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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
your eyes are like oysters i'd wish i would have gulped,
  a scenario of Narcissus who ate by the mirror...
     but then i listen to a heavy metal song:
and retract to change the lyrics
toward: fear of the selfies... fear of the selfie...
fear of the selfie... i have a phobia that someone
somewhere needs me to pose.
it's almost a cheerie cry, i'm a big boy i can walk
into a deathly hollowed-out road of
confiscated pride... the route i took,
engaged me with seven horses and one that almost
mistook my fingers for sugar cubes
and knocked my brains out after discovering
the plight of what it was nibbling on...
  but that's so ****** personal,
i might have insurrected the existence
of a satanic cult with me shouting
in the forest one time or other...
never mind that... your eyes are still akin
to oysters... a gulping-down of
whatever content it suggests...
no tongue-waggling, no breathing,
         just that shape akin to feline asiatic squirm
above a permanent slit: entangling with
what's known as sober-faced poker... or beyond
    purring: murmuring a sodden / well-trodden
path: and was anything else expected to suffer less?
   those eyes: esp. bound to a hispanic frozen lot of longing...
oysters jeopardised along with snails
  whenever the inquisition dared to come between us...
ergo dispersed the oily sexed up
***** Juan stereotypes of piston pump-pump...
nevermind, i call them twirling pumper-nickle gymnasts
of all things necessary kneaded into a chasm of org':
                         hispanic tilde eyes...
the eyebrow within the eye encompassing whatever
needs an expression... surprise? mmm, nada.
sunrise and was phone-*** so ever interesting as to
forget writing mistimed odes such as this?
                  thespian hoplites raised their tongues
toward the spear that suggested a marching was
the proper aversion toward a coup
with the director of theatre too violently itemising
Shakespeare toward a boorish scenario of
thrown rotten cabbage onto the stage.
        fewer hoplites suggested ******
  in the trojan horse, and fewer of the said "hashishin"
might have allowed history to bite at Homer's narrative
for posterity, had they not already said: ha ha! dope!
still, that locomotive tilde of the hispanic girl's eye
that ate the eyebrow, and squinted toward a sunrise
in demanding asiatic slit offense:
                           as monogamy for the sun invoking
marriage...
                    spinoza im eisen mädchen?
     hilfe anaconda! hilfe anaconda! hilfe aisha!
pricklengrund von hattin!
              hispanic tilde of the eye that ate the eyebrow
and demised the asiatic natural "squirm"
    and the forgotten sales of eyeglasses for myopia,
or too the once ticklish origin of silk with her
spinning don quixote's platonism to a
dame (akin to that fabled bride of Athos, good grief!)
that's dubbed *riza'doviento'dealma.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
and in my "hiatus" period of absence, circa 15th of April and 15th of December (minutes from a yesterday)... i've come to regret the Russians not having any... no... rather the bare minimum of orthography... surprise surprise! there's plenty to choose from! i had to return to a time when i was drilling greek into my head... naturally: a time for cyrillic was on the horizon... but... i couldn't do it with english alone... i need my mother tongue, a tongue that employs diacritical markers... again and again: english can do away with its j... it goes missing when raised to stand from a sitting position ȷ(J)... and it can cut the head off its I(standing)... ı(sitting)... to make an emphasis... i have been busy... drinking aside, have a look where i have been for the past... april, may, june, july, august, september, october, november, december:

ź = зь and ż = зъ

i'm drinking - and i am my most content - the world burns and goes about its usual wordly theatre... i'm huddling with a cameo role in the background... i am drinking content... my 3rd or 4th rejection letter! this time from : austin macauley publishers (london, cambridge, new york - sharjah - where the **** is sharjah?!) - i remember sending them a "manuscript" and a book already printed, bound... they said it would take them 6 weeks to reply... i didn't enclose an email address... i had to wait for the snailmail... my my... what lovely handwritting of my name and address... in the letter i did state: it's e(sch)lert... she omitted the (sch)... a rebecca crib admin assistant, of the editorial... 6 weeks though... hmm... i posted the letter and manuscript and the book way back prior to visiting my grandparents... circa 8th of september... it's a rejection letter... that much is true... but i'm drinking in celebration! i was making dinner in the afternoon and was asked: why are you so angry? i wasn't... i tried to figure out what i'd feel when enough of ms. amber was in me... i replied: i'm being apathetic... but now it's clear: i'm jovial! there's even a signature! an authentic signature... in all honesty... a rejection letter means something... if it is physically mailed... of course i'm celebrating! i exist! i exist outside the realm of getting spam snail-mail! of course i will reply... i'll tell them: destroy and recycle the manuscript - it really wasn't a manuscript to begin with... i pour my "efforts" on the manuscript canvas that's the html... but the already printed book? can you please not burn in... rather... keep it? i'd appreciate no 1933 Säuberung... and you know (kind reader) - i'll send this introspection to the same publisher... like it is... pop / pulp or whatever mongerel of style this has had to be... but a reply! i want to see how one might escape formal language, formal affairs, social affairs, esp. in letters - a dear ms. X / to whomever it might concern Y... kind regards / yours faithfuly Mr. Z... this has to be celebrated... given what's on the horizon... the norwegian novel viking a'comin'! the buldozer autobiography... the demand for a "death" of fiction... otherwise i'm still "here"... a "here" that truly is so distant that its distance allows my petty leeching and the world's grand fiasco theater of fire and smoke and mirrors! - after all... i'm not mad enough to be welcome to a cage if i'm a sparrow... a cage of rhyme, form and all those shackle devices / identifiers of "poetry"... the future is narrative... and the current narrative says? if you asked me to dress proper, for an opera... to don the shirt the tux and the bow (tie)... the well ironed trousers... perhaps... beside the point: air's in the head and i just wish i could heat it up... for a baloon of quasi-egoism effect... otherwise what is there... a former journalist becomes an isolationist essay-scribbler? all the best journalists retire from the profession and become essayists... polemicists... whatever... this "poet" says: no poet ever writes a novel... the real life is too fictive already... and most certain this "poet" adds: begone! lyricism and rhyme! i'll sing like the humming drone cleric of the hive of ambient refrigerator sounds at 2am when everything is sleeping...

capital: oh... so that's what it was... back circa 1990 - when inflation of currency was rife all over Poland? that's when foreign capital was flowing in: foreign money... the economy was flooded with pounds and dollars... and given the exchange rate: i remember a time when you could get circa 7zł for every 1 £ sterling... so why would a nation start to print its own money? well... because more foreign money is coming in - at the given exchange rate: apologies: i was born yesterday - i need to explain certain things, from scratch... as was once stated - there's only a finite amount of money in circulation... physical money... "apparently"... and no... if you were to materialise all the wealth in this world into either fiat or gold: there wouldn't be enough of it... but how else would inflation happen in a country like Poland circa 1992? foreign investement: the wild west of eastern europe when the soviet barricade fell... i do remember being asked a question as a child: which is more... these copper coins... or this piece of paper? on the piece of paper was written 5, 000, 000zł - i said the copper coins... i wasn't either right or wrong - the person asking the question laughed... i don't think it was a question of: there are more copper coins in the hand... than a single piece of paper... after all... perhaps i acted all trans-****-sapiens and became chimp and saw less zeros on the copper coins than on the piece of paper? how else does does a currency inflate - when foreign currency is poured into it... it's the opposite of foreign aid... you put £1 into an economy - with an exchange rate: currently you'd get circa 4, 50zł out of... so where is all this "excess" money to come from? the moment when foreign money is invested... is the moment you have to start printing your own money... imagine... if the word BLACK was worth more than CZERŃ (чернь): oh, we'd readily translate BLACK = CZERŃ... but we also need a sentence for that "to make sense"... and there i was... thinking that russian doesn't apply diacritical markers... oh... right... they're not as discrete with accents like some of us... notably? нь = ń... and so and likewise... wait wait... źródło (source)... in russian it would look, look: oh so ugly... зьрoьд-ł-ł-o... (wh)en (wh(en) but now i know this (w)oe: the soft sign (acute)... and the hard sign for... e.g. życzenia (wishes)... зъыченя (perhaps зъычениa) - point being: ź = зь and ż = зъ... now does language come to me...it never left me... but now ai appreciate the minor details... i see the english and their language and how they speak it... how they churn out metaphysics and how they call forthe help of **** similis to give history the rusty coating of: nothing between a today and tomorrow: there's only the hanging off a tree from a a tail that the chimpanze doesn't thave... everything is so very metaphysical: it's never orthographic! тe два: tak - тe: оба (there's a wikipedia mistake... U+0411 / U+0431... not o'bah... oo'b'ah...): щекaць: szczekać! to bark... eh... greek became too rigid... i could remember all the letters... always buckling on ζ (zETA) and ξ (11), upsilon (υ) and nu-nu-nu (ν)... and this is, practically nonsense to anyone with a base literacy knowledge... to exagerrate... who does mind such pedantic pleasures... when they could be somewhere else: skiing! but it's worthwhile to know how a nation's currency can be inflated... foreign money flows into the country - and whatever the exchange rate is... there is no such thing as a "grafitti compensation": then again, there is... perhaps literacy has been inflated... inflated for a second literacy of coding to be assured? otherwise? bypassing the orthodox print... bypassing orthodox editorial scrutiny... was... "nice"... until the moment when the mediator sought to see fit that the reader had more authority over the written word: having re(a)d it - over the person who had / has: written it! we do part our ways with the russians on the "debate" concerning the "cedilla" involving A(ą) and E(ę)... cedilla: yes yes... akin to garçon - waiter! waiter! please - that greek sigma at the end of a word: and all its ασπεκτς... aσpectς - that really is an orthographic statement... only Ssssssss'igma is a letter with "three dimensions" suited for it... a handwritten element... otherwise in the news this week? the apostrophe society is no more... like when you don't put a possessive article if the thing in "question" ends with an S, in english? e.g.? the colours' (sez sirs - alt. colours's sez sirs... ses-esses) imbued harmony... and that is a possesive article, isn't it? with an apostrophe: 's? it's not a plural identification - there would be no need for the apostrophe to begin with! pounds' worth: no... not a pound's worth - the worth of a pound... pounds' worth: the worth of pounds! - what's that german word... glücke! nein nein... etymological root: glück 'luck' (etymology is the new history... it bypasses journalism and serves some journalistic cousin that's powdered in dust of cremated bookworms) - and yes, a hypen can come to the fore: after a full-stop and the opening of a new sentence with a conjugation: - with disbelief / - and!

i'm not buying how the media narrative will turn Cymru into a "K-affair"... sim sim: similie or else... but these have been my greek buckles: ξ (oh... that's why i wrote 11... XI - ksi...) - it's rare to see ξ sometimes: esp. in philosophy books... rubric!

- ζ
- ν
- υ (i can be forgiven, these two letters
are not suited for print... unless working
with a microscope) - unlike a roman Vv...
- ξ

but this is just the greek... if you ever read some modern... you'd think: and i just don't know, where they get their ideas from - with all those diacritical excesses that heidegger notes...

but now... for my cyrillic mini-adventure:

from Miньsk (Mazowieцki): with love

it might be said, that if i just the bare minimum -
if i even do not write anything at all -
but i have too many petty griefs during the day
to much else than the odd, occasional chore;
at the same time i do not want to sound
amused, bewildered, bored or un-used...
it's just that i find writing and drinking before
falling to my 343rd death -
my 343rd labour for mask and then exfoliated
in a dream: that might come...
or might not come...
unless a known audience... a wake sized nieche
privy... i find either unconscious or subconscious
struggles to warm up to an anonymous crowrd...
unless it was me being propped up on stage...
flooded by light... and the audience in the din:
with barely a shadow to scratch...
perhaps: then and only then...
but i've found that: it would be best that i sentence
the 2hs spare i have for merely drinking
and loitering from one video to another:
perchance something new in music is to emerge...
"coquettish" with a "something" that will never
have any realism-focus for me to undertake
a second's day carnality of the banal...
perhaps all this: "going out of my own way"
has been too much - or just enough...
to make me drink more and take more pharma
knock-out enzymes...
a naproxen and an amitriptyline...
perhaps the focus was elsewhere...
to stand frozen in awe...
when someone might "add": from one big void:
ex nihil a priori to... nihil a posteriori...
and all this cameo theatre in between!
mein gott... i can also convene to praise those
brutal breeders of sorts...
enough time to occupy two decades...
perhaps even three...
and then the grim reality of: should my child
die... or... some other worse:
the mortal should not be inflicted by...
"not reading into the genetic clues": properly:
"all at once"...
oh i would be so much happier to take this mind to sleep:
to not make some idle focus -
to entertain some eyes while i turn aside all things
hyper-inflated in purpose...
to die of a heart-attack in one's sleep...
but otherwise to simply focus on a welcome tomorrow...
that would be...
a gracious beginning to posit the day's slouching
zenith... or... i'm not sure whether this be a coming
zenith or a nadir...
but there's still that clear-cutting focus
regarding russian orthography...
cutting it with two tongues... slit at the tip...
with english the "placebo": no diacritical markers evident...
well: a TILDE over a ȷ is no more necessary...
than a "tittle" (not thai-tle... ty'ttle) over an ı...
to borrow the greek phrase: cut one head of hydra -
two emerge... cut the two heads...
i come toward the russian mish-mash of diacritical
application...
it's not be-au-ti-ful... it's messy... it's what it is...
but already i can see what this: cutting off the heads
of the english j-i hydra looks like...
it's not enough to simply enlarge them to state: CAP(I)TAL-(J)...
the knitty-gritty... why then the tilde atop of 'em?
prior "corrections": łen and when...
is not akin to... wrak or wreck... although these two words
have the same meaning...
unless: "partisan" V comes in...
very - weary... Cracow or Krakov?
a W = a Ł = a W = a V ≠ a Ł...
Ęwa and Ądam (e nosinė) are not covered by
Russian orthography...
the list is as follows:
ż (зъ) and... ć (ць), ń (нь), ó (oь), ś (сь), ź (зь)...
the graphemes? i'll call them graphemes for simplicity...
even though: they're not the smallests units...
as are vowels... or the syllables of consonants
in the latin choir of B'ee, C'ee... e'M... etc.
ж alternatively RZ (Ż) or Ž... otherwise the fwench:
je (suis)... this is nothing more than...
an encyclopedic evaluation...
a trainwreck proposal of: should i ever be stuck in
in russia... and i would have to: read... (ee'd - r'ah)...
chop off a TILDE off the torso of the english:  ȷ...
a crescent moon lying back emerges in the russian... й...
but it's not the english: jeep! it's an english: yeep!
or a  ȷeep! alternatively: yawn could be:  ȷawn...
but not if: it's jaws... coming into play: to chatter from
the siberian cold... how else to explain?
if not by... example?
then there's the "exploration" of the greek F...
as much as in english...
фoughts on θilosoφy...
good to know the russians only "borrowed"
one of the greek Fs... "culturally appropriated" or...
wasn't St. Cyrill born a greek?!
and away from greek we move...
since χ (chi): yep: perpleX... a Ks to a Ts
(note, revision found below)...
otherwise hidden... in non-vowel binding consonants...
like... ч- and -х (although... that's not quiet a Ch-ur-hC -
but sure... some altar for siц and... no... no siPS)...
cholera! which is not: SHow me the CHow mein...
for that we need CARONs...
that's when ч becomes CZ (in polish) or otherwise:
Č... long have i wanted the polish to adopt this version...
to hide the SZ and the CZ (es'zed, х'zed) respectively...
how else to write: szczekam?
a russian would write... щекaм...
out of a "simple" ш out pops out a щ (this letter...
is probably the only "etymological" route to bind russian
to the oddities of Ęva and Ądam (e nosinė)...
ш (š) becomes щ (šč) -
whoever was to undermine the old rules
of engagement when the ruling parties gave up
a monolopy of literacy? you can literally hide an entire
letter / meaning by using a hachek...
hook...
as i begin to wonder:
how much did the slavic tribes "appropriate" greek...
and how much did the two greek saints...
try to make sense of the slavic glagolitic script?
em... Ⱋ looks pretty intact if you cut off the body... E:
reclining...
but i do come from the western lands of the eastern
lands... hence? hardly any cyrilic influence...
but i too: with my own oddities... already mentioned...
come to think of it? the bulgars joined
the "party"?
beside that? what other, russian"oddities"?
orthographic - i.e. aesthetic dictations / rubrics...
ю really is a я... the russians have this english tendency
to stress their pronouns...
i this... i that! i walked up a street! and kicked a black
cat 13 times down the street to ease my luck!
you can talk in polish for days... and never stress the I / я
pronoun... really...
and ю is just a variation of я...
throw in the remaining vowels and you'd probably
come up with some "new" russian letters...
like ye... good point... i did make a "mistake"...
щэкaм! i'm barking!
unless... that's only an orthographic question...
notably? if you're going to: zerkać...
peer in / at "on and off"... casually...
зэркaць... em... it must be an orthographic question...
ergo? i wasn't exactly "wrong"...
just bad taste... зeркaць...
i've already shown the difference between (ъ) and (ь)
in a latin script: that uses more diacritical markers
than english "supposedly" escapes with focusing
on the rather pointless TILDE over the J and I...
this "oddity": ы... ɨ  clearly it's not exactly a ł...
minor details... like a mona lisa smiling...
best example of close proximity?
take a... no... that's a hollowed out "why"...
i know how it sounds... and there are no diacritical marks
needed for it... since there's a clear distinction
that i know of, between: I J Y...
tY... this little sucker is born from the fact that...
western slavs have a name for this letter...
iGREK... funny... the russians borrow more greek lettes...
and have to have...
ё (yo), e (ye), у (which they treat like a greek would U -
never mind the greeks themselves
making the following ref. Υγ / Γυ) -
and of course the я (ya)... so no wonder i see this
"letter" (ы) as an absolutely oddity...
i could stomach: ż (зъ) and ź (зь) differences...
well that's as far as i would come in learning russian...
spot the odd ones out... proper...
й (j) and ё... which is some german loan vowel with
that ******* umlaut... otherwise...
this poo'em was born from trying to **** the english
hydra of "orthography", with its mighty bounty
of the ȷ-ı TILDE! my my... what a ride!
come to think of it... now i think i can sleep.
- it hasn't been such a waste of an hour... drilling this in:
into my head...
after all... what did the professional clarinet player
say then asked about playing professionally
in a travelling orchestra? after 30 ******* years of
blowing hard into this thing...
guess what i still end up doing?
it's not so much learning... i'm still practising!

because this will not end like some sort of "summary"...
i will remember each letter if i weave it into
this latin letter by letter...

the refleξive (x)
in that one might have χeated (ch) -
again!
what it is about an ξ-ray that is also an
"χ"-ray? the "ex" k'ss k'ss cuss...
is this what james joyce's finnegans wake
should have looked like?
again!
the cruξ of the matter...
whenever a question was to be raised about:
any χoice to be had...

i have come to grips with russian orthography...
i'll repeat... the crescent moon over и ("e")
to state: this must be elongated: й ("y") stands outs...

best examples are given by sports commentators,
notably in ski jumping...
suffiξes of surnames...
akin to -cki endings...
yes... you're seeing what i'm seeing...
we'll need some russians to work this one
out... how a C is not an S...
and how it's not KK either...
-цки... hello wet drum-kit snare!

of course not: you're not seeing N:И...
let alone: нaйт (night...
evidently -igh- is a bit complicated...
with ref. to the surd in knight - kappa and
the gamma and the ha ha ha ha tetragrammaton
left arm... vowel catcher i'd be most inclined
to borrow from the hebrews...
whenever they're not busy actually using it...
and not being a bunch of 'ebrews -
electronic brewing of tea?)
сo дaрк (so dark)...

which is the equivalent of writting english
grafitti "backward"... how it sounds...
and not for: what's the formality?
i figured: take the small steps, the trickle...
burn the eyes out with incremental poppy-seed
acts of progress... like the grand Pilgrim Emeryk
from the Świętokrzyski region of Poland
(holy cross)...
each year the pilgrim shuffles to the top of
the mountain with a speed of:
a poppy-seed's worth of distance each year...
by the time he reaches the top of the mountain:
the end of the world will arrive...

am i the next Delmore Schwatrz?
no... i don't have a Lou Reed to contend with...
am i obsessed with Finnegans Wake?
well i didn't spot any "additions" to the letters...
i didn't see any diacritical markers...
a book that shouldn't be translated since...
it ignores... a worthwhile mention
of the concept of orthography -
which is my escape from any western vogue
of metaphysics... i hide behind the omniscient
niqab of orthography... my face can be forever
hidden... but my eyes need to be on... fire!
fire! i want you to burn!

so i went to see the russians having
left the greeks... about any "nuance" bound
to the... ****-naked english language
with its magic act of the disappearing heads
off of J and I...
as you do... you "forget them" and also have to:
somehow "remember" them to be used...

do i still enjoy drinking and listening to
teutonic chants in german?
god almighty! when wouldn't i not listen to german
medieval music... when drinking?!
is that such a terrible sin?

also? i finished the trilogy of H. Sienkiewicz...
and i read some Boris Pasternak...
there was Nietzsche in polish - paul's leash said:
he's more bearable in this language,
than in english...
and how could i forget! there was...
Knausgård... Karl, Ove... volumes 1 and 2
of mein kampf...

now a "summary": hmm... ż (зъ) and... ć (ць)...
could... now... hard sign (ъ) is not exactly worth
ascription if... or rarther: because...
you don't treat a caron over an S or a C...
to "hide the english H" or the Aesti Z when coupled...
there's no need to write чъ... since?
that's pretty much in-itself given č of the nature
of чeap...
ć / ць is different in that... you'd have to hear
it first...
however... the one exception of this "rule" is already
self-enclosed in ж... which is зъ... somehow...
but not зь... examples?

жart / зъart... żart (joke)...
зьrebi... well there's no 'ę' in russian
to name: źrebię - mustang colt...
is there?
so... i was "wrong"...
in that ź = зь and ż = зъ is true...
but? ź = зь and ż = зъ = ж...
so from a "quiet unique" perspective...
and: mein gott! who's to see, travel,
and subsequently marvel at the pyramids of giza...
i'm a different version of what's
considered to be "tourism"...

give me this sole equation:
ź = зь and ż = зъ = ж
and i'll be happy for a month.
as i have been...

oh i'm back... and things have taken
SPEC-TAC-U-LAR turns and twists!
****-naked english over 'ere is gonna make
a chariots of fire runner...
i bet it will... when it comes against a juggernaut
like me.
learning russian and drilling greek until i go "blind"
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
i concede, if you really think
that i have to vote to make democracy
work, fine...
            you can have my right
to veto...
                 but god forbid you come
between me and taking out
recycling "waste" every sunday,
   esp. onion attired
   (t-shirt, t-shirt + a long sleeve
                                      shirt)
and a blue fruit of the loom jumper...
freezing both my imaginary
  **** and testicles off...
       the testicles are the real bit
of this "hermaphrodite" though...
           because what is this critique of
modern painting?
                 sheeeeee't,
                             a re-discovery of geometry?
we only achieved having rediscovered
the cube with picasso...
        sure, an over-quoted example,
       does that mean modern musicians
will re-dicover the orchestral triangle?!
hey, pots and pans with
a drum kit in the universe of
          a butterfly caused a tornado...
but please don't take away my fetish for
taking out recyclable goods,
   i know i wasn't born german,
but living among displaced germans
on an island (i.e. saxons):
    you get a lick as some sort of
compelling impetus to repeat and act...
        it's really bad to cling to rhyming
these days,
            once upon a time that's all
the poets did,
                   i ate
      a piece of pita, bread...
                     esp. in february, which is
arguably the coldest month,
   you can see the moon during the day,
and during the night...
                   it actually makes sense
to recycle...
                      the whole: "re-invention"
of a wheel...
                       sure, hardly a revolutionary
act, but, for some reason
a highly satisfactory "loss of limbs" act...
   because didn't "mediocre"
fester with the most potential for horror?
   though i wonder:
you ever attended a polish catholic mass,
when they recite the creed?
    satanic murmuring to me...
  had to down 200ml of cherry *****
to sit through it...
            because those who attend
the mass at Częstochowa are
gesticulating kneeling, praying, pitying
before the schwarzmadonna
               (ha ha, "irony"...
an etymological curiosity:
           (he) często, chowa...
                           often hides...
               that's the literal translation
for a name of a town...
               the pronoun is in there,
because that's how english functions,
shrapnel... pronouns need to be used
very often, polish?
           sometimes you can talk for
two hours and never use pronouns)...
point being: who are these people
praying to?
              must be the ****** artist
at some point...
            the person who actually drew
the icon...
                  because i find it beyond
contempt to have to
    internalise the subject matter contained
in the painting,
         or what's that objectively?
never ask a lunatic to explain the point
of a church with no one else
shackled to the church in there with him...
        spooks!
              yet as any german might,
i just love taking out the recyclable
materials in orange bin bags...
                     and you really can attest
to a moral compass via this simple feat...
        actually, most times two polacks
talk, you never actually use pronouns...
      hicky over there
   is still paranoid about other people
dropping the A-word,
               but he could sign of Hiroshima
and now he's riding a lazy eyed
donkey with a twitch in one its eyes...
jockeys, camel-jockeys, you name it...
                 i know you can hide a letter,
well, j, but no he(h)sus... zus... ave zeus!
   in that tilde on yer N...
                                but how would to
unravel the R-trill?
                rrrrrrrr-olling?
       in english the R has been numbed...
******* cobra bit the toff's tongue
and he's trying: not to slurr...
                                              r̃obot?
ha­ ha, ******* wavy line...
                     o.k.,
                                          we can do that...
i would have never have known that
R = sysiphus mechanism
    and O.... well, just that dumb piece
of sculpted brick...
                         can't believe it
though...
            so much pleasure from recycling
packaging.
summary...
    crotalus atrox,
    grzechotnik,
                          alternatively known
   as a one "man" band of
                    playing maracas -
    unless you can beat this trill-R on the tongue
representation worth of tilde:
                                        go for it!
   re-inventing the wheel is going to be,
real easy from here-on-in.
The Black Raven Nov 2014
Beams of light explode over the soft sand,
i can feel the warmth on my face as i sit on the beach,
sinking softly into natures warm bed.
The light seems to turn everything it touches
into a glowing ball of light,
as if god himself is smiling down at the dawn of a new day.
The beach is deserted apart from a few seagulls
that seem to share this enlightened appreciation.
I grab my board and walk slowly towards the sand,
my feet sinking into the grains,
feeling the consistency change as the water laps at my ankles.
My wetsuit keeps me surprisingly warm
as the cold water rises slowly, and i close my eyes,
holding my board under one arm.
I smell the salt, the fresh air, this is what beauty is.
I wander in, losing myself in this new environment.
I duck quickly underwater wetting my hair and face,
floating weightlessly in the water for a second,
before rising, feeling fresh as i grab my floating board and straddle it.
Leaning forward, i can seeing fish scatter
as the first wave washes over me
like a tilde wave of emotions and stress,
i wipe the slate clean,
i am the tabula rasa and this is a new day.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
they never tell you about the seagulls and the pigeons, do they?
sure sure, they have the bees and the birds covered,
your #mama and your #papa - you overheard them doing the
piston orchestra and said: the sort of onomatopoeia that
sounds just like you, that silences the sort of: just like you.
but why not listen with covert  benignant anticipation -
i did think English was a rotten
tongue, but i think French is worse...
                                                        ­  endear you? sure:
                 they put these additions
to the encoding, but never, ever explain how it works...
if dialectical is gone then diacritical
remains...
                                          ­                               and it's there,
a pink ostrich doing the go-g'ah dance
imbecile pigeon: neck a strut and half
by half nearly hanging off a desecrated body that's in limbo
on the scaffold where Charles I met his first cousin ******
thanks to Ollie Cromwell.... none of the Versailles
i have you know....
                            there should be a Greek
                   Kn                  symbol....
             not K as in potassium... something more.
and i'd never hear ****** jesus' i'm
the mountain                            on the radio,
thank you advertisement.
               but that thing about Jihadist French?
well... it's here,
                               i thought the English
were bad with not using diacritical marks,
second in command? diacritics,
first in command? dialectics?
abandon the first, the second is hyenas' razor
sharp: bite and smile at the same time.
           no, i'm not joking...
i'm choking you.
                             this is what the Jihadist in France
saw...
                            main example? how diacritical marks
**** around the syllable laws...
             bypass them straight... past them...
             main example? they never teach this...
i was never taught this, i was taught this in
an anti-alphabet ruling - it's not atomic
(but it really is), hence it's compounded -
but it's really atomic,
               where are the ancient atomic scientists now?
nowhere.
                         all of this came from
a footnote from maldoror, by isidore ducasse -
i too thought about putting Uruguay on the map -
                    in the notes, the use of "accent",
yes, a revelation from on high -
                      look at the French, how they speak it:
aplatissement
                             apply diacritic revision
and cut off the excess: aplatissemą -
                             (humiliation) -
          if only the French, then only the French know
how to create dyslexia... excess spelling
where distinct phonetic units should exist -
they never teach you how diacritical marks change
the syllable cutting up, the butcher's or forensic's inquiry -
                 they never teach you the use of diacritical
marks like they might teach you punctuation markings -
                  they never do the science of liberated pause -
liberated i.e. understood -
                                    you're just given the fudge
and told... CHEW! CHEW! CHEW!
                                    they never tell you how to
cut-up words as they should be cut up..
                                   never did they say
colon = umlaut over u and means prolonged
   i.e. uu          or omega
                                        because never was the
current aesthetic questioned...
                             Dictator Blue, adherent of
the dictionary bible said: already said, rex, rex, ego rex.
                    but there's this thing going on
from above - on high -
                           and all they want is to understand...
                  even i would hate to be left out...
still from the notes from the book maldoror -
                s'arrêter à             (to dwell on /
                                     stress) -
ê (circumflex) is like the grave approach -
                 the circumflex is binding -
            i.e. the -er is optional, but a necessary
aesthetic for the form to be written, but not said -
meaning the sound units disappear -
                  hands on the joints, a book is closed -
ê represents this: s'arrêt
                                                         ­  (-er) -
                   saret -
                                            ugly, isn't it?
well, if you wrote             saret
                rather than      s'arrêter               you wouldn't
be looking at the Louvre -                again, even without
diacritical marks you don't say     Louvré -
                                          but Loùvre -
               so the ê
                                     binds the r and t
   and makes                  the   -er obsolete -
which is why French is worse than English:
it utilises diacritical marks
                                       for odd syllable intakes
and other surgeon oddities -
    to learn the proper use of diacritics (using French
as a canvas) is to learn syllables again, and again...
all over again... one might say:
at least the English do not use diacritical markings
and subconsciously are so thoroughly
accommodating to alien cultures...
                       and that's justifiable, they are the fathers
of globalisation... they use phonetic encoding
without diacritical markings to enshrine
a Bangladeshi English, as much as a German English...
   they are the propagators of accents -
even the Scots are speaking proudly about the
matter of fact...
                            so indeed, diacritical marks
are not only concerns for aesthetic reasons,
but is pronunciation markings within words,
                          not between words:
intra                     v.                inter                  (wording);
they never teach you how to extend a sentence
with a semi-colon (;), because they only managed
to tell you that means wink: ;) -
                          in the same way that they didn't tell
you that a colon is (a) making a list, but also
       (b) an emphasis - the alternative to italics.
they didn't! i know they didn't because they didn't
teach me this!             i had to learn it myself!
              which is why i find diacritics so fascinating
that dialectics and its abandonment can rot in hell...
at least i don't have to deal with nuanced opinions
or the discussion or the non-discussion of
                 opinions...
                                       i can look at something
and see the blatant pronunciation dynamics at work...
            not between words, but inside words...
French is the best to investigate...
                        maybe that's why the Jihadists are
attacking France, from sheer frustration at not being
given access to the cordiality of speech when
settling into their envisioned Caliphate misnomer -
                    but diacritical marks are precisely that:
and when amateurs teach they never bother explaining
the atoms, they just say: turkey! gobble up that frying pan!
and you do! you are never given the most basic units,
you're never told what the time-span between a
full dot (.) and a semi-colon (;) is...
                                        ****: you can run a mile or
100 metres in under 10 seconds, but when it comes
to an aesthetic pause you're told to start
the hyperventilation sequence or blame it on asthma
rather than
                                 what's actually the archaeology of
rhetoric - these are rhetorical symbols...
                                   and that's the foremost question
that needs a debate: how to make rhetorical puncture
symbols into aesthetic symbols -
                   how to steal from rhetoric and do a Robin
Hood for aesthetic? primarily because there are
punctuation signs above letters, or below letters -
                   < (more than)
                                 > (less than)
      and the circumflex and caron -
                                         tilde
  or approx. 5                              i.e. ~5...
            and the millionth additive to make decimals
shake...
                                you never get told this...
if i was told the basics of diacritical markings enabling
a smoother syllable dissection i'd probably speak German
fluently...
                       when i should have been given crumb-like
understanding of a language, i was given a whole
loaf of bread, for ***** sake; that ain't cool -
          teach me language from the basics,
on the promise of teaching me a language like i might
be taught penguin talk: on the promise of
an onomatopoeia deciphering: it sounds like this...
                   : + u = oo             onomatopoeia e.g.:
                       pool                    /                  pull -
yes, the quiet literal representation -
  but English can be ***** by this appropriation -
not utilising diacritical marks makes certain words
sound alike but be spelled differently,
            via the same methodology extending into
certain letters being pronounced as entire words;
e.g.                   why                                  &             y.
reason? missing diacritical marks.
             oh, and the most blatant form of Judaism
  given              y               h                    w               h
                   without Abraham, without Moses,
without circumcision         without Jesus...
                                                               choice is yours.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.h'america.... the last theological playground of... whatever the mind left behind in the decrepit bulwark that's europe... oh... and those mid-western died-hard hitchcock platinum-blondes in a-waiting... my typo pristine dutch-girls-go-to-church mantra... otherwise? no b'ooh'y'ah! chugger-chugger-chugger-chuck-cherry-choppy-chops-you-*******-cuc­­k-chuckie! quasi-whitman wannabe... billy was a butcher... a thematic long lost gun... billy was a butcher... and all the ripe choppers of pork... gave us a belief in snow; and what some heaved with a falling-of-a-star of dis-.belief: i too was bound to glorification of: what was expected to be known! and the subsequent: wow! i have met only the most limited of men... i have therefore met all men... the "all" men of this rubric of a year, a decade... all that's bygone of a yawn; swear it sn't so! a so! that's not be be sown! i am here too: upon the whim of expectation... merely... waiting... a man comes to be born come his 30s... his 40s? his nostalgia "moment"... former known name of: Jack Lil Lick 'Em Boots... and the crescendo of pauper's black lining of the Wall St. "better oiled"... scalp the ******! and send him unto the rabbi's true blessing... in the cusp of the scalp of the kippah!  and now... you take... your anglo-spreschen-tangle... into the salt-wounds of your h'america! first born: young... i don't like your revision... looking toward Europe with a hope for a sensibility... this pseudo deutsche: pseudo dutch, anglo-; this is no loss of the French or the Slav! this is our celebration! does one have an irish phrasing in uns to be at in it or one? beyond this grip boyo bound glue? this clerical spare of the otherwise leftover skivvy? we have made barons of these minutes.... as if we were to be kings of the coming years... and how we didn't become gods of the atoms... and the men of the suns and planets... that is our... most worthwhile conundrum in a da pacem domine bound; you're going to Beirut on me... or something?!

in my haitus away from this canvas:
naive me thought: perhaps a surge...
again proven wrong -
albeit not disappointed -
so i had to look elsewhere -

i had to look for a clarity of diction...
i had to move away from
the western lands and their:
death of god and their death by metaphysics...

even in this barren english...
i could not figure out:
why are these people,
apologetics from the central leftists...
these liberals...
ditto: i will butcher this name...
i will butcher the pronunciation
of this word...

if there are "questions" regarding
what's being phonetically encoded...
so much for me "learning to code"...
i too once wrote a html encoding...
with all the < and < and > toys...
spacing... {[( gradations... etc.,

i had to look east, after a while writing
schlechtdeutschegrammatik...
bad german grammar...
again: it's posthumous "Latin"...
it might be...
bad grammar german...
or german bad grammar...
deutscheschlechtgrammatik...

spelling is the mathematical equivalent
of... arithmetic...
but grammar? you need a ping-pong
table...
you need something cymru-esque...
a scandinavian-esque bilingual cushioning...

english alone will not solve the matter...
it's not french, it's not german,
it's certainly not spanish...
spanish and how post-colonialism was
settled with a post-racial attitudes of
Brazil...
england has taken too much time
looking up and out of the h'american
*******...
no grand satan 'ere...
no silk road bazar of fruits exotica from...
Teheran...
something more... subtle...

i had to go back to the "tsar"...
and the цэркйэв: 'cerkiew'...
and there i was amused how...
well apparently...
there are a lot of words
that do use the sz'cz...
enough... to deviate from
the Latin bollocking represented via
шч = щ....

that's perfectly logical...
i'm done with "perfectly logical"
if it exists outside of the realm of
orthography...

szczypta soli - pinch of salt...
in russian...
щ... that's a bit of a "question"...
yes, yes it is complicated...

szczery / szczera (he's honest /
she's honest)...
szczerość (honesty)...

no it's not... you german fickle-wit!
you forget the ы!

ah! well then... щыптa....
**** me... disorientating...
they could do all that with greek and glagolitic...
but they still had to keep...
latin: roman: holy roman empire: GERMAN...
lowercase lettering...
akin to a... e... c doesn't count...
since that's a greek cedilla "missing"...
ç... or... sigma... ς -
otherwise known in english as that S
after the apostrophe...
when something is called being:
the possessive article...
a (indefinite) the (definite) - some -ism to mind?!
no... but 's is... a bit like the SS...
in greek...
all in lower case: stephen's and...
στεφηνς...
σtephenς: that very much desired: ha!
ridiculous gag... the "much desired"
alternative to an apostrophe S ('s)...

it's Stephen's! it's Stephen's!
it's Sylvester's!
three articles in english:
the indefinite article (a)...
the definite article (the)...
and the possessive article ('s) - apostrophe S...
eS eS!

russian accents...
ъ, ы, ь...

but i only know of one "hard sign" example...
and that disqualifies the J ever needing a lower-case
"dot"... ȷ... namely... зъ: ż... alternatively
also: rz... and ж...
żuk! beetle! somehow the caron makes it...

szczyt! zenith!
щыт!

- and since i'm no longer writing:
i'd be writing if i were monolingual...
or... if i was animated by
the sort of Knausgardian bilingualism
of chop of swede: marker norgie...
but... i'm painting...

i forgot how to write when i could
see "synonyms" of sounds...
entombed in two different phonetic
encodings, namely elevated latin
and "pan-greek": cyrillic...

the variations between:

й and ы...
i.e. via е - "ye"
ё - "yo" (there's an umlaut in russian?!)
"у" - yew and you...
the gamma subscript...
ю - "yu"...
and... я - "ya"...

with regards to this rubric...
i am in the middle...
i can see a distinction between
a "y" (whine why and no I)...
hardly a jotted anecdote...
and yes... the closest the russians
ever come to Cracow is with ы
to a western slavic y...
ask me: toй - ask me: toȷ...
who needs a dot above the J
in the lower-case... if...
if... there's no absolute need for it to
be there: unlike some greenwich mean time
focus?
it ȷust so happens that...
the better clasp of the equator is
married to Greenwich: London...

dr. who time lords:
bellybuttons of the world: the english are...
again: i have to remind myself...
ı am not wrıtıng... ı am... paıntıng...

1(one), l(el)... I and ı(ıota)...
i guess an apostrophe would suffice...
ıf it's not an "ı"...
ı'ota... ı: oath...
sure as fıgurative "****" it's not...

ı must wrıte some more examples
in russıan...
to get me off me mark into
some "wax lyrıcal"...
ıslander mentalıty of the hen'glısch...

see how "the dot" can appear...
and disappear, as one see fıt?
and ıt makes: no little bıt of...
"dıfference"?!

i need to sleep on thıs "exercise"...
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold...

w­­ıll eyes gets it?
hardly...

the rest of these cosmopolitan *******
focused on gwaffiti awt...
which is welsh for: GRA GRA...
when was the last time you heard
an englishman trill an R?
ı can't remember...
give me a night to soak up the pickling
juıces... i can't remember the last time
i heard an homest trIll eıther!
pauper me...

it's probably because of the welsh:
GWA GWA! gwadleıth cowonew...
or coroner row row row a rombat into a rue:
or a woo...
rhyme: contorts...
shapes and disappearing: oopses...
a whole multıtude of 'em...
come like the tıde...
leave... lıke a tilde... quası N:
it's a... H is a zeus...
and J is a Ha Ha Ha wrap-up rap of
laughter: in spanısh: of course...

i don't wrıte... ı paint...

impromptu interludes, quickened:
i'm a marriage of two continents...
and one island...
east of moscow...
asia... west of warsaw and...
these gloomy island pits of
idiosyncracy... never quiet the icelandic
answer to norway...
or greenland's answer to denmark...
but an island... nonetheless...

- to hell witth cascading linear cascades
of narrative: i'm blind to the optics
of "the narrative" in the paragraph
format...

i will look back east...
i will look at the russian script...
i will look at it as a time in ******
history equivalent to:
why didn't you just think of it as Greek?
but "my people" didn't...
and i'm not exactly a "why / didn't"...
i'm part of the excavation machinery...
i come with what was served...
i will leave without
leverage...

and here is the russian icon translated
from the Babel...
the following are orthodox letters
shared by one and all
to the western lands...

а б в г д e з и й
к л м н o п р c т
у ф

a b v g d e z i j
k l m n o p r s t u
f

now we leave: łen łill that be?
we should all somehow know...
to łork out a When a Where
(notably with the "h" being but a surd)...

mother how should i further this?
herbata
hasło (ha-s-woe)
hołd (**-**-w'd)

to no other: otherwise only in scotland:
the loch of tipsy work...
albeit: orthographic distinction...
хęć - a whim a desire...
a loch is no: cheat of a lake...
latching onto the otherwise boredom caron
exposed...

дух (ghost) with a душa (soul)...

else there's c dissociated from the s...
and more so with a kappa kaput...
the drumstick slick on a wet snare of: tss...
ц - almost...
then morphing into a ць -
yet in my version: no so silent...
ćma: moth...
цmokaць / cmokać: to click with the tongue...
to kiss smackingly -
to ingest food via a smoczek...
a smoчek - a smoček... the baby soother...

this is my third day having to return to
this canvas...

first thing's first:
palatization (palatißation)
is not... a name of german crusader song:
palästinalied...

this is one of the main reasons why
i can't imagine myself as being able:
to write a novel -
i can't bear this birth of words into
this pseudo-Kandinsky -
it would be much easier with painting
something for a year -
than writing for a year -
the same thing, over and over again...

if i write a "poem" or, rather, a poo'em...
i expect the concept of
ensō: a circle has to be drawn with
a single uninhibited stroke...
when the body is set free and the body
merely complies...

comparison... if one were to draw
a most pristine ensō...
one would never achieve an ouroboros
depiction... it's quiet impossible
to use one volume of ink
attached to a stroke to complete
a circle... let alone a depiction
of an ouroboros...
what starts off as concrete soon...
fades away... thins out...
until there is so little ink left
on the brush that individual hairs
of the brush start appearing...

a pristine depiction of life...
but never the hardline ouroboros
depiction: this cerberus of reincarnation:
i never would have believed in it -
given that: there would have to be
a limited number of souls...
the thought that i might be introspective
enough as to be one of these: "elites"...
and the rest... were "n.p.c." drones...
zombie-esque drifters...
that had no psychological infrastructure
to have memory and rubric of learning
bound to them to be: invested in?

i am still going to write this Kandinsky...
one way or another...
but i can say only that:
i can imagine myself returning
to a painting - and painting it for a year...
but a book?
if a poem can't be written in one sitting...
it's not a poem...
this is not a poem: this is a novel
equivalent...
the best to my ability: which is none...

all i will ever manage with this
is a pedantic scrutiny of russian orthography,
how i don't follow metaphysical arguments
of the germans, the english or the french,
because i don't dream that often,
and when i do dream?
i dream up nonsense...
last time i dreamed that a hiena was
biting at my arm like a corn-cob...
but it wasn't biting to draw blood...
it was biting and cackling in order
to tattoo me... it bit into my arm and detailed
indentations akin to braille...
a pianola roll...

and that's the only details of the dream
i can remember...
perhaps i strained memory...
perhaps people who dream...
are fond of forgetting...
perhaps i don't dream because i can
remember being 4...
a shadow (my maternal great-grandfather)...
a large piano, a small piano...
he worked a retirement as a security guard
in a kindergarten...
i once spent an afternoon with him...
i have seen pictures of him...
but i don't remember the face in the photographs...
he sat me before a bonsai piano
while he sat at the large piano...
and i guess: we were going to be the new
Chopins or something...
he's still a shadow... a grey form...
perhaps a extract of memory that reaches
back 29 years is the reason why i don't
dream... then again...

what if i were to have recurrent dreams?
i've heard people have recurrent dreams...
i just have details of dreams...
i'm not complaining but...
it has become exhausting to simply sleep sometimes...
to replay that lullaby of the void...
yes: yes... i will return to russian orthography:
give me a moment!

well, on my "haitus" i had to look beyond
"conventionality"...
there was a period where i found
the glagolitic script - i said to myself:
there must be an equivalent alphabet to match
the runes...

there must have been a way to encode
without the romans and greeks...
after all... there is the St. Cyrill alphabet
and that of Methodus...
how many ethnic groups are there
on this old, yawning continent -
minor point: old age is not plagued by
yawning - only youth yawns...
old age is cured of yawning -
hanging over them the yawning death...
when father - when father - will this old
ponce come into my *****?

glagolitic and cyrillic?
well Ⰱ Б...
Ⱂ and P... which is not exactly lent-greek...
i guess it's only "wise"
to go back into the modern scribbles...

there are so many branches
to be plucked off a pine
to reserve yourself with ending up
to owning a pike...
so what would it help me:
if i had to reverse and ezra pound
my way forward...
bubble bulging roma notations?
i see: when that chisel in marble
V is not supposed to be a U...

EVROPA... etc.

i need to bring to the fore my own
distinctions...
spread: universally within the confines
of the people that speak it:
i even had to made balkan additions...
like the caron S and caron C...
to hide the english gimmick
of SHarp and CHeat...
evidently we use the Z to replace
the H when stressing our "demands"...
Šarp and Čeat...

so back into russian?
i almost forgot that i said...
their orthography is not worth the dog's
bollocking of a lick...

i was wrong, obviously...
but even the russians are supposed
to be allowed their idiosyncracy -
their orthographic pedantry...
russian orthographic pedantry?
ah...

when е met э...
was also the time when э didn't meet з...
this is pedantic...
another russian pedantic "detail"...
how many Y's or J's do you need...
to detail: the elongated-iota?
before... "****" becomes confusing...
within the confines of gamma...

i'm pretty sure the russians have
fixated their attention on the Y/J "debate"
working from their central premise of
the english AYE... I... the pronoun bunker...
der deutsche affirmative: ja!
yah in the hebrew respective for: wisdom...

let's see... i'm pretty sure the russians
have all the vowels bow to this mecca
of Moscow, cite me: and please reiterate...
that i use J and Y interchangeably...
i don't imply: to jot - to "dz"ot...
or Joseph in Ypres...

otherwise: a yeti climbing a yew shouting: yes!
it's not exactly jargon -
but... a prefix y- in english...
is not a suffix -y in english...
which just... "out of the blue"...
demands to be associated with the iota
of: ply... and yet: it's no i.e. e'et...
it's neither ate or the fwench and (et)...
it's a yeti... but not a jetty!

never mind... back into the fussy russian...
i'm pretty sure you will find all
of the pentagram (vowels) bowing before
the altar of pseudo-gamma:

                                     ю (yu)
                                    /
(details in) й ------ я (ya) -- ы (oh look, solo!)
   the above"rant")  |
                                  у (which is a u)
                                /   \
                     e (ye)       ё (yo)

almost... but i'm far from learning russian...
i find these orthographic details...
coexisting...

зъ = ж = ż = rz = ř / ž...

eastern, mother slavic...
beginning with a western slavic translation
"innovation"...
central / western slavic...
balkan slavic...
oh we are such famous clarinet players!
because what happens
when the caron is sliced into two...
and an acute ****** pops out?!

hence the зъ beginning...
yes... it's not "silent"... it's simply not
palatalißed... the tongue doesn't tip-off
the palette... the sound escapes via
the gritting of teeth...
with it: the tongue can rattle and a trill
R is heard...

зъ (ż) contra зь (ź) -
życzenia - well wishes| źródło - source...
now to only write these words
in russia - without knowing the russian
noun-denotations...
for orthographic purposes...

жыченя... or is it... жычениa?
зьруд... problem... can't find the english
W in russian... or the ****** Ł...
there's the english V... the ****** W...
but russian doesn't translate (Вв)
so vell into wery: not so weary but
nonetheless very not so, so...

my problem is not about that though...
this poem this poo'em this:
a pigeon drops a zeppelin-****
on your top-hat implies good luck...
no 13's or black cats crossing your path either...
i could most honestly spend
100 years of each of the 100 individuals
bound to the salt mines in the vicinity
of Beijing... and i would still find myself...
without tears...
because this is the most inexhaustible
crux: it's really bugging me foundation stone...

i won't even mind the modern greeks
at this point... they do use diacritical markers
too... but over-do it... as if compensating
or trying to compete on level par
with their metaphysical dittos...

чaхa: czacha... almost slang term for:
czaszka... чaкшa...
and this is by no means "smart"...
i can't solve crosswords puzzles...
well i can: but i need to find myself
in the company of my grandmother...
in the morning...
i would have had to drooled over some novel
from 7am until she gets out of bed
come 9am... we'd drink coffee and i'd
smoke cigarettes...
and it would be a month prior to christmas
or easter, or the interlude...
and... i'd be freed from writing or
reading anything in english...
either me looking at diacritical distinctions
in the realm of orthography between:
russian, ******, balkan...
or... me never learning french,
or attempting to: ever, again!

******* suffix-eaters...
dyslexics in reverse...
say one thing: write another thing...
this is probably born from my frustration
at being unable to learn french...
perhaps after having acquired english
i was given german to learn...
but no... first hurdle... french...
flop!
now it's a diet of no crosswords...
some sudoku from time to time...
and my new hobby after having found
"too many" googlewhacks...

so there's nothing smart about this:
this is in no way useful to anyone -
being the sort of person
to "mind" whenever one's being asked
to spell their surname...
it's hardly that difficult but...

would i go for the echo sierra charlie
hotel lima echo romeo tango...
or go out full greek with it?
perhaps the greek...
since that would solve the problem
i've had for a while,
concerning the eta / epsilon "debate"...

how does a greek laugh -
what is the crux letter via which
a greek laughs?
you see a H shape on the horizon...
but you... hear the noun: eta...
you later see the name eta...
but that's eta: without an apostrophe...
the apostrophe 'eta being the "surd" H...

in greek then...
epsilon sigma... **** it... there's no "sch"
of a german worth in greek...
let's cut it out:
epsilon lambda epsilon rho tau...

otherwise in russian...
once more:

ś(lub) - wedding - сь(люб)
"soft" sign - ' - apostrophe -
or ACUTE elsewhere...
why not сьлуб?
i don't know... it's not like сь is even
minded in russian...

ah! my favorite!
goń! gonitwa: a race -
the verb impetus: race! chase after!
гoнь!

since ы is the "odd" one out between
the application of "ь" and
and "ъ"...
come to think of it...
ы gave birth to: ю (yu), я (ya),
у (u), й ("y"), и ("e")...
i... i.e. and... in ******...
akin to those languages that use e...
to also imply and...
ё (yo)... how did i miss the umlaut
infiltrating the russian 'bet...
i blame catherine the great!
and... е (ye)...
is that the pentragram?
u, a, e, i, o... yes! we have it!

i truly had better days when sudoku was
the better puzzle to fill a day with...
not this... from glagolitic, to greek,
to roman, to post-roman to russian
and back into...

if we are all "supposedly" literate...
begs the question why: why oh why the emoji...
the *******-wanking hieroglyphics...
the :) and what not...
i guess to better escape this sort of
headaches... minor chances of everyone
becoming a bilingual:
but what's there to brag about
being bilingual!
i guess the polyglots do not have such
headaches of detail...
they just... bypass these rules and regulations...

to better guide me:
if i managed to sift through james joyce's
finnegans wake... and didn't find any
diacritical markers in it?
can't i compensate?
i'm compensating right now!
if the 2010s as a decade was a decade
filled with... sisyphus titans akin
to kant, hiedegger, kierkegaard,
knausga(a)rd, joyce...
beckett - yes...
again that hollowed "y" distinction!
it's not a sisi: yes yes problem...
hardly me being ***** either...
e'ver... i'ver...
ain't that a *****...

clarity of diction... the best motto there is...
crab-bucket-intellectualism:
alternatively the focus away from
any ontological stressors of "example" -
ontological and its variant of
a priori:
perhaps, given that the ontological
is an a priori argument...
here's my crossword puzzle -
ref. thesaurus rex...

and by no means... at all...
etymology is the better variant of any known
history...
when this bundle of words:
that an ontological dialectic can be achieved:
that ontology can be given within
as much as an a priori: bigot! focus...
with as much as an a posteriori:
wizened unicorn quid pro quo tanz!

hamsterwheel loopholes or:
crab-bucket intellectualism...

now: i really could have put these words
to better use... to make them linear...
less cryptic... but how can i?
i'm solving a crossword puzzle in reverse!
i don't expect the easily scared moths
to entertain this fire...

i expect midgets to be dancing...
before my eyes...
whenever i listen to
faun's tanz mit mir
or in extremo's rotes haar...
when the bagpipes and the flutes
kick in...

- since if i were to write a coherent sentence:
succumb to a linear narrative...
i'd people reading this to be also found:
easily talking about it...
perhaps i don't enjoy freedom of speech
as much as i enjoy the freedom to think...
perhaps i haven't written anything
worth speaking about, regurgitating,
making vogue, working for some intellectual
period-piece of "vogue"...
perhaps this is a shared problem,
hidden in a cipher...
of: how i can't heave this tool...
this tapeworm of existence,
this medium of god...
to later trash it, to have nothing better
to do with it other than play-games...
worded games... crossword puzzles...
perhaps i need a crossword puzzle to imply:
neighbour's share some words...
together... but then write them differently...
perhaps i require a crossword puzzle...
to read into some russian...
on the praxis base of english...
flying past Warsaw toward the itch
of the edge of Asia...
breathe the air - the heart of the continent...

perhaps i would have never managed
to escape this world if i ingested
mind-benders of the h'american 1960s
revolutionary schematics of the:
new-humanists... crash course in literature:
only one magic mushroom trip away!

фoрк ин дэ рoaд (fork in the road)

ИN...

some shared words, of etymological
curiosity...

(fork) вилка - wilka -
polish? wilka? that which belongs to
a wolf... widelec...
видэлэц...

(knife) нож - nóż -
well... orthography comes into play...
while people can have their...
ahem... in-the-meantime metaphysical
playground...
the ground, the word,
the geology is already here...
written alternatively?
нузъ...

i take a different stance to the common day
****** back east...
when russia starts slagging you off...
you put on a Boris Yeltsin mask on
and dance the drunk panda dance...

(spoon) ложка - łyżka -
in polish? ah those russians... ло ло...
лож: lorz...
lo lo and behold the translated
quasi-russian into the borders of europe...
ł.w.(ызъка)...

black and white (черный и белый):

czarny i biały: rho-si-ye!
char-nee-ye! bel'ye)...

perhaps the timing is a bit off:
the proper wording would be:

czarno na białym -
not: in black and white...
чaрнo на биa-wh-ым...

knocked-out to be honest...
the russians use ый like that?
YJ? oh right! i use it too!
in the prompt:

tyj! tyj ty grubasie!
hmm... -asie...
it would do me a lot of good...
if that iota didn't have a decapitated
head of a halo hovering above it...
why? so i could introduce the acute
slant over the S and surd it...
i.e. -aśιe...

тый! ты груб... exactly...
grub-               -aсьие
тый! ты грубaсьие!
to grow fat: тый!
              "problem": -aśιe vs. -aсьие...
well... it's there: сь...
but it also isn't there: и...

but it isn't: but it also isn't...
i just managed to find out that...
in warsaw (if i lived in warsaw)...
we have that conjunction: -ый-
however rare it is: it is there...

any more delegations from Moscow?
tyj! tyj ty grubasie!  
and i will write these last few words
and know why i don't really feel like
solving crosswords puzzles...
or doing those i.q. schematic tests...

**** it... the welsh should know and help me
out... concerning?
how it's YN and not IN...
how it's Y and not I when referring to THE gwyll:
dusk...
y gwyll o hywels: the dusk of powells...
only the welsh would know my "pain"...
yn y gwyll o y hywels:
in the dusk of the powells...

taking a step back - a step back...
yes yes, apologies... if my punctuation...
is too much of a ******* arithmetic!
too bad!

p.s. and yes... don't leave anything lying
around in the drafts or as private...
chances are... with a 2 day delay...
this will never be fed into the LATEST feed.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
tenet fingers could ed braille,
hard-skinned fingers
could read nothing,
but morse-braille...
   and then there's stenography...
why o why
is the diacritical tilde
   (                  ~                  )
used to vacate either m,
    or the rattle-snake, trilling,
rolling implosion of the shape of R?
sure, b as 6... p as a copernican
north-by-north-west d...
   P as chiral narcissus 9...
     A as lambda (Λ)
and suma summarum:
a return to Phoenician
     jurisprudence and lament...
or rather lamed, subtle variations
circa 90°...
    E, I, K, V...
        how much of injustice
is grounded upon the "logic"
of stenography...
                         which could introduce
tilde to replace either M, or R...
thus said...
compared to braille,
and the simplified braille via morse
encapsulation? stenography
is cuneiform by comparison,
what's the point of shorthand,
when certain cases are delayed,
and delayed...
and 20 years later on deathrow,
enough time to see Johnny Cash
die of old age... and still waiting...
needless to say,
braille combined with morse
makes more sense than
     stenography...
                   almost as if...
you're begging to see a man
possessing a chronology of
20 years of sight,
attempting to discourage
braille writers from owning
punctuation marks, instead,
focusing on spacing...
    of man's notion of serving
justice... culminating in the nonsense
of stenography...
with either M or R,
marked by a tilde...
              should a blindman write
in braille... what the stenographer
writes in resurrected Phoenician...
as quickly as...
    a death sentence becomes
a liberty,
         for poor Xavier...
       than the upper tier of
zoology, lodged in a life
measured by: x cubed...
             man has another name
for passing law...
namely... imbedding itself in delay...
once a life, reduced to the frivolity
of micro-aggression,
culminating in, waiting for a bus,
five minutes late...
          that death that sloth
that slouch, that... ******.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
some say it's called dart-eyes, a kaleidoscopic venture
that might leave you myopic, oddly enough i know
that people say a lot of far fetched things,
   and the excuses are usually metaphors,
there's the literal cardinal,
the literal spanish inquisition,
  and metaphors of demons in the bible -
          i still want to experience a fully
theocratic world: where man's words come
forth from man, and god's words come from
the mouth of god... again: poetry without
a god is like biology without chlorophyll,
   no one even suggested a kneeling process and
ardent prayer to be invoked,
     all it took was a spare thought away from
the daily commute and the daily invigoration
from some sort of ethic, oddly enough it always
ends up being an ethic of work...
   i guess that's why in the west everyone is
nearing an addiction thoroughly apparent that's
named workaholism... once the relationships
fail, the only saving string of hope is work,
an absurd work ethic, because wouldn't you
take a syringe filled with ink and do shifts in an
office beyond the norm, thus entering the world
of night shifts and anything else antisocial?
   people can't really be friends, we're fired up
toward formal relationships and what's guiding us
to these relationships is hierarchy...
              oddly enough the Aztec or Mayan
pyramids don't have that sort of feel to them,
they don't prescribe interpretations of hierarchy,
quite the opposite,
     ask someone who doesn't have a conquistador
heritage to explain that they are:
  the gallows... guillotines... the tyrant is not
buried within, these aren't caves to entombing a
tyrant with all his riches...
      there are no chambers in these structures...
they were intended as architectural symbols of
common law... those presumptions European
*******... human sacrifice? a myth...
these were sights of capital punishment,
you stepped out of line: you'd get your heart
carved out and your body would drop from
the execution altar down the steps for
           the scavenger mob to tear you apart
even further: had you transgressed communal
consent... justice has to become overpowering
but that does not mean we carve a mount
Rushmore akin to the statues of the valley of
the kings of enthroned pharaohs...
  much of ancient Egypt lingers in what we
call "modernity"... esp. in America...
             and the world is currently establishing
itself into cold war ii (i said that once,
can't remember when)... and until this is firmly
established, that it's clearly accepted that we're
dealing in a cold / intellectual war, then
we'll pass all that intelligence and engage in a hot war /
and emotional war, as characteristic overflowing
of populism, which at present times: has
all the coordinates, but no proper vector to
allow a congregational march toward impeding
dangers... but better a second cold war than
a third world war... so much of ancient Egypt
in America... the washington memorial for one...
what's the other name for it? ah... obelisk;
or what the pagans built to counter the fear of
impotence: well... we've established a bountiful
supply of humans... can we do a floral pattern
now? oddly enough we embraced tomb-pyramid
builders from the north-eastern side of
Africa's brain-dead region, and trusted
conquistadors wiping out a people that used
pyramids to stress the importance of law:
i can't see no reason to think that those pyramids
were intended for human sacrifice...
capital punishment? well, d'uh... because wasn't
Golgotha so unspectacular as to be less
than what it was? had they crucified him in private,
in some back-alleyway crucified to a door,
would history open its doors to the advent of
Christianity? don't think so.
what i'd really love to see is people with
necklaces of silver, and the thing dangling on them
would be a different torture mechanism...
an iron maiden... it's like prescribing pain is
necessary... it's a dogmatic ruling on a once upon
a time
(even the briefest) chance of happiness...
but even then certain philosophers say:
why be happy, when you can be interesting?
how interesting do you have to be so many times over
to not even wish for a stillness of neither want
nor drive to go beyond what you already have?
i don't know if this is an adequate comparison,
but in terms of interesting...
   a movie (side effects, 2013) utilises only two songs
in its official title:
   the focal point of a ******
       is staged to a "sleepwalking" woman preparing
a dinner for three (only two people are in the apartment),
the song? thievery corporation's the forgotten people...
i knew the band prior, and i've seen the film
before... but i never bothered to watch the credits...
i remember the odd couple who'd sit in cinemas and
engage in watching the end-credits, always the one
odd bunch: as if saying thank you to all the people
involve... a quick stroll through a graveyard is probably
comparably akin....
   and the other song? Bach's
   orchestral suite no. 2 in B minor, bwv 1067 -
     but i can't remember whether it's actually featured
in the film, simply because there's no focal moment
in the film where it can be heard as prominently as
the first song... and then there's thomas newman in
between (no surprise);
but a film like that is a meditation...
             if only two songs are used, chances are
the dialogue will have many strengths, because there
will be a multiplicity of consistent reinterpretation,
a bit like talking into a Tate Modern and seeing
Rodin's the kiss statue (inspired by Dante's divine
comedy), sketching it from the northern perspective,
the southern, western and eastern perspectives...
    i've seen few films that accredit a very minimalistic
soundtrack... on that note, how songs could literally
be translated into film titles: side effects - the forgotten people,
  dead poets' society - carpe diem, american beauty -
any other name, are there others? there probably are.

but that's nothing compared to last night's antics...
   some people climb the Everest... clap clap clap...
some people design super-suction vacuum cleaners...
clap clap clap...
                    from time to time i solve sudoku drunk
(no clapping)... but there's a narrative involved,
the narrative goes when you try to map out solving
one of these 81 "rubic" squares... applause for
speed with these babies like applause for premature
*******... aren't they compatible?
   we all have limitations, mine came yesterday,
when i allocated superscript numbers to the journey,
quiet literally an optical tangle, i should have used
       things like ª ' “ ‘ ¨ † above the plotted line...
but it only takes one mistake to ground you
   and then you have to go back and make minute corrections,
as the notes themselves suggest (crazy eyed darting):

exhibit a.

0    0    0    0    0    2    7    0    0
0    0    0    0  ­  4    0    0    2    0
2    0    5    1    0    7    0    0    8
0    9    0    0    0 ­   0    2    0    1
7    0    0    8    0    0    0    6    0
0  ­  0    6    0    7    0    5    0    0
4    0    8    7    0    0­    1    0    0
0    1    0    0    0    5    0    0    0
0    0 ­   9    0    1    0    3    0    0

   exhibit b. html that doesn't allow subscript
            or superscript notation, hence the brackets
   denoting movement (pending)


9 (24)    0          3 (23)    0    8 (5)    2    7    1 (2)    0
1 (12)    8 (8)    7 (9)      0    4          0    0    2          0
2            0         5            1    0          7    0    3 (13)   8
8 (7)       9        4 (18)     0 5 (33) 0    2    7 (1)      1
7            5 (16) 1 (14)     8   2 (20)   0    0    6           3 (21)
3 (19)    2 (17)  6            0   7           1 (15)  5           8 (6)    0
4            3 (27)  8           7   0            0         1            5 (28)    2 (26)
6 (30)    1          2 (22)   4 (31)    3 (32)    5    8 (3)    0    7 (11)
5 (29)    7 (10)    9    2 (25)    1    8 (4)    3    0    0

      it is no surprise that the notation played a key part
in having failed to map out the route taken,
       when you're using numbers in a puzzle
  it's almost an inevitable path to failure,
since you're making superscript "bookmarks" at
high concentration, and without any distinction to
what the puzzle demands, hence you go "cross-eyed"
  in solving the puzzle, and superscripting your progress
using the same symbols that are required to solve it,
but given that the puzzle involves 81 slots
  with 9 x 9 identical components (only so rearranged
  to be not contradict the rule of the puzzle
i.e. 9 symbols in each square of the nine in total,
   with a 9 x 9 variation on all linear arrangements not
involving two similar symbols, i.e.
   1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9, rather than 1 2 2 3 4 5 6 7 8) -
what became a hope to correct the mistake, but given
the intricacies of the progress, all the more harder to
recount steps and subsequently move forward with
   the spotted error...
hence a refresh, and the need for schematic,
given that there are 81 slots in total, with
     27 already in place, and given that there are 26
units of alphabet... how handy to actually persist in
using these characters, but adding diacritical variations
to make up 54 necessary, without invoking
      a 10 or a sz...

exhibit c.

0    0    0    0    0    2    7    1ą    0
0    0    0    0 ­   4    0    0    2    0
2    0    5    1    0    7    0    0    8
0    9    0    0    0 ­   0    2    7α    1
7    0    0    8    0    0    0    6    0
0 ­   0    6    0    7    0    5    0    0
4    0    8    7    0    ­0    1    0    0
0    1    0    0    0    5    0    0    0
0    0­    9    0    1    0    3    0    0

exhibit d.

nb. α = 1, ą (ogonek) = 2, á (acute) = 3, à (grave) = 4,
â (circumflex) = 5, ä (umlaut) = 6, cedilla missing,
   ã (tilde) = 7, b = 8, c = 9, ć = 10, č (caron) = 11,
ĉ (circumflex) = 12, ā (macron) = 13, ç (cedilla) = 14,
d = 15, e = 16, é = 17, è = 18, ê = 19, ě = 20, ë = 21,
f = 22, g = 23, ǧ = 24, ḡ = 25, ĝ = 26
         (now i figure, could have used Greek... d'uh!
ahh, i'll use it for the finishing touches),
        h = 27, i = 28, ı = 29, í = 30, î = 31, ï = 32, μ = 33
j = 34, δ = 35, k = 36, λ = 37, ł = 38, τ = 39, n = 40,
ń = 41, ñ = 42, o = 43, ō = 44, ø = 45, p = 46,
q = 47, r = 48, s = 49, γ = 50, φ = 51, χ = 52, ψ = 53, ω = 54.

before i begin the puzzle... there's a reason why a caron
g (ǧ) might exist, and why a grave z might not...
   and why there's a piquant difference between
an acute z (ź) and ż - depending on the aesthetician,
who decides to move away from the national linguistico-aesthetic
dogma... for example the name George,
orthodoxy states you must learn the aesthetic version
of Grze'gosz... but you would also be able to write
the alternative: Ǧegoš - given that rz is equivalent to ż,
    and given that there is no grave accenting of z,
but there is the acute (ź), perhaps you could consider
the dot a convergence point that could assimilate
sound, immediately over the caron g... of course none
of these remarks are intended for application: because
they would never reach a consideration in a learning
curriculum of any nation, a whimsical idea derived from
the remnants of the esperanto experiment...
  from what i can see, ǧ would equal grz, and
the reason that rz exists at all, and it equivalent to ż
is because a grave version of z is missing, and that
the acute z (ź) exists, and there is no point of balance
that otherwise is the foundation of the caron...
  i wouldn't have thought focusing on such "trivial"
signs above letters provided so much pecking-orders.

exhibit e. focal points in greek notation

9ǧ    4ñ    3g    6o    8â    2    7    1ą    5τ
1ĉ   ­ 8b    7c    5p    4    3q    6ń    2    9ł
2     6γ     5      1      9r    7    4n    3ā    8
8ã    9    4è    3s      5ψ   6ω    2    7α    1
7    5e    1ç    8      2ě    4ø    9ō    6    3ë
3ê    2é    6    9λ    7    1d      5    8ä    4k
4    3h     8    7     6χ    9φ    1    5i    2ĝ
6í    1    2f    4î     3ï      5     8á   9μ    7č
5ı    7ć    9    2ḡ    1     8à     3     4j     6δ

thus completed: there's a reason why the majority
of the narrative is done utilising diacritical marks,
i could have used many more distinct symbols,
but the point is: there are very few focal points
that can be ascribed distinct markings,
most of the puzzle is done on the basis of "crazy eyes",
i.e. darting eyes - focal points do emerge after
much darting about the squares, notably when
a linear sequence is completed, or whenever one of
the 9 squares is completed, or when all nine squares
contain nine 7s or 8s...
      or that's one way to go about not having any whiskey,
the rain pouring outside, and the night stretching
into a near eternity -
            
exhibit f. narrative of correction, actual excerpt

it began at h, i.e. labyrinth corner no. 27,
******* trainspotting! this is going to be like reading
the time for the next train to arrive at Waterloo!
  5(28), 5(33)?, 5(28),
  6(30), 4(31), 3(22), 5(33), 33? 9(38), 4(34),
  6(35), 4(36)...
6(41) < 4(40) < 5(39) < 9(38) < 9(37)....
       4(42) < 6(43) < 9(44) < 4(45) < 5(46) < 3(47) < 9(48) < 3(49) <...>
   6(58) > 9(51) < 6(52)...
        longest period spent on 3(13) / ā -
   and the notation that gave way to this spiral?
5(33), which actually ended up being 5(53) / ψ.
The art of the
     "FAKE" deal (according
     to Walt Dizzy Take a Knee Sing
     Matt Tilde) once again
as oft iterated in previous poems,
     doth (soup pearly, theoretically,
    and wantonly) appertain
to anyone (abstractedly, essentially,

     and loosely translated), aye ascertain
ptomaine anyone can attain
     driving a hard bargain,
(sans basement prices)
     utilizing her/his birdbrain,
(which might be about the size
     of a child size chill blain -
mebbe acquired during

     weather beaten life
     at sea as boatswain),
nonetheless for results,
     one best ought
     be without a brain
even if promoted as Captain Cain
Guru, cuz to become
     star apprentice,

     one must master
     trumpeting as a certain
Don Casanova Chieftain
     stealing the vote if necessary
     and freely distribute *******
(as an ****** of the masses)
     to silence anyone
     that might complain,

thus sets the
     figurative stage to contain
any potentially mutinous threat
     (against sought after bounty)
also necessitates practicing
     nepotism assigning coxswain
to an immediate family member
     with a skull full

     bone if eyed crackbrain
and when upon
     wheeling and dealing
     i.e. thee metaphorical curtain
call - pull out
     all stops to detain
vendor even exhibiting
     faux ("FAKE) disdain

for deplorable basket weavers
     iterated by domain holder
ye wish to acquire
     sought after envied goodies,
     oh...and do
     everything to drain
the patience of he/she who
     controls coveted *****

calling for trotting
     out "Stormy
Daniels" to entertain
and continue ploy long after
     hated yuge, bigly, stupid losers
winning morons with

     zero wind blown naturally
     "FAKE" orange blond
     wind blown hairm,
which constant induces
     onlookers with eyestrain.
Maria Imran Jun 2014
You were a colon
and semicolons you detested
I tried putting a comma there
like grammar lady suggested.
but our life, it seems, is an underscore
or an inverted question mark blotted
because whenever I ask for space
or try putting us back within a parenthesis,
you usually slash me―or backslash me.
This is not, however, how I had imagined
us to be. I always wanted a life smooth as tilde
a prime time together, without fearing bad weather
I wanted us to fight against negations,
but like a dagger kills relations
or a bullet, we died inside too…
It is a broken bar now, and it hurts
at the highest degree of pain.
Can we still back into space though,
or is it about time we put a full stop?
Carly L Washor Jan 2021
What time are you thinking?
A time? Is that where it all starts? I’ll go with; midday. Does that work for you?

IT ALWAYS WORKS
Just as pliant as his physical form; bending in all directions; jumping from stair to star; his studies, relationship with time; offered the same natural ease.

He wanted to study equanimity in a way that hadn’t been brought into the scientific world; just yet. The physical structures were worked through BY his hands and mind. Why would this be any different?
Complexity
Chemical
Physiological
Developmental
Evolutionary  
Consolidating abstractions into bite sized bits. We took the ocean together in our palms.
HE GAVE IT AWAY TO EVERYONE HE MET
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
language has become so primitive, so overly verb
associative - as if doing things was cool -
some cool that ended up to be - ~eloquent use of language,
the civilised formality always bogs  down to nouns -
and how many you can remember - usually depicted
by teatime quizzing - you dare to remember as many nouns
as possible, because by remembering enough nouns you're
limiting  the chances of unfashionable verbs
taking hold of you (celibacy being one of them) -
it's the immobility that holds sway -
you're tongue tied more than Kentucky's
knuckle express against Virginia - also a woman's name -
see a therapist, a *******, your chances of feeling jealousy
feeds the atypical woman's libido - that's how i see feeling
jealousy, feed the ultimate resentment of woman,
see a *******, i swear to god,
you won't feel resentment because of a woman
in a dating culture, ever more...
oh forget the perfect photograph snappers -
they're solid material waiting to fail...
i mean, see a *******, learn to love
that way, learn to not be jealous -
once you treat her as a girlfriend
you won't treat your girlfriends like ******...
ha... oddly enough: you'll let them
walk away, into the great unknown,
and, subsequently, you'll feel less angry
after having masturbated and having said:
well, wanking myself feels better than ******* her;
if you're not a Jew, you'd agree,
you have two choices,
the sleeve of skin pulled up during
******* with a woman, and the sleeve
pulled down to exhale all mental irritation
you can't share with a woman.
yep, i'm variation prone to excuse
the passing down of knowledge with " "
brackets, and simply saying:
             well, sorta, approximately so,
e.g. " ~eloquent, and English is fertile
ground to say: Burgundy-red, flirting
with lost Saxon - hence hyphen -,
              and the approx. kindred tilde:
which is classified with ensuring ditto
is translated into )                and (     -
i.e. bracket, well... if such a profanity took place,
that dittoing was known as bracketing -
then the hyphen had to resort to availing
the compound usage, and, to unique words,
gave the pass of Thesaurus saying: ambiguity!
ambiguity and not past judgement being preserved.
parenthesis - parent thesis, male, a ***** donor -
then colour-red: red coloured -
                    but what orthodoxy of mathematics
would have said in terms of punctuation -
and what was't said:        never a punctuation
inquiry, should this appear ~
                                     unless prefixed to a word
to replace dittoing out, or passing on the genes,
but simply: ambiguity, language inclusive of
the knowledge of a Thesaurus -
              e.g. it doesn't matter what you ~know...
v. all that matters is ~who you know...
thus stated: well, knowledge versus many contacts,
you don't know anything, and the people you
think you know, you really don't either.
but the process is so miniature in terms of worth
that it's surprising that i'm making it...
my best guess is that people are really bored
of each other - which is why i'm making these
pedantic gestures that will have no chance of
generating improvement of using the liberated medium
that once solely belonged to priests and politicians;
it's ****** ridiculous making these points,
most of the books read by the majority of people
are written by those who can't spell,
let alone punctuate, or even theorise punctuation
to deviate from orthodoxy - so much for ghost writers;
so said, king pedant, who left the squabbles to
spectacle-donning-bow-tie-Marxist-allusion.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2020
Imagine good enough for once
and all we do may do good.

Corny, Provencial, San Juaquin,

come waltz with me,
my tilde, leave us oll rrroling rrs

all ye all ye outs in free, we are only one century

out of tune.

And we found a rready wrrited rreason to say

a used key is always bright.

Freedom of the press, is an abstraction frrom
freedom, per se, being in need of rights,
authoritatively apprrius osity curio

those be noise, not functing scipots, bags of wind.

we are the words that fit the pattern to the card,
for Mon Jacquard, once a soldier,
trained in close order drill,
a thread from there,

gives us software. The fruit of the sci sent to
Mon Jacquard,

words taught his fingers to fight.
There is a right fight.

It is nobody's war. Nobody fights it for you.

Come, let us imagine making peace in a cup,
until it spills,

and coats the world like Sherrwinn Williams.
Joy in musing may be shared or some such moral is in the whole story, I'm told.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
between: stature... and...
statehood....
no...

between stature
and...
honey-pigglet-movie-aside...
your teenager sons
and daughters...
you... "lucky".. so-and-so...

wait till your children
are incompetent-competent
automatons of:
expressing free will...
you want agency
i'll give you agency!

******* mother goose riddle:
(w)rap up!
old song of Norse....
i can't... i wan't..
i can't escape 'em....

h'aamerica: the white...
of Dover...
count the teeth...
                    cliffs!
               i want to wait some more...
i'm waiting...
and... i'm waiting...
waiting... waiting so more...
a fine Lamborghini ***
of Aztec pride...
****!
         attempting to clap
while holding a bagel in the clarity
of the ave maria
being: ushered in...
      
she has an ***... like...
what's not to love about, leather?
tight knitting... and knotting...
******' bonanza of secrets....
  
roxette's joyride...
or... sheryl crow's maybe angels...
******* ms. free-girl...
i'm cheap ****...
i'm cheap dolphin escapade...
whitey-doubling-on-meat...
to hell with h'america...
burn ***** burn...

it's not Vietnam...
but sure as **** there's all this... leftover
of guerilla warfare....
and a stale... coca-cola...
******* too... mrs. perfect...
              come nearest come
agent...                 H'orange...
whistle some: choo-choo while you're at it!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
well, sure, i'm a loser,
i was once strapped to a park
bench, approached
by an elder pakistani,
and he was bewildered
as to why i was alone...

   could answer him,
he started squinting,
so i moved my big 'ed
to block the sun,
that didn't do much,
as i once stated:

the feeling of conversation,
soon... turned into
a feeling of conversion...
he brought out his
digital qu'ran
as if expecting
me to numb-**** the way
out of the scenario
with intense feelings
of needs to: search for
the Hajj...

so i pointed to the qu'run
(ever watch an arab
buckle...
  tell him to insert
an apostrophe...
****** will buckle...
  the B: so ******* glottal...
buckle timothy (tim) i call 'im,
never got around to slacking
off on the cockney slur)
what does this mean:

alif, lam, meem

the old pakistani elder simply
replied: only god knows...
i said: jack-****,
thinking to myself...
you know those are...
the nouns to replicate
graphemes,
     but are actually letters?
A, L, M?
later: please, someone,
just get the rabbis onto this...
release the hounds...
i'm done at being
converted...
a simple beer in the park,
being approached by
some pakistani elder...
me wishing him "good riddle"
and then using my body,
that translated into a shadow,
to block out the fun
glaring at his face wasn't enough...
o.k. "god knows"...

the latin phonetic encoding
is ****...
   oh it's ****...
it gets ***** via the O,
the P, the R, the Q, the D, B...
there's no "hole" to be
filled...
semitic writing, whether hebrew
or arab?
    no "concept" of
an... encricling... of omicron...
just: horde mentality,
moving forward...
to a never-neverland...

so yeah, i am a loser...
   or a loß-er...
          and sometimes...
the latin phonetic encoding script...
if you forget the freedom
of speech *******...
can reveal...
       puncture wounds,
which you, subsequently fill,
having noticed them...

         timing:
                 what's the difference
between a hyphen & an apostrophe?
     ah...
        pedantry pedantry,
the sort of pedantry that would
a rich man to employ a butler...

a knees'-up...
  
              just because
circumcision takes avenue in
a hidden, place...
        doesn't imply that
it will not affect the Σ....
which is the new norm...
to shatter what became
19th century psychoanalytical
"garbage",
  or the late 20th century's
focus on "ego"...
   to me: Σ...
   you don't think that
a man's ontological framework
doesn't become...
dissonant... when he has
become circumcised?

  (Σ, total, it's an elevated
variant of the grapheme concept...
since... well...
we're living down to
topple every single letter
with ah: A: alpha-male
       b'eh: B: beta-male...)

but this experience, just, felt...
(here's the american beauty
comparison, sample)

         spec-tac-ular
which is different,
to whatever academic alien
alphabet this: /spɛkˈtakjʊlə/
refers to...

   talk to a bilingual...
we'll talk short-cuts to...
like i said: whatever alien
******* that is...
  
  ******* neo-copernican...
  ʊ       ə
upside-down greek...
                  and latin...

or you could send a drunk in
with a modest education
belt...
    learned chemistry:
forgot aikido:
  after the sensei was away,
one of his students:
kicked me in the *******
and left me in a foetal
position, counting:
oh i'm pretty sure it was
more than just a Welsh
"thing" and prancing sheep...

compensation?
back then... what was it...
2000, 2001...
that wasn't an over-used
term...
  esp. not in an applied sense...

you know,
you can really revise
that american beauty quote,
of a single word...
you can hyper-"inflate"
the timing...

sp'ec-tac-úlar (exhibit a)
   (****, no S with tilde...
   so no agitated serpent
imagery)
   s'pec-tac-u'l'ār (exhibit b)

or the "******" version:
   sssssssssspec
                     taaaac
     uuuuuuuuular...

but hey, who's keeping rhythm,
or count,
  or spelling, intact...

point being: i made a mistake
within the confines of
exhibit a...
                yeah...
the apostrophe
   should have come at the crux
of the s'
                     and not include
the p to make the invalid
syllable scalpel cut of     sp',
but u'l'ār
        is, "true"...
            
   well...
               if only i painted...
you could look at a painting,
passively,
and walk away,
saying to your date:
  eh... some variant of ronin
geometry...
  but with writing...
it's like:
   someone made a conscious
effort...
  ****...
this better make sense...

point being...
how do you introduce
the concept of orthography,
to a language,
that... simply...
rejects it?

   it was quasi attempted
when the english found out that
the best chemists were
german...
   and an english speaker
knows how... complex a german
word can be...
   hence?
            the hyphen (-)
   e.g. hydroxychloroquine...
   yeah... syllables...
cascade...
             hydroxy-chloroquine...
strain on the english eyes...

   but that's a big word...
little words, nuances...
you could replace the hyphen
with an apostrophe...

           hi'yah...
not: kiai ***. for stance prior
attack
...
     try lodging
an apostrophe
   into           hello...
    h'             el'           'low...

it's almost like i'm...
filling in for some sort of short-comings...
well...
chinese phonetic encoding
is pretty decent,
that part of me that admires
Ezra Pound...

            but then...
decoding from how chinese
is encoded,
   and hearing it?
    all that effort...
translated into a latin script
and it comes out as

   水: water: shoo'e.
               (shuǐ)

   un-spec-tac-cu-lar.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
mind you, ancient egypt has infiltrated modern languge with the digital age... whatever you want to call them, acronyms or emoticons or emoji... whatever... they're the same as ancient egyptian hieroglyphs to me... please tell me that :) isn't a modern hieroglyph; sometimes i'm really & desperately searching for a modern rosetta stone.

trying to introduce diacritical marks
to english is probably
as hard as trying to push a whale
through a man's ****...
   (camel & the needle counter)
   saying that,
              introducing the german
ß into english?
two words: systematisation vs.
         systemize            
                 so much shorter when
the grapheme (ß) is used
                           in either example...
trickier when you look
at the devolved trill of the R
in both hark (french)
   and anaesthetic numb (english),
sure, the former goes well
with the cigarettes,
   and the latter?
                        general apathy
of the british public...
   apathy, hidden emotion,
  acting, a numbing experience
      with regards to a hope for trust.
saying that, i have found not
diacritical application onto
the R... unlike the spanish N (tilde)...
i had to go to russia,
  and find something
             that might resemble
a diacritical mark, indicating
  a requirement of *trill
...
     i came back, successfully...
  indicator of a trill in R?
       яobot.... яow...      
                    яed...
   the english are like the japanese,
although the japanese
    pronounce:
               R = L
while the english pronounce:
                                  R ≈ W...
       (e.g. row   and w'ohw)^
obviously the latter example
is more subtle than the former
example... as noted by
                    the conjunction sign,
why я to imply a trill?

                           |/ Я
                     O
            R
                                        rotation
   and then, invoking a mirror ( |/ ),
     for the chiral representation.

^ i'm not learning the silly linguistic
   alphabet... the americans already
   simplified it, by using "the left hand of god",
   (yes, hebrew is written from right
    to left, which makes it easier
    for someone who's left handed) -
    how? the H...
    look at these two linguistic notations
    hope, the english  /həʊp/  
   and the american           [hohp]...
   i'm not learning this silly notation system:
an area of study, conjured out
of thin-air,
                      or, given examples
such as                  ə                 ʊ
   in terms of copernicus?
                     would that be grammacentric?
     or              homocentric?
               comparatively?
  grammacentric = heliocentric
    (that life revolves around words) -
                      or?
   homocentric = geocentric
           (that words revolve around life)...
right about now, the two seem
  hardly distinguishable...
                        well... at least a galileo
wouldn't have to worry about
a vatican censorship...
               since in this dimension,
   the "vatican" is mob rule...
  or as i like to call it:
                   a crowd of klein führers.
Lauren Dec 2018
If there was a tilde wave and you had a surfboard, I still think you would die.
And if you didn't die you would sail past bodies and *******. and weird things like vacuum hoses and cafe menus would float by, and I think that would make you feel sick.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
/enlgish: a playground... mind you... who wouldn't want to see so much more of boris brejcha sampling old disney movies? the ori-, the original thought... ah! when does the mea culpa mantra elevate itself from succumbing to a solipsism? mea culpa? i thought that was autistic, solipsistic *******... kicking the can down the road sort of, *******... ever wonder why the original disney cartoons were so, macabre? apparently in england it's all ******* squiggly clean... king Xerxes started to whip the Aegean Sea (again): Helen! come back! come back! i never liked the credo, nor the mea culpa mantra... it appeared, that no one existed, who could be blamed, and i was bound to resort to, blaming myself, masochistically... enter logic: only i exist, no one else exists! that's what the mea culpa mantra equated itself to... early black & white Disney... cutting edge... the guillotine cartoons... hello! autistic christian world! mea culpa my ***... the ******* donkey could vouch: and i speeded up, because the holy prophet whipped me into a gallop! mea culpa... mea culpa... my own fault... ergo, no one else exists!

this will have to be the funniest petition
ever...
    for one, it's impossible,
but secondary to that impossible
is the reaction to the blatant introduction
of "hieroglyphics" into
a modern language...
      that's ******* troubling,
    ancient egypt is staging a resugrence
within english, among other languages...
i can't let that happen...
   what with emoticons
     acronyms and emoji whatever
the ******* want to call them?
             that's hieroglyphic spreschen,
hot air balloons, zombie heads,
   voids and more voids, inside one giant
void of: the black hole explains everything...
yeah! it does... ever play the PS1 tomb raider?
ever become fascinated about
those two dimensional ferns and bushes
in a three dimensional space?
            rotating like a tasmanian devil?
that's a black hole...
            a two dimensional object in a three
dimensional space...
     who says i'm wrong? who says i'm right?
you have empirical proof to say i'm wrong?
anyway, this will be almost impossible,
fair game for introducing the german
   diacritical distinction into english,
the es-und-zed (ß), when there's ambiguity
concerning the spelling of (variance)
  systematisation     vs.          systematize
hey presto!                
                                       ß,
    zaire                                               sire.
now that's the easy part, the difficult bit?
  no one spotted the lack of diacritical necessity
with regards to the letter R.
                 none!
you can have the squiggly on the N in spanish
as in a tilde: Ñ....
                    invoking a juggling act of
                          ι + . . . = ñ        (j)
                    **** me, a clown juggling...
but exposing a trill on the R, when a language
has devolved from applying it,
other than harking phlegm while smoking
in paris, or making vampire movies?
  the tilde isn't even near the trill representation...
i had to go to russia to think something
up, to fill the vacuum... w'eh hey! found it!
      яobot,
                 yes yes, i know, the russians
state я as ya... whatever...
      to me, the lack of diacritical application
to the R has this solution...
      it's not an R with dentistry's anaesthetic
so you slobber... it's harsh, poignant,
self-evident... let's call this:
     reinventing the wheel, well, it's not
so much rolling, as rattle-snake against
the palatine raphe...
                 pneumatic-drill of a letter...
a complete drum-kit...
   but since there was no diacritical markings
with either liberal (theoretical)
   or orthodox (applicable) usage:
   no, i will not learn the silly linguistic
alphabet...
                 all the americans did was
insert god's right hand into the matter...
    a... wait for this...     a                        H...
that's all they did!
         my my, what a ******* improvement
from /ˈpɑːdən/  to [pahr-dn],
  if this could be art,
   i'd call one: cubism,
                     and the other post-cubism...

but english is the current version
of the wild west...
      diacritical markers can come in...
"reign" from above,
   and sieve from down below...
it's a barren land,
compared to the already existing
european languages...
            e.g.?
                         łąka - field
woe-k'ah...
but that's a primitive phonetic
association,
given the original canvas of
the used tongue,
used only two diacritical markers...
hovering, like u.f.o.s
above            ι        and        ȷ....
     you want the dead hydra,
don't you?
        why not... embark upon
the aesthetic of...
   citing:             ȷump!
                rather than jump...
or...                        ιdea!
                      ­         rather than idea?
all ιt takes ιs allowιng the people
to guιllotιne two heads, no?
          look! hey presto!
                an alιgnment!
   because why wouldn't you?
there's no caron above an S...
            to hide an H... in šeep...
          there's no caron above a C
to also hide an H... in čatter...
so... why bother with the poιntless
     twιn "halo" hoverιng above
            ιdea and ȷustιfιed resonance?
two dots...
                   .                     .
                   ι                     ȷ
                       you don't need them!
curves rather than curses:
     look at that!
                                                    ȷ
     ­                                            ι
almost makes a... U! yew yew?
                    no... upsιlon: up-sιgh-alone...

hell, people wanted a hyper-"ιnflated"
lιterate world, "order"...
      graffιtι dιdn't do ιt for me...
nor dιd the meme culture...
                       ιt was only a two headed
hydra to begιn wιth...
                              hardly a
   ghídorah (well yeah, sιnce the H
ιs sιlent, "hιdden", but ιn plaιn sιght...
there has to be an acute attaché to the ιota,
and yes, that H at the end?
ιt's a vowel-catcher... equιvalent of a,
sιgh)...
                                 you try intruducing
diacritical marks into english,
things become, "sketchy"...
  e.g. when = łen...
                            woman = łuman...
              the tetragrammaton ȷust
keeps probιng...
          hell... let's go as far as:
sz  (ш)                     szcz (щ)
   sh  (ш)                shch (щ)

e.g.?
                     щэкa - a dog, barks...
    щыптa - pinch - of... сoли
                                                    (salt)..­.

        шэпт ( szept /                whisper)...

in all honesty?
   english is the ugliest language in known
history, when diacritical markers
are applied,
and the language is translated from
a pedagogical convention of spelling,
its rubric...
   of: the eyes see what the ears
will hear, but cannot converse with...

introducing a diacritical critique
to the english language?
            it's ugly... it's like frankenstein's
monster actually found himself
a girlfriend after all...
   i haven't heard of the phenomenon
of dyslexia outside of the english
language,
perhaps i might have found it in fwench...
i doubt i would find it as
"pop" in deutsche...
    given... the saxons were behind...
keeping chemical names
in strict accordance to the usual:
complex compound noun structure
of modern german...

eh... norman davies, the historian,
could have claimed poland
was god's "playground"...
    to me?
                the english language is
a "playground" worthily ripe,
                                      for, plucking.
Lily Apr 10
A is for Abigail, who shared with you a kindergarten trauma and
then forgot who you were in eighth grade, like Belinda, who
left without a word one sunday morning after mass, C is
Catalina, your best friend’s ex-best friend, who went
with you to Daana’s book launch in texas, and
Enrique, who you planned to room with in college but you hear from friends
crashed his car into a tree and joined the saints, but Flores had
another kid and his man bun is
slicker than ever and Gumaro, who you helped teach
english in fourth grade is still
hitting the gym beside Hiris, even as she
works at la perla full time and overtime, beside Isabella who
no white girl would talk to in middle school because they said she
smelled like dirt, or Juliana, punching
numbers into a cash register at the dollar general thinking
of falling in love with Kruz who made a
perfect vanilla cupcake candle in home ec but couldn’t
cook steak to save his life.  
Lucio remembers kissing you on the mouth in the church
nursery but he is now engaged to a white girl you’ve
never met, and he remembers a particular
messy Maria who would draw like her life
depended on it, and a Nadia who would cry in english 11
because her parents couldn’t help her with the homework
but still kiss him after her soccer games, who no longer
bothers to call Olivia, even though they were teammates for
a decade and now she works at her own sports shop with
a daughter who could have gone pro if only.
Profe, who was a migrant “helper” at your elementary school,
laughs at it all, remembering yelling at parents in spanglish,
although you heard her husband yelling at her on the phone at lunch,
laughing when Quito broke one of the chairs that the school bought with
its 4 million dollar bond that drained money and morale, who went
out with Romani and started a band in seventh grade that took
longer than usual to fizzle out, and the bullying stopped for a while, though
Sergio would never forget how it felt to bend down for hours with
bad black bruises up his back, wouldn’t ever stop
reliving every labored breath spent both here and there.  
And Thalia couldn’t even make a living, recalling almost
forgotten days of swingsets and slurping
pelon pelo rico tamarindo under the orange tube slide.  
Her ex-husband Umberto everybody but the feds
forgot about, and V is for Victor, the high school goalie who had to quit because he
strained his wrists in the fields, like Wanita, who is trying to raise
money for her second hip replacement, like father Xavier, who carves statues of
woodland creatures for the children he could never have, and
Yesenia, who sewed and sewed until her fingers curled and her
forehead wrinkled beyond repair, and she tells you that Zaida, who made the
best tamales in town, is now gone to the saints, and no longer
fears anything, even the government and their obsession with
small white slips of paper.

So much in a name, in a hyphen, in a tilde, but no, it
should be under V—“virgulilla,” and their names should be
written in your address book but instead
they’re in a list at some office in
the States underneath “undocumented” and “illegal.”
After John Keene’s ‘Phone Book,’ Dec 2021

hey y'all, it's been a while.  I'm trying to come back from hiatus and get back into writing and also to use my voice for bigger things.  I hope you like this poem and that it makes you think :)
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
I'm not a poet... just a blah-blah machine... intellectual stuttering does involve: searching for... the best choice of words: which do not necessarily add, toward a nomination of intellectual girth... delayed stature... a Pole, like Jew, is more himself in exile, than with a stubborn claim of "origin", or rather, past... a people who have truly understood themselves, among themselves, are the ones without a heritage of a land... which is an ultra-form of democracy: the people have already spoken... the people, having no obligation for: a people... have no necessity for: a land... the Germans are infants in this line of argument, given: der VOLK... 2nd nomadic participation of a secularised people are the Poles... least because the most vocal among the throng of Lithuanians, Estonians and Latvians... grind teeth and say Crimea is not Ukrainian... where land and people are synonymous, in development.

it's sometimes hard to envision the democratised voice as not being either: too personally "impractical", or too "impersonally" practical; of which, politicians fall into the latter category... hence democrscy's shadow dictator, known as the status quo... mind you... even Sisyphus wasn't allocated the task of moving an unmoveable stone... that being said, i feel no need to bask in some intellectual tectonic shift observation, as this is, quite simply, the most unnecessary allocation of words that, needless to say, are said, without encompassing a motivation for any subsequent dynamo expression... lazily rolling a cigarette as precursor, and... a serpentine of rattling skeletons like playing a magician's, xylophone.

       a cold shot of 100ml of żołądkowa gorzka, followed by a rolled sweet Virginia tobacco cigarette... and a walk in a park... high spring scents... and that perfect companion readied for mirror and introversion: there are two, shadow at my most nihilistic, and "loneliness"... at my zenith, which is a gratitude, resembling the closest excavation of the truth bound to carpe diem: a sunset... was it ever going to be a day worth
completing?

     the conundrum of a stiff 5am wake up call,
   some would call it, a stretch of the imagination
to craft a pivot on, that might realise a continuum...
    closer to the heart an empty stomach,
than a claustrophobic mind...
    for once in my life I imagine people
who find thinking unbearable,
   trying to measure their ails in the ethereal,
dissecting the mind entwined with
the soul, or what some would argue is
the sigma of the mechanisation of
the body... nibbling at love from
the unconscious rhythm of the heart,
prodding at desynchronised patterns,
aches of loving bound to
a scaffold without an executioner:
other than oneself...
      perpetually seeking a biography
spanning but two weeks,
    of Nabokov's counter-lollipop-16
frizz in goosebumps...
     my... am I so sterile as to dream-up
a cougar on a leash?!
                 porcelain beauty
before the altar of a bull and
the infuriating moorish -sculinity...
porcelain youth,
    hybrid came the minotaur...
somehow archetypes are stiff
as the introduction of the god
Solipssus into the parthenon...

   un-*******-believable:
    Fraiser's concept of self
some greenish 'reesh 'nome -
  can we do away with the surd letters?
there aren't that many after all,
given the english are famously
tingue-numb vowel impersonating
consonant "grievers' wounds"...
        'ockney 'acking 'ockney,
and some dame off her frrrrr'ah
  ick'ing         'ockers!
       hmm.... súm!
     anything to get past
old riveriera, *** Sinatra...  
   *** martini super dry with
a dupper-uber wet:
    snout of a mole in the caverns of
finding false teeth and
dangling ding-**** virginity...

in a brothel 'ardly the cherry picker...
if you've never been...
   you've never been,
                  and s much can be said
about that...
       what do you call an Arabian
leech?
        a minor European with a taste
for Bulgarian seconds...
   but of course, that white....
  dress is because we all took to
replica monogamy of certain animals
seriously...
          but that weight of
a ring finger,
     has me itching for the down-trodden
being mawled in my mouth
to later constitute pet food,
   almost seems familiar,
but not quiet,
    came those seeking fire and
were vigour prone,
came the necromancer and
tried to raise the dead,
before the living priesthood
began talking with the lead tongue
of mammon...

     the ones who do not monetary
authenticity in the following coins:
a pence, a two pence, ten, twenty,
fifty... perhaps a quid...
     a snippet of royal metal...
   why wham! and not aha!
                               ?
too much, eureka connotations?
bewildering, like 500ml bottle of *****
in Poland, and 25ml "shots" in England...
**** first of puke blood prior to
taking a ****?
        dunno! hence the tycoon
bonanza!
   a bit like asking a pirate parrot
for a quote only by pulling out
one of its feathers... to get the...
    mechanical parts: geared up to
Cucklington.... and that is by no means
a place i can associate, either drunk,
or sober.

   how the hell do people even find
the diem or the motive behind it,
to craft the sort of "1 + 1 = 2"
   momentum, that becomes carpe diem?!
I heard some say (well, I thought it
through):
     dzień ma zbyt wield małych "trosk" - - - - -
(wyroków by zważać na innych...
       tzn. rz pirdole skolną
    ortografie bez autobiograficznego
  zaparcia na: NEIN!
  szambo szfedzkie...
     wiwat!
                 F to finał...
  nad machaną rę(n)ką...
   czyli, tyczy to:
       wodą... e e e! goń ty sam
zza gównem...
                 pierdolonym Soviet
ma tylko bjet...
     bjet... ubogi nasz pan...
       twinie!
                     maciuk jet harciuk!
ble na nowo (Ь)
     i ble na start (Ъ)
                       to mi... kurwa... nowina!
- - - - - - - - - - - -
   (I lost the sense of paragraph
and punctuation)
       the world already knows
of those who shoved carpe diem
down the ***** of public figures,
and lived out
the motto of: carpe tutti...

  better english with none,
than Russian with.... pseudo
impressionism of diacritical marks
beside the geometrical
revisionists of the blank canvas...
    thing...
        nice post-Greek lettering,
shame about
the lack of... finesse...
           when teasing the third tier
of lieracy,
   spelling, grammar ****,
     punctuation, breathing ****,
and diacritical distinction:
**** thappy toad zee gwafrifrifritee!
B7LVARK...

         there is nothing grammatical
about spelling...
             there is simply an aesthetic
involved...
          an "orthography"...
minus the "grammar" Nazis comes...
   the people that say:
   I really don't see why literacy is a
necessary benchmark of education
for the sort of jobs,
    that really require nothing more
than consumer supervision of:
the minimum literacy of
reading advertisements...
         what else?
    if people are sour about an aesthetic
of the written word...
without concern for punctuation...
let alone diacritical application...

PEOPLE ARE SEMI-LITERATE...
     if grammar "nazis" exist,
then people are semi-literate...
   they equate thinking with speaking...
and then file "complaints"...
   as to how their thinking
diverges from speaking
because of sophistry,
    and how talking doesn't integrate
itself back into thinking
because of philosophy.

filozofia: zapał, i - las ~ zapałek.

I've seen carpe diem exhausted
on the shoulders of the routines
of retirees;
    better the life akin to the thrills
of a doormouse,
  or an intellectual,
than some, mythical Taj Mahal of
orgams, reduced,
   into a pale lighthouse insignia
of violent purple, namely black,
masquerading white,
in a sober, en masse, funeral yawn
grey.

   this can only become a "difficult"
reading, something that always seems
to excavate: primo uno...
     and nein auf omega...
   not as an insult this... "thing"
concerning a semi-literate people,
just concerning the people:
who have been taught to read
in order to "read enough"...
   and how much of that is focused
on punctuation?

       tilde contra macron.
just an idea of fathoming pause,
and the comma, ' from above...
     e.g.
                  czas ~ na mosty
   sound slightly different to
    czas - na mosty...

       in no defence and with no concern
for a rubric of populism,
   the half-forgotten:
  neue-punctuation: Saß...
              given the Oxford compound
of the attempt to break (-) away from
using shrapnel...

hence by "arrogant" claim concerning
the literacy of the genral populace...
these come as minor observations with
minor impetus being guaranteed
of populist dent...
          flimsy ******* gay
oops-e-daisy patchwork Adams sort
of reminders to begin a tomorrow
as brimming on: "resolve"...
   and above all: impetus!

      the men should join the army...
Bratislava quarter limbed voters
and the crab eating fetish
reaching its penultimate lap...
for some reason,
I haven't been given the Darwinian
drive,
   somehow lost with
the remainder of my inheritance,
ha ha! slumped into
a canvas remindful of a:
cinemagoers' jerking off screenplay.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2017
just imagine the complication of writing e ≈ m c(squared); there's also the hyphen, the tilde and... the similar, encompassed by the ~ (-)...
1 + 1 = 2 / 1 + 1 ≡ 3... pata-physics (dr. faustroll)... let's just call it: ******* around, because the logic palette of talk became stale.

akin to the summary of articles,
  a-, without, or the indefinite,
   and -the-      /           θ,
there's
   the case of singularity (being)
  and there's the case of
         plurality (y through to inkling,
through to inklings...
   that deceptive form of collectivism),
             common to some in
an einstein-heiddeger compound of
space-time....
      is being = time, being = space,
    or is being ≈ time, being ≈ space?
  this is becoming a rosetta stone
investigation...
      hieroglyphic-mode...
         thereby there is no *can
...
there's only will...
               space-time also states
the being-of-beings...
                 the consolidation "prize"
worthy, in summary, to a sigma...
          it's the individual within
individualism within the plural
                     within the inactive
individual cocerned with pluralism.
          goat, goat, goat...
   goat eats a newspaper, goat grows no wiser,
goat eats a newspaper, nonetheless.
the definite article gives clue to
      a singular indivi- -oval...
  the indefinite article gives clue to
the collective non-indivi- -orient- -ation.
atheism needs scissors:
  a-                    and     -the-
             otherwise in latin -a-    &   -f-...
othertwise in greek    -α-   &    
                                                   -θ/φ-...
lessened? sure, less than any less could be,
  or cue toward: what could become;
              never within a reach of being,
   whether past or future, or that "supposed"
   to be, that rested upon the skakespearean
question, answered: to not be.
Xxvi+ marriage  anniversary (mine)
recalls first disastrous
date with future missus
approximately waltzing
matt tilde two dozen
plus years ago

Tex Mex Connection
201 E Walnut Street
North Wales, Pennsylvania, 19454
every entree included beans
maybe refried or otherwise

effectively laid siege
mine delicate constitution
quickly felt bloated
ready to explode
ala Hindenburg Airship

rushed out restaurant
like bat out of hell
twofold purpose accomplished
desperately needed
to eliminate gaseous buildup

airing banal courtesy
yours truly as kapellmeister
aired rendition, viz Die Fledermaus
for sphincter muscle
hence, faster than Usain Bolt

dashed out front door
plus needed to tap MAC
inadequate wallet stash cash
thus, aye hightailed to nearest ATM,
or rather courtesy ****** explosion

blasted lovely gaseous body
analogously, effectively, gravity free
whizzing, whirring, whining balloon
a bit far afield
incidental bank woe

gastrointestinal directive resolved
forced effort taxed derriere
all told alight propulsion
natural gas fueled
lovely bones within flash

far surpassing long held
Guinness Book world's record
******* the ripper former
flatulence champion claimed,
nonetheless I safely landed far

from madding crowd
analogous pulling pin
out hand grenade
gluteus maximus burnt to crisp
necessitated immediate diversion

local drug store
purchased preparation H
discreetly patted, palmed, pacified
scorched cheeky ***
suffered first-degree burns

hemorrhoid cream balm
alleviated buttuck blasts fallout
quickly reunited with my gal
slightly concerned about whereabouts
related personal anecdote

tuckus thru remains of
otherwise humdrum hours
concluding asinine antics,
where approximately

half past monkey's ***
driving lass back home
found me exerting effort suppressing
recurring rumblies in domain tumbly.

Posterior script:
the above account
unsolicited plug for satisfied patron
asper jumpstarting behind the times
buttuck blaster beastie boy.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
you want to know the difference between
a poet, and a schizophrenic?
well... apart from the fiction prose oasis
& the desert of "hopes"...
       the poet engages with a recognition
of showcasing personnas...
a schizophrenic? he can't help "hearing"
the symptom of "voices", personnas...
and that's what's tragic...
      there's no pentagram equilibrium,
there's no sensual differentiation in
a schizophrenic...
   if at least their did make schizophrenia
a political term / excuse,
scapegoat... we might peer into actual
alzheimer's disease...
           i know i have personnas, i know
that i have certain narratives, and quake
in the realm of personification...
i am a miser version of an actor...
i'm a poet, someone who is the in lowest
tier of writing systematically,
namely? if the fictive narrative invokes
the puppeteer, and the shakespeare
the narrative limitation invoking a tirade
of characters...
             then poetry is truly akin
to the philosophical monologue of
the schizoid narrator...
            because? to be frank? not many people
can interact with themselves for so long
without asking a replenishing question
via a 2nd party...
      that's why i like my pet peeve,
my pet that's neither cat, nor dog, nor a rat
in a maze...
        i like the potential of schizophrenics
in guiding the theory, of the least potential sources
of improvement of physical symptoms;
schizophrenia? dementia in free-fall...
******* bungee jumping...
    premature dementia, **** me,
what a gold mine...
             i still have to stress the "fact"
that i'm reading heidegger, following up on kant,
and at the same time acting "schizophrenic"...
i'm just wondering how long the acting
will keep me being "paid"...
     i remember doing a year 2 university
course in sociology at edinburgh university
with plagiarism systems in place...
what did i do? i plagiarised, used the thesaurus,
passed the sociology course? yep: with a 1st.
i was testing the "plagiarism" system:
evidently it failed, since i got a 1st, and all
i did was use a thesaurus... oops.
    well... **** happens...
   sometimes come the anti-architects of
cyber-sphere, and look what happens,
a person gets a 1st in a sociological essay,
having plagiarised an essay
  using nothing more than... a ******* thesaurus...
ha ha!
          plagiarism? it's an art:
you actually have to learn how to plagiarise,
to actually plagiarise; odd, isn't it?
but i know that i put on personnas from
time to time...
   i'm immune to the schizophrenic symptom
of not being able to control personnas...
the aimed at knowledge of putting
on personnas from time to time is lost
in schizophrenia...
   why?
       it's "senses", i.e. "hearing" voices...
i call schizophrenics wide-awake sleeping poets...
i have personnas, schizophrenics
have "voices"...
        schizophrenics are poets in the slouching
awakening of the function...
a personna? visually? it's like any mode
of acting... putting on a mask...
that's what's fascinating about schizophrenia:
this pathological dualism is too artistic
to be demanded as the precursor of
a demented, ageing mind, being extinguished...
hence the schizophrenic ingenuity,
a child reinvented, esp. due to the incursion
in late puberty... the child-child construct...
man? his own.
          i will tell you once again:
i know i have personnas...
          i experience drifts from myself into
a persona, for i have tested this drift with an active
ingredient, alcohol, and i know alcohol is
the most difficult placebo "fake" to ingest...      
it just takes walking down a straight line...
pretty ******* hard to miss faking ingesting it...
schizophrenia is a sleeping poetics...
    even though it will not exactly suggest
that the schizophrenic is a budding poet...
   but the dynamic is symbiotically-chiral in
how it can be best explained...
        i know my personnas in that i know
when i write as them...
a schizophrenic? he doesn't experience personnas
as i might...
      he infiltrates this abstract with
"hearing": hence the by-product, symptom?
                "voices";
it's not exactly a down-trodding of would-be
shakespeare hopefuls,
  but if i can attest to acting in the poetic (cognitive)
realm with personna(s)...
   i can only attest that i am mono-phrenic,
vector form...
                 going from (a) to (b)...
  the schizophrenic?
   well... going from (~a) to (~b)
                                   via the symptom of (c);

i ****** well hope i sound genuine in
my interest in this psychiatric condition...
in that? i hope i can overly visualise the symptom,
to alleviate the non-visualisation
of what could be worth an x-ray's worth
of creating a gram of ease...

after all... my ex girlfriend call me while
i was busy doing a roof on a construction site,
panicking, telling me: i'm hearing voices!

just ends up a piece of writing,
while listening to static x's cannibal.

____
i'll listen to your byzantine chants,
i will,
and i will: gladly...
i'll even pour hot wax into
my hands,
and say:
of those born from dirt,
i call unto you,
to claim being also born from
wax!
blood cult....
how much difference is
there, peering into
a candle-flame,
than what Thor,
becoming Prometheus came....
bringing down
lightning,
in the variant of fire via
                electricity!
i will listen to your byzantine chants...
and i will also add...
"inner" and "outer" beauty,
and the socratic warning...
he said, didn't he?
'it doesn't whether i'm
beautiful, or whether i'm ugly...
i hope my personality lifts me up.'
did it?
      em... last time i heard...
he was poisoned publically!
fated with such horrors of the natural
world...
  not wonder, then,
that people look up to
the aesthetically pleasing!

         wasn't it a psychiatrist that tried
to insert a memory regression
into me?
         i was.... abused as a child?
yeah... i was...
i taught myself how to *******
aged 8, finding a pornographic
magazine... in the catacombs
of a newly built church...
    and conrad's mother...
who pushed me into a gaping
black hole of a well...
       too many people have tried
to **** me, i'm bored of waiting
for death...

            but these minor, "instances",
attempts, at my life?
they bore me...
       i am only thinking
about griding the people
     associated,
their bones, into dust...
     what's worse though...
a psychiatrist would dare, dare!
to implant false memories into
my mind!
sure, my grandfather was
an alcoholic, he has now succumbed
to critical dementia,
he still buys me cigarettes...
he was the one who bought
me a book collection,
spanning aristotle through
to kołakowski...

               in the realm of the 5P's:
poets, philosophers,
               priests, prostitutes,
psychiatrists...
    i'd trust only the prostitutes...

         this, is, england,
                         i'm only a schizophrenic,
because, i'm also bilingual...
                            and what's the difference
between someone who's schizophrenic
and someone who's bilingual?
       em...          the division of having in
"excess" a second language?
            why wouldn't i be angry?
i will still listen to byzantine chants...
        Αγνή Παρθένε....
            really?! seriously?!
the greeks / the geeks are attempting
to implement diacritical markers?!
what for?!
                 tell me,
what's the difference between ή and έ?
             eh?!                             Ǝ E?!
the greeks should have never been given
access to the knowledge of diacritical
markers, they over-did-it...
they... exaggerated...
                     what, between the moving
trojan army from rome through
to london,
not picking up the "scents"?
and with the greeks making excessive
demands in the orthographic realm?
and the moving troyans
not implementing, at all?

                       of course anything outside
the comfortable norm, will have to be deemed:
schizoid...
     no arm-chair comforts of an easily
ridicule i.q.,
           i'm not exactly tripping on
l.s.d., but my mind,
is convusling,
perpetually pulverising the status quo...

i hate pandering to the greeks...
         like they "think" they're the new arabs...
what "knowledge" of diacritical
application, prior, to this, observation?
none! even the russians
do not own diacritical orthoraphy!
what's their best, e.g.?
й, yew,
          ё, yew (fake, invention of the 21st
"revisionism")
        oh, look, a grapheme (ч): ch-atter...
   akin to æ...
       hard sign: twardy znak (ъ)...
it can't even be as eloquent as tilde,
upsilon, etc., it has to follow up
on the letter, ******* up the spelling
rubric...
  объект... eh? ob-ject?!
      this some sort of "neu" punctuation?
j "=" y?
                     well then...
                        soft sign: miękki znak (ь)...
so the russian trinity:

        ы
                  ъ        
                 ­             ь

щ? szczypta soli (pinch of salt)

i'd love to see russian memes,
akin to ю (u)       я (ya)
           ты  бюдиед, я, бюдиед -
ю: skew and parabola the rest of "it",
harasho?

                  пeппeр рaппep...

but still no chuckles or jays...
dzin                or                jinn...

          ­                         hey! it's language...
it's bound to, it's actually supposed to,
look, "ugly"...
                          no borders,
                           no concern for the awaiting
testimonies of transcendence...
                these days?
     you safest bet?
              is to join me, in the least
of all the desired expectations...
      i'm not asking for polymaths,
or polyglots...
              just the new threshold...
       two tongues...
                                   at least...
                        and then, at least a phonetic
encoding knowledge of two more.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
i suppose there are variations of this name...
some cite it as of: Turkic origin...
   i'm not going to agree or disagree...

evidently the insertion of the second surd H
was of my own scrutiny...
although it's not necessary...
i don't suppose the first surd H is necessary
either... given that i've employed
a macron on top of the vowel
to make emphasis of elongation...
which the surd H also stresses:

instead of kaa... either way:
a double emphasis...
like... writing something in: italics
after a colon...
the colon is an emphasis as is the italics...
"misnomer"...

... and some ****** ska-punk
with KULT's - brooklyńska rada żydów...
like any ****** might make summary
of: Oh... they left?
what happened to that old saying of theirs
that my grandfather recounted
to me once...
of the 'ebrews living in Poland...

wasze ulice, nasze kamienice...
your streets... our tenements...
i don't suppose...

anyways... enough of that...
no wonder... i'm no duracell bunny...
i can't just get a hard-on
in a company of two...
it's different when i'm completely:
unabashed... solo...
today i checked myself...
not much to look at...
cleavage, some thighs... hair... lips...
hands...
six times i spotted myself
with a proper wedding tackle...
six times i stopped myself from
*******...
so... this thing's on?
it's working...

now i see the bigger... funnier picture...
a few night ago...
after a... draught... "season":
i'm starting to suspect those 3 years
are actually 4 years without being
intimate with a women...

a dysfunction of the *******...
i'm not going to pop some ******* pill...
it's like push-ups...
or the trick the mind plays when
you're cycling up a hill and feed into
those thoughts of giving up...

perhaps i just wasn't that much into her?
perhaps she wasn't that much into me...
upon entering the brothel
she was sitting alone...
the matriarch said there would be more
available in about 20 minutes...
she was sitting alone...
i figured... if this isn't going to be a slap
in the face...
i don't know what will...

i like 'em... older... cougar-esque...
with a full-blossom of hips... stomach...
****... *** and **** like a royals-royce rather than
a sporty Lamborghini...
skin like... well worn leather...
nothing too: cherished and un-tested
akin to a ******...

for an hour i tried...
worked for about ten minutes...
but was i crippled with a sense of shame that would
turn me into a Jack ol' Ripper with
thoughts on revenge...
she was pretty... all that's pretty about
the Romanian countryside...
fake lashes... extravagant nails...
i caressed her... we exchanged some words:

ochi (romanian)... aha... oczy (******):
eyes... lips... ears... eyebrows...
i bit her tenderly to test the waters...
pinched her... suckled a while...
while my hands were already all octopus below
her threshold...
i ****** at my fingers and tested whether she was
aroused...
hell: i've missed most times than i could ever:
****'s sake... all that *****
and the point of insertion is always below
what i'm "expecting"...

but i drank too much...
better be all the more nervous and only 50ml of
whiskey in than... 300ml of whiskey
and having issues with the ******* tool...
literally...
hell... i would be willing to put on a strap-on
***** but... seeing how she was not in the mood:
and i found myself: not in the mood either...

eh... what could be bad with some kissing...
some caressing some hugging some...
if i were really going for some
Trojan cohort ****-buddy: forget me not
egoism...
i'd have them lined up, wouldn't i?
3 / 4 years without touching someone
so intimately...
i call that the ice-breaker date in the brothel...

mind you... i cleaned up after myself:
i insisted...
i took that welcome shower prior...
and as we walked out... i sat down...
cornered...
now there were three of them and the matriarch
sitting in the waiting room...

hmm...i suppose: UN-like talking to three
girls in a nightclub...
talking to three prostitutes in a brothel...
some "things" become... obvious...
i have something they want...
they have something i want...
who's going to date? no... one...

me talking casually with three prostitutes
in a brothel would be...
unlike that ****** funfair of three girls
in a nightclub...
the cards are laid on the table...
you either take it... or don't...

recently i've been listening to some "mano-sphere"
******* and i'm just like...
no... i can't listen to this...
get over it... stop talking about it...
turn your focus onto something else...
me... i just drank too much
and... she wasn't my type...
but she was sitting all alone and if i waited
with her for those 20 minutes before
the one that's my type walked in...

just some tenderness...
i don't mind paying for that...
at least there won't be any free nagging and *******...
ha! obviously!

- and as we walked out from a room of
improper deeds
there sat... Khāda... there was that immediate
connection: she: all leather...
like an armchair in reverse...
it's so terrible to stress sexuality among
the English:
why do i have to be that...
perverted... congested... ****-lord...
this...                  oh-it's-naughty borderline
gimmick... i don't like the concept of ***
among these natives...

but there she sat... this implosion
of an armchair...
glorious in her skin as leather...
she said she was Turkic... i figured...
honey... you belong further east down
the silk road: you are teasing the Raj...
all the more for me to like...

as she started to tease me with her *******
in her hands...
i told her: i'll be coming for seconds
for you... believe me...
she liked me... she even wanted to have a listen
to what music i was listening to:

wardruna's helvegen...
she asked me for my name...
matthew...           wha? she asked...
matti... mateo... mathias... mateusz...
second name... conrad...
two good names to have...
so i asked what her's was...
up came  Khāda...
but of course i had to...
   write it down on a tissue for her to read...

what a bulging plush of womanhood...
everything i want to be in love with...
older than me... plump...
something i can fix my pincers on:
creasing some more of the already established:
mandible parts...
well worn... skin like leather...

as i departed with 3 glasses of delay...
her friend joked at me being a gentleman for kissing
her hand upon parting...
Khāda i kissed on the hand and cheek...
while this Romanian girl lodged between them
i kissed on the forehead...

you can't not love women...
even if they are prostitutes...
   i can't listen to men stress the need for the purity of
women...
i've listened... i've come back with
stomach pains...
now a test... i'll drink less
and worry: even less...
about... what's that word...
  that word... exposure... no...
upkeeping... no...
stamina... almost...
         PERFORMANCE!

never you mind that i pull my ******* back
to give imitation to the most pristine
representation of the phallus....
among women who....
will not don a niqab etc.?
               for a compensation?
no problem:
i'll just just sheave and practice jerking off...
oh... this time...
i better not drink...

Khāda seems like a woman that's all that's
fun and i don't want a limp-biscuit-of-a-****
to worry her...
she seemed into me and i was... most certainly
into her...

the moment i forget having to desecrate
virgins... and lean in into some
flesh... is the moment i can pardon myself
with: life... and a scrutiny of relexation...
this impasse of sub-par...
performance will not discourage me...
i'm already planning a second date
of stomach crunches of: suckling up to
a phlegm-and-sick being ushered out
from this same gob...

3 / 4 years of "procrastinating":
from a... vector... akin to hunger...
akin to shelter...
when i need a ****... i need a ****...
sorry me for not hitting the mark
with an ******* and a fully-working
hard-on...

oh but this *****...
   she's right up there in me desire to dream...
since i hardly dream...
i can see her as this antithesis of *******:
although i've limited to looking at stuff
deviating from any possible ***** envy...
all the curves... hell... anything that might be sculptered
by Rodin...

i'll just go to the brothel...
nervous as a lobster... sober, though... and therefore
perform my little litany of:
piston at the ready...
juiced up oyster second best...

oh that "thought": what if i don't...
well then... i won't be... glamour-****-egoism
to mind... further conquests...
i hardly imagine christ on the crucifix
with a hard-on...
so i'll imagine myself being crucified
when attempting to be intimate
with a *******: for the giggles...

i'm not going to drop the pill... i'll continue to rephrase
the sentiment: i was either too drunk
or wasn't in the mood...
or she wasn't on my palette!
but this one... and since she was so engaging...
god... a volume of a woman...
everything requiring a leather analogy...
makes one think about *******
an elephant standing on a ladder...
but not an obese beached-whale type...
just this: completeness of woman...
that most certainly hasn't focused itself
on breeding offspring...

plush... harness proof...
come the barrage of the sea...
or the tide within the confines of a river summary:
this woman...
like she was... almost... edible...
of course she was edible:
but i'm teasing in halves...
she's still a movie creature...

here's be celebrating sobering up...
i'll pretend to ******* six times
on the thighs...
once on the cleavage...
before i take my turn...
on what her sigma will ****-up...

as i will not... listen to men bemoaning their...
adventures in Darwinism...
you can only hear so much of it...
after a while you just...
unconsciously gamble with what's on offer...
fair enough: protecting the younglings
while protecting your whittle harem...
i don't mind women that feel like...
their skin is leather...
and their body posturing is an imploded
armchair...
i also much admire the ancient Roman
liberalism concerning...
fostering...
the ancient Romans... the most noble...
of the highest hierarchical certainty of preservation...
em... they...

fostered offspring?
******* son of a ******* uncle: i'll father you...
said some Augustus...
what's being focused on?
the... ******* IDEA...
i have no concern for biological reality:
i have, concern for... the cognitive disparity that runs
counter to... whatever nature unconscious dictates!

the problem men have with
the promiscuity of women...
me? i just went to the prostitutes...
let's have it done and dusted...
i'm not here to argue...

my god that blush... of this Turkish...
gloat of a wheat loaf... and...
          amylase of the nibbled on *******...
all her sponge of buttocks...
her turn-tilde of hips...
             she's not edible but i... just... want...
to... eat: her!
Chané May 2020
They say a rhythm is made of five beats, well mine seems to skip a beat every time you are near. The thought of your touch sends sheer shivers down my spine, freeing the butterflies that made their homes in my stomach. My head in a daze remembering the days that were filled with so much fun. The moment of impact, like a kaleidoscope of dreams, it all comes rushing back, but you never do. Hits me hard, like a tilde wave, flipping me overboard, drowning at sea. I would do it all again for just one more moment of impact. One last kiss. Your lips pressed up against mine; your hands around my waist, holding me as if there were no tomorrow. One last time to say goodbye.

— The End —