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Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
bypassing the 502 error: title - whiplash...
body... cream...

original intent:

they're doing road works on a stretch of road
where the brothel sits:
house of the rising sun or whatever you want
to call it... i'm not ready for the thrist:
for the plunge that will extend into half a decade's
worth of not *******...
i'll give it a week or so... before i take the plunge:
proper... mind you... i've already found
the perfect formula for drinking...
the cheapest bottle of australian wine...
at 14%... mixed into the glorious Mayan drink
of the gods' that's kalimotxo...
and if i'm still not "feeling it": i'll top myself
off with some slender-man's whiskey glug-glug...
it worked so well for 4 years without
touching a woman's body...
what the hell prompted me?
to wake up from this slumber?
oh... right... i own two maine **** cats
and when i was grooming the female...
she stuck up her brunt right into my hands...
it felt like: trans-species ******* for a while...
a cog in my brain went loose...
for days i cycled in the night into central London
looking at the flesh market:
of the free peoples of the western world...
what prompted me...
i was grooming my maine **** cat and she
was tempting me with a: ******* hairy apple...
no... wrong... just plain wrong...
perhaps i swing around beard envy & ha...
***** envy (well... imagine a rabbit ******* an elephant...
big **** genre of: and how deep is that...
ahem... hole? standard kama sutra...
not one size fits all)
but when your cat starts to imitate getting it...
**** me... the night... cycling... sweating it off...
until you have to touch the antonym...
but suppose you come across a timid girl
and you get a case of erectile dysfunction...
while you end up caressing her: timidly kissing
her because she's timid...
pointing at her eyebrows... nose... eyes...
ears... pimples... freckles and moles...
the mirror... fingers... elbow... knees...
and asking her to say the Romanian words for them...
sure... a momentary lapse in sanity:
the reason(s) was already self-evident...
take a woman like Ava Lauren...
now... my god... by god... that's a ****-machine...
an *** like a Lamborghini and a body
like a leather armchair...
and she stuck through it... a mandible body
of the extension of the jaw...
some people are born to be boxers...
she was built to be ****** in the confines of
orthodoxy...
dead pornstars though... i.e. Shyla Stylez...
it's really a joke if i ask: would it be necrophilia
if i'm doing it to images of a dead pornstar?
"doing it": best on the toilet...
no... no scented candles... no eager kangaroo *****
no webcam... no thrill...
3 birds:  1 stone: on throne of thrones...
no better way and all the best excuses to later
jump under the shower and get on with the dead...
sorry.. day...
4 years i did... grooming a cat awoke in my a thirst
i thought i had long forgotten...
- kinks: mostly foreplay...
       kissing after all that 2nd base foreplay
while she's on top of you veiling you with her
Turkic raven hair...
immediately after the act: all that virility...
now... dilution...
            kinks: i still tend to rub my hands against
a brick wall before i enter their abode...
i rub my hands against bricks
to demand more from when i'm touching
flesh... nothing can come close when standing
at the altar of a woman's naked body
in dim lighting... with at least 2 mirrors on the wall...
reassurances of cleanliness are highly
welcome... even though by a tonne load of surprises
she would perform ******* with the rubber
commoner of promiscuity...
- kinks: any body attired in latex...
  that's the height: ms. gimp...
                          well... there's that or me endowed
with a cockerel sized endowment about
to **** a maine **** cat during grooming...
as "sick" as finding out you've been doing
the nos. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones
to a dead pornstar like Shyla Stylez...
in third person: lover-boy all smooches
and octopus tentacles reading the geography
like he might pick up the braille of all the grooves
and hinges...
interruption: i'm no pornographer!
although there's this one allusion:
    Venus in Furs... ol' Leo von Sacher-Masoch...
on the tip of my tongue:
at the tip of my fingers...
to turn stone in skin...
   - i remember being in a strip-club once...
i had to fly to Athens for that one...
i walked into a market sq. and met up with
some random... Greeks... Algerians...
Medi- olive skinned folk...
complete strangers... we drifted around the nightclubs
and watched the girls coming out...
how's that scale of nought through to ten?
below average... and highly demanding...
the four of us decided: **** it...
we climbed into a car and drove to the outskirts
of Athens to a strip-club...
unlike a dog that's chasing cars
i couldn't just... look... a few drinks down
and still eyeing the prize
i had two women around my arms
and my face buried in one's *****:
while some demon-she look on from
the other side of the platform of lost clothing...
another put a green peg on the table
informing me i could have more...
by then i was out of debit... my card was
returned... a bouncer escorted me to the nearest
cash machine in a hotel... started talking
to the receptionist while i was pretending to
withdraw money i didn't have...
right there and then i became a child:
******* my clothes... excitement, fear... both...
dunno... drunks have this build in GPS...
Athens... a city i only just arrived in...
blind drunk mad with love...
i managed to find my way back to the hostel...
**** the guiding beacons into my dreams...
eh... a ******* is never going to be a brothel...

i don't like the argument of:
look... but don't touch... touch... but don't taste...
taste but don't... what comes after taste?
if ever i catch myself watching pornogrpahy
it has to be classic Italian flicks...
on silent...
i can never be fully absorbed:
i'll wait for a real experience to come
with the flood of the senses...
i can't give myself to simulation with all
the sense...
after all... i was probably one of the last
boys who bought a ***** mag in a shop
with... actual expedience of trade...
it was still in the open...
i might have died of shame but at least
i didn't hide it...

                  no shame in Belgium though...
we were visiting world war I graveyards
and the trenches... but at the same time
we were looking for the best brothel in Ypres
while i was the only boy buying a ***** mag...
all ****... shaved... unshaved...
no *******: because a man's imagination
was still fertile... you had a woman's body
impose itself on your psyche like
an x-ray... and you had all that imagination
to subsequently have to swallow...
third party ***** weren't involved:
you never felt like a cul de sac ******...
oddly enough... limp **** hey presto:
can't perform when asked...

ooh... ol' Turkic raven hair:
all her talents in the foreplay...
and all the smooching during *******...
thank god i could never marry...
father children...

4 years it has taken me to wake up to this...
"repressed" reality...
repressed or... even the Teutonic Order
had a brothel in their capital-citadel of Malbork...
Marienburg...
for the love of women who also love:
cleanliness... and the aesthetics of arousal...
for all that's love and all that's not love...
for all that beside love: intimacy without question:
but all the answers...
for two bodies imitating slugs or serpents
where no words are exchanged or given
toward *******: autonomous bodies reaching
for braille with eyes wide open...

- the road to the brothel was closed...
the guys doing the road works cut it off...
not tonight... tonight i'm going to bemoan how:
well... when you start writing...
don't expect to have the same sort of privacy rules
implicit of... whatever the hell you do besides...
why wouldn't a plumber raise these words
from the domain of thought that's probably
his most cherished freedom?
people can still pretend to hide in anonymity
on the internet...
but... why would you... write bogus comments
and troll...
before words become carbon on paper: pencil...
the circus of thinking ought to be enough...
unless: like me... you're going at it like a bull...
i don't think i can have "privacy" anymore...
not that that bothers me...
i'll wear a mask when i put my face on...
but literacy so squandered for the upper-hand
in slighting someone anonymously...

                    ha!           someone would have
written a confession: Anne Sexton brush-up on:
what's important... Anne Sexton... now there was
a ***** that if she was willing could make you
dream all day and night...

why are so many pornstars so... ******* attractive
that you'd wish to push them
into bird-cages with the parrots
or adorn them with white linen niqabs?
as much as i want:
my words are not sacrosanct:
but they're also no Mammon slot-machine
golden-goose mine: perhaps when i'm dead:
something might trickle down into the coffers...
but i doubt that...
words never become shapes or colours
or therefore paintings...
words burn... words and all that becomes
collateral as they dig and drown into
the unconscious: of course... no motive...
just a motif...
    
brother Balaam: fellow diviner of the god
of the Hebrews...
brother Balaam... give me the strength of purpose
to chase more shadows: more more more!
speak to me from under the depths
of the sea of death...
they have left these northern lands...
and as they now stand: proud in their multitude:
and still persist in their clinging to the diaspora:
for i will not glutton myself over
the accomplishments of but one Hebrew:
when i can glorify their deity!

literacy has been squandered:
best strip these people of their "knowledge"
of letters: letter by letter:
let them return to smearing **** on cavern ceilings!
hostile barbarians: paradoxically:
the Vikings were renowned in their celebration
of "effeminate" males: poets...
i could warn a dog or two to bark as i thus:
howl...
               little creatures of dispute...
little belittling lords of shovel ****!
hey! prompt! all verb no noun...
something these leeches might understand... "might"...

all this lubricated tongue has made me think
of something else that happened today...
beside me revisiting the cinema of memory...
grandfather and i: the hyenas of the graveyard:
although even he pronounced that
he was unable to laugh: i guess i started to laugh
for the both of us... eagerly, proper:
with the vowel catcher of the first
arm of the tetragrammaton: HA HA...
while the "other" vowel catcher would
smother the vowels in sighs: AH AH!
exasperated... almost...

       call it PR or whatever you want to call it:
i'd rather stack shelves in a supermarket
than work at a call-centre...
the deceit and the Peter Pan *******
i said: it's not the Shetland Islands...
it's the South East...
i was rummaging on an internet speed
of... 0.1Mbps (megabytes per second)
for a while... i reached a zenith of 0.6 - 0.8(Mbps)...

for a year... if not longer...
and there she was: she came...
this bleached-blonde pchła of a... she did put on just
enough mascara...
obviously taken...
i don't think *** entered my thoughts
when... she... didn't... parade her keychain
that involved a picture of her and her child...
pchła: an endearing term for a girl
of timid build... a body my shadow at noon
could break like a walnut...
i called her an engineer...
she wasn't going to construct a bridge...
she was going to fiddle with my router...
my internet connection...
a woman who had desire for fiddling with:
"dead" things: shadows...
arteries... veins... a concept of a heartbeat...

i just admired her hair...
obviously not natural... bleached...
     she was a body occupying a space...
a welcome intrusion nonetheless...
i sort of enjoyed the silence i surrounded her with...
"sort of": i clearly did...
best be on your way...
a female engineer...
well... from 0.1Mbps... coming up for air
now standing at... 5.6Mbps...
she asked: how did "we" manage?
we just watched a lot of the show live...
but... there were more important things to mind...

the bothersome truth is that:
you can't exactly dig into: pristine good...
this girl who became a "cable guy" engineer...
engineer: "engineer": "tech. support":
i'm not trying to demean her purpose:
i'm the one doodling words on a makeshift
canvas...
i'm no painter or mind having
enough nepotistic authority of: father painter
so i become a fashion designer... etc.

i pin-pointed the proper term though: no?
nepotism?
you just can't objectify certain women...
both of us beguiled having internet providers:
so... shouldn't they penalize the companies
that are all software and bar users?
will the software providers turn off my...
electricity?
the PR Peter Pan stunts... as i told her:
you being the engineer and me being the customer...
we can talk... face to face...
but over the phone?
put me in a confessional booth
with a woman from Mecca and her... double take
on what's to be seen: what's to be heard...
what's to be ******... what's not to be seen / heard...
eaten...

an eager *****: if a ***** is going to give...
but if... she's... this occupied presence...
it's impossible to penetrate her with words...
all i have is:
bleached blonde hair...
heavy mascara... something insinuating combating
nervousness: i am what i am: sorting out cables:
i reassured her: the aesthetics will be dealt with...
a drowning man will cling to a razor's edge to save
himself...
why do i feel so hardly alone
around people who invest so much
in... having children?
it's not like i'm expecting 3rd party sources
to come and salvage me: when completely decrepit...

a woman completely devoid of any ****** advances:
perhaps performing the role of a dentist:
a surgeon: it's already exploited by me
when it comes to: seeing her most ******
parts: her hands... at the grace of a supermarket cashier...
let her be... she's already averting her eyes:
i might insinuate a receding question:
there's the moon... the forest...
come autumn...
maybe i'm focusing on exaggerating myself...
i am: exaggerating myself...

toward a focus of timidity...
as best i can...
    i am a dead end joy-**** at best...
an underperformer at least...
              my own very self worn down
skipping barefoot in memory
right now probably better adorned by a straightjacket...
but who's fooling who...
the readied ***** or this girl working out
cables?

i can respect this one without a need
to pressurise her with a... ******* niqab...
until she might bloat over:
over-suckled... fat... nothing more than
a speed machine for *****-count...
something that doesn't deserve limbs:
is all torso and belongs
to the cult of the bone tomahawk cannibals...

that one motto cited by all Arabs
and pseudo-Arabs: there no water in the desert...
spoken in dearest of the dear that's England:
this green and pleasant land...
where's the ******* desert?!
shovel! both a verb and a noun...
how rare.... perhaps not so much...
        proverbs from the Middle East...
******* to the Middle East and let me
riddle my own: better a sparrow in your
hand than a dove on your roof...
how's that?

better joy in the immediacy of your own:
than peace among your closely associated.
******* H'arab...
you're no Jew... esp. when sitting
on Dino-Lamborghini juice...

castles in the sky: so the psychiatrists says...
or cities built on sand...
every Pakistani / Bangladeshi knows this
proverb...
the times of appeasing the "forever" sober
Arab and his sober-Arab libido...
i'll wait... are now... like i once said:
the horrible has already ah-happened...

and if it hasn't: then i'm still... pretty much
taking a proper role in being the only watchman
on a sly of a kipper...
n'est ce pas?

irritation culminates with:
when you make your own wine...
but don't have the filter equipment...
all that excess "fibre" probably gets your more
drunk than expected...

i haven't had enough to my liking to
somehow dissolve the pledge
to keep at least 72 ****** on a leash...
all that's eternity: given all that's
available and will be:
within the confines of un-chartered space...
send me a postcard from the eye of Jupiter...
i'm more than asking:
imploring: i'm... sort of making:
chain you to me: demands...

tomorrow's a sober head:
tonight... i'll be drunk with both wine
of my own making and...
the memory of a naked body of a woman...
exactly: if she's an engineer: "engineer"
fiddling with my phone socket...
she has a photograph of her and her child
on her keychain...
i wouldn't even dream of...
usurping her... status...

            looking at her felt like eating...
oats... something wholesome...
i met up with you... herr grey...
i did't find any child-fiddling bits...
what... were... you... hiding?!
i will laugh: if you tell me: a heart...
melt my stony enclave...
burn the whole world while you're at it!
there was never going to be any sacrifice
in the crucifix pose:
only purpose for focus: for... submission...
as someone devoid of wanting to continue....
he didn't die for "our" sins...
he died in order to be worshipped...
**** him... let him hang on... father of proselytes...

- point of closure...
for now... i never rose high enough
to suddenly turn cold-turkey: goosebumps
on the *******... still... dead...
i wasn't born into a Buddhist harem...
therefore i sometimes relapse into
the gimmick of the tease...
periodically... every half a decade....
i drink unfiltered self-made wine
and talk about hardly the ******
"exploits":
i come across magnets equivalent to
timid schoolgirls...

some supposed ****** revolution happned:
lob-sided...
given how the girls took the strap-on off
and shoved the **** down
the ******* brains of their bank account
squadron...
     the ******: "******" revolution came out
***-****-side first: thirst:
lopsided: the girls have all their fun...
we die... they come close to old age:
it continues: men tend to think throughout:
that period of concern: supposedly-deemed:
life...

the feminine agony of old age...
grandma's apple pie: **** grandma's apple pie!
i want to drink my wine
with... blisters and...
dis-ingestion...
              
         sucker punch:
            suckle toward a knuckle that might just...
make creases with caresses.
GulRukh Dec 2017
I am a Shining Star
Let me Brust
To Decorate Your Sky
I am a Bioling Sun
Let Me Explode
To Light Your World
I am a Wandering Cloud
Let Me Be Your Shield
And Save You From Heat
I am A Glacier
Let Me Melt
And Remove Your Thrist
I Just Want You To Remember My Name
Whenever You Cry With Pain
It Will Rain
I Will Be That Rain
That Will Wash Away All of your Pain
Just Let Me Cry
If That Brings You A Smile
Sourodeep Jul 2015
In this river while rowing your boat
hey there ! you hasty toad
you did not check for the banks
and flowed through the ranks
the trees are not anymore
by your side like before
the birds don't sing here
no sign of land far or near
in your attention for the twists and turns
like you ignored the face and saw just the sideburns
you were driven by an unquenched thrist
you repent what you left behind, now hurt
fishes so big, in this depth, your heart is now sunken,
in search of sweet happiness you have reached the salty *ocean
Often we don't value what we have and where we are now, in our futile ambitious attempt we reach a position where no one is there with us. We then have no option but to repent what we have lost in the process
Lane O Sep 2020
Your love is my vice
Thirsting for your soft caress
Carnal addiction
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
perhaps a hannibal lecter interlude...

  after all... pronouns... are they really: all that important...

the first the second the third wave
of secularism...
fine... fine... make religious artifacts
dunce...
               make iconoclasm...
make it sacrilege...

   islamic stessors on: no images...
         you'd think: high praises for grammar,
orthography and all that...
"orthography": without diacritical markers:
a technical term for something pretty
pedestrian: a spelling mistake...

pronouns... i much prefer prepositions
and conjunctions: the sharpnel of the whole affair of:
a sentence structure...

the liberal, atheist, secular cuddly toys
can have everything... except for the grammar...
since... i **** on {[( and }]) and whatever
bracket >            and < is invoked
to "reinvent a piece of paper"...

pronouns... pronouns...
      i am for: remembering that an aardvark is...
not... and is...
i like to bank a lot of nouns...
i truly do...

             if it can't be settled with the already
in place: crown pronouns...
e.g.: one should think so...
                as in i...
veer into: are we being... addressed?
  the royal we.... the crown of one...
hell... even schizophrenics have better
days than dealing with a pluralism...
the horde does: and the host...

trans-     meta-           cis-       ortho-
               para-                hell... is this a chemistry
lesson? with this prefixes?

the royal use of the pronoun...
because of the... visible entourage...
hence: is one to think so...
are we... being addressed?
   a very, a very very different mind-spatiality
to the inconvenient cork
or nail of the common, labouring:
plumber...

                i's dot and no dots further:
nonetheless does so...

trans-gender lessons in grammar...
i know an older lesson...
trans-******... buffalo bill lessons in pronouns...

it rubs the lotion on its skin...
   it rubs the lotion on its skin...
   or else it gets the hose again...
it rubs the lotion on its skin...
   yes precious: it gets the hose...
    it rubs the lotion on its skin
or else it gets the hose...
  it puts the lotion in the basket...
and it does
...
                         (greenskeepers... lotion)

                  we are living in very curious times...
which leaves alluded to...
supposed or otherwise suspect "schizoid-bilinguals"
looking for the chance of playing
poker and someone looking over our shoulder...

have all the religous trampling you can
muster... but grammar is the new religious
dogma... it's the new orthodoxy...

                        it's the old orthodoxy...
a totally wonky pancake of a buffalo bill trans-sexuality
becomes easier to understand than
all the trans-gender-                 -ism...
another -ism another -ology...
              
          **** in the church take a **** on the altar...
tell a ******* like marquis de sade did:
to desecrate a crucifix by reinventing it into
a *****... whatever...

but grammar? can't anything be sacred these...
days? royal pronouns: one should hope so...
are: we being addressed?
    
a grevious faux pas -
      looks something like this: hey presto!
why?
         the colon is a prefix to italics...
     i.e. looks something this: hey presto...
but given the bad choice of e.g. -
i.e. it's also a punctuation mark...

             point being: not like this...
              yes: like this...
              and yes... thus...
                       but....         :        and its
hardly a double emphasis...

    O the low hanging fruit... since:
there's nothing controversial to be said...
this is just the pretty much crass...

     i was sure there must have been a writing
to "compete" with the runes...
that st. cyril had to work with something...
before the romans... well... when the romans
never came...
but the southern slavs
moved into the territory of former jugol...

ⰏⰀⰃⰉⰀ / ⰏⰀⰃⰡ
what once was...
and became:
                        магия...

           well... so much for: "out of africa"....
concerned with the complexity of scribbles
                       and doodles...
so much for those chinese tattoos...
the base is above: the word
is the same...

मघ / मग     and that's just the consonants MG...
it's not magic: it's... magia...
or: "or" magja...

          seems like the greek Π is the roof...
     out of india: perhaps out of africa...
but when did people start writing?

     now for the vowels...
                                   मआघइअ:
म   (m)                
आ   (aa)                      अ
घ    (g)        alt.
इ     (i)
अ     (a)...

                   the H is a surd: a shared
detail of both english and sanskrit...
but i think... मघ / मग... the latter is better suited....
e.g. 'atch: well... there's also
that surd of a G and a K: knived a gnome heart
out... laughed: ah ha ha...
and...                     journalistic insomnia
couldn't care for better days...
or UV paranoia: "paranoia"...

ergo...

                                   मअगइअ:
म   (m)                
आ   (aa)                      अ
ग    (g)        alt.
इ     (i)
अ     (a)...                      

this is still not magic... linear! thank "god"...
    well... this pepper... this perpetuated
thrist... which doesn't leave one satiated...
never completed... just more and more...
disastrous... keep the ship afloat...
while i start to nibble on the anchor!
and take ol' 'aptain down with me like:
a mermaid!
The last few days
Have been strange
I haven't been eating
My emotions
And I always have

I am NOT
A thin girl
Nor medium sized
And I can't help that
But this is odd

Nausea replacing my
Urge to eat away
The stress or sorrow
A rumbling in my stomach
Screaming
Please no food

I'm a eater
My mother and father too
So why have I not been hungry

I've been thinking about
Dieting soon
Could this be my
Subconscious saying
You don't have to
I'll take care of that for you


I'm mystified
Usually I drink endlessly
Always thirsty
And always drinking more
Than anyone else
And yet I felt less thrist
In these last days
Completely ignored the full cup
Even when my mouth was dry
A sip would satisfy

Somethings wrong
But I'm not gonna ask
It's okay not to eat
At least not like I use to

Maybe this is a blessing in disguise
I just hope everything turns out okay.
what a waste Oct 2015
I was scattered
to the farthest reaching stars
Thoughts on thoughts
stacked like library halls
till the many pages formed a face
and with growing thrist
swallowed me down
into the endless night
of a dying black hole
I had lost all self control
Ryan Jan 2016
My head in riddles,
poisonous snakes latch onto every thought,
every feeling, leeching out every essense of
purity until I'm left dry in thrist.

I feel the pressure of the acids pulsating through
every nerve of my living body, slowly torturing,
paralyzing me from the inside out.

But I can still feel the dim flicker of light,
the one feeling, the strongest of them all,
hidden the deep in the caverns of my exsistence.
I will crawl with my fingernails, with every
last breath to reach this light.
I will bleed before I allow myself to become
paraslysed into darkness.

These devious creeping shadows will be cast out,
the abundance of light will take over, I will be free.
I am ready to step into self liberation.
Vale Luna May 2022
When I grew out of my adolescence
I lost my crippling thrist to write

I stopped cutting myself in my early 20's;
just like the research articles said I would

Disorder direction, however,
was not the cause of my coping correction

I moved away from rampant tantrums
Sliding down the ***** of sufferance


I used to write to externalize my internal desperation
My frustration with the life I was given
(Certainly not the choices I've made)

Over a decade of time has aged me
From a helpless girl, to an impassive woman
Submissive to circumstance

Now, I chain bricks to my ankles
And throw myself in the sea of apathy

I will not expend the energy to care,
but rather intentionally strive for indifference


In doing so, I sacrifice my desire to write…
Losing desperation makes me hollow

Then again, helplessness is for children.

I am a woman now.

I no longer crave the ability to describe my emotions
Asking for help is not a viable option anymore
I've tried that long enough
We all thrist for passion and desire the lust.
From the stage it's a strange connection between the music
and the female form.

For years I sat  the party creator sixteen  full of want and no clear direction.
Tight skirts the light caresses every curve.
So eager to be jaded and happily used.

My school of beautiful corruption and thoose
Ladies so eager to teach.
Love far from mind the time of change toys left
behind.
New vices soon to replace.

The bar my sanctuary  the stage I was invisable in
plain site.
Laughter is my love   the party my soul.
Sin my  eager vice the perfume to my devilish mind.


***** and no worries about the following day.
I fell in the life a happy  fool.
Blind to the  vision of the one way street.

Just a kid lookin to hitch down hell's highway.
The noise the sweat the blood given  to perfect
strangers in the key of night.

Those beautiful forms sway in a seduction
tremble at the unseen hand.
The nights direction was always  at my command.

Outside the night went from everything to
emptyness of the ordinary.
They went there way my feet back on the ground.
For I gave then a mental release  victem to a sound.


Moments turn to tears the jaded forget all to soon.
But I remain the party  never ends.
Faces fade forever into the night.
Direction  points elsewhere.
Habits and addictions  *** and  and the abstract
scene.

My road  leads  in many directions.
The crossroads  is but a one way street.
I see them still in the shadows.
Where the Devils and Angel's meet.
Moments like paintings are there to haunt as wellas give a glimpse to the highway of one's soul.

Stay Crazy Gonzo
Just Alex Jan 2019
I was a soldier of Rome
and my thoat is now split open
Split it was by a Gaul
Fighting to destroy the Republic.
I hope the earth is nourished by my blood
And life grows from it
For so much has been lost
In this senseless slaughter.
Do they not see the light of Rome?
Civilizations luster?
We bring fire to the shadows of the world
To cast them aside, tear them asunder.
Our cause is just, our will cannnot be stopped
The world shall be roman
We bring justice and order!
My sword may decorate the ground
And my armour my lifeless body
Behind me marches the strength of legions
From it ten more will take my place
For victory! For glory!










I was a warrior from Gaul
Sixteen springs alive
Cut down in my prime
To defend my home
From Rome´s thrist for land
They come forth from beyond the mountains
A ravenous, barbarous horde
They loot, and ****, and pillage
Torching everything they touch
Can they not see our life is just?
And it is peace, not man, who governs this grooves?
We live, we love, we grow
They tend to their business and we to ours.
Yet they now come
And my body may give life to the forests
And from the forests forth shall spring my brothers
To ****! For victory and glory!










I am a crow








I shall feast on them both









Life shall indeed spring forth









The maggots








The flies









And many, many more of us.
I always wanted to try my hand at a poem with historical flavor
Stu Harley Sep 2015
love
is a
thrist
and hunger
for knowledge
and
the search
for truth
that
causes
equilibrium
between
our souls
when
love is knowledge
ClawedBeauty101 Jun 2018
4 in the morning and the thrist for rest had not stopped its fight

I try to isolate my ears from these threatening voices at night

I suffocate my face with my hands and arms to make the place seem darker

My eyes wouldn't fall for it. It only made the sleep all the more harder

My nails clenching into my skull as I try to cope with this pain

Dear God of the heavens show mercy, my eyes are red and burning... and I'm going insane
......I can't sleep... nature had won... alright lord.. what do you want  from me?
I was famished
As my curves started to grow
Knobby knees and a little *** belly
******* that had started to bloom
Like a seed that turned to a rose
Hair grew in places underneath
Men started to turn there heads
My dresses were getting awfully short
But momma could not afford any more
My round backside boys started to notice
I felt awkard and unaware
****** spilled over into my *******
Sitting in church thinking of how I sinned
Deep into the night
My fingers would find me
Digging desperately at this tiny spot
Over and over all the time
My salvia wetting the tips of my fingers
As I dip inside
Trying to hush my moans
Yet they escape
I wish I could ******* own
Squeezing my thighs
I was taught this is wrong
But this thrist is something I need
This obsession is the only thing I have
Into the dark with quiet thoughts and a carnal need
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?!
YV Jan 2014
I devour every breath you take
I false my veins in understandment of water
The droplets of the liquid that drip from your eye
I pour sunshine into my drink
The one you bought in the corner
I scream for your thrist
You break my back
You don't seem to scare
You seem lost
You inhale a white smoke
Its dangerous
I take in the angst
I struggle not to dust the water sprinkles.
My drought had been long
My thrist severe inside
The desert cold of my loneliness.

Such a pining I felt
And could not describe but
My need was easily understood.

I had a craving for contact
Of warm skin, conditioned hair,
Under the saftey of a comforter.

The Night's cold that chills
May speak of my need, but the
Wounds of my soul held the truth.

I could feel myself withering
In the cold desert of my feelings-
Such a death I wish on no one.

My rewaking arose with the cold
Sting of a blade, feeling warm
against my icy veins.

The blade made a flow of
words into my mind and
bid me to write them here.

Of such reminders I have few,
But I remember this feeling,
Which I asked to wait outside the door.

Upon Her entry I remembered why
I had avoided Her for so long,
Her cold gaze penetrating my heart.

It was not in my strength to
Fain a second defense against
The onslaught of her will.

She held me in her frigid embrace
And I thanked her for it,
For within it was a hint of what I longed.

I knew the blade was Hers,
And bid her again my gratitude,
For I knew this death would let me live.

It is almost morbidly humorous
That Loneliness can take care of
Those enslaved to her so well.

Clasping the wound from the blade
I walked out the Door, wishing to
Turn back and show my rejoice of my freedom.

There was little time however,
And I wished to say goodbye to a
Chosen few, and the journey was harsh.

The wind outside howled and snow
Bit at my face, much like those
I felt necessary to bid my adieu.

While I can scarcely recall
My meetings with both, I know
The burden was lessened by the visit.

The touch of a warm hand lingered
On my cheek, and the taste of a kiss
On my tongue were the only memories I left with.

At the Gateway to the
Relm of the Warm I looked back
quietly on the Land of the Lonely.

I know many despise that Queendom,
But I cultivated a fondness for it
Few can grow, and fewer can explain.

At 2AM I took a longing breath
Of the coldness that surrounded me
And with it I walked out the archway.
(c) Eric Courtney Haines 2015
When your pops die from gun violence
All the optimism in you becomes silent
You see life as a glass half empty
Just a half glass away from dying of thrist
You live like it's always close to the end when things could be worst
You audition through life with a smile and a grin
Deep down knowing it's all for pretend
So you live careful not wanting to knock over the glass
And the fear of being empty, makes you think every sip is  your last
You try to grasp light in a dark room
Use bravado and brash to mask  a heart of gloom
You speak with  joyful agony
And every time things turn bad
You question if Gods mad
Cause Everytime you walk the road of repentance
You turn back to your *****
You question if you're the pig that God warned not to cast with pearls
Read about walking in the spirit yet struggle with breaking from the grip of the world
You lean on your own understanding
So you have a hard time realizing  the enemy
Find yourself sitting at the wrong table
Thought you was growing but was told you can't sit at the grown table
Until you do this and that
As your spirit and flesh scrap
Just to come to the reality that your flesh will die
And to God your spirit returns back
Then you start living strictly by God's truth for his truth will forever trump facts
Birthing a perspective of optimism a half full glass.
Emmajean Mar 2016
You said, I need to change me? change the inside of me, eyes, nose, the shape, change my beliefs, change the me that makes me… ME.
To be with you, whos’e you? help me to remember? Did you change the color, the smile, those ugly feet, the qualities, will you change these for me, the smell of your forest for me? Why? You see; the earth that, we all came from is rough soil. that plenishes me… nourishes me ...to feel, to touch, to know that no matter what I have change,the earth will recognizes  the true me, that she hàd place upon the earth, knowing  that one day I will return to her, recognizes the true form, dust to dust, my earth does not care. she will accept me this much I am sure …
Change me .. Change me… for a fraction of time .. For a simple lay, the approval of your glare, change me for you? Who are you? My water is pure, for wave of fore play, and thrist of lust … no, this is not necessary….
Timothy hill Mar 2017
The blanket of space, where never rased so "placees after hours" you listen the blank taste settles there hate.

Conflate, the reams of the varibles.

Disagree, with the hammer of dawn.

Dust mist the area.

Immunity, was parched the thrist it needed a pass to enter with grain on hands you go to your converters.

The build began, its safety features include "secrete safe" house concepts.

So don't be silly or nodding because the scale use there own grips.

The yard puzzles most as Un seen.

Cars pass by yet no one sees the area.

How was this able to occur none will know.

Many men and women, praise there skills made in full detail.

Don't look away as the sun will change its pace more than just metaphorically.

Day after day the music, was played to the person of high grade, sheilds.

As shadow's came we light his path or aura enegy.

Disburst there attempts with tricky special ops.

Codes were recited, to open the plasma coil and the power was as is.

Above* the words read Care Is To Be Used!

Misinformation, spell to Earth, as Kings and Knight, change there views and faces.

Here as rain starts pain grew and Plains redone.

Illicit, there plains where yet with grim details Un masked.

Poker hands faces look easy.

Oh, dear lord it is that of pity.

Black ships and twister of reality.

Shade there (Egos) and stain there display.

Decate, as we go to the other room he begins his home made craft.

Shoulder, heavy as made precession, was resized for the purpose of matter displacement.
This is of course a novel.
Triston Albert Apr 2015
What happened to the games?
What happend to the giggles?
At what point do we grow up?
And when do we become corrupt?

The answer is simple, life is a cup
We play and laugh until one day we thrist.
As we get older, we keep drinking
Until we see the bottom, and our minds burst.

What lies on the bottom, scares us
We become filled a with a greater lust.
The craving for knowledge eats us alive
Until our inner child escapes it's hive

So why rush your age?
Keep your imagination in a cage
And keep your cup filled
Or one day your inner child will be killed
Jimmy Nov 2018
Last night I was able to get a few minutes with the devil at midnight, I was telling her about my ambien fulled mid-flight fist fight
She looked at me with delight as she offered a key with some coke that just hit
just right
She told me
"Kid you're on the right path, people looking to tear you off may tell you that there is value in sit ins and coups, but these chickens get to be yours for the picking. Stay the course
No remorse
Until you're forced on your deathbed
Stick here and you'll be well fed
Maybe your spirit dying of thrist, but what good is a death if you can't afford the hearse?
I'm here to tell you first and last, that after life the afterlife is laughter in the mind of a child. Kid go wild"
Triston Albert Apr 2015
What happened to the games?
What happend to the giggles?
At what point do we grow up?
And when do we become corrupt?

The answer is simple, life is a cup
We play and laugh until one day we thrist.
As we get older, we keep drinking
Until we see the bottom, and our minds burst.

What lies on the bottom, scares us
We become filled a with a greater lust.
The craving for knowledge eats us alive
Until our inner child escapes it's hive

So why rush your age?
Keep your imagination in a cage
And keep your cup filled
Or one day your inner child will be killed
Matt Feb 2016
The most days
I will work each week
Is three

Happiness on this planet
I'm afraid
Will forever elude me

My left side of my body
Is a bit stronger
Than my right

I try to offset this
With weights
It seems I always
Lose this fight

It's a small imbalance
Not a big deal
Some say

But it bothers me
How I feel this way

And the loneliness is
All consuming
Seeing friends
A few days a year

I won't bother crying
I won't shed a tear

And the therapist mocks me
And the world does too
They hated Jesus
And they will hate you

The wicked lover power
And money too
When judgement day comes
They will be *******

Jihadists plan attacks
In the middle of the night
When different cities
Are attacked
People will be filled with fright

The human race
Just repeats
The same mistakes
Over and over again

I watch **** on the internet
My ***** makes me sin
Some people were
Just born to to lose
And others to win

At the gym
I sit and listen
To people talk
But no one talks to me

I guess this is
My miserable life
And how things
Must be

Nothing ever happens
In this life matrix
And I find it quite queer
I sat on a granite boulder
And drank a non-alcoholic beer

Just a bunch of names and faces
Just a bunch of dates and places
Body slowly dies

It's all absurd and
Mostly meaningless
Should I even bother to cry

Earth the worst
Of all the planets
In the galaxy

I'm content to be miserable
Content to let things be

It could always be worse
I drank a glass of water
To quench my thrist

One day our economy
Will collapse
This is how it should be
America a sinking ship
Will drown in the sea

A New World Order to emerge
Perhaps it will be
Like the movie "The Purge"

Globalist powers
Don't care for you and me
An Orwellian nightmare
Becomes a reality
No longer a writer's fantasy

And I pray to some guy
Named Jesus
I suppose he really cares
He is supposed to hold my hand
And to say "There there"

A world of suffering and sin
All becomes Eve let Satan in
It was their fault, not mine
On this earth
I have spent some time

And if an agnostic
Or atheist
You can see
Human beings are good at
Creating misery

Resources distributed unfairly
Throughout the green earth

A man brings his produce
To market in Africa
He knows what it is worth

A tribal leader
Has destroyed half his fields
He couldn't just let things be

I traveled around the world
Met some good people
And some bad

I don't know really what
To think of this life
Should I just be sad?

Lie in bed and watch a movie
And dream of my female friend
The world never cares
About my desires
Lonely to the end
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
サタン:

and you will know me...
by my reproaches...
my ridicule...

my condescending humour
fabric of riddle...
you will claim to know me
for my love for
the mediocre...
you will come to love me
for my adventure into
your unwillingness...
to.. seize tthe prospect
of... this little adventure we
are demanded to share...
between all.. that's time:
before us!

for as much as i love you...
i'l be the first: to thrist
having to... disgruntle you:
in relation to me...
in relation to that...
awe inspiring! grace!
in who's presence all democracies of men:
decry themselves...
and all return to
the cauldron of:

                  beginning with the heave
of the pyramid...
saved by the sunrise and the song of birds...
can i at least: be... deemed...
a... welcome surprise?
let me just check...
   haven't i been subjected to...
a case... of... identifying wrong...
of a stolen identity?

if i have been...
let the ravens rain down fire: with their
croaking!
LiquidMetalFox Aug 2017
An unsteady tempo beats in my temples/ I speak in a strange tongue, an unknown dialect escapes my lips/ curious watchful glazes litter the uneven room that I slowly navigate/ it rocks back and forth, I ask, " where is the captain to this ship"? Those watchful eyes I mentioned now look with laughter some with disgust/ it is a must no imperative to find an area of safety/ I hate it but the constant swaying has cause sickly bowels/ as I continue to speak the strange language an even stranger liquid I begin to spew forth! What's happening!!?? Now darkness is all I see before me/ it seems like days/ I remember nothing/ I awake to see the that I am in different rocking ship/ more watching eyes/ I still speak the same unknown language hearing the same uneven tempo.......will this dream ever end? Will I be forever doomed to repeat the same cycle? Well, at least I have something for this persistent thrist
Stu Harley Aug 2014
what we need
is to
give and receive
when my
heart thrist
more then yours but
where shall
i go
when water
springs from
your
loving hands
more then
i need
nishtha patni Feb 2020
A simple word which
Comes with a beautiful world
Comes when the high temperature
Of earth wants to calm down,
And brings back life to the lifeless
It's scientific in nature
But nonetheless a art of creature.
It happens to fullfill the thrist
of creatures, beings,and their
Hand made wonders.
It is transparent in nature
But still hides a rainbow in it.
Gloomy, wet, humid are it's
Nickname which are given to
This wonder of nature.
It's not just a season,
But a whole new period
For several numerous reason.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
it takes me about 2 hours to drink a bottle of wine
in the form of kalimotxo by myself...
2 hours while i watch a bat fly around
chasing moth tapas...
2 hours from around 9pm through to 11pm...
before i finally relax and open a second
bottle... if i push it through to 2am
and wake up at 9am... well... problem solved...
whatever the "problem" might me...
an irksome memory most probably...
a past girlfriend... Siberian... hardly any
Mongol ethnicity in her...
but still all the more crazy...
apartment in St. Petersburg etc. etc.
the best *** i ever had...
until... the best *** i ever had was
with a Turkish *******...
so... that chapter is sort of done...
hang-up from the age of 21... now that i'm
35...
well... sort of wow... 14 years...
not bad...
                but i can at least find relief in not
being ****-hurt about not getting any...
on a spectrum:
the alpha the beta and... mr omega man...
how i'd love to own a dog...
but taking it to a public place to ****
and then have to bag that **** and dispose
of it... and i've seen them!
those dog-walkers...
even in the advent of facemasks and hand-sanitizers...
did the dog walkers use hand-sanitizers picking
up that hot-dog-of-a-****?
no... sure... it's through plastic:
double-sure Irish revelations concerning
the ******...
put it's one thing sticking your whittle itch'ard
into a mouth of floral batters and
oyster digestive juices...
and picking up a dog's hot loaf...

oh sure... for the love of looking into
a dog's eyes and seeing all
that b.d.s.m. playing out...
                   i suppose dogs are great when
growing up...
but once you age...
you find miracles in little things
like... your cat deciding: no...
i'll take a **** in the neighbour's garden...
am i to... arm it with a c.c.t.v. camera
so i might know... where he... did the deed?

rain of pigeon ****...
if Warsaw is a city known for the happiness
of pigeons and parking-meters...
i guess London already knew about that...

- because all the world is filled with
a grift for defocusing narratives...
because: you can never experience thinking within
the confines of a unifying narrative...
a narrative of focus...
from the many: unto none...
or... from the one: to the few...
that's why i better believe
the astronauts of text, memes...
the advertisers... because... poets are paid
peanut while "journalists" are
being paid: a wage-gap...

on a Saturday... on  Sunday...
taking the knee: it's absurd... since you're not
taking both of them...
like one might at a Catholic mass...
but beside that...
some reverse psychology at work:
"taking the knee"...
   em... didn't Derek Chauvin take the knee?
you're taking the knee?
i'm taking the knee...
here's my knee-cap...
you're taking the knee?
Derek Chauvin took the knee...
apparently he "took the knee"
to the point of... suffocating a man...
hell! let's all take the knee:
let's take too!

how about i lie face down and imitate
crucifixion: how about not ******* off
some ethnic **** - because all
the white english girls are hell-bent of proving
us wigs perfumed: pampered in
baby-powder as being anti-racist:

racial equality? hmm...
i'd love to see it in two instances...
on a 100m sprint event
at the Olympics...
and... also at the Olympics...
at a 100m sprint event in the pool...
i'd love to see a white man win the 100m sprint...
perhaps i'd also love to see a black man
swim... just swim...
for all the racism in h'america:
no wonder: if you band-up together
and call yourself african-american:
but you have no idea what
Zulu warlord sold your for:
clearly a fair-game of exchange of goods:
a TRADE...
it's not like these... David physique European
wimp lords managed to chase and
chain the Goliaths of Africa...
i look at them now...
walking freely in the prospects of Europe
and think to myself: how the ****?!

don't give me that **** that a limp biscuit
cuck armed with some iron pebbles
and some fire ***** shot from a rifle
could overcome...
a zealot barbarian wielding a tomahawk...
if half of the african-americans knew
their heritage:
if you'd identity me as Russian i'd take
offence...
some Arab pushing me Quran
on Edgware Rd thinking i'm German
while having a mulatto indian-anglo-saxon-celtic
girlfriend... i don't mind...
mistake me for a Serb...
hell... mistake me for a Dane...
but don't mistake me for a ******* Russian
or a(n) Ukrainian...
we might all be white...
but i'm pretty sure money dries up pretty soon...
what... Maurice... no... it wasn't Maurice...
Malcolm X... no... i'm pretty sure
it wasn't him...
oh you know... pan-Africanism...
like pan-Slavism was a thing...
Marcus Garvey...

       exodus back to Africa... like hell the Jamaicans
were going to give up Jamaica... ha... ha ha...
slavery in Russia and just nibbling on some
vantage point of the east:
it must feel... satisfying to known that
a foreign entity might have enslaved
"you"... beside the people of shared heritage...
what with whatever serfdom was...
hardly a matter for deciphering
cobbler professionalism...
a man as limb: limb the extension of
some other's peruse of... unforgivable pleasures...

i still make a killer of a mango curry...
thanks for the recipe...
i'll see you in New Delhi... perhaps... never...
i have to: come at "it" full throttle...
it's an agitating prospect seeing
zombie-esque drone partying up slogan
chatterers...
i'd be willing to break my jaw...
and my nose... just to hear them shut up...
i'll sooner **** on a kidney bean
seed and watch Jack imitate Jacob's ladder
than... whatever is left with: that than...

no wonder... the 2nd bottle of wine will be drunk
in under 2 hours... i'll fully lubricated...
relaxed enough to spew...
if only race was as fluid as ethnicity is
absent in the case of Brazil...
or for that matter...
all of south america: with the exception of
Argentina i suppose...
why? hiding ageing Nazis...
it's not like Joseph Mengele ever faced a firing
squad...  or hanging...
well... what he did face was...
having a brain haemorrhage while
taking a dip in a swimming pool...
i guess you might call that: double-drowning...
the gods really invested themselves
in that death...

oh i can imagine the.... breaking of the bones
while still revelling in doing
a puppet show... as the ****** drowned...
he'll be dearly remembered... just for that...
my "tale" is hardly tall...
but... if you haven't been involved:
the currency of duping manhood
with a pharmacological cocktail of...
chemo-soup: to match up to the brain
being all fat and: the proteins are ****** at...
only and only at the proper release point
of invitation: via Alzheimer's...
that's when brain tows... muscle! ugh!
killer proteins that solidify liquid fat
of oil into: curd-esque cheese clusters...
wonderful ingenuity... who might need
a ******* insect parasite...

why not turn to dieting?
women diet a lot...
i don't know: well: i do...
i rather burn off the calories than hide them...
women can diet all they want...
i tried it once...
out of sympathy for the cult she joined...
i lasted for about 12 hours...
it was already too much that
i drank my coffee black without
any sugar...
give me the ******* plough!
let me exhort and exalt the body...
i don't need to diet: to feel this creeping sensation
of a thousand non-existence "things"
nibbling at my fat reserves...

it's bad enough already: than seeing this pan-African
movement and...
it's like me visiting Kenya: visiting the macaques
feeding them sachets of sugar and tea
trying to escape the sun:
feeding the shade on a balcony wasn't enough:
some Muhammad with a crocodile farm
while his daughter: clad in a niqab swimsuit...
sure... "racial equality":
me... porky skinned:
in the full glare of equatorial sun...
i'm hoping for a rash...
come the night and the ivory beauties...
with skin as molten coffee mingling with
chocolate... buttered up...
smoking marijuana... i can only imagine
the brothels of Mombasa...

race is one thing: ethnicity: another...
but then again:
i'm pretty sure the african-americans
in their "congregation" of southern-Baptists
can't tell a hammer from a sickle
from a ******* horseshoe when it comes
to the ancient disparities between...
Nigerians and Kenyans...
just like whites are supposed to...
call me a ******* Russian one more time...
German? eh... the historical relevance of
the Wends... i won't mind...

the Hebrews... oddly enough: they're not a race...
they're an ethnicity...
you can mistake an 'ebrew for a European...
or a Mediterranean olive skinned:
somehow pseud-Greek... somehow pseudo-Roman:
st. Augustine.. Tunisian in disguise?
the race of the Baltic Sea people...
tell them they're all expected to eat
Baltic sushi: or raw-herring in a creamy dill sauce!

the world came knocking at my door...
my peace... mein nacht...
2 hours spent drinking a bottle of wine in comfort
with the wind caressing the tree...
like my hands weaving the nakedness of a *******'s
body... each groove where the flesh and muscle
"weakened": where the bones were left:
exposed... at the knees...
at the elbows... the collar-bone...

someone of a continental persuasion will tell you:
don't guillotine the head
of the beer...
in England you're expected to be cheated
when drinking a pint without a beer's head...
the foam...
i too want the beer's head moustache...
unless you're drinking Guinness...

if all these african-h'americans had a quencch
of "thrist" knowing they were...
said X... or said Y...
money is worth as much as tomorrow allows...
to spend it: rather than invest with...
personally i'd like to know the name
of the warlord that traded our limbs
for the precious stones...
then again: it's not like picking cotton
was anything akin to mining coal...
so... what?

now all this propaganda by the:
i hate them... they're ha-ite...
why why... urban liberal anti-racists...
i hate anti-racists... they have no knowledge
of metaphors... or for descriptive language
to begin with: their knowledge of physiognomy is
half-wit short of Picasso's impressions
of how: Africans see their faces
without the use of mirrors...
how they see themselves in masks...

to hell with your ******* "ally": too!
i'm looking at the most degenerate of my supposed:
degenerate of the specimen...
such... classy... high primed:
individuation: quotients...

- who hurt you? oh babe... who hurt you?!
- baby... i think i hurt myself...
years later i noticed she was still hung-up
on that one morbid swan of the highest kept
expectation: widow Zeus...
at Loch Lomond...
thank god for that Turkish *******:
she finally gave me an inkling into
how to tell apart: limp from limb...
toe from tongue...
i wouldn't want some... pigtailed
imitation schoolgirl dream, either...

give me the proper *****: the armchair...
the respectable: glass of wine that i might sip
and there would be... rivers of it... working their way
into my beard and down my neck... onto my chest...
give me... the thirst never to be quenched!
cheap romance novels for girls...
newly knighted phantoms compensated with:
***-mad dogs readied to be relieved of
being broke by: a leash of
sacrificial mundanity!

ask a girl twice... Thai: not a "surprise": an authentic Thai
bride... so no ****-in-a-lacklustre...
what the colour of my eyes were...
this is still biology class...
in high-school... that's before i shunned a tonne
of weight...
she didn't guess... grey? blue...
oddly enough: they're still grizzly... GREEN...

- as i write this... from a consensus agreement:
the ****-boys can have all their
shifting harem-caurosel all they want:
and eager have...
you have to cycle a while to spot all
the flavours of solipsism:
the empowered women alone in their cars
singing along to songs no one
wants to hear: my heart overflows to drift
into a quasi-sympathy... for a millisecond...
before i'm reminded of something
by a shadow cast by a a tree...

i want to return to a grave that's best
pleasing the colour of my Iris...
the world keeps knocking at my door...
however real or however metaphorical...
i'm not answering...
it's all... pretty much... custard...
thick splodges of it ruining the concern i have
for pin-pointing the knife
at the focal posits
of where to best insert a knife:
since... simply shooting myself
in the head with a shotgun is generally
agreed upon at, as:
a ******* bad idea...

     i wouldn't dare... or even convene myself
to later somehow, bother...
**** the ethno-masochism of english girls...
not that i am in any ways "welcome"...
if they're going through that:
**** a black guy phase...
  thank god i don't earn enough
to keep one "happy"...
thank god for a many a great a number of "things"...
Turkic women: who's hair as black as it is...
raven black teasing blue...
blooming blue teasing at...

i'm heading to a "somewhere" from where
the Mongolian breath arrived at: arrived at to begin
it's.... original migration and: receding culminated with...
i don't need these blonde anglo-saxon wash-ups of
mythology... to hell with Helen!
last time i heard: she only fakes not enjoying what
later: becomes apparent...
i'm not saying she's implicitly gagging for it...
but she she's not...

she's not exactly toying with the ascetics...
she's having *** as an aesthetic...
she's always having more fun:
even in the process...
she's mediating the third-person voyeurism
more than the person she is having ******* with...
it's hardly a person by then... piston works?!
piston works... ergo: piston works!

i can't compete with her already achieved experience...
i could only come around finding...
someone more experienced:
a nymphomaniac *******:
someone who could spell it out to ne
directly: i would be taking the back-seat....
i'd have my arms amputated when
she performed her oyster-*******-trick,,,

coming in at £2 per minute...
oh sure... hear me bemoan all the injustices of
the trade... when... there are some....
on only-fans... not filling to touch!
i squint my eyes...
i squint my eyes even more...
i'm left with ******* a lemon...

                 what?
A rain dance completed I wait
Ever in hope of a summer shower
To sate the dry bare earth
And give life to this husk

Then it happens
Much like the scent of a summer shower
You are on the breeze
Too faint to know for sure
Silence, then the softness of your voice above the stillness.

Suddenly you erupted, a whirlwind
Chaos
A downpour
I'm enveloped in all of you, disorientated and blissful
The dry plane that was my existence will finally be quenched

But as suddenly as you came
You left
The drops that caressed my skin and seemed to still my heart
Gone

But this is not what pains me
What pains me is that the earth is still dry
What aches these still dry bones is the rain dance
After all that there is no difference

The ground is still dry
My thrist unsatisfied
The lingering scent on the wind the only evidence you were here
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
as fast paced as: not necessarily rhyming -
which is all that rap is...
talk quickly and mishap -
i take another refill:
arrogant sloth borrows me once more:
it must be something to
be born in westminster:
i tend to visions of the countryside...
i'll cover 10 miles in under 3 hours
and sweat to the point
where my tip of my trousers
at the belt height are drenched...
it's all about pacing and writing
to some music:
or better still... i start talking...
and the music comes in...
i'm still not rhyming nor detailing
any event of "poet"
as being "europe": a funnel for
squeezing in some ottomans
or some mongols...
the hordes of huns and germanic-
prior:
rubbing a history like it's
aladdin's lamp: there i'm also
rubbing a lamb with some
oil salt and rosemary...
perhaps i have an anemic language...
forever this pangs of
shortcomings:
to a reply:
        well what if i had to be
less of a beheading:
literally talking - lyrical...
not this encryptic: ego-cipher
bilingual "muddle":
as ever i forage for eyes and not
the ears...
i'm slow pacing:
she's over there gun glazing
and reshaping cotton into copper
into easily agitated listening:
a democracy of being left behind...
heaps of scraps:
whether metal or charon ligaments
and sinew...
i write nothing to elevate hearing:
sometimes i will burden myself
with technicalities
my own name is a technicality
of nouns under the hubric of:
tetragrammaton / ha-shem
         for some people...
  will i invoke the caron S
            or merely... delve into more
bilingual nightmares for
the tongue to endure...
seems i have my niche: prospect of
interest:
once more it's not about
the people it's about
grammatical technicalities...
and... you... really can't rap about
that sort of crap...
it must require leisure:
eyes crying or eyes bleeding...
and time beyond: beyond time of my
allowance for anything
to achieve a stature of: ripeness...
such that: in the immediacy of
composition: it's necessarily
mediocre - it's just agitating enough
to know it exists without
it being agitating enough
to be given a phonetic palette of
gurgling: rumble-rumble-oh...
a tongue that trills the R but can also
mimic the numbing tarantula bit R of
Woah-don... all Lone Escapee
not literally: the river that professes
a tide but not bulging at the seams
of a monsoon seasons...
it flows in... it flows out...
it's murky greyish matted zenith for
the eye to peer at...
            again: what's lost this
conversation was never started...
                all these nuances of "jealousy"
and of... limp-**** echo jolting...
it's forever a team-up
of shaking hands with my shadow...
perhaps from fear of "impotence" - aside, aside...
now this really is  relish:
a solipsistic exhibitionism model -
but at the same time:
skim reading into beauty:
that there is: always in traffic of...
let me allow this grand word an outlet:
democracy like in school
when we were told:
it's better to draw a straight line
with three coordinates...
       "just to make sure"...
          i see straights line all the time...
it only takes... from A through
to a B...
unless: the copernican veil:
it always has to become
so grand and devoid at the beginning
then so humble and hollow self
and minding the numbers
for: but reinviting the old
geocentric model for:
our drama of huddling by a fireplace...
orate me this...
i can't reach this focus group
attentiveness for entertaining crowds...
not this writing perhaps
escapes into fiction: but all that friction
i'm back... armed with an x-ray
of words and an oyster for
where the brain is supposedly at work...

- hyphenated new entry: supposedly
either verse of paragraph...
it's a telling sign that i've come to abhor
that i write... juxtapositions any
new tenures of the supposed unexpected...
it's still this inverted "claustrophobia"
of "verbiage":
now bounce... bounce *******
for the suffix -phobia...
to groove into details of:
how best to walk...

    for all the exotic details of
a well composed night... in that all of them
are detailed with people awaiting
hindering... talk of people and people
the gross misjudged inconvenience
of "individual"...

if i don't borrow some cyrillic
or some greek i'll become head from
a guillotine utilised as
canon fodder...
that's me... head limbo tongue
squiggling worm-esque:
now that language has an image
i can't talk briefly: i can't rap
and conjure fudge details
for the membrane...

i write as quickly as the eye deciphers
what can be: limitless
in literacy...
given... the priestly caste kept me
from this, apart, for so long...
i can... wait a little... borrow some blues...
but then by 34 years old
i'm this disgruntled stereotypical
loath... mein zunge ist nein neu...
i'm parrot-phrasing some:
Horace... conversation overtones:
because i hardly think it's necessary
to ingest a tongue through the ears...
sometimes it might require
an eye...

i start drinking i demand of myself:
to forget to blink...
and then... as that happens...
i hardly expect to find my own voice
trapped in giving democracy
for: flowers or bricks or ****-soiled
mattresses my own: echo... prince...
it's so impossible to:
an-ti-thesis...
                ff...           ff: thrist for...
                alTHough...

            V's up a welsh longbow man victory
salute... i look at the corner of
my room... it spells out a geometry of
Y...
         i look at a serpent's tongue...
Y slithers into my tongue...
i curse the sound of J...
in english...            it's beside a dryness
excvated...

now i feel inclined to be
the most workaholic...
the best performing plumber...
i want to be a daily post-office cue:
"anon" walking marathons to no end...
since the day:
the day that paper had to reach
for a route of the horses:
how they are still kept...
to saddle... but hardly... to be exploited
to work...

they... just... graze...
equestrian... in the english "freely available":
i've walked the routes where horses
****...
lucky for me... i have yet someone
arrived at a speeding porsche scenario...
to own... a horse...
but to never... sit in one...
at a gallop...

poland has cheaper details concerning
renting out horses...
and... for all the awe-sigh-pondering...
one would expect...
being able to... saddle up a horse
for prizing a gallop...
two heels digging into the torso
for a "gear change" bravado...

as it stands:
i'll go to either hungary of the czech republic
to take care of dentistry...
then i'll go horse riding in poland...
too little of me investing
in... yachts...
         then again... yachts...
or pedigree dogs... proper...
rottweilers or alsatians...
                and such legs as i have
to walk either genus...
        
not in england... though... these
animals
have been grazing long enough
you'd start thinking...
what if... we... re-painted all
those battle canvases...
with men having mounted...
bulls...
what if we replaced
all those horses
with the charge of men
adoring bulls...
and took to eating more horse-meat
than... these poor castrato beef
hulks...
what if?
it's only impossibly: what if... isn't it?

- such that i delude myself with
my antagonist...
the ferocity of youth and health...
that i cling to shadow like
i might cling to blinking...
prior to old age i am...
walking around a choice of trees...
i tend to burden myself
with birches...
on the continent... furthest east
before you encounter russia:
you can find patches of forest
reserved for birches solely!
not in england... "though"...

well... so much of my life is but
a memory that...
so much of it has to invoke
patterns of debilitating stressors
in the vein of: exaggeration...

which is not... but since so much
is the same:
to the point where... even a *******
in a brothel would have to remark:
'but... you haven't changed!'
i read that as her giving ear to...
a kierkegaard's the changelessness of god...
for that matter: most assured...
a stone is... a mountain a sea...
a river... a man can also...
change very little...
but then again: what are the habits
of mountains...
what makes us... stale impersonators
of a supposedly exciting: yesterday...
last autumn?

i like the idea of being undisrupted:
a mimic a replica...
no clone will ever touch this
crimson lent caricature should
shame dethrone my brows...

they might just... drop off...
it can almost be deemed agitating that
i remain as constant as:
an inanimate object...
prostitutes should know...
you haven't changed...
unchanging is hardly an impasse...
being thus is...

yes... it's enough to pet animals
in order to doubly appreciate
the patience that's required from releasing
oneself from being a music *****...
as to how i became...
the benevolent misanthrope and
not... this... overtly-protectful:
scheming philantrophe...
beats me...

             i supposedly signatured my
presence to a gynocentric / heliocentric...
world order... or a patriarchy / geocentric world...
muddle spaghetti toasted figs monster...
blah blah return...

i am a misanthrope...
but at least i'm not a meddling philanthropist...
quote: mickey microsoft yates
"might have said":
by the time the second wave hits...
they might know... etc etc.

quote me on god:
i intejectd once... big mistake...
i had to satisfy myself with...
let them settled their own battles...
i will not take sides...
they engaged themselves
with crafting the pyramids...
they can escape concentration camps...
it's not like they will be alone
in the endeavour... it's not like
other people will not hear their plight...
the end...

how does this supposed "god" work...
the genius sadistic ingenuity of
the demiurge: new atheism citations
of parasites...
that wriggle into the eyes
of lambs...
        god is not a c.c.t.v.: please put
your chewing gum into a designated bin!
do not! spit! your chewing gum!
onto the pavement!

this is the vain attempt to convert
atheists?!
hyper-escalating
the already hyper-escalated
omni- litany?
  what of pause for death?
can't death be given a romance
and an angelic personification...
it has to be so ******* sterile?!
so... ha ha! alias... "godless"?

the stone becomes godless because...
the cat starts to fiddle with its
tongue for the prospect of reclaiming
genitals: by a smear of a tongue:
and that's why i kosher! chicken protein
pulp used in... a kentucky fried
wings: pigs don't fry:
sort of a spectacle...

             minus one "point": *******
to that...
they start decapitating french history teachers
who are presumably arsonists...
the 'acking ****- has a quest
to re-noun the dire straits
of telling me:
what the concept of reconquista
implores! let alone... implies!

we have achieved a fever pitch
with what book burning provided...
at a time time and a whine
when the monotheistic gods
don't have enough to **** or therefore
enough to settle for...
**** on some sand and let's call it
glue and a sand-castle:
**** it... let's call it...
a kettle of boiling water...

you heave this monstrosity of certain affairs...
you heave this... diatribe of
diabolical quests...
you become this figment
of invested life...
this crease wording...
that has to be met with ironing:

this antagonist hebrew motto
prior to: how their pride...

nasze kamienice: wasze ulice...
our tenements: your streets...
this is how the jews spoke
in ******-land... prior to their great
expulsion:
as most people do when
they talk with a wounding of their pride...
i still acknowledge the testimony
of the hebrews:
god-fearing folk are not...
their-god celebratory allahu akbar esque:
shorthand for...
if you were... circumcised upon
salvaging an inconvenience of marriage:
as to how...
Kant made the bachelor rite
a status juncture... for... right...

i don't own a porsche...
   it's not status symbol: it's not a klup necessary...
but if i owned a horse...
i'd know how to gallop with it...
break a neck etc.

this will not make it for the
egravious, larger, audience?
oh.. sorrow woo for you too...
paid for... mr / mrs. netflix
queening and boisterous king-ish...
no?
  then... pay for your own
******* bread... let me conjure up
mine!
critique for what's freely available is
a bit like:
terming in ******* when it rains
and you're not equipped with
an umbrella...
because... it has to be necessarily:
raining over saint tropez...

****** wriggling await...
for a hand-job cold fingertips
sort of gimmick...
****** of sorts...

i suppose there might have been
an audience... but... the again...
supposing there was never a supposed 'un...
i proposition: i...
i heave a conjunction: thought...
i don't allow myself an
immediacy of "reliving the past":
most immediately...
with: think or thinking...
i brush up on all over
the moral nuances...

and... hey presto!
                      a body of work... of wording...
best left completely ignored...
ergo... moi... or a germanic upper
tier variation: m'eh...
here's to!
how tulips dare to resound
in... keel-y-anyah.
i've never been...
but i'm betting
the lithuanians and the ukrainians
will give me... auxiliary / sputnik...
tabloid press hive mind-set
preemptive details to:
concern myself over / with...

here's to finger-crossing goo!
Satsih Verma Feb 2019
The disaster had come
to the fore. In harm's way
stargazing was coming-
to an end.

A monster like a hurricane
starts pounding my
poems. The dry ice will
not quench my thrist.

A mid-gender approach
will not differentiate between
noun and pronoun.

The myth of waiting
and reincarnation had
patisan attitude. I am
tired of the make-up beliefs.

You cannot reverse
the clock. Time moves on,
devastating the palaces.
Only the broken pillars
stand in deserts of life.
Thanakarshnni May 2020
The day I began dreaming of you
is now nowhere near my eyes
when I revert back and behold;
Because now it’s an immeasurable extend
that I have travelled
all the way, in dreams with you;
Everytime I open my eyes,
And be afraid
if the distance I travelled with you
together over the years
would remain a dream forever;
Though I perceive dreams
might or might not
turn up truely impressive in real nature,
yet the world I live in, when sleeping
is the most beautiful universe up there,
Because the way you are in my dreams
is the fair opposite of the factual you,
Its just the type i wanted you to be
merely tender and warm hearted;
Everytime I open my eyes
and realise my own inner thrist;
For the dreams were so unrealistic.
Since, my impulse holds a complete shape
I would persistenly dream
to see the happy us..
Its always you in my dreams! [to the visionary you]

-Thanakarshnni
Yo listen here,
All eyes glued to the atmosphere,
Mf doom is the spear,
Sharpen up ya ears,
Yeah the names is in all caps, perhaps,
Newbees need to get slapped,
Jack the ripper,
New age strippers,
Aint got the hustle figures,
Might be a *****, or a *****,
Confused,
Just a new form a *****,
Cant even watch the news,
Blew out the fuze,
No longer need the light,
Cuz god, gave me the sight,
Walk through the valley,
Avoid rauchy sally,
Killer hidden, workouts like Ballys,
Fire trash can alleys,
Rap til i cant no more,
My visions circlin' some more,
Too many beers,
Cant tell if it's, liquor or tears,
Wipe the blood, off my ears,
Caught a revelation,
Felt like i was in levitation,
Though, i was laying down facin,
My head towards the ceilin,
The emotions reeld in,
Now the pressure buildin,
Hit the herbs, got me healin,
Naw, only made it worse, a footstep away from the hearse,
Yo minus that verse,
Its just the beer, quenchin my thrist,
Life backwards, in reverse,
Replays of the ol days,
New year, unlocked a new fear,
Almost at the, top of the tier,
MF doom the lyrical monsoon,
Launch a butterfly effect,
Without the caccoon,
And soon, youll see the name,
That blooms,
Sitting like arnold, with glass display at, the top of the room,

— The End —