.reiteration... em.. you're not internet providers... are you?! the best you'll ever be, is, software *******... you're about as invested in hardware, as the mafia is invigorated by mainstream politics...******* wankers... you what?! huh?! censorship?! who's supplying you with the copper wires?! you?! ha ha ha ha! how about getting leg ***** by a mongrel tongue... and considering your type of companies, as, serious, "mediators"... no hardware... just a software monopoly... ******* **** wasps! you almost want to cannibalize their presence! like... ever taste bone marrow? these "companies"... are teasing a taste of bone marrow! i want to eat something... these, companies, forgot, that, they're, not, service, providers! d'uh! and they're making the dicta?! inch copper **** making all the rules... what rules?! they don't make the rules... they're not hardware enforcers! they block my presence, i subsequently return to over-exemplifying using the scissors, counter the computer! yeah?!

em...
but you're not BT...
British Telecommunications?
the hell is up with these
software nuggets?!
how can google,
facebook,
youtube, ban, someone...
when they pay...
for their hardware provider?
did, said companies,
pay, for the copper wires?!
i'm pretty sure the answer is
no...
    unless you've not been banned
by authentic internet providers,
but, rather,
banned by content creation
mediums?!
       **** 'em!
           **** 'em silly!
         they do not actually
own access to internet
provision, i.e. ACCESS...
they do not own
the armory
of copper wiring....
that connects the dots...
*******!
BT or SKY or ******
pulls the plug,
you're all out!
             you get the
differential "bias" against
the format of software
contra hardware?
no?
            there are,
internet, providers...
there is the hardware of
occupational hardware user basis...
these companies...
censoring...
have a software stature,
without a hardware status...
   want to rephrase the thesaurus
to concern yourself
with legislative phraseology?
      really?
     me? can't be bothered...
do it yourself,
VEGAN dietary requirements
and... whatever.
but you can't deny someone
content provision...
when they're paying for
an internet access...
these software companies
do not have to answer
to governments...
they have to answer
to hardware providers...
   internet access deposits /
access points...
            not governments...
hardware instigators...
    oh, really?
    software censorship?
   if there's no one using
the hardware?!
              good luck...
and a goof ball speeding!

these companies, who are exercising
"depth",
of the parameters of conscription
of legit consent?
   they have this amnesia...
this amnesia...
of...
   not being hardware utilities...
i.e.?
   a comic book...
without the printing press...
   savvy?
             now i'm mowing down
eyed
    claustrophobic eyed -
   horses running,
with shutters on their eyes
for the added advantage
of tunnel vision...
   that Bane scene equivalent...
    with the quote -
  crashing this plane...

"who" are these companies
to dictate,
"correct" internet usage?
they're not internet providers...
to begin with...
   if... a company like SKY...
or BT... or ******...
obstructed internet access
of a person?
  i'd be nodding...
    in a coherent access of
agreement...
    but...
      these websites are not
hardware, they're software...
see the difference?
they're not internet providers...
they're pixel blank bulk anticipating
canvases...

unless there's something
wrong with the original idea,
of an un- investigated
genesis of a pixel blank?!
     can i make this an issue
with your, internet provider?
i don't like you excluding
the content of the content
that is a blank pixel anticipatory
excavation wait...
   sorry...
  
   i don't like you miscarrying my
payment of internet access...
having censored interactive outlet
canvases...
   i pay for one... i pay for all...
   can you please pay
the proper amount of
compensation to the hardware
companies that provide
universal internet access to
the full spectrum of internet users?!

namely?
BT... SKY... ******?
yes?!

Dear vile man

Gaveth disease to us
From thy labs,
Created poison crunch
Mustard gas

Gaveth robotic telecommunications
To say to me
Its for thine own good!!!!

How distant thou hast made others from me!!!

Thine slimed beast!!!

As others hast made machine's their creator
As I'm the lonesome seeking and feeling *****!!

Guess I have some human in me after all!!

Trying to spread the word?
Reach as many as possible?
Get your point across?
The twentieth century
Has provided the means
With
Telecommunications
Telstar
Telegraph (really the 19thc)
Telegram
Telephone
Television
Telethons
And coming soon,
Teleporting.
And yet,
With all our tele-technology,
If you really want world-wide attention,
Tell-a-friend
A secret.

Alexander you gave us a bell my friend.
Miles of smiles sent down a wire.
Wires crossed.
Maybe a cable!
Given the gift of speech.
Unless of course,
we're ignorant.

Cat got your tongue.
Well maybe.
Mail electric..
Are friends electric.
Who is in charge.

A brain that thinks.
This flaming situation stinks.
She sweet child.
Needs not.
Not needy at all.
That's her not him.
She needs none but words.

A scoundrel and blaggart.
Lol
Not hard as nails, has a heart!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

What I truly miss
Began with innocent interrogation
Prodding at pasts
Emptying diction into enticing eyes and ears by the entrance
We were both educating each other
Almost until dawn
When dusk dusted our sheets
Separated, but connected
By telecommunications
As we lay and discuss lamentations and laughter

I never got tired
Of you
Of your secret science that seduced my senses
So, when autumnal apples approached ground
As common as students with Cambridge courses,
I found out that the law of falling
Doesn't sound as appealing
But I managed to gravitate towards you
Universally, there's a formula for that.
I feel things never stopped, but were always in motion.



Ifeanyichuku N. Okoro II © 2023

.nothing is going to fix this,
sure sure,
  you can either make a zukofsky
out of it, or an ezra pound...
no point of comparison beyond
these two,
you might as well forget
homer...
          because, that sort of ****...
needs to mature.

and i am out of place,
    i'm in england,
but i'm juxtaposing the feral
lands of eastern europe
where women have
a choice...
      either comply,
or be subjected to social
stigma,
       much akin to any small
community...
the old men ask the young
men: where's your girlfriend?!
the young men reply:
she's independent...
  there's absolutely zilch
i can do about that...
     i hardly think this
"concern" has been brewing
in my mind...
ever watch a blonde
    court-side
           at an NBA match?
well...
thanks to b.t.
   (british telecommunications)
i can't tune in into the premier
league matches...
       but if there's a sport
i enjoy... that's over across the "pond"
it's basketball...
well considering h'america is
more of an idea of a country
than anything currently available
that's organic...
   NHL and NBA...
          and when it comes
to baseball... n'ah...
   the lunacy of cricket beats it...
oh and for sure
   NFL can't compete with
rugby...
        i never understood
the "logic" of a one-throw
game policy,
    must feel like *******
into a ****
  with one ***** (runner)
able to squeeze past
the melee...
hawkeye to blade runner...
throw... catch...
touchdown...
  but the interruptions:
too many to count, put me off...
but a blonde court-side
at a basketball game...
    now there's looking
star-struck, there's looking
aghast,
there's daniel's *****
and there's the goliath...
   oh the jaw doesn't need
to drop...
   the eyes are already glittering...
well i'm also hardly
a didldo model...
   what would that look, like?
thank god the crazed monotheist
priest didn't get to me,
i knew the *******
was supposed to fulfill
some sort of function...
never thought it was
to, sit down on a toilet,
take a ****, take a ****,
and then ******* to some
                        fine art...
          well i had to write something!
this is only the interlude
piece of the "puzzle"
before i get really into it,
  before i drink enough to dumb
down and spew doodles...
and the whole itchy fingers
"thing"...
           so i made myself
the promise - write within
the time limit of a reader's capacity
to read it in reverse...
never revise...
    keep to the grammar and spelling...
and when i heard
that bukowski made frequent
spelling mistakes...
then...
         i sort of lost my respect
for him...
             it's not like i sit and,
  "ponder"... scheme...
                    as long as the punctuation
works...
then the "necessary" CAPITAL
lettering is... gone with the wind...
        then again...
just drinking,
    and... what? relaxing akin
to the will styron "conundrum"...
well...
   at least know when i hit
the mega-snooze button
                    and quasi-black-out...
which implies:
       pulled-pork and roast
tatties and some red cabbage
with chilli and coriander just did
their bit...
               as in:
          when it comes to poetics...
thinking is overrated...
and i know that the mainstream
has ****** "hurt feelings"...
but with this sort of ****...
you have to feel more
   and think, less...
              it's not mahjong solitaire
we're talking about,
it's the integrity of language...
sure...
   it's not a stephen king novel...
but like i said two days prior
to someone:
   i lack the imagination
to embrace a future...
              nope... can't see it...
not on a personal scrutiny
of wants...
                  there's only now...
and it's hardly a scenario
of "living in the past"...
sure, i "live" in the past
only because i don't think i did
anything wrong...
   unlike most people...
i like to remember the good
i've done, however pea sized puny...
and i don't have a problem
with that...
   but... "apparently"
a lot of people are so ashamed
of their past that the only thing
they're looking forward to is
a snippet of a future just
before their death...
                i like the past...
not because i live in it,
but because i have, lived in it...
   and that's one sure way
to converse with an Alzheimer's
condition...
         akin to:
last time i checked,
she picked out the engagement ring
herself...
  and she herself,
gave it back to me...
      and then all manner of crazy
**** happened...
'matt, matt! i'm hearing voices!
matt! matt! i'm pregnant!'
like i didn't visit her
after the break-up
and find her sleeping with her ex-,
so now, what?
                   i really want
to be that bitter spare-cog in
the machine of time...
                          i do...
   but something compels me to spew...
sure, drinking,
the "curse"...
          but for all the sedatives
in pharma-land...
    at least this one gives
me a sense of sanity, and focus...
  i'll cook the dog's *******
worth of a curry and a fox
   will come near my garden door...
and then i'll feed him
some left-over food,
bones, groats...
sauce yadda yadda...
       and i'll leave him like that
for a week...
   which gives me great satisfaction...
because it reminds me
of myself as a child,
    the only child...
       with an alsatian shepherd
for a sister
and a dobermann for a brother...
    ****... i still remember that
bitche's name... Bel-la...
   and she was beautiful...
   i'd go walking with my now now
dementia riddled grandfather
into the strawberry fields and
the forest and climb trees...
   and she'd be barking running
insane rounds around the tree
worried for me...
       (verbatim, not my words,
my grandfathers)...
                     and that's how it ends...
autobiographic...
  imagine asking someone
to pay you for this sort of crap...
esp. when they can't relate
to it...
                    but there's this...
and then...
  there's the tabloid press...
                          again: your choice...
personally?
   i can't stomach tabloid
spew...
              as much as i can't stomach
the lovelustre idealists...
i once loved...
          once...
                    once was enough...
after that once...
a sober reality kicks in...
                  and, lucky or unlucky
for me...
        i thankfully don't
have, what's necessary to compete /
provide...
          if there is a god...
i pray: thank you,
       for kicking me out
            from the hierarchy games...
literally: i'm out,
with as much, or little,
               as this little doodle shows;
finally!
    i get to do my pontius pilate
pose -
   not because i didn't try...
i did try...
                 not because i didn't care...
once upon a time...
    imagine that...
ending a book rather than
beginning one with:
                 once upon a time.

vacancies for yellow jackets also available

alternately titled: eave'n roofs houses nidus

If ye dear reader find yourself
as an under appreciated
busy buddy buzzfeeding bee -
hive got just the solution.

When me and the misses
entered side door here
yesterday September 26th, 2021
where both of us live
within one bedroom unit
at Highland Manor Apartments,
we espied hexagon-shaped paper cells
constituting partially completed
reasonably priced
state of the art abode.

Nevertheless, these
myopic eyes of mine
identified when closeup
tiny sign advertising real estate
large enough to house me,
an average size bugaboo.

Yours truly itching to move
to cozier quarters
no matter facilities roofless
imposing long overdue necessity
to strip down trappings
to bare minimum.

Tricked out with state of the art wizardry
microscopic computer processing chips
adorn six identical geometric sides
indeed allowing, enabling and providing
global linkedin telecommunications
beamed in across
bajillion miles from deep space.

All kidding aside
Hymenoptera quite the builder
with innate abilities as their guide
neither prejudice, nor afflicted with pride.

Ever mindful of insects with diaphanous wings,
yours truly quite aware of pain regarding bee stings,
which commentary brings
me to recall the following incident when
quite so many years ago...

Mine eyes espied a glorious shade tree
on a recent brutally hazy,
hot and humid July summer day,
where below the gnarled roots
glazed occipital nerve did not see
yellow-jackets minding their own beeswax
when derriere i.e. did essay
until deux stingers re:
accessible bared skin
apiary members did flay
vulnerable hide bound
part of my right knee,

whereby toxin induced to feel
slightly queasy and appear ashen gray
yet possessed response
to stand up and immediately flee
as cohorts per hive stirred
with protruding stingers ready to lay
into another area of ripe human flesh
with consistency of brie
yet, no intent to be cheesy – nay
on the con tray or re:

only attempting to find good humor
to stave discomfort at bay
which quick thinking found me
summoning medicinal salve
to keep any potential swelling away
thus this mister mom trotted
into Belmont Hills lye bray r e
soaking damp washcloths
(I packed in plastic bag
to cool thyself) and pray

all the while mouthing expletives
more emphatic than oy vey
healing powers of self
would allow this chap to feel okay
enough until my then
thirteen-year-old youngest daughter
and tutor would sashay
out into the blistering heat
so we could be on our home bound way.

SPECIAL NEWS BULLETIN updated *

Innocuous, yet unhealthy threat looms across
(air/radio) telecommunications devices
where smart electronic devices enthrall
and decree they co-opt role bing boss
linkedin with plenti networks that criss cross
even primitive computers utilizing DOS

by George, which archaic code
once powered Mill on the Floss,
now long since covered over
with flora I lichen and recognize as moss.

Surgeon general Admiral Vivek Murthy
helped found several health-
related advocacy groups and later
tackled the opioid epidemic
and e-cigarettes as surgeon
general during Obama administration.
As the Vice Admiral of US Public Health
Service Commissioned Corps,
he commanded a uniformed service
of 6,600 public health officers globally.

As twenty first Surgeon General of United States
strongly advises against, yet he does not boast
threat looms large coast to coast
watching more than five minutes at most
equivalent machination, the following I post
even at expense of suffering soul
subjected fires of hell;

eternally I will roast
re: guarding haunting experience
analogous visit by fashionably late ghost
recall exhausting 2020
presidential election coverage
able, eager, and ready to prey upon host
whereby curious George experiences
feeling noggin fried like toast.

A carefully worded (fake) communiqué
purportedly the brainchild of one freak
Matthew Scott Harris,
whose jargon puzzling as deciphering Greek
long story short while in utero,

he experienced cerebral leak,
said cheesy mousy man no longer meek
quite evident courtesy literary pique
his haughty style aiming to characterize
generic guy as self anointed Sheikh
sought after acceptance tepid and week.

Nevertheless he speaks/writes truth to power
aforementioned serious risk steeped within
social media platform sensory overload I ascribe,
whereby subliminal messages

voter's blitzkrieg does bribe,
albeit unconsciously,
hence me subsequent rhyme
equals forewarning in
(humane) league with mild diatribe
which receptive yours truly can transcribe.

All joking aside
oversaturation soaking up
analogous to heady delight
groom imbibes wedding his bride
presidential election aye chide
against viewing in excess
(five minutes at most)
affixed to live streaming broadcast
can find thee steadfast staring getting bug eyed
thus hoop fully let moderation serve as guide

cuz the eventual outcome re: guarding
president elect political experts cannot hide
though be wary lest premature ******* trumpets
sore loser candidate, that
bombastic egotistical ignoramus lied
cuz prejudice nsync with pompous pride
for four years to many
the webbed wide world let him slide,
now as one common Joe,
a hardened criminal he best bee tried.

"reality": as a "confusion"
   regarding overlapping freedoms -

well, there's no better way to
put it...
      not to me minding it otherwise...

marina o'loughlin's
   article in the sunday times'

july 1 2018 print
           almost, but not necessarily
bemused me...

something similar happened to "me":
i.e. my fwend...

       in an obscure part of the world
known as: the extended aspect
of London...
                  namely Ilford, Essex...

a car drove up to us,
   a: non-identity-politics-descriptive
jumped out and
laboured with: my fwends hands
for a (given today's statard)
   pretty much a mobility
telecommunications: brick...

maybe because it didn't happen
to me, but given i was
so close to the action
     i managed to
                 remember the numberplate
of the car, as it sped away...

and then the oddity
of having to engage in an impetus!
make someone write down
the numberplate,
             walk them to the police
station: and then report it...

the whole affair went to court...
   i sat in a police station looking
at mug shots...
    spotted the ******...
   (although, m'ah fwend couldn't,
which is why the case was
   won by the culprit) -

  funny to think of humanity
a noble idea
   of legal justice,
    like the divine causality of
holding an apple, releasing it,
and it falling to the ground...

the defendant's lawyer presented
me with a mug shoot mimic
exercise...
        apparently my eyes lied to me...
i was not supposed to filter
through the list of mug shots of
other criminals...

       back when you had hardware
representations akin
to polaroid photos...
   so he shows me this photo,
     i can look at the ****-stirrer
sitting in the courtroom...
      but then: i notice that there's
a date on the photograph...

and it's circa 2 years in the least
in reverse...

  so i ask the lawyer a simple
question:
          can you imagine a beard on
me in two years time?

oh i did spot the right ******
from the mugshot reel of examples...
human justice and: cheating...
   in court i had the ******
in my sight, but the defence was:
show the witness, of the ******,
taken 2 years prior...

i should be wearing glasses at this
point, or be propped up
by a walking stick,
   or a blind man's third "limb"...

you get the picture?
      justice, from a mouth of a human
being:
               noble idea...
      but not a exact representation of
a plateau...
              ****! if all is to be brought
before the meta-phren...
                    everything is "nuance"...

so... an ode to marina o'loughlin:
i was there,
          at the expense of an english
court...
            with three judges,
  a lawyer and a defendant...
              and i was the prosecutor with
but one question to mistake a defence...

     and i was overwhelmed with
   "being" wrong, on a subjective whim -
rather than an objective verdict!

     perhaps that's why i believe in a god
and can't, even for a remote second
believe there's a justice invoked by man...

oh **** me... early disney?
    boris brejcha:
                     art of minimal techno tripping -
the mad doctor...

          sober, high, or drunk -
   you can't even imagine the transcendent
value of early disney cartoons...

             unless coupled like that...

and no: i don't see god as a personal favour...
come to think of it -
  i believe in a scattering wind,
    over time - things... just don't account
to being personal...

             impersonality of a deity
is not even a monotheistic approach,
  matched to megalomania...

              to make summit (summary):
i too have seen theft...
             sat in a police station,
            identified the culprit...
   then stood in court...
                     and was denied "justice"
being passed...
on the argument that:
      a photograph, with a date,
        of a past,
                was not adequate
representation of the current visage
of the culprit...

   ergo? i probably need to see an optician,
or i need a prodding stick of a blind man...
of that man, serving "justice":
   is also, the man behind roulette
wheel in las vegas...

         justice isn't blind...
            it's just a subtle variant of gambling.

nothing sprouts this april out from chipped flowerpots
broken teeth and extended claws will settle along
with dusty roots. cup hope in your hands and run,
it never overflows but drains only. the spring air
tastes of my own breath, in circulation
the rims of eyes tinged pink, pickled on both sides
with salt in tears. we shall retire into stagnation.
blow my brains out with a can of 3% liquor
and spoil my lungs speckled black with peppermint cigs

specks of light caught in cobwebs, in the downward dust spiral
we are betrayed without precedence. if my body is a vessel of water
for tears and sweat and blood, a container of salt,
maybe the crystallized pain within me has clouded
my judgment. gray little rain clouds rising
a forecast denied for all who is seeing. i see you,
from a lit screen, a cracked surface, the lunacy
exchanging i love yous like goodbyes, but this is
not the last. this house is built on quicksand and we
have heard the cracks in walls groan from long ago
a reflex put off, all it takes is a gust of air
to rip across this house of flimsy cards.

this candlelight won't last till morning but take
away my humble offerings. at least we can still
whisper. we still have hands attached to arms attached to
tired brains to make the excursion to close windows shut
from firework lights. every month is the cruelest
and the cracked ground swallows, it's no fond thought
in wishing one day our atoms will walk in air,
tread places we will never afford to go. we no longer
sleep in the same hours but the pauses in your typing
drain away the life of us both. insanity becomes the new
sanity. the flame in your eyes would be distracted
before it dies off in its own time. do we not fill
the gaps in our thinking with mindless chatter
and call it a day. you won't smell the smoke or alcohol
in my words through long distance 4G telecommunications

how did we sink low enough, so that every sound night
of sleeping becomes a blessing, how is it consolation
knowing that morning light will surely break, what then
we are suspended once more in a black tunnel
perhaps the only change is that they no longer bothered
to turn on the lights. of course, this too will pass, distorted
overwritten then forgotten, as we walk blindly,
taking distance, not holding hands, step after step after
the direction we assume to be forward,
exchanging i love yous like farewells.