potem i tego to, co tego tam..
nie, nie jutro: *** -
ta ślina pachwi!

ten rękopis, warty zbawienia:
o to co jutro,
i tym bardziej co wczoraj,
lecz nigdy co dziś,
bo po co?
     piąte "przeciw" dziewiąte
hydra warte
               dzięcioła puk puk -
oczekiwań warte
    sopot: zero -
to zwane: lecz lecz, a nie licz!

ja w naród kopem,
a naród?
      mózgiem w dupe!

i co?

            i tyle!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2017
nie tak sie przerzegnamy jak bylo dane (w lewo, w prawo, w lewo, w prawo) nie! pierw głowa, potem ręka, wtedy serce, a na końcu: pachwina; jako prawo-ręczny... straciłem ucho na nowoczesny vogue lewicy (w braku komuny)... bo trudo srać, i słuchać tych... bzdur! w swym: powiem co tylko moge... bo i tak angol jest trędowaty, jeżeli chodzi o języki, oprócz jego; a o tym znaczy gromada amerykanców którzy tylko mówia: jak to sie wypowiada?! rub rub rub your hands... startled by the sea of tongues, dislodged from the synchronisity of the tide.

tú stanie moja stopa,
                           i tu nią, powiem
    *hūk
! grzmot!
                                rygor! disciplina!
   aport! aport!
                mniej warty niż pies
                                      gnoju!
  doberman na podwurku
                                   chociaż szczeka
    na widmo, czy też cień!
                         ty, kurwo języczna?
    whine whine whimper...
dawaj chociaz voodoo haiti,
      a ty kurwa skad?
   nigeria? kenja?
     co tam gavari? zulu?
           no to kurwa mów! - - - -
- - - - - large dogs don't really
bark at other dogs
    or people, the ones they
                          can see...
          poodles?
   they're picking the wrong
fight, always have,
                       always will.
        ten "muzynek"
bambo?
     wkradne sie w jego
                                  dupe...
   z metrowym kijem
           bambusa!
    i potem spytam...
           gdzie te widły
chinczyków do żarcia
             z twej mordy?
choppy choppy, shticky shticky?
                 bombai fwy wice?
        dziś? jutro? pojutrze?
   za tydzień, miesiąc?
  rok? sto lat?
              sto lat! sto lat!
      niech niech żyje nam!
ale mie to wkurwia...
    wprost, dzięki bogu że
tego nie mówie...
            bo jak bym miał
o tym gadać... to i tak
bym nie gadał... tylko srał...
czy też bawił sie w
                   rzeźnika...
o hej hej! fri-dom of spicz!

  niech bedzie pochwalony...
na wieki wieków
                     ten zór byka...
      że tak sporo na zachodzie
myśli: słowianin to slav tzn.
niewolnik, albino-bambo...
a tak naprawde to:
       kowalski...
                słowowalski...
                      ­ słowny-kowal,
          kowal dla czteru!
      czterem w oddech ziemi

                       north (conquest)              
    
west (war)                +                   east (death)

                       south (famine)


we mnie cichy lew, i tym bardziej
                  lis, szachista ciszy;

             ale z nich pół-głąby kapusty,
co to za polityka, jeżeli tylko dwu-znaczny
grymas... i tym: niewyparzona morda
"wolności"...  co każdy aktor czy diwa zna?
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
drugi zór sie ma w gębie - prosty chłopie -
              a nie: w gwle!
   a ten pierw: w glebie...
          czeka czeka... gdzie ja?
         smród mi od: sau-sau-dzes -
       tymian?              
                   ni wim... albo:           bins!
              widze sikha! to chyba
anglia! ale tylko chyba?
        nie... naprawde: napewno!
oi ty! polaczek polaczek...
      patrz! na wygnaniu: ja!
bym osmrodził swy bogaty
                          naród układem, tym:
            leze... no to leze: i niet winikati!
od roku 1945, i jan pawlik drugi...
tu ani koran... ani ta jebana "ewangelia"
tzn. kłamstwo! pierdolony
da nogi nawet, by skubać tego hebrajskiego
huja!
                masaz? masaz? pyrhh!
                                              huja tobie!
i temu i tej golgocie, czyli... miejsce kości...
tzn. tym kościołom! jak marcin luter!
    ogłaszam bankructwo tym instytucją;
      ale tak naprawde?     jednym słowem?
                                 spier.... dalaj:
         sam se wsadź swój,        w swą dupe!
tanz! tanz! tanz dann...
                        dann tanz!
                                 lassen uns
                                       auferstehe die tot.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
alesz ty brat ty mym... co wspomina serce, jeno ortografią... taki brat z ciebie: tym: huj z tobą, bratku warszawiaku! szkic ciebie, na ołtarzu kossaka - frajer z ciebie... ty: gówno wart frrrrrr'a jerze! huj z tobą i pospolite pogawędki! sznór na szczóra! a oświęcim pyta: teraz?! zaraz... za-raz (pierdolona zaraza szwabem ryta)... gazem tylko po dziewiątej.?*

najgorsze wiersze pisałem:
a najlepsze...
puściłem w wiatr!
horongiew reką pisać
to tło narodu...
ten tatuaż historii!
co zwałem mym tchem -
i co nie: na boga kara
i jego zbawieniem ołtarza:
na to: dałem wiare:
swym głosem,
by wiatr znikł, czy też
zamilkł! tym jego
pierwszy ruch bielą w
                                biel
i na tym, pytam:
                   tylko kość?!
nie! wapno! i stolik! i drewna
na sto lat!
               a ta ruska
hydra! ma coś do gawari
by? by wybyć więcej?!
co? ta ruska pizda huja szuka?!
ah... brak jej mongoł:
szkic i ten azjatu: szept!
  wnet pizda tego szuka?!
                    huja wróbla!
   pani! czemu nie tak do-słownie
po prostu, od razu?!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
it's the outskirts of london,
it's night,
   and the fog has filled
the air
  like it's a day
from late 19th century
(of said city)... am i to succumb
to finding the globous
lights of soho
and some sort of otherwise
remnant of glitz?
i have a blank
piece...
     a vacant blank...
i'm drunk enough
to know i've been
fasting...
   i need my itchy
fingers to
make up the arithmetic
of spelling...
i figured: speaking
is too easy...
and all the freedoms
that entails...
i'm a rat needing
to find the underground...
i need to keep my snout,
sniffing out the above-ground
air of the main, stream...
like i am to identify
the stream of a river...
       i need
the wound to fester,
i have to fathom
the gangrene potential
and...
start treating the cancer
like a wait, wish, good luck,
of the cancer growth
sprouting "off" trees
in the form of viscum
(not found in trees
in western europe)...
what are you
looking at?
english society has made
me...
            one for me
to acknowledge any bad luck
or a figurative
claim of the zodiac...
  for more bad luck
acknowledgment...
i have to heave
a shadow and see
the sun cast a pawn piece
out of it...
on the chess-board
       of everyday fears...
but i'm not here for
the h'american petty
purity of a freedom
only associated with speech...
i'll show nuance,
whenever i want to will
nuance...
elsewhere...
freaky-oid examples..
   my tongue firmly lodged
in a mind worth
an expression of
absence...
     and all the heaving
cult-heart soft-spoken
riddle of the itchy finger-tips...
remains...
            poems like
crosswords...
but less associated
with an i.q. "stigmata"
of precursor thesaurus
riddling,
   and no sherlock holmes-esque
attitudes...
   what mystery was there
to begin with?
   i thought that there was
only punctuation
to mind?
        
i guessed wrong...
              you know...
come to think of it...
   dasein is almost like
ruhm...

i'm starting to suspect that
the two terms are more akin...
although...
  ruhm has more attaché
expedients to ascribe itself
to / for... perhaps even: with...

     pedantry of language
does not belong in any mainstream
expression...
      this is my baby,
my trans-gender womanhood...
i've acquired this alien tongue
from my basic
pollack beginning...
   from my: ja, polak, zawód,
zbiór, tego, tamtego i, owado...

         but of course the natives
will not inquire into this curiosity...
not having visited
alien or alienated peoples
in their full splendour,
of, say, Paris, circa 2005...

        my parasite of
my usage... and all that i gave
this tongue...
   the sought-after incubation
of merger from its
inorganic status,
to an organic fusion...

          it's as if i want
to feel... what a woman might feel
in order to serve a puncture
of a subsequent function
of: an otherwise mundane
spectacle of, checking time
on a wristwatch...

   but to entertain trans-genderism
on a scale that would
employ taqiyya tactics?
    to gamble...
    on a "thai surprise"
                            excavation?

i gave birth to this language,
in a body,
and mind,
that would otherwise
have said:

   ja dałem życie tego
    języka
    w tym ciele,
   i tym umyśle,
   które, inaczej,
by powiedziało... to.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
nudni ludzie zawsze
             mają o czym gadać...
nuda to ta w hańbi:
jedyna prostota!
   ty! hunie! ty mongole!
    ty wieśniaku! paszli!
   gryz po gryz wedle
                      tłem, zgubem
  szczekającego ozora!
o! hy! o! hydra!
      wklucz me oczy w soczewki
sprostań!     na tą
glebę mą dusze pacierzem ułoże!        
aby to był, ten jeden,
i ostatni, oddech!        
  
boring people always have something
to talk about,
given that they only "talk" about
other people, otherwise gossip.

racja pana,
swe racje, oddam,
  bym tylko miał być
swobodny, racją pana,
i nim! i tylko nim pod
sztandarmem nie!
                *** nad miesięń kostny,
w rapsodii..
                   ożywić...
   wraz z'eh skarabem prußa...
   nadać kwestie, nowej
pyramidy.

  o szej! o kurwa znać! nie śnić!
kurwa mać!

ukuj tfe ucho, by dać znać,
że ty słyszy;
inoczem nie wart
         tego co to znaczy
w pospolitym ozorze
   bydła.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
/duma bestia, zwaną pierw, a co pierw, to liczy sie to, co z tego zora, krwawi bez krewnej dumy.  

mordo bitne chopoki
w dzwon,
o kulać i wiatrem
gonie ku szkłu
i szkieletom...
   pyskiem psim przy
fontannie,
  o to co mogło być,
siostry, matti, czy kobiety...
o co mogło,
a nigdy, ni budjet...
chrapać sie tam każe...
z modlitwą o, a nie
na przekór chóru kur
trzesnącym sie pudlem
godnym dziecia
wartym zabaw
zbawieniem, cienia.
widły o palace rąk
donoszą....
       na zgięcie...
wojaszek ty nie....
przed ołtarzem wúja.  
  czarno przez tę czerń...
jako drugi Spartacus...
    jom też sukułka...
           zwanym sowiet.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
a ja, pójde w las,
a z lasu,
przyniose
szumisty wiatr:
ten
gniewny
       głos narodu.

obudze muchomory
by natyle
trucizny było dostępnę,
obudze serca
gniewu aby
wygryzły sie z trumn
kamienia, kiedy
brat był przeciw bratu...

a ja pójde, w las,
a z lasu:
      przyjdzie mój głos -
przemieniony
             w ryk dzika,
otchlań głodu wilka -
    szczek tego:
         co niby domowe
i miłe:
      ten wasz pospolity
psiór ze wścieklizną!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
upper tier of crosswords,
mental rubric,

      s                        a

         t             h            e
    
      r            t     

                      d             e
      
  
       shattered: quasi germanica

lexicon...

                  atom...

warm ***** and the chilled chaser...
or no chaser, hence
***** chilled to the consistency
of gome syrop...
liquidated clear liquorice...

Pazura (actor)
     und Warszawa (a capital
of a European nation...

      dziw... bo bez sfobody,
między... to eN...

ha ha ha ha...

e e Cummings conjuring
up the cOncEPt of orthography
in the native readers...
without exploring diacritical
mark application,
which, orthography rests upon...

    co ma gzyms do
       krawędzi
kiedy pietruszka
        o, zajob...
i ta świcąca trójci Pitta...
nie brody warta,
tylko tego, bolka jolka...
greckiego, fagasa...
    
a piernik do wiatraka?
ujebany, Sergio Pansa...

...to guwno, tzn. prl'u:
co czyni papa new guinea
pierdolonym 'omikiem?

suka morda brud...

    te kurwa... z... kreską!

bilingualist contra the polyglot,
UN of the latter,  
trenches and no man's land
of the former...

       6 Napoleons made
a dozen private Ryans...
      at Jena...
  'alf  frisky Burgundian...
'alf celibate Schwabian...

crosswords and the thesaurus
avenue...
   poetry...
    and the robert frost analogy...
Dante and Virgil...
Homer's solo
with a blind man' stick,
or rather...
Homer and Milton...
sitting in a tree...

      either a tongue bound
to the breath of Horace...
or the leash
      and warden skit...
     of the Minotaur...

somehow...
etymology always was,
and always will be,
the pedantic, bookish
version of history...

      so much so,
that etymology bypasses
the ridiculousness of
Darwinsm, of form, of Plato...

aeons pass before ape
differentiates
the vowel from the consonant
or the onomatopoeia
from the mimic from
the noun...

            then comes the continuum
crushing all genesis
theists, as well as all genesis
atheists...
      love, love... and you typical
Sunday afternoon...
        
slang as an anti-etymology...
           likewise the ape...
ape being slang, for man...
   slang as noun as colloquial,
rather than as proverbial..
staccato...
                  and all sort of
mannerismsms of the,
"less informed"...
  
                            only England scorns
bilingualism it would seem...
unless it has no post-colonial
uncle toms to boast of...

P.T.S.D. of the 1946 Kielce Pogrom...
ever so shocking,  
unlike the biblical credo:
go forth and multiply...
      in any other instances,
less memorable, collateral...
guess not enough cousin fucky-fucky...
1 Chew worth 1000 Chings...
      if not more...
Chew has a name, Ching has a number...
like the good ol' days...
bribing the ß-mann (eszettmann)
for Milka bishop choc bars.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
i co ci do kurwa z tego?!
to mo: naj ulubione!
   o tak: na gzyms sie jobem?
  nie do pana...
jeno do: jara...
                    szłem...
   ah...          a ty do:       ikąd!
o tu ci: szczek o brwi
             szfedem: ci kroczy!
       w i nad po-grom w gwrie!
o tym ci:
                co mnie nie da tchu
pod mogile w gwóźdź o....
                       czubacz: mlot!
moja to cerkiew...
a ty(l)?
                      kurwa motyl,
wien to co: sssssspirdolyj!
    nie twe matka w tym co nie w jej
tamtym... okij na obudzi Kiev?!
da?
             dybra...
               i tym... tak bym ni pitaja
z nibym "nim".
o nim?
    ku rußom!
         "niby": prußom...
   jibanyam wonniya-matki... skier...
to da: dna!
                 te twoje: wien?
twe!
                  mi w ogie na bogie
drwie w bogie i krww... ni mo!
to twe, ni moye...
                 to totem i tem:
v to i tobie: bogie...
                           oki?
        nie myl myj blot w to co zajachodi
movi...
   to co nybi movi...
oki?
               to co na tle...
nie niby farby...
                    to co it niby ist:
jist:
                         pseudo-skrabem....
   ja dam sobie
skoszczt sebie 'kranie na se
co o sobie darm...
  a tybie dam... sem danym...
co matka daya o sobie krev!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
i'm an egoist like i might be a spider -
a quizzical pointer and a loiter of hubris:
that word again...
   i must have mistook hubris for hiatus -
i see no future for the arguments
concerning genes -
         beside: solo project i -
                and what will continue is
the concept of a species -
i am quiet thankful that i don't demand
the face of the slobbering gods to be
of a particular inclination -
     in that: i was never fond of english:
philosophy - once the parameters
of darwinism became established:
there was no longer any blinking involved...
or at least missing the abyss -
the abyss forgot to manufacture dreams
and the darwinistic enterprise wanted
me to peer into it with unflinching metaphors:
and scarred details...
that a man might refrain from
potentially petting an arachnid...
   then again: i'm only a cat person because
******* are one thing...
but parading with genitals of dogs
is just another daydream -
      once upon a time:
                   it wasn't like the darwinistic adventure
came with a cute poetry akin
to the copernican revolution:
cited: he stopped the sun and moved the earth...
perhaps to borrow from history:
when people were wrapped up in
a "solipsism" of their own species -
           that not much from "elsewhere"
could be borrowed, tailored to
a mimic... incorporated... slyly suggested...
the full bodied and ****** consequence
of the old lies and emotions of squabbling
men and ferocious women -
beside this current neuter:
flimsy generic loaning of insect:
             ontology?
                for what was deserving for men
to imitate: a rhetorical crux / pinnacle...
that would never become a cocktail of
more robots more a priori nibbling at
the old unfathomable god:
a god outside of a polytheism that can
only become a brain-freeze and a tongue tie...
it's not that darwinism isn't... a truth beggar...
but you can't exactly make incisions
of an existentialism with darwinism -
how the 20th century becketts got "away with it"
is beside me...
but i can't be a man no more
a brick when i'm facing a comparison
from an alien revelation of insects:
to **** is to be eaten - just as much...
hell... i wouldn't mind being eaten
as long as i couldn't be milked...
         i am truly alienated by the task of
preserving genes:
there are a billion chinese and a billion
blue indian raj examples to pick... from...
it's not like the species will die...
i am no atlas and this solo project
is bothersome to have to question: to begin
with...
  i never liked darwinism because
i knew it would go far beyond a mere
observation: it had to be incorporated -
the behaviour of lions or of insects -
          after all: i am not subject to my own
undeciding human...
                  any more than i am:
objecting to: the crowd pleasing objectification
snooker or borrowing from:
these ambivalent critters of pouch shadow
and a thought...
             i'd want to summon
the old gods but there they are...
no subject matter ignites their need for
a presence...
            they might as well have secluded
themselves on the gentle silence
of a scratching orb trace to tease saturn -
i want to find the crows mystifying -
i do - but that doesn't help much...
i don't want to delve into life that's not
immediately concrete -
i followed a whiff of making concrete
but then i knew: ****'s the real stinker
and the juice...
                    i played a ****** when looking
at a spider feast on a moth...
days prior i was inviting
moths to the nursery of my bedroom...
- you simply can't create a cosmopolitan
allure for cafe existentialism with
priding yourself on darwinism -
it's not wrong it's just: i don't want to
borrow from the very base, crude:
psychopathically teasing tendencies
that... well... deviations from mammalian...
if "we" borrowed from elephants alone...
from whales...
were we oh so solipsistic prior...
yes... we must have have been...
we domesticated horses...
we domesticated dogs...
   we created bonsai tigers...
             we probably petted poster / glue
nibbling goats...
we forgave the cannibalism of chickens
when one could meet the stump
and axe: a golgotha like congregation
of drinking blood...
         a violent old god...
death and jester but a pretty innocent
apple...
now a benevolent god and a fruit:
a bundle of metaphors and metaphysics -
it's still the old trick of poetic cannibalism -
i'm sure that if i worked on the apple...
i'd get a cider from it...
am i cured from the curse of the wine -
what if my body is a rumble of whiskey
and a potato chip?
  is my corpus "antichristi" this...
wheat "buckle"... what if i can turn
the bread into a consecration of meaning
with... a ******* gnocchi or a noodle: bundle?

- catholicism - well: perhaps born into it...
but i'm missing the confirmation language
that even the great atheistic tinker and tailor
and: how biology and the rule of
the thespians killed off the alchemists and
poets...
            let's just pretend! let's... let's...
just... pretend...
             years later i can finally appreciate
Al Purdy...
   i know what put me off...
the notes in a copy of his: rooms for rent
in the outer planets...
i need to buy some rubber
to erase these pencil details...

             female handwriting -
i know it... the letters are al bubbly...
they're not akin to chicken scratchings...
bubbly ******* of toads...
"unsentimental view of nature"
a real "treasure trove of antics"...
what put me off: what always puts me off:
a need to annotate poetry:
to teach it like one might teach
a bunch of young Frankensteins
a lesson or two in anatomy...

that language so already sacred in it
being scarce has to endure...
a postmortem of additional details
of: that it can't be left alone like
a floral insignia on a base dulling of
Hittite brown:
     a bark of wood the colour of cardamom...
the argument of: well...
those egyptians were so advanced
back then... even the Iraqis...
hell... the Greeks were advanced peoples
too... looks like they took a *******
bicycle to hiatus land!

burdening me with a past and:
that darwinism doesn't really life...
a concept of / a "concept" of the Avignon
Papacy...
  i'm strapped mr. gill and mrs. gimp all
latex to a spider and some
******* chimp'zee bonanza...
           no one teaches dogs to swim...
in a priori dimming they: know
a duck from a water...
   they know a pancake from a victoria sponge:
hypothetical:
borrowing from the 1960s:
a hitchhiker in the form of a mushroom
apparently opened my eyes
and i am now: the ego-son
of the fungus with potential to:
amass the same sort of gorilla build
architecture from... scraps of...
a plethora of vitamin sources...
i'll eat the deer...
the tame the boars and shave them
to attain crick bacon...
the ******* gorilla will laugh a blank
autistic look at me:
weighing in at a K.O. from...
papyrus and twigs and perhaps
a concept of: straightening bananas...

this slow sludge of walking "backwards"
from **** sapiens to **** similis -
this opposing venture into
anti-literature -
it's not that the mirror of hopes
is now a glass grieving from a lack
of shadows...
  no one wants to find themselves
beside: an exfoliation of tongue...

once more: the church bell of the uvula...
the brain the sponge...
my liver the punching bag
of an alcoholic opponent -

    that bukowski is some this that and
the other: and he knew:
the pressures of 100 years...
that there was also this Al Purdy...
and i too made my own wine -
pretending to blindly support
a Vest Ham -
             way way out west in the east:
that i did see a tease of Venice but
that i probably will never venture
south of the thames to
this cut from the home counties
of: how Burial (dubstep)
originated...
strapped to a mythology of the north...
Thames: a river without a clarity
of mountains:
how the Thames cannot
be celebrated akin to the Vistula
or the Danube...

              murky grey fonz -
this lingering tide amass of custard...
england's last lacklustre exertion
from the 1960s...
some kingly riddle ransom of
crimea associated for the purpose
of crimson -
a taming of purple in the hue
of hooded Burgundian -
  my solving tiresome base for
eyes -
    it's not that Greenwich mean-time
could ever be "important" -
insomniac polyphony of the hours
in passing...
   is more beside the equator...
some topsy-turvy pancake a butter
lofty toast:
that toasted rye that toasted
sourdough... or a ciabatta slice...
             is more and more than this
arrogant prize of english worship
"Blumenthal"...
        
a bonsai tiger's eager inquisitive prompt
from behind a door:
retreating like a lasso or
a folding of bedsheets -
or an ironing of unironic jeans...
some things to be worn should
be best unironed -
   notably jeans -
          azure: clarity chippy of:
variation:
   death's desire to come along
the purpose of lost purples:
in denim like a...

              arbeit macht frei will
forever stand the test of time among
the workaholics...
it's as little infamous as it is:
the currency of keeping with
details of a towing of two un-opposing
factions...

these service jobs and their lowering
of physical exertion:
substituted by gym maintenance -
service jobs and the "work" of...
loitering the hours in...
                 these service jobs and the clocking
in of hours: eternity begot the yawn...
adam begot the scratching of the head:
god conceived of the hierarchy of
taking the knee:
satan borrowed a circus and
a seizure for the future of
ronin imagination...

   can a fire itch?
        i'm pretty sure the licking of ice
can be allowed a fathom of both
an itch and a burn and:
       towing glue...
pockets of dry water staging coups of
crystalised details
of attention *******...
  
and a: between...
   the suffocating mantle piece of...
morbid avenues:
the t.v. robbed the zombies
of their pitiful dues...
machinery hatchling detail...
                  a burden of phallus and
a hammer...
crude "avenue": a **** the size
of a nail...
all life a coffin an scalp that snow
is also dandruff -
and there is nothing of a limit to tow
a continuity -
the species will survive...
the species will survive:
there are enough "stupid" and *****
people to preserve it...
more ***** than "stupid"..

             they are not to be...
coerced with submissions on the grandours
of religion...
having to preserve their appetite
of disinhibition...
they are to be kept on their own
worth of: kept perpetual:
there's no siding of the **** similis project
akin to the lizard kings with the meteor...
so it happens: the moon was sleeping...
when that little nugget of: oops...
****** up the tides and sleeping
patterns of proto-happenings...

    - as i am having "my" kitchen refurbished...
the surrealism of a fride-freezer
occupying a space in "my"
living / civil room -
where the t.v. is this altar of mundane
sacrifices...
at least there's still a concept
of a bedroom and the need for
a bed and the thorough avenues
of abating sleeplessness...

       i dare to sleep because i have
no wish for a *** life that's
a demanding expansion of...
custard-**** of an alter-ego of paragraph...

biting the ******* of
a schadenfreude category:
by the time she becomes an exhausted
**** in the pornographic clogging
of exhausting the machinery:
there were some organic components?
there was a "riddle" of
a lumberjack and a carpenter..
associated to.. ahem... wood?
i want to wish for a plain & simple
trucker analogy...
but then the agony of
conjuring up a chair & table...
and a rocker... and one of those
serpents of moses...

    god blessed grievances
to make elaborations with mahogany
that it would never become:
tantalizing marble:
                            
in a periodical inconvenience of tome:
this time: my lacking...
i will never find it an easy ride
to appeal / appease the
morbidity of the throng...
  having to tow a romance
of england...
a little detail a little of everything
and everywhere...
a pact with celtic / ginger
*******...

    ooh! hot coal... i am an european
5ft8 dwarf... a 6ft6 african goliath
is picking my cotton...
and i own a whip: and i am:

       nie z tego rodzony...
                            it's my little alien
planet of: but it's not important
right now: 100 years from now
when... my contemporaries are
a wish for sanskrit in both
itch and dust...
      
                biGGer... beTTER...
tease the doubling of consonants...
i'm tired i'm just simply tired
of excusing my contemporaries...
whatever they wanted to be
achieved: they have achieve it...
i'm proto-****** little cog little
blister: tamed mustard...
my little nowhere this "here"...

                good enough...
   a variation of aleister crowley bids
you...
      a night knitted with dreams...
and no... pangs of the horror of doubt...
closure for the things eaten
raw... a beef superstition
surrounding... what came to be known
as a tartare steak.

        god - to appease a minor public...
this little ******* gauge of a little public:
this carthage beside a blooming rome...
no... i'm not: excuse me...
i'm not native: this tongue is acquired...
i will not be mentioned in
the colonial anals as
this ******* imbecile of coercion...
this past without ridicule this past
with: goliaths toying the junctions
of exhausted base q. to an "i." unfathomable
first...
               runner junction...
i'm becoming tired of either
side of this bothersome argument...

hail babylon! hail an impeding tomorrow!
**** the 100 year from now.
best of me: no fear mongering
game to tow genes as me too:
a gamer invoked...
humanity survives...
the individual dies...
perhaps a beethoven is riddling
the hive with nuance...
humanity survives:
the individual dies...
i probably wasted my life on
ambition...

   then again: i didn't waste it on
a delusion of a societal project of
poly-                 multi-culturism -
                     i wasn't born on the Faroe Islands...
i had to come about an itching for
life: ventured for a cleaning and a kippah
for a tonsure -
i came across a grief of scalping -
i came across a curry...
i imploded an empire and sent out
invitations and became...
day by day less and less of London...

i ventured out of London and i found myself
in: inbreeding territory -
i became... sick from the homogenous  
zebras of parlance...
   black on black: white is white...
       it's a sickness from detailing
the aftereffects of gravity when having
to sort-out: a belief in the promenade...
            
   whatever... 100 years from now...
i will need to be dead:
for my writing to be elevated from
mere hobby to... this suffocating pride
and orthodoxy canon i want
it to exfoliate in...
then again: no...
                  then again: i am not in a position
to leave behind a pyramid...
i might leave some rattle and bones...
but most certainly not the toils
an wavering of others...
for... a flimsy prospect of: transcending
ambitions...
best played out as truant...
gobshite a god-envy
of a rhetorician's envy...
         stutter to excavate punctuation...

   yes... tomorrow and that: again...
and come sleep come death
come... the tiresome first breathed...
red and ginger...
ginger a tinge or orange ******* with
brown... this precursor of
loiter: a dirtying of earth with ash.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
a niech še Mickiewicz
tę Litczonke pochówawszy...
poszle'ji prosto po Greka,
j'baniem po tsara Cyrola!
psi tryp!
gawari to samo so pies
o ogon koło bada!
morda zorem kulą,
morda zorem na szczyt
cerkfi kieła gryz szarpana.
       a tu mi grzyw,
a tu mi łokieć,
a tu po chłopsku
kiedy zdziw jako:
       PIN'jebanamać'gwint!
sto kurva razy tego fryz
litanii 'wina sie pytoł:
zachooooood, ci tyьбıe wschód?
no ta(h) zegnój ci to teraz
do świcki!
                         popierdolone rho
cyrku i romā(h)...
pomiatajrzy Mickiem po
cha cha cha lit... win... skim...
Co,  Pani nie pod pisze wyroku sądu
nad nad, tym wyrzszy, tzn. po-wia-to-wy?
Litwin udaje panicza,
   'krainiec stara: boze dopomuz
stać po pijaku... nad... świnią!
Litwa i mazowsze niech i tam,
co i tam... pochybel, sicz,
     cień, i zmartwychstań, wola...
niech no ciota skryje bliny...
jam człek... cytaty cy niet cytaty...
ale wbrew romansidła...
       krew sieje gniew...
a gniewaj nad lublu czy tesz
lulu...
             od dziwki smak rumieńca,
jako kosak wart wiatri i cienia...
niech ten panicz Mickiewicz spierdala
do Wilna, do licheń lacha
smarkatka...
          my to Ukroj i Wina...
       chleb z pod Kijowa...
      a krew z murów zwanym Vavel...
litfa to kiedys byla...
    smarkatka dworzan...
     ni tu, ni teruz...
masz ci my dyszli...
   zbroje 'glika: anną zwysz...
          ci dam znów: KUNDLA
ZOREM O TYCZ'KE I ZBIÓR!
              co boze sam ni d'oh...
człek tym warty o ******>    razy pierw to gnać, co boźy
rozum pierw szarpnie cienia...
honestly, the crown's romance
with Lithuania is long gone and stale...
I will die, not having seen L'viv...
and all the happier my lack
of dreams will be,
           as of now, unto death...
    Mickiewicz had his romance
with Lithuania,
   i, at least, can appreciate,
Ukrainian beer...
               no fun having staged
the European championship with
Poland... so no wonder the annexed
Crimea...
           thank god I never actually
managed to breed with English women,
even recreationally...
    given the current: and what if
Pontius Pilate ate vindaloo
for breakfast? search me,
  you either ask Jack or Sherlock.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
exotica, without palms or coconutz,
noose, nötz...
       etymology unknown,
or rather, without a known genesis
other than spontaneously drunk,
exclaimed with a poker face of random...
two words,
schtygar...
      quasi polish, pseudo german,
silesian through and through,
meaning? loosely: meisterschtick...
    mistrz... master and no Margarita...
also, rębacz przodowny...
           hajer...
  in English-schloß meaning:
hirehand... or coal-mining infantry...
the first to the spitzhackehand...
hire-hand, die jungengang...
to ja ci świrgotkiem wróbla
z nad rana, o stół i o pokrzywe
na ratuj raj...
        ortografia:
   stolik
                  tzn. stół
    a ni, parabolii kurva: U!
kúmā?
     drób i drobniej starać sie
(ę ę, bo to pan, i jego...
    Mazó-w'szeszesze-szesze)..
gzyms Tuwima,
no tego z łódką,
    bzy... kurva... kotficy....
bo bez bzu...
tzn. (to znaczy) bez..
neine bysztrysk jako trojan...
czy tesz, ż, tra la la la la 'ojak...
     hrap ś'ī...
                       a na tronie
zasądzie, kupa gnoju
           i szamba wulkan...
no tak, w góre... pstro!
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
daj mi, ino myśl o sobie,
  i ptaszy śpiew
                   o poranku...
   a od już...
      w twe nieme serce:
                                  rzuce sie!
tylko to:
    od tych kotwic kobiety!
i od tego co:
        przytym,
                   wkrótce przodem:
                          martwe...
niech daje umrz-ec
          (p' kra-in-sku -
                  ni   -yć in alt.?)...
                      jak... i daje żyć...
o kwitek, o piosenke,
               o róże, o kurwa
                        (jebaną mać)! ɫze!

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