If I have to break, let it be quietly
Let me turn from it all, without a mention
Until I am gone, don't speak of me
A selfless break will bring the long awaited peace

If I have to break, let me vanish
For years to come I am a phantom
A shadow of the abyss
An empty memory to those who broke the doll

If I have to break, let me be on stage
A stage of my creation
That empty stage with a spotlight
An empty theatre to compleat the scene

If I have to break, let it be painless
Yes, there is fear
A fear of the something, of feeling
A case not visible where I have been

If I have to break, let the world remember me fondly
Let them smile on my memory
As the years pass
Let them cry

If I have to break, let it be soon.

I was wearing a brooch
That night, with a red
Latin dress. You did not
Notice I was trying my
Best. You cared how you
Looked, didn't care for me
Though, you wanted to go
Grab a foreign drink, and
Watch a Mexican movie for
A dose. A dose of my lips
Up on top the back theatre,
If only I would have known
Your qualities were that of a
Woman beater. But I was fog
Headed, blinded by your cool
Guy seduction. Now look at me
Unhappy, dead, messed in my head
From your web of lies, the string of
Suicide now shatters my view on
Anything new and now I'm new so
I'm better off being without you.
I feel much more productive,
Gracias: monster from my old
City.

my rhythm, which has never
been good
is decidedly off today
running up to catch myself
fumbling with words
not knowing what to say...
this is so.... one of those days

my brain overworked....and underslept....struggles to
make connections...and
mifires hapharzardly....

i  lucky that it is a day practical theatre classes
and most of my faux pas
are absorbed as cleverness in making a some what obscure point....

but this run of luck, can only
last so long....i must find time to recoup....some lost sleep...or the afternoon
could be a disaster of comedic proportions...

a quick lunch and forty winks, is the approved course.
one more theatresports class
and then i can set sail....

I left my window open last night
Praying he would enter my dreams
And indeed,
In He crept,
Through the wide open window
Then stayed with me all through the night

It started with a dance
Did it count as holding hands?
And I twirled,
As He laughed,
Ear to ear whispering
So all through the night we danced

We decided to explore
Dark corners unknown to light
And we discovered,
Where He led,
Such a magical place
The theatre was ours to explore

Morning came and stopped my dream
I lay in my lonely, empty bed
And I sighed,
There He was,
Now night is gone
Was it truly only a dream?

“ 74th Birthday Morning,

phone ringing for wishes… unattended

cup of tea and newspaper waiting for the sip… unattended

something not right…

blood in stool,

why?

the fear…

diagnosed stage 3,

self ….silence…

family…tears…

question from mind : Life is at its evening , is night now near?

answer from will power : Life has a new day every day and evening to disappear.

months and weeks…

chemos & radiation ,

pain , irritation

exercise & running ,

will power , motivation

cheers over jeers

close competition

then…

….the long day ….surgery

preference …on two legs not the stretcher

fun over depression,

proudly walking the red carpet of the theatre

few needles in back ,

….. six hours of unconsciousness

silence…

….dark deep silence

then the flash…

a rainbow from nowhere….

in brightness …. appears son’s face ….

congratulations you have won the battle

operation success-full

the smile of his will power replies , yes I hear ”

To all interested parties:
Be aware
My guilt button is out of order
Due to mismanagement
And over usage
It was burned up.
Please do not attempt
To resuscitate
Recalibrate
or commiserate
The loss
Empathy, compassion and gentle humor have agreed together to compensate.
For an unspecified time period
Joy and peace are their
Sunrise greeters and
Moonrise seaters
In this theatre of daily grace.

scene varies
each cue for a moment
you don't even notice the decor
as the game progresses
somebody watches the glamorous costumes
the other finds himself in a tirade
some are affected by conflicts
very people loves improvisation too

the curtain opens to a new world
the curtain closes on for a different tomorrow

(for Lydia on an anniversary)

A half-dozen Little Necks
Clams on the half shell
Whetting the appetite
Eaten raw
A squeeze of lemon
And cocktail sauce
A perfect respite

Afternoon snack
With a bowl of clam chowder
Or a prelude to an entrée
Like trout almandine
With crabmeat stuffing
An ideal combination
For dinner any day

Supper after theatre
A lovely aperitif
With after theatre talk
A half-dozen Little-Necks
And a seafood soufflé
Impeccable repast
Before a homeward walk

everyone lives ordinary lives
a list of similarities
found typical among us
would be very long, indeed
the fourth line proves the first
the very small widgets of ourselves
that are truly unique
become magnified to a large degree
when exposed to the theatre of this world
and has set about an order to permit ceaseless
displacement of the memory of past mistakes

it is always a war against something
and even an imaginary peace
cannot be created

being aloof
is perfection
but cashmere makes
perfection better
gucci makes
everything better.

come play dead
you do it so well
doesn't it feel good
to drive a bus?
to stand behind the till?
to stand in the queue?
people need to go to places
buy their groceries
and you need
your fast food meal
come play dead
you do it so well.

it's a theatre
be sure to get there early
to get the front seats
who wanna watch
from the back rows?
come play dead
you do it so well

Deep red in the dark forest wood,
Under the dying grey of hollow tree,
The fox and the mouses dearly fend
In the theatre wings of the fallen leaves.

Deep red in the dark forest wood,
Under the dying grey of hollow tree,
The fox and the mouses dearly fend
In the theatre wings of the fallen leaves.

I’m making money
quoting Shakespeare
smoke filled rooms
a dim lit theatre
I’m glad the man’s dead
he’d be asking for part
memorised in my head
was drunk from his heart
I’m making it by
on a dead crowd stage
I’m a poet making money
on a dead man’s wage

Deep red in the dark forest wood,
Under the dying grey of hollow tree,
The fox and the mouses dearly fend
In the theatre wings of the fallen leaves.

502 bad gateway bypass:

title - veil-machine
body - otherwise no curtains
found.

perhaps: aujourd'hui, maman est morte sounds better in German... heute, mein mutter ist gestorben... maybe: at least in my eyes that have inverted themselves from hearing external sounds and summon thought to the hall of music and said: thinking is a sound, mind you: thinking is all the sense jumbled up - never mind "hearing" oneself "think" or for that matter... without hearing: on the broken bones in fingertips of gesticulating frantically the same as: could you please spread butter on my toast to... i'm drowning! help me!

i very much like the opening line from one of my favourite books... favourite is sort of stretching it, i picked it up by accident in a Barnardo's second hand book store on Nicholson St. in Edinburgh during the Fresher's Week, when i lost my virginity to Isabella and decided that i would adamantly learn French... although i hated French in high school i thought: well... if we started slow and she introduced me to Japanese Anime of a kind i didn't know before... i remember she scolded me for having three picures on the wall, one of Plato, one of Napoleon and one of Marquis de Sade... she didn't mind Marquis de Sade... but virginity for a man is nothing to be kept... it's something that one wants to get rid off... so i started this French course, failed it, because... i didn't attend any of the classes... except for the literature classes... were... to no "oddly enough" we were studying The Stranger... seeing as i "pre-meditatively" bought the book in english... i had to buy the book in French...

oh, the French language... it's almost as bad as English when it comes to surds, i.e. silent letters that are not heard when spoken but clearly visible when written... like in English... little words: to and no vs. too, row "vs." row... to row in a boat... with oars... and a row of birds sitting on a telephone line... a horse is a horse is a gallop and a stirrup and there's also a hoarse... throat... glug glug... a hoarse throat... there's a soar throat too and that's different to i saw and sea-saw and Warsaw and soaring... which is a terrible way of saying: sorry...

rigid was never a language for me... but love is stupid and losing your virginity to an older girl is stupid and... well... i might as well have went to the oral exam at the end of the year and spoken Polish... or tried German... pretending to forget what course i took... instead i just sat there like an idiot... a castrated ... + an idiot... but hell! i aced the literary side of things... i got a 1st for my interpretation of The Outsider... grades being grades... not everything in life that you learn within the confines of: that acid-riddled memory-erosion cesspit of pedagogy has any market value trans-evaluation of: good grades equals better pay... this was a lesson for life...

mother died today. or maybe it was yesterday, i don't know...

for one? terrible punctuation,
i once heard my English teacher tell me...
never begin a sentence in a paragraph of a journalistic
column with a conjunction, akin to OR or AND...
it's bad grammatical etiquette:
it's one thing to reinvent sushi by mixing it up
with some dried, fried onions and a sriracha mayonnaise
and another to serve the same fried dried onions
with a sickly sweet almost Hoisin resembling sauce...
with slices of raw salmon on a bed of rice
rather than those rolls with still the raw salmon
but with some cucumber and creamy cheese
and black sesame to go with it...

maybe i can rewrite that aujourd'hui in German again,
returning to English for German LEGO...
mutter gestorben heute; oder veilleicht
    es war gestern: ich weiß nicht....

i like this: ich weiß nicht...
        it's not... i repeat... it's not:
                         es ist mir egal...
i.e. it's not: i don't care... care... no wonder it's so
pivotal in the German tongue that
Heidegger made CARE so pivotal in his thinking
since: it's so pivotal in the German language
when the German language is translated...
there is no simple, word-for-word,
i.e.  i don't know: ich weiß nicht.
i worry: ich bin besorgt
   eh? i worry is indefinite...
   i is indefinite... there is no definite i...
i struggle is an indefinite phrase...
which i made a joke of once: mein kampf is a definite
expression via ownership...
ich kampf: i struggle is an indefinite expression
of "ownership": since... at any given time
my ego is swayed to "think" of "its" own "existence"
through a muddle of personal memory,
memory erased by pedagogy,
dreams... other people's thoughts...
mein: definitely, since own...
ich? indefinitely, since hey presto here one minute...
hey presto... Houdini pulled a rabbit out
of a top hat not by the ears but by the tail...

today within the confines of tomorrow...
but what is a "today" when you wake up
and remember a dream...
was the dream from yesterday?
was the dream related to yesterday?
just because you went to sleep yesterday
and woke up today... doesn't mean
the interlude of dreaming you had
might make any linear sense relating yesterday
to today or for that matter tomorrow...
so... muddling the yesterday with today
given the accenting of dreams on the psyche...
well... ich weiß nicht (i don't know)
is a rather "passive" attempt... hell: a most proactive
attempt to compartmentalize grief...
it's not: I DON'T CARE...
oh... i do care... but i want to be numb to
the reality that comes first and the knowledge
that comes after of the fact that... there's...
i swear German as a tongue would require
another Heidegger to explore the word
ABSENCE... FEHLEN...
   Abwesenheit is too close, synonymously,
with Abstrahieren...
                heit (-ness)
                   hieren (here)
    hereness... hierenheit... counter to da-sein?
that Dasein is: there-being... me asking: there's being
and be subsequently conjuring hierenheit?!
coincidence... unless that £60 i spent on the black notebooks
and another £30+ more i will spend on the final volume?
maybe?!

maybe that's why i'm so attracted to the continental
mode of thinking, Germanic or otherwise...
i find that, as much as the English adore pressurising
people as atoms into an atomised stated of:
suddenly! the individual was born!
out of thin air! out rebellion!
out of... the demands for everyone else getting
their fair share of intellectual growth...
there is no intellectual growth in the English mind:
the English are too sensible a people to complicate
the matters of thought if there's no:
******* COMMON SENSE FOR THEM AT THE END!
"they" even have a word for it...
it amazes me how sometimes i forget specified nouns
for their destined use... ergonomics?
that will do for a while...

the English don't tend to deal with reality by creating
pockets of abstract reality of:
nicht-sein-da...
            which is a splendid joke that can't be
unravelled by translating Dasein from Deutsche...
for me there is either: sein-da und nicht-sein-da...
a future of a concern, a care...
a waiting pit of that carefully adjusted performance
art of doing the bit of the mortal lot...
i sometimes wake up at night woken up
by the simple fact of mortality:
and i'm glad to be snuggling in bed, alone
with only thinking as my companion...
at least with the thinking my ego can walk through
and peer at mirrors... see its grotesque nature
it's parasitic gluing to a "me" together with
all those wasted daydreams and acts of
non-fruition...
  
i find nothing in English thought that might give
me architecture or backbone to complete
individuality: a process of individuation...
nothing in Locke... i have not bothered with English
"thinking"... the infrastructure is too sensible...
of transport of taxes of... whatever the:
kleinmann erachten unbedingt!

for the simple fact... what is a public intellectual
in the anglo-sphere? a person who goes into
the public domain with a ******* bibliography?
seriously?
backlog of ideas or, something?
regurgitating ideas of the more shy of the intellectual
heap of dung that once could be called
the iq herd?
        at least by reading continental thinkers i
have enriched my private life...
perhaps i enjoy my work perhaps i don't...
i find it absolutely unnecessary to find friendship...
if i can at least stand myself,
conquer this barrage of randomness coming
from an otherwise untameable ego...
let it pass let is pass i say to the innermost "not-i"
while the outermost "i-i" shouts belligerent day-mares
of.... e.g. being cut-short in a queue to a bus...
let that ****** slide... wait... until i bring
forth the reigns of scribbling finger-tips
and all thinking stop! when there's a clear graphic
for grammar, construction, punctuation
and abbreviations (if necessary) of seen sentences:
seen sentences not some ghosts of mere thought!

gut... mein mutter ist nicht tot...
nicht heute, nicht gestern: noch nicht morgen...
i just thought it was weird,
the comparison...
the dimmed lights of the hospital room
she was wheeled into...
and... the dimmed lights of the brothel room
i usually **** prostitutes in...
dimmed lights...
i carefully plucked the grapes off the vines
for her and placed them before her...
i pinched pieces of brownie dough
and dropped them into a bucket of vanilla ice
cream for her... which she gladly ate...
i watched as she ate that baked potato with
an inverted gluttonous pain from coming out
of the anaesthesia...
forgetting she was half alive half head...
some other quarter falling asleep another missing
quarter talkative...
those dimmed lights and the sarcastic green of
the demands of Hippocrates charming the serpent
as: to no avail... the usurper of the sexualised
metaphor, aged throughout Europe,
serpent, the bringer of temptation and hardly
the wisdom...
long before dinosaur bones were discovered
the people were conjuring up fire breathing dragons...
like... pre-meditatively... what?
the fire born was not the meteor and the fall-out
and yet some dinosaur remains
remained alive while the bigger breeds died?!

to think i might have read Kant or Heidegger or anyone
for the purpose of quasi-pedagogy and not have
read said authors for gains in the realm
of personal gains of obstructing access to
the sort of: puddle-people: pfützemenschen...
people who like to see life's point as:
one complication after another
by allow less than complicated people complicate
their already simple lives...
isn't a simple life worth salvaging?
isn't it?!

as they rolled her in from the hysterectomy operation...
in some, rare, cases... a woman's womb acts
like a man's hernia...
i suffered from a hernia as a toddler...
unlike in men... the female version pushes
a piece of tissue inwards... rather than outwards...
my great-grandmother walked with a bulging sack
of a third ******* of a disused womb until her death
because she was too old to have an operation
guided by the Hippocratic concerns:
her heart her stomach might not salvage her
morality with the applied anaesthetic...

but it felt very much like going to a brothel...
i was looking at my mother drifting in and out of a morphine
15min snooze button...
my father looking morbidly worried...
me? smiling face... giggling... trying to fill a space...
my father is a morbidly worried
swan... i sometimes wonder...
would i be worse off caring for my old father
if my mother died before him...
or would i be better off if my father died off
before my mother... i sometimes wonder...
it's still a coin flip... since the reality is yet to come
and i'm having the abstract ready...
this is me looking at my mother in a secure environment
secured by prescribed injections of morphine...
she has also seen me in my "prime"...
what's 40 units x 7 days a week?
280 units of alcohol in a week...
40 units? one bottle of 1 litre of whiskey per day...
when i was at my highest borne Berserker in scribbling
for people who are yet to be born...

we came home i heated up some leftover pasta,
some leftover chicken wings...
some clear chicken soup... it would be considered
a chicken stock by western culinary standards...
ROSÓŁ... but were carrots added?
was celeriac, was celery, was a leek, was root parsley
and fresh parsley, garlic added?
served with vermicelli?
           i watched him relax and watch West Ham beast
Derby in the FA cup... calmly...
the cats were fed... already sleeping in each
of our two beds...

            oh sure sure... romance... like that isn't too impossible
these days...
the congestion of older generations?
to replace them with what?
we cucks united bridging gaps with the already
satiated single-mommies and puppies
of: cuck...
             jeez... headaches from no known sources...

well i can tell you how similar a visit to a hospital
is similar to a visit to a brothel...
you're chasing...
i found myself chasing the queuing of mortality
with my mother today...
only three days ago i was chasing the queuing of
****** experience with a *******...
i'm yet to join the queue of
losing my father...
i know of losing my great-grandfather: vaguely,
i certainly know of losing my great-grandmother
and i know of losing my grandfather...
i'm yet to experience the loss of a friend,
or... "friend"... someone i used to know in high school...
by then it will be almost like losing
someone equivalent to
Michael Schumacher... or... Nelson ******* Mandela...
importance of whatever and that sniff of ZILCH...

a ******* cat with less to say than already said
will have more to say upon its passing than
Neil Armstrong's theatre for the global populace
and the moon conquered... one step for...
some dared not blink some slept through it...
just as long as the technology of it being televised was
real: it doesn't matter whether it was real...
if reinventing the canvas for a painting was
to be translated into the modern world...
television, per se, as the canvas... would... and is...
more important... than whether
it' a comparison of... the laziest example...
Leonardo's Mona Lisa or Picasso's the Weeping Woman...
NIQAB and the BEAUTY
NAKEDNESS and the BEAST...
or rather... NIQAB and the forever thirst for MYTH
of Woman as once, only then and ever...
faking to decipher by a Flaubert...
the ***** in my mind is the Madame Bovary
for women to pretend to be...
obviously they won't... but? does that matter?

hmm... first in german, then in english

i'm under the impression, that this breed of cats
i'm given the authority of: Maine *****...
behave like dogs... and unlike cats...
how clingy they are, less to me and more to my abodes...
they simply recognise me as the possessor
of space and not a timing of space:
with the requirement of others to fill the void...

katzen sich benehmen wie ***̄DE!
absolve all use of diacritical usage
within the staged, up! "lifting" of h to H...
keep i dotted from above within the confines
of I... or J...
are those speckled "hens" necessary

     ah what fun i could have with this
tongue so barren with the implosion of Latin
with what fellow European tongues ascribed
their idiosyncrasy to...
but of course:
           aber natürlich!
Ęnglisch nicht!
                   ßo! die welt überflutet diese inseln!

sie kam mit ihr zeppeline...
mit ihr senf...
mich? mich?!
ich kam mit die trauer...
keine hure könnte verstehe...

the grey the old the white and the black:
the night and the death to come!

der graue das alte das weiß und das Schwarze:
die  nacht und der tod, kommen.

death before life seems so less not-welcome
when speaking just a little bit of German!
mein gott! what a relief to have found
such miserably happy people allocated
a step-by-step realism of abstracting
pocketed-senses of... to **** with
that "umlaut of Hinduism"!
Heinrich... *******... Tibet suits you oh so well!
******* skiing in that crisp-cut welcoming bond with
the Buddha to serve no future Buddha under the Chinese
regime...

       tat ich vergessen etwas?
                          möglicherweise... sie?

me never think i think this tongue through...
mich noch nie denken ich denken diese zunge durch...

moren bein quartal nach elf...

getoastet roggen-brot:
             pochiert-ei
         spitzen... klacks von
hähnchenspermaeigelbpapst...

                  n'est ce'pas: die toten sind tot?

Before you part your tender lips to ask
I want to put your mind to task

First tell me

If the Sun would ever rise from the West and set in the East
If a funeral could turn out as interesting as a
wedding feast?
If stars would ever stop twinkling and delegate the moon.
And flowers be treasured if they abandoned
their bloom.

First tell me

Whether the heart would ever ask for a salary
increment or rest
And an audience in the theatre mourn at the
jest
If the road would ever ask from pedestrians
transport fare
If "U " and "I" apart even in the Alphabet
seems fair

First tell me

Whether romance would have meaning if we
didn't have each other
If Oceans would exist incase Springs and Rivers
didn't stretch further
If the Red Wine would have a description
besides your kiss
If the Art of humanity would make sense
without the masterpiece?

First tell me

Which ballad would sell if an Angel like you
wasn't born?
What else besides your rosy smile would
describe the dawn?
If dreams would be worth pursuing without
you
What else is worth waking to view like morning dew?
If poems would survive the glacier of time
Without the worthwhile candy taste of rhyme

hi dudes

i had a blood test and it showed i have high cholesterol and the doctor put me on

rosuvastatin, 20 mg, it might be because i am fat, but i listen to doctors cause they know best

and i know athena is working to make look at me eating healthy food and go for walks even

if i look like i am ready to bed, yes i don’t show much energy, and i can be lazy at times

but taking 1 tablet at night on top of my mental illness medication seroquel and serenade

a lot of people call them quacks, but all i want is to live longer and inspire others to do the same

because doctors took an oathe to help you, and athena is working up in outer space to keep me relaxed

at night, not like other people who stress about exercise trying to copy me, well, ya know what i hate

well i hate the police officer who bashed that little girl for texting, i know he is a police officer but in that

situation he was a basher, i went for a walk around my suburb at 3.15 pm today, despite people saying i should

sleep, but i want to get better, and yes, i know i will go to another life anyway, i still prefer to be a human in my next life

so i can get on television, and be really famous, this weekend is halloween and i will do a show, whether i do it on photo booth

and transfer it over to youtube later on, as i have been having problems with youtube lately, but i want the show done

because then i can entertain people, you see i had a tooth extraction and it fucken hurts as i chew, but i take a panadol

to try and ease it, the dentist said, be patient, for it will go away, yes today i was going for a denture fitting

i have a vision of my best mates from school trying to get me to do what i used to do, because i was a tad weird

and i need seroquel and serenade and hosuvastatin, for my cholesterol and athena operating on me when i sleep, i will

hopefully might start to get better, you see high cholesterol is dangerous and i love life too much to die yet, and there

are many things i need to do, before i move to my next life like

1 totally clean my brain from evil thoughts

2  do shows on youtube and photo booth, to hopefully make my next life cool

3  lose me excitement that others are sick

4  eat as healthy as you can

5  keep saying to your angry voices, i am a happy dude, you seem to be an angry dude, a very very very angry dude

6  i want to be a part of many theatre performances and keep doing poetry slams

7  lose that voice, you are like mummy brian, from dads voice and the cool kids

8  i had fun being like the big mens kids back when i was young, but i want the voices to understand, i am grown up

9  keep taking my medication , so athena can help heal my hurts

you see if i do all this, my next life will be cool and famous

i am famous in a way, of being an artist a writer and a youtube partner, i want more

but if i follow all this, my next life will be popular, but i am looking after myself in a sort of a way

i feel popular now

bye dudes

Show me your secret notebook
A reef under generic surface of water.

They've cut down my childhood tree
I used to climb.
                                      Pink Skies.



As she was walking away
from a car
The music gradually
Interrupted, like a radio
Losing its signal
And stopped.
S H E ' S H O T

As I drove,
I poured the music
out of the windows,
to mix it with
the sea of night.
Frogs of Winter.






O birds of spring,
You woke up too early,
your songs don't belong
in the winter's cold air.
You should have remained
silent and hidden
in your safe nests

I feel rather like
exploring self-caves,
Dark Mines of mine;
Dissolving under the blanket
of warmth and sickness
With my eyes closed.
(Do I?)
Definetly not fitting the machine.

Double-edged sword.
Endless wrestling with
Ego.
Say hello!



Once again(another day),
One more time,
She drifted into the night
and the music got torn
piece by piece
(Chopin, Nocturne op.9 No.1)
And I(We)
Were left in the brutal cold,
and dark, and silence
(Dead, pinned to the ground,
awaiting.)

     The moment a smile fades
     A switch that changes the masks
     Ancient greek theatre

Oh birds, you've found
Your small place
on a lake that froze
almost entirely.
Rejoy,
O lucky birds!



Veins of the city
remain silent beside us.
Conversations like ash
or leaves, or snow flakes
fall to them and dissolve,
but they don't cease to exist;
Remain hidden.

Old and new Things
got wed in an instant,
like wild thorny
carnivorous plants,
without us noticing;
Beyond the still line of horizon
-outshouted by the
Rush of Society.
Hidden old silent rooms.





I held a pipette
and gently instilled
the tiny sharp
drops of liquid Music
into the chill lake of Night.
They diffused in the black,
like a dark sapphire ink.

      Wind be a brush,
       for my long,
       slightly savage hair.

         Time drills and channels
          the canyons
          in the flesh of brain.

(Here is the bag with all the leaves
and withered twigs, rotten apples,
gray hair, used tickets, dried tears,
dirt and sebum scraped off the skin,
crumbled, tattered papers, alcohol
metabolites, angry emotions, *****
of thread, carcasses of birds,
feces, and rusty metal junk)

Thank you,
I am cleansed.

I remember when art was colouring within the lines
And making Christmas cards
To festivals it was confined
Art was messy and fun
It was paint and glitter
Glue and scissors
Art was not a subject regular
Not like numeracy, literacy or science
It was a non academic waste of time
An afterthought in the afternoon
Galleries were for Picasso
Theatre's for Shakespeare
And other blue bloods
Somewhere not everyone was welcomed
Creativity and imagination 
Art became a journey of exploration
Different views and interpretations
Art is seeing the beauty in everything
It's moving it is still
It's lifelike and unreal
Sinister and peaceful
It sends a powerful message
It's a form of manipulation
And presentation 
Close to the artists heart
Words and pictures
A form of expression
The freedom to do what you want
Art is autonomy

Buddy Holly sings in Neptune galactic pub



Every day in the after life, I
Come here to sing this great song and think
About my life on earth
You see, old mate, I was so very famous
And my death was recorded on the film La Bamba
Yes, it was a real oom life for me, oh yeah, yeah, oh yeah yeah
You see when I see my next life doing his wander
At the show toward the roller coaster
I always thought, I missed all my friends on planet earth
I lived my life down there to the fullest
And everyone went to see me play at the theatre
And I noticed that they had Buddy Holly shows still on
So old people like me, can keep me living on yeah, yeah, oh yeah yeah
As soon as I died with Valens and the big bopper
I thought I will never be a cool show stopper
But everyone who loved me on earth,can
Still see me performing on Saturn , Jupiter , neptune
And I also tried Mercury too, ooh ooh ooh ooh
The back up bands are better here
I can enjoy singing and drink my beer
Because I ain't the man I was on earth
You see, mate I was so immortal dude, oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
So now if you want to **** yourself, because you don't want to suffer
Think about the time you had on earth, and see if it is really worth it
To end your life on earth really, mate, do you wsnt that
Oh yeah, oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
So let's party on Mercury tonight, get down

I wish
I wish I liked STEM
I perpetuate the stereotype,
women studying English,
and art,
and languages

My love of the arts,
and the humanities,
Is regressing women's history

But it is my right
My right to study art,
and languages,
and theatre

Women's empowerment
And fight for equality,
is so I can study humanities,
and Tiera Fletcher could study rocket science

Like Most People I Like … " APPLAUSE "  
But NOT From Those Whose Conscience Gnaws ...      
Away At … " Them " … !!!!! …        
        
Who Do It …  
Just To Fit and Blend ...      
With Those Who LIKE …        
The Words I Write … !!!!        
        
So Listen Up …        
If You Don't Like My Spoken Words …      
Or Those I Write …        
        
Do What's Right DON'T Applaud … !!!        
        
TRUST ME That's FINE … !!!!!      
        
Don't Give FALSE Cheers …        
Let's Get THIS CLEAR … !!!      
        
I DON'T Believe In False Veneers …        
Cos' Those With Them Are Quick To … " SNEER " … !!!!!      
        
I've Seen It Done A Thousand Times … !!!!!      
This Seems To Be A … " Part of Life " …  ?      
        
Don't Applaud Just To Be Nice … ?!?      
Or Even WORSE To Be ...  " Polite " ... !!!!!      
        
Polite Can Mean A Number of Things …        
Like … TACTFUL Yes … !!!      
Which May Mean That ...  
They're NOT Impressed ...      
And Say … " NICE Things " …      
That ... WON'T Upset … !!!        
        
"Oh dear, that sounds like most poets !      
Those who are, yes, self-obsessed !"      
        
Many of Them When They Applaud …      
Are Simply This … Applauding FRAUDS … !!!!!!      
        
Who … HATE To See Good Poetry ...        
Cos' This Could Mean ...      
The END of Their DELUDED Dreams … !!!!!      
        
This … Of Course …        
Could Include … ME … ?!?      
        
I'm Afraid NOT ………. !!!!!!      
        
If Your Words Do NOT Impress …        
I'll Tell You STRAIGHT … !!!!!      
        
"You need to change professions mate !!!"      
        
But If I Like The Things You Write ... ?      
I'll Try To Quote Some of Your Lines …        
        
But If I Can't Don't Be Surprised … !!!      
It's Hard Enough Remembering MINE … !!!!!!!!!      
The Key Thing Is I Think You'll Find …        
        
I'll Give Applause …        
But NOT Like Those Mentioned Before …. !!!      
Whose FAKE Applause ... Should Be Ignored …        
        
Their Actions YES I Do ABHOR ... !!!      
Cos' ALL They Do Is Keep ... DUD Scores … !!!        
        
And Call For Those Whose Form of Prose …        
Will Stunt The Growth of Shows They Host.      
        
Lyrical Woes ...  
You Know They Go …      
So … TERRIBLY Low … !!!!!      
        
Like Those Who Clap Within A ... " Claque " ... !!!!!      
        
"A hired body of applauders, in a theatre"      
        
Like Those Who Go To … " Farrago Slams " …      
Or Probably Those That Go To … " The Cellar " …      
        
**** .....
Applauding FRAUDS Are EVERYWHERE Man … !!!!!      
        
Even …. " Unplugged " …..      
Becomes A SHAM …        
When False Applause …        
Is What's Asked For … ?!?      
        
Words Like Those ...  
Will ROCK Some Jaws … !!!      
        
And Won't Get Me …      
Inside ... " Their Clique " …        
        
Or Their Shows … !!!      
        
" Oh, What a BLOW !!!!! "  
        
I Guess My Prose Just Does Not Get Enough APPLAUSE …        
For Them To Give My Words … " The Call " … !!!      
        
EXCUSES Yes ...  
I've Heard Them ALL … !!!!!      
        
" Too Black !!! "      
" Too Tall !!! "      
        
" I'm waiting for Virgil to call at my event,  
and watch the people, I present !"  
        
And THIS Of Course …        
        
"Virge doesn't make people applaud !"    
        
That's NOT What Poets Are Here For … !?!      
        
Spoken Words Or … Other Sorts …        
Those Like Me Provoke DEEP THOUGHT …        
And DO NOT WANT CONTRIVED Applause … !!!!!      
        
There's Still A Few Who Share My View …        
And CLEARLY Do Have STRONG BELIEFS … !!!!      
About How Poetry SHOULD BE ….. !!!!!!!!      
        
Sometimes It NEEDS TO BE ANGRY ...        
And Should Reflect ... " REALITY " … !!!!!        
        
It Should Be Sweet And Flow With Beats ...        
        
That's HIP HOP ... !!!!!      
And NOW WE KNOW The Youth RESPECT …      
  
Poets Who ROCK … !!!      
Promoters Should WATCH …      
They Might Be SHOCKED … !!!      
  
Poetry NEEDS Controversy … !!!      
And This Will Bring BIG CASH Money … !!!!!      
From Simple Use of Fluent Speech … !!!      
        
But Let Me Guess … !?!      
They've Got The BEST … !!!      
Within The UK's Poetry Scene ….. !!!!!!      
        
How Can This Be … !?!      
What NO … " Big V " … !!!      
        
Sorry … " BIG VIRGE " ...      
A Man With TRULY Conscious Words … !!!!      
        
They Know It's True … !!!!      
And Yet They Choose ….      
To …................................................. Ignore Me ……      
        
They're Being RUDE … !!!!!      
So Words Like These Are Just To PROVE …        
        
I'm Watching YES They're Every Move … !!!!!      
        
I'm Sure They Think I'm NOT That Great … !!!      
But Listen Close They've Made Mistakes … !!!!!      
        
My Hearing's FINE … !!!!!      
        
There Have Been Times I've Heard Them Try …        
To Act As Though They Like The Way My Wordplay's Styled ...      
But Still Won't Have My Name … " Headlined " …        
        
If That's The Way They Are Inclined …        
        
It's NOT A Stress … !!!      
They Can Bring Their BEST …      
And I'll ... Take The TEST … !!!!        
        
Let's ...  
START The WAR … !!!      
Cos' Now I'm SORE … !!!      
        
And Think It's Time To … HOT UP Floors …        
And See Which Names Bring In The Hoards … !!!        
        
That's The Way To YES … Keep Score … !!!!!      
And STOP This Phoney …. FAKE …  
  
........... " Applause " ….........

Ex Nihil
Warning!
This site contains explicit pictures
of someone you know.

So is this it,
the Magic Theatre
supposedly advertised
for Madmen only?

Explicit indeed,
bad dreams and sensual whispers,
perhaps just a breaking;
a dissolving of one self.

Where you go,
I dare not follow,
for I am not of those people
and moreover
they know it.

Where I go,
you don't want to follow,
for reasons I don't understand
and which you
won't explain.

You want the city,
the newness and the lights,
adventure being a new bar
every night?

I want the forest,
the oldness and the twilight,
adventure being a new song
every night.

Halloween night
this last year;
I saw a relative of yours
run alone down the middle
of your street;
Red Fox in the City.

Smoking on your balcony,
with a bear of a man
we yelled inside that your
family was at hand.

I sat on your couch
and talked with you,
watched you watch others,
and I can't remember
anything you said.

I do remember,
when you took me to your room
in search of cards
because I needed to be
doing something with my hands.

You pulled boxes from
your closet and I met your cat,
(I hoped he liked me; he was pretty cool,
didn't enjoy the noise of a party,
same as me in that regard)
we didn't find cards
but we did find a vase of flowers.

You laughed when I asked
who gave them to you,
as if you buying them for yourself
wasn't something I
should be sad about.

Perhaps that's why
I bought you carnations
when your Grandmother died.

I can't help but feel
that I didn't meet you by accident,
but knowing that we will
never love each other
merely adds to my confusion.

There's a low roar in my ears
as I sit here now,
knowing that I care about you
for purely selfish reasons;
as if by being good to you
I could erase selfishness and
ignorance from my past.

In a final note
of outright anguish,
I wish that I in my childishness,
had the courage to show you
the things I have written
for you...my friend.

is it still considered... watching ****...
if she also *******...
or... you're watching that...
take on japanese sexuality in anime...
with a gloryhole and a rubber ****
and she's addressing it:
shogun... and... there's custard...
of the ******* scene?
or she's teasing you pregnant...
and you're like:
         no more eggs!
***** like watermelon juggernauts!

i was never a fan of soap opera...
whether coronation st.
or something turkish / mexican my
grandmother would better enjoy...

drama: internet: clebrity drama...
idubbbz etc.
          i am click-baited by the change
in the algorithms...
"once upon a time" the website
worked as... a thesaurus jukebox...
none of these videos would come up
as suggested...
so i scroll through them:
3 minutes in and my attention span
has become ridiculed by:
the spezial juice...

     there's not other alternative...
not being a *******...
       something sobering...
       not even nostalgia and a life prior:
mix-tapes recorded for an
highschool sweetheart...
reef: give me your love...

         i should have become a monk...
templar chant: antiphona:
                  crucem sanctam subiit...
something out of necessity...
in terms of *******?
it's hardly me playing for the cuckoldry
pass...
    she's alone... i'm alone...
she has more toys...
i have a grip of the hand...
that can hold a basketball with
one hand...
which dwarfs my: "esteem"...
      and it's like a sensation akin to...
the mouth of a squid suckling out
an extra trim of the *******...
very forensic ugly *******...

no floral patterns of a pregnant girl
needing to be comforted by
less a "stance" and more a tongue:
wriggling to tease...
or whatever it might be called...

is it ****? she's with a toy shooting
custard cream...
and... i have a hand that acts like a squid mouth...
boniest **** i have yet to see...
****'s a dwarf to boot...
but at least... no concern for WD40
and **** fetishes...
to compete with homosexual zeniths of
pleasure: gained...
thus pleasure: given...

is it ****... when she's at it...
and i'm "at it"...
   and there's no... theatre?
  what is it... then?
                 crucem sanctam subiit
qui infernum confregit
         accinctus est potentia
   surrexit die tertia...
                    alleluia...
dear good: moral superiority?
     dial me up...
these choral works are...
   the medicine when even Handel doesn't
quiet cut the matter: solid...

sooner the dogs and insects come unto
my body: the sooner i will be able
to wash their base instincts myself with...
and afterward...
the clerical matter of:
the... "spiritual refrain"...
a completely blank slate of mind...

       first comes the fire...
and if you're lucky: suppose there's water
to come to quench your thirst: after...
because the looks of it...
teeth do not fare well...
when chewing sand...

             point being... it's hardly a...
video-friendly affair on my part...
but a woman *******...
**** me... spring already?!
the flowers are budding?
the asexuality in her is... jumping to extremes?
as a joke... or hardly...
hands... too bad all those asian girls
already started to look like
****-robots...
      kyoto-eyes...

                       fake... fake...
   good of me to have ****** a beached
whale... "******"...
snuggled and eyelids teased with lips...
and of course... the mechanists' trance
for piston envy... blah blah...
           but a carrying point of
comparison... when the bleach starts
melting the plastic...
and she is... and i am...
being ****** off and each other
by telephatic forces equivalent to...
ghosts...
   and is it *******... just then?

i had to explore these crude...
one-armed bandits... since... typing...
on a keyboard... i sometimes
see myself in the mirror...
but... on a piece of paper:
i have to remind myself that:
i am... and will forever be...
right-handed...
        
                       the teenage trick was...
to sit on the hand you don't use to write...
and then... ******* with it once
enough numbing was imbued...
ghost did it... was the motto...
i don't know...
      ever become fooled to eat something...
before an operation where
a general anaesthetic was used?
and you wake up...
regurgitating window-licker esque
blah gurgle blah blah further?

from the athenian strip-club
to a brothel in the east end...
and sieving through...
eh...          minor evidence...
settling down on gloryhole ******* flicks
for a while...
any adventure of her ******* herself
and "easing" me to...
that squid-mouth of a hand...
of my own...
        but everything on the throne of thrones...
then a quick baptism in a shower:
promises are promises...
no armchair... not scented candles...
doing the no. 1, 2 & 3...
on the throne of thrones... does...
the trick...

- and once the bourbon is opened:
the perfume of... every... single... brothel...
i meet a man on a rampage...

and he says: beside reading gregory corso...
ah... forget reading him...
just hear him speak... that's the sexiest
**** voice suckling at the ****
of the escape from "alcatraz" / prose paragraph...
you will... ever... hear...

scouts honour... although i was no more
a scout than the slingshot
my philatelist grandpa made me...
shooting iron *****-heads... giggling...
in the confines and comfort
of a... kitchen window...

   my grandfather: the philateist...
i'll have to admit...
i make a much better drunk than he ever was...
my father is a cockerel boxer
and my uncle a gloomy zombie...
when i drink, though?
i am still that... hard-on-sunrise
diving into a ***** of some old
stripped in Athens... from... hell...
Macedonia?
and those "other" eyes looking at me...
the message always reads:
take your ******* toys...
and *******... from this sandbox of we
milking the lechers...
colt...

so i'd be at it... with a reply akin to...
i was never in athens...
the card debit dried up...
escorted by a bouncer...
****** myself at the atm machine...
walked back to the hostel
like some GI Joe...
      
   oh sure... ***... the great adventure...
is it ****...
watching her play with her barbie
and me play with my ken?
pristine, though...
          is it **** when i'm not giving
a narrative piece...
no classical italian 1970s...
         scenes...
        is it ****?
       or is it... butchers' spree!

i just don't have the toy...
the guillotines *****... soz... let's extend that
into: "oops"?!
i guess if i was gay... conservative...
an... Tangier was the hotbed of
frilocking...
under the Islamic regime of the... ******* sons...
and the lesbian duaghters...
and the unloved... under polygamy...
and: isn't muhammad...
the one who tried... to claim both...
the psalms of David...
and the solominic prowess at a hard-on?
i guess he must have failed in one
of these two adventures...

so much for Muhammad's surrogates
of Zion... the mothers of the believers...
or those struck by the reality of waking up...
in some suburb of Birmingham...

is it ****?
he does who what with when she
does it with a guillotined ken-play-dough?
here's the porsche...
and here's... the limping deaf
and blind horse...
i'd sooner have the horse...
after a while it become apparent...
i... can't... chew...
or... digest... metal...

but a horse i can... ***** into a furthering
of life... as i "leisure" myself into
a chicken... even the marrow in the bones
will not matter...

is it ****?
she's shooting blanks i'm shooting out
a genocide...
there's this tissue... there's this tear...
there's a hard-on and there's the spring
of genitals on her part...

and it's the modern version of...
what **** was like in the 1970s and the 1980s...
before... she had to go up-stream
and against the salmons of solomon...
migrating with her hybrid...
puppeteering strings...
i clenched my hand that didn't become a fist...
but the mouth of a stripteasing zebra...
and the motto: k.o.
of an uvula that would somehow
become the pricess and frog of... cough-medicine
slurp... and later a kiss...
and things, "things"... just had to become
so ugly...
so wholly unrecognisable...
when standing upon waverly bridge...
looking out across... the firth of forth...
and that... tapeworm eerie white...
one of those nights... scaling the old college scaffold...
with a belarusian ***...

this tinge... this ribbon of an accent
and a signature...
this forever-new...
        
upkept thus far...
    a horror movie soundtrack...
to a lullaby replica...
by god i snore harded than...
an asthmatic cerberus...
   what's ****?
        i care to mind the details...
hands being the most ****** aspect of...
my synonym...
all procelain and easily broken...
hands i could have do...
with making bone arithmetic a "thing"...

i ****-size a comparison...
by the looks of it...
the Cindarella: heel... cut off...
is a bit like me missing...
a knuckle...
             just at the pinky...
where my signet ring should abide
by for the eternal purpose
of the engluish bachelor...
and queen... and prince charming...
and a wales...
that invokes the boundary of...
not only cornwall...
but also devon... somerset...
dorchester...
     agor ysbeiliai:
                    o hanesyddol maliaf
o pethau...
       none of it... actually...
some other prince charming...
drag queen hour reading...
orwell having a ******* with...
  a: wilde...

             high-brow expectations....
to riddle out 1 + 1 = 2...
                        that somehow nothing
has to remain... plough-towing...
pig-trough-tied... hoof and bite...
and goodmorning vietnam... d.j. accurate...
or the pleasures from cartilege...
and all the scooping up
pedantry: in details...
over such minor facts of a former:
base relief to imitate: imitating life...

i am quiet adamant...
away from the realities of a London
or a Warsaw...
one can most certainly...
conjure up a quest of time...
as that sort of quest whereby...
time's-amiss...
in that the clocks have apparently
clogged up and... therefore...
"somehow" stooped to... quiet simply...
having... stopped!