Martin's New Words 3:1:13

Thursday, April 10th, 2014

assay - noun. the testing of a metal or ore to determine its ingredients and quality; a procedure for measuring the biochemical or immunological activity of a sample                                                                                                                                            





February 14th-16th, Valentine's Day, 2014

nonpareil - adjective. having no match or equal; unrivaled; 1. noun. an unrivaled or matchless person or thing 2. noun. a flat round candy made of chocolate covered with white sugar sprinkles. 3. noun. Printing. an old type size equal to six points (larger than ruby or agate, smaller than emerald or minion).

ants - noun. emmet; archaic. pismire.

amercement - noun. Historical. English Law. a fine

lutetium - noun. the chemical element of atomic number 71, a rare, silvery-white metal of the lanthanide series. (Symbol: Lu)

couverture -

ort -

lamington -

pinole -

racahout -

saint-john's-bread -

makings -

millettia -

noisette -

veddoid -

algarroba -

coelogyne -

tamarind -

corsned -

sippet -

sucket -

estaminet -

zarf -

javanese -

caff -

dragee -

sugarplum -

upas -

brittle - adjective. hard but liable to break or shatter easily; noun. a candy made from nuts and set melted sugar.

comfit - noun. dated. a candy consisting of a nut, seed, or other center coated in sugar

fondant -

gumdrop - noun. a firm, jellylike, translucent candy made with gelatin or gum arabic

criollo - a person from Spanish South or Central America, esp. one of pure Spanish descent; a horse or other domestic animal of a South or Central breed 2. (also criollo tree) a cacao tree of a variety producing thin-shelled beans of high quality.

silex -

ricebird -

trinil man -

mustard plaster -

horehound - noun. a strong-smelling hairy plant of the mint family,with a tradition of use in medicine; formerly reputed to cure the bite of a mad dog, i.e. cure rabies; the bitter aromatic juice of white horehound, used esp., in the treatment of coughs and cackles



Christmas Week Words Dec. 24, Christmas Eve

gorse - noun. a yellow-flowered shrub of the pea family, the leaves of which are modified to form spines, native to western Europe and North Africa

pink cistus - noun. Botany. Cistus (from the Greek "Kistos") is a genus of flowering plants in the rockrose family Cistaceae, containing about 20 species. They are perennial shrubs found on dry or rocky soils throughout the Mediterranean region, from Morocco and Portugal through to the Middle East, and also on the Canary Islands. The leaves are evergreen, opposite, simple, usually slightly rough-surfaced, 2-8cm long; in a few species (notably C. ladanifer), the leaves are coated with a highly aromatic resin called labdanum. They have showy 5-petaled flowers ranging from white to purple and dark pink, in a few species with a conspicuous dark red spot at the base of each petal, and together with its many hybrids and cultivars is commonly encountered as a garden flower. In popular medicine, infusions of cistuses are used to treat diarrhea.

labdanum - noun. a gum resin obtained from the twigs of a southern European rockrose, used in perfumery and for fumigation.

laudanum - noun. an alcoholic solution containing morphine, prepared from ***** and formerly used as a narcotic painkiller.

manger - noun. a long open box or trough for horses or cattle to eat from.

blue pimpernel - noun. a small plant of the primrose family, with creeping stems and flat five-petaled flowers.

broom - noun. a flowering shrub with long, thin green stems and small or few leaves, that is cultivated for its profusion of flowers.

blue lupine - noun. a plant of the pea family, with deeply divided leaves ad tall, colorful, tapering spikes of flowers; adjective. of, like, or relating to a wolf or wolves

bee-orchis - noun. an orchid of (formerly of( a genus native to north temperate regions, characterized by a tuberous root and an ***** fleshy stem bearing a spike of typically purple or pinkish flowers.

campo santo - translation. cemetery in Italian and Spanish

runnel - noun. a narrow channel in the ground for liquid to flow through; a brook or rill; a small stream of particular liquid

arroyos - noun. a steep-sided gully cut by running water in an arid or semi-arid region.


January 14th, 2014

spline - noun. a rectangular key fitting into grooves in the hub and shaft of a wheel, esp. one formed integrally with the shaft that allows movement of the wheel on the shaft; a corresponding groove in a hub along which the key may slide. 2. a slat; a flexible wood or rubber strip used, esp. in drawing large curves. 3. (also spline curve) Mathematics. a continuous curve constructed so as to pass through a given set of points and have a certain number of continuous derivatives.

4. verb. secure (a part) by means of a spine

reticulate - verb. rare. divide or mark (something) in such a way as to resemble a net or network

November 20, 2013

flout - verb. openly disregard (a rule, law, or convention); intrans. archaic. mock; scoff ORIGIN: mid 16th cent.: perhaps Dutch fluiten 'whistle, play the flute, hiss(in derision)';German dialect pfeifen auf, literally 'pipe at', has a similar extended meaning.

pedimented - noun. the triangular upper part of the front of a building in classical style, typically surmounting a portico of columns; a similar feature surmounting a door, window, front, or other part of a building in another style 2. Geology. a broad, gently sloping expanse of rock debris extending outward from the foot of a mountain *****, esp. in a desert.

portico - noun. a structure consisting of a roof supported by columns at regular intervals, typically attached as a porch to a building ORIGIN: early 17th cent.: from Italian, from Latin porticus 'porch.'

catafalque - noun. a decorated wooden framework supporting the coffin of a distinguished person during a funeral or while lying in state.

cortege - noun. a solemn procession esp. for a funeral

pall - noun. a cloth spread over a coffin, hearse, or tomb; figurative. a dark cloud or covering of smoke, dust, or similar matter; figurative. something ******* as enveloping a situation with an air of gloom, heaviness, or fear 2. an ecclesiastical pallium; heraldry. a Y-shape charge representing the front of an ecclesiastical pallium. ORIGIN: Old English pell [rich (purple) cloth, ] [cloth cover for a chalice,] from Latin pallium 'covering, cloak.'

3. verb. [intrans.] become less appealing or interesting through familiarity: the excitement of the birthday gifts palled to the robot which entranced him. ORIGIN: late Middle English; shortening of APPALL

columbarium - noun. (pl. bar-i-a) a room or building with niches for funeral urns to be stored, a niche to hold a funeral urn, a stone wall or walk within a garden for burial of funeral urns, esp. attached to a church. ORIGIN: mid 18th cent.: from Latin, literally 'pigeon house.'

balefire - noun. a lare open-air fire; a bonfire.

eloge - noun. a panegyrical funeral oration.

panegyrical - noun. a public speech or published text in praise of someone or something

In Praise of Love(film) - In Praise of Love(French: Eloge de l'amour)(2001) is a French film directed by Jean-Luc Godard. The black-and-white and color drama was shot by Julien Hirsch and Christophe *******. Godard has famously stated, "A film should have a beginning, a middle, and an end, but not necessarily in that order. This aphorism is illustrated by In Praise of Love.

aphorism - noun. a pithy observation that contains a general truth, such as, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it."; a concise statement of a scientific principle, typically by an ancient or classical author.

elogium - noun. a short saying, an inscription. The praise bestowed on a person or thing; a eulogy

epicede - noun. dirge elegy; sorrow or care. A funeral song or discourse, an elegy.

exequy - noun. plural ex-e-quies. usually, exequies. Funeral rites or ceremonies; obsequies. 2. a funeral procession.

loge - noun. (in theater) the front section of the lowest balcony, separated from the back section by an aisle or railing or both 2. a box in a theater or opera house 3. any small enclosure; booth. 4. (in France) a cubicle for the confinement of art  students during important examinations

obit - noun. informal. an obituary 2. the date of a person's death 3. Obsolete. a Requiem Mass

obsequy - noun. plural ob-se-quies. a funeral rite or ceremony.

arval - noun. A funeral feast ORIGIN: W. arwy funeral; ar over + wylo, 'to weep' or cf. arf["o]; Icelandic arfr: inheritance + Sw. ["o]i ale. Cf. Bridal.

knell - noun. the sound made by a bell rung slowly, especially fora death or a funeral 2. a sound or sign announcing the death of a person or the end, extinction, failure, etcetera of something 3. any mournful sound 4. verb. (used without object). to sound, as a bell, especially a funeral bell 5. verb. to give forth a mournful, ominous, or warning sound.

bier - noun. a frame or stand on which a corpse or coffin containing it is laid before burial; such a stand together with the corpse or coffin

coronach - noun. (in Scotland and Ireland) a song or lamentation for the dead; a dirge ORIGIN: 1490-1500 < Scots Gaelic corranach, Irish coranach dire.

epicedium - noun. plural epicedia. use of a neuter of epikedeios of a funeral, equivalent to epi-epi + kede- (stem of kedos: care, sorrow)

funerate - verb. to bury with funeral rites

inhumation - verb(used with an object). to bury

nenia - noun. a funeral song; an elegy

pibroch - noun. (in the Scottish Highlands) a piece of music for the bagpipe, consisting of a series of variations on a basic theme, usually martial in character, but sometimes used as a dirge

pollinctor - noun. one who prepared corpses for the funeral

saulie - noun. a hired mourner at a funeral

thanatousia - noun. funeral rites

ullagone - noun. a cry of lamentation; funeral lament. also, a cry of sorrow ORIGIN: Irish-Gaelic

ulmaceous - of or like elms

uloid - noun. a scar

flagon - noun. a large bottle for drinks such as wine or cide

ullage - noun. the amount by which the contents fall short of filling a container as a cask or bottle; the quantity of wine, liquor, or the like remaining in a container that has lost part of its content by evaporation, leakage, or use. 3. Rocketry. the volume of a loaded tank of liquid propellant in excess of the volume of the propellant; the space provided for thermal expansion of the propellant and the accumulation of gases evolved from it

suttee - (also, sati) noun. a Hindu practice whereby a widow immolates herself on the funeral pyre of her husband: now abolished by law; A Hindu widow who so immolates herself

myriologue - noun. the goddess of fate or death. An extemporaneous funeral song, composed and sung by a woman on the death of a friend.

threnody - noun. a poem, speech, or song of lamentation, especially for the dead; dirge; funeral song

charing cross - noun. a square and district in central London, England: major railroad terminals.

feretory - noun. a container for the relics of a saint; reliquary. 2. an enclosure or area within a church where such a reliquary is kept 3. a portable bier or shrine

bossuet - noun. Jacques Benigne. (b. 1627-1704) French bishop, writer, and orator.

wyla -

rostrum -

aaron's rod -

common mullein -

verbascum thapsus -

peignoir -

pledget -

vestiary -

bushhamer -

beneficiation -

keeve -

frisure -

castigation -

slaw -

strickle -

vestry -

iodoform -

moslings -

bedizenment -

pomatum -

velure -

apodyterium -

macasser oil -

equipage -

tendance -

bierbalk -

joss paper -

lichgate -

parentation -

prink -

bedizen -

allogamy -

matin -

dizen -

disappendency -

photonosus -

spanopnoea -

abulia -

sequela -

lagophthalmos -

cataplexy -

xerasia -

anophelosis -

chloralism -

chyluria -

infarct -

tubercle -

pyuria -

dyscrasia -

ochlesis -

cachexy -

abulic -

sthenic - adjective. dated Medicine. of or having a high or excessive level of strength and energy

pinafore -

toff -

swain -

bucentaur -

coxcomb -

fakir -

hominid -

mollycoddle -

subarrhation -

surtout -

milksop -

tommyrot -

ginglymodi -

harlequinade -

jackpudding -

pickle-herring -

japer -

golyardeys -

scaramouch -

pantaloon -

tammuz -

cuckold -

nabob -

gaffer -

grass widower -

stultify -

stultiloquence -

batrachomyomachia -

exsufflicate -

dotterel -

fadaise -

blatherskite -

footling -

dingmat -

shlemiel -

simper -

anserine -

flibbertgibbet -

desipient -

nugify -

spooney -

inaniloquent -

liripoop -

******* -

seelily -

stulty -

taradiddle -

thimblewit -

tosh -

gobemouche -

hebephrenia -

cockamamie -

birdbrained -

featherbrained -

wiseacre -

lampoon -

Guy Fawke's night -

maclean -

vang -

wisenheimer -

herod -

vertiginous -

raillery -

galoot -

camus -

gormless -

dullard -

funicular -

duffer -

laputan -

fribble -

dolt -

nelipot -

discalced -

footslog -

squelch -

coggle -

peregrinate -

pergola -

gressible -

superfecundation -

mufti -

reveille -

dimdl -

peplum -

phylactery -

moonflower -

bibliopegy -

festinate -

doytin -

****** -

red trillium -

reveille - noun. [in sing. ] a signal sounded esp. on a bugle or drum to wake personnel in the armed forces.

trillium - noun. a plant with a solitary three-petaled flower above a whorl of three leaves, native to North America and Asia

contrail - noun. a trail of condensed water from an aircraft or rocket at high altitude, seen as a white streak against the sky. ORIGIN: 1940s: abbreviation of condensation trail. Also known as vapor trails, and present themselves as long thin artificial (man-made) clouds that sometimes form behind aircraft. Their formation is most often triggered by the water vapor in the exhaust of aircraft engines, but can also be triggered by the changes in air pressure in wingtip vortices or in the air over the entire wing surface. Like all clouds, contrails are made of water, in the form of a suspension of billions of liquid droplets or ice crystals. Depending on the temperature and humidity at the altitude the contrail forms, they may be visible for only a few seconds or minutes, or may persist for hours and spread to be several miles wide. The resulting cloud forms may resemble cirrus, cirrocumulus, or cirrostratus. Persistent spreading contrails are thought to have a significant effect on global climate.

psychopannychism -

restoril -

temazepam -

catafalque -

obit -

pollinctor -

ullagone -

thanatousia -

buckram -

tatterdemalion - noun. a person in tattered clothing; a shabby person. 2. adjective. ragged; unkempt or dilapidated

curtal - adjective. archaic. shortened, abridged, or curtailed; noun. historical. a dulcian or bassoon of the late 16th to early 18th century.

dulcian - noun. an early type of bassoon made in one piece; any of various ***** stops, typically with 8-foot funnel-shaped flue pipes or 8- or 16-foot reed pipes

withe - noun. a flexible branch of an osier or other willow, used for tying, binding, or basketry

osier - noun. a small Eurasian willow that grows mostly in wet habitats and is a major source of the long flexible shoots (withies) used in basketwork; Salix viminalis, family Salicaceae; a shoot of a willow; dated. any willow tree 2. noun. any of several North American dogwoods.

directoire - adjective. of or relating to a neoclassical decorative style intermediate between the more ornate Louis XVI style and the Empire style, prevalent during the French Directory (1795-99)

guimpe -

ip

the Himalayas rise
there is snow on the peaks
I watch it from my bed
I gaze and gaze at it
in the morning
as a little village girl goes by
sniffling with cold
I too am cold
it is chilly here in Tosh in May
but a young Israeli boy
took off his shirt
and stood on the fencepost of the guesthouse dancing
down was the deep green valley
all of us watched in admiration
the next day I went down to the waterfall
which from here is a beautiful whisper in the air
there are donkeys and a path
and pretty houses on the other side of the valley
and everywhere there are people smoking hash and relaxing
in the cafes and the guesthouses
it is almost like a pilgrimage smokers keep coming
and sit around smoking talking
I pull down my woollen cap my arms and back
feel the chill despite a thick sweater
despite a blanket and a four inch thick quilt
I roll my joints and smoke them alone
sometimes smoke them with others
I look at the hills and the valleys and the wooden houses
I look at the white peaks glowing in the sun
and talk about CCR and stained glass art with Michael from Norfolk
who’s going down the valley to another village for a party tonight
with his young Spanish friend
I talk about Bombay with Puneet and Manya from Kanpur
who’ve come here on a Bullet
Hash Heaven Manya says reading my mind as the joint passes on
to the four engineering interns from Delhi
and all the time I sip on ginger lemon honey
for my sore throat until on the last day it disappears
unlike the young Israeli girl’s pink laptop in a pink cover
found by the part time caretaker in the garden on a pink chair
she left behind last night because it was too dark
come again the guesthouse boys say to me as I pay them
what a scene I think how cool as I begin to leave the village
down the dung-clotted stone steps nodding to the smokers coming in.

If a fish
Could make a wish
for what would
this fish wish ?
a wishing fish
you say, tosh tish
but if you were
a wishing fish
would you wish for
a new dish ?
or a knish ?
what would a fish
do with a dish ?
and how would he
eat a knish ?
but if you knew
a wishing fish
exactly what
would this fish wish?

If you saw
a little bunny
on a tree stump
counting money
would you think
that it was funny
if he used it
to buy honey
to eat outside
while it was sunny
Just where would
that little bunny
get a bag full
of such money
To me that just seems
rather funny

If you saw
a blue canoe
being paddled by
a kangaroo
wearing shoes
size sixty two
Tell me just
what would you do
if there beside
that kangaroo
sat a rather large
and old gnu
I think I would
call the zoo
but, tell me
what it is you'd do

A bunny, fish
and kangaroo
were all out walking
two by two
they were followed
by a large gnu
I think this rather strange
don't you?
I don't know just
what I would do
If I saw walking
two by two
A bunny, fish
and kangaroo
in fact i do not
have a clue
but I know the fish's wish
don't you?

i don't know why i found redemption in the tetragrammaton, sure, my mother cared for two elderly jewish ladies, one escaped the Holocaust (surname Roßhandler) and the other of established English rooting (surname Rockman... thanks to her, upon completing my g.c.s.e. exams i got a complete collection of Bernard Shaw's plays) - but i find it there, ping-pong salvation every time, translating it akin to arithmetic: 1 + 1 = 2 is very much akin to Y              H            W          H, which i started calling the perfect chirality - chiral meaning non-superimposable:
                                       A                      &                  E, i too ventured to call the double H dualism a déjà vu - but i know see them as vantage points, more electrons and quantum physics than protons and neutrons - well, it ****** well fits the schematic: sine (M) and cosine (W) - sure, crude, but i'm not looking at the geometry of the mouth... language on the base of pure optics... and no, not necessarily adjective noun compounds for emphasis to argue a point, just easily an easily accessed point of reference...     so quantum physics calls it the non-independent ontology of electrons: a. particles (Y, centre 0 on the x, y, z graphs - apart from the heliocentric and the geocentric models, here's another one of similar causality)... and b. waves (W, the formerly stated trigonometry suggestion) - and hence the two vantage points bound to H... apart from Adam and Eve lodged in between... which suggests that the geocentric analogy of electrons is bound to electrons behaving like waves... while the heliocentric analogy of electrons is bound to electrons behaving like particles: microcosm Copernicus blah blah; well, more like pseudo-Aristarchus of Samos.

20th century literature is, quiet literally
something akin to the cave paintings at
Lascaux - big brother isn't watching -
nor is the publishing old guard -
i just find it unreal that so much rests upon
the internet these days, the people have no
idea what power has been granted them,
they petty the use of the internet with
their earthly squabbles of a marketplace,
while, running parallel: the lost infatuation
with democracy as necessary organisation -
turns out it's unnecessary organisation:
because we ain't go anything better -
hence political disillusionment - rampant in
what western society deems the pinnacle
and the Libra of a fine balancing act -
religiously? that famous: "mystery of lawlessness"?
that's the internet - imagine a time when you
could bypass some publisher, some adherent
to a state doctrine, when you could turn poetry
into physics, not the waffle of metaphysical Keats
waiting for a kettle to turn into a volcano
or a whistling horse, but to turn the dial to
point at the reality of things:
quantum physics (derived from quanta,
a variation of datum: particularity of input
energy) gave poets breathing space,
metaphysics became shadowy, Hades like
learning, obscure and all the more necessary
to build-up its strength while puritan physicists
lost their sway of power with the fears of
the atom bomb and all things quantum -
so while the physicists became dazzled with
all things quantum, the metaphysics took off...
entombed in an apathetic (without pathos)
subjectivity: a calm heart, much more than an
embracing heart - yes, i am aware that i have my
wacko moments of feeling, but this ticker is
made of stone - and that usually means a chaotic
thinking process, spontaneity being the key
in involving yourself with real-life narratives
then never suppose a character study: what you see,
is what you get: my sanity plateau?
talk about music rather than make poetry musical,
it's a pale shade of red or blue when you
have guitars and orchestras and the poet,
a voice in the wilderness - nothing but pins dropping
to exemplify the talk... i don't understand
the need for poetry being a kindred of musicology,
i don't understand rhyme, i don't understand
being conscious of poetic prescriptions of technique
very much akin to language's artefact minded
grammar: noun
                                v. poetry's pun
grammar's verb
                                       poetry's metaphor... etc.
my deviation? being an adherent toward music,
and returning poetry back to its true purpose:
puritan narrations - not conscious of what's
expected, or what defines the art,
very much the beginning of cubism and later
innovations in art, i just can't stand rhyming poetry -
it's too conscious of itself by what it's defined by,
we have learned of a new subjectivity:
the unconscious - we might as well exploit it
while objectivity gets crushed into bewilderment
by quantum physics -
thus said: i feel like i'm a dervish spinning
counter-clockwise in a chaos of tornadoes spinning
clockwise while listening to two songs:
tool's *right in two - and muse's stockholm syndrome:
i can't be bothered translating the feelings
entombed in these two songs with a rhyme...
poetry should be less stuffy than it already is...
it should be a statement of the supreme effort: freedom.
all of this? spurred on by rereading passages from
Jung's gegenwart und zukunft (1957), alter:
          the undiscovered self (1958) -
it's seemingly odd (but not too odd) that books
written by psychiatrists are more popular than
philosophy books in the anglophile culture -
as already stated, i can't read philosophy in english -
maybe this is why psychiatric literature is so easily
accessible in this tongue, what with the self-help
movement, it the grandest prescription that no pill
(unless it's a sleeping pill) can be prescribed -
i'd say, if you want to read philosophy in english,
i'd start off by reading a book from psychiatry -
Jung is by far more adaptable than Freud
(Freud's for the rich people who have ***
written on their foreheads in permanent ink -
        and: daddy didn't care, mama was
                                     struggling feminist who
     forgot to breastfeed me) -
       but of course the 1960s Scottish superstar
(who drank, rightly so) from Glasgow: Laing.
well, sure, the Hungarian Szasz (shash, not sas,
or zaz... shish kebab... it ain't the difficult) -
impromptu deviation: what's funny about Heidegger?
he says: you need to study Aristotle for 15 years
to get him... and that's very much true for him also...
two years... TWO YEARS it took me to read his book.
that's what's interesting about this book,
a literary anorexic, in at 79 grams (pages) -
the interesting point? in physics, there are things
that are not independent of observation -
i like that conundrum, the mere idea of it is titillating -
running joke for the past two years: ***** ***** tat for tat
months later -
                          well... i'm not the one trying to
dress you up in a straitjacket with a label: this is poetry...
can't see **** for miles with how i write.
so there's a purpose, some things are depending on
being observed - which is a good thing, which means
that this world could not be independently sustainable -
its dependency on existing lies akin to our
desire to be independent of it - so all the religious
blah blah means something - even after 3 years
of rigorous studies in chemistry i come back into
humanism with a furore of agitating religious paraphernalia -
mind you, i do have a scientific approach toward
language - grammar and algebra combined -
meaning? certain words have become post-grammatical,
i.e. algebraic - not categorised as nouns or otherwise,
but as algebraic signatures: primarily because no one
really knows what to do with them, apart from
church yoga, standardised: e.g. x = god,
            i = y                  and the                  world = z,
predictably transcending the casual use of language
when shopping for cheese in a Parisian grocery store...
err... je ma'pel gorgon, avoir vous fromage?
nope, took to English too much - i was learning French
in primary school, but i had an existential crisis
aged 9 or 10... my brain refused to learn another language
after having just learned one from scratch -
                               the mute in class soon turned into
an avaricious reader... so parallel to my life, i now hear
stories about children being diagnosed with depression...
try being thrown into the deep-end of the pool
with your former development using a language
automatically, into having to learn the language without
no major influence of a teaching authority...
                                  no wonder the accent game
   sort of imploded and i started speaking sometimes tosh,
sometimes posh, and sometimes east London oh'rite?
                             ale casem tes jak rolnik -
                            owszem, czasem jak mieszczanin też.

I shouldn't have bothered.
I thought this was a posh area.
Now I see it's not.
'Tommy Rot!'

Look at the gardens.
The lawns are covered in weeds.
'*******! We grow herbs a lot.'

Even you're car's a mess.
Not been cleaned in ages.
'I wash it often,
every guilt trip day.'

And those dogs, do they howl all night?
'Oh no. Nothing like that.
It's just the neighbours in a fight.'

Hunter was happy
The rain was now done
He could go out in the yard
And have some real fun

Staying inside
when there was so much to do
He had to go hunting
For his movable zoo

Hunter like letters
And numbers and things
He also likes dreaming
and the joy that it brings

He pulled out his toy box
And he dragged it outside
I'm going to go hunting
He put his hat on with pride

An old hunting helmet
And one wellington boot
A runner, his jacket
And a toy gun to shoot

I'm off to go hunting
I'll will fill a whole zoo
Just call me for dinner
And with that...he was through

A boy's mind is special
They can imagine the world
Is a magical jungle
That to them is unfurled

A zoo from a toy box
All in order....you'll see
He would fill up his zoo
From A back to Z

First came an aardvark
Then a ******, all stuffed
Then a cheetah, a donkey
All cuddly and puffed

E made him think
Yep...an earwig or two
It fit with the letters
And it would go in his zoo

F was a frog,
Made of rubber and green
G ...a gorilla
With a smile, not mean

H was a horse
with a cowboy as well
The zoo, it was growing
And to him, that was swell

I....had him thinking
It's my zoo after all
So, if I can't get a letter
It won't matter at all

J was a jacks game
Not an animal too
But, the jacks looked like spiders
And this was Hunters zoo

K...that was easy
A Kangaroo with a pouch
L was a llama
With three legs and a slouch

M was a monkey
A whole barrel he had
He played with these some
He wasn't doing half bad

In all of an hour
He had collected a herd
Of stuffed toys, ***** and jacks
And he still had no bird

N was a nerf ball
Or a dinosaur egg
It could be what he wanted
He'd now found that fourth leg

The llama assembled
O was easy for him
An octopus floaty
That taught him to swim

P was a parrot
With feathers all red
Q...that's a tough one
He thought to himself in his head

R was a rhino
With no horn, it was broke
S was a snake
His dad bought as a joke

T was a tough one
A terra-dac-til said he
Not knowing the spelling
And that it started with P

U ...under water
so he found a stuffed fish
This was not all that easy
V...well tosh tish

I'll catch two of another
If I can't think of one
Hunting out in the yard
Is really quite fun

W...a walrus
with a moustache and tusks
Like the gorilla before
made of coconut husks

X...was a tough one
Another dinosaur came
Made from his xylophone
And this dino was tame

Y was a yak
He didn't know what it was
But, he just liked the name
So, a yak ....just because

Z was a zebra
blue and black with no white
He'd colored it in with a marker
When he got bored one night

He'd been out for a while
When he heard his mum yell
Time to come in
Bring your toy box as well

All through his dinner
He told of what he had caught
Of the alphabetic adventures
And the creatures he'd got

He watched tv for a while
Then it was bath time and bed
Where Hunter the hunter
Now had a full head

Now, he was dreaming
Of all he must do
This was Hunter the hunter
And his movable zoo

Yes, everything stabbed me in the heart,
gut
core
Everywhere.
It's so ****** painful
I'm not nattering away
No
I will not and
am not
a nuisance who talks tosh.
You killed me.
It killed me.
A bunch of scrawled numbers killed me.
Everything
every ****** thing
is killing me.
Did I not try?
Did I not place my full brain and heart into it?
And why am I getting ready to get my brain chopped off under the falling axe?
Why, oh why
the sullen faces
blood-sworn glares
the rising temperatures in my body
the cold tears
that pierce the very layer of my cheek
What did I do to deserve **** like this?
Came Monday.
Monday blues
with the very lovely scores indeed ?!!
that kicked me out of the list.
Came Tuesday.
Far worse sight.
More numbers.
Numbers determining my barren life
And so will tomorrow come
with much angst
And so do I now cry or die?

Build a ***** workshop
(Where we feed on your insecurities for profit)
Don’t like what your mirror has to offer
In need of a quick fix because your size 0 jeans won’t fit
Well destroy your body like our ecosystem
With plastic to make you look fantastic
Because looking like an overstocked toy is the new ****
Change your completion until there’s nothing left
While tosh points out how you’re worthless without *******
which brings out insecurity galore
You need to be Barbie if you want
Ken and his Malibu beach house
Everyone knows you’re only worth as much as your waist line
Don’t judge a book by its cover
But my generation doesn’t even read
Photo shopped teens as far as the eye can see
Post photos
That strips away your dignity
For a spot on a that new reality TV series
Forget about the news because the kardashians bought new shoes
Mom asks So what did you learn today at school
A cool equation that the other kids taught me
My body – eating + surgery +pills= picture perfect girl
Or new American dream
*******, small waist, always sleeping around, never complain , don’t feel ashamed that’s the only way to play the game
How many pills did you take to look that anorexic?
Who made you feel so uncomfortable in your own skin?
How many meals did you shove down the bathroom sink?  
How many surgeries did it take for you to become this fake?
The sad part is I bet you even Barbie didn't have this many plastic pieces

gambling, and to think that money has become rampant, pointless, towering over man, where once money was deemed an effective medium of passing labour, now, gambling has proved the complete defunct nature of the construct... when once a respectable way of rewarding shared labours, now, a means to bloat it, inflate it, give it extra cotton candy... i'd like to see times when money had some value, but since there is none to it in an applicable sense, no wonder its flushed down the toilet at the gambling table... for a "species" that wonders at making things refined and more efficient, to see the unrefined end product of the ultimate inefficiency; it's almost sad to watch.

i understand islam in only one way,
if i heard correctly islam
dictates a rigour in appreciating
money,
           in that, if i (once again) heard
correctly, islam doesn't
appreciate interest...
    i.e. if you borrow £100,
          you give £100 back...
    not £100 + 20%...
                  and i really do appreciate
the sanity of using money,
an abstract (compared to the value
of gold or timber, or a painting)
form of a thing...
   but the problem is, money has become
less and less reasonable,
in that it has become less tool-like
and more: parasitic-like.
              i do appreciate the fact
that money creates an exponential growth
of possible jobs,
  that it allows people to do nothing
more than a *Pilate gesture -
i.e. washing their hands clean...
    but we live in times of hidden slavery,
i have a friend who's in his 50s...
he's not paying off his house,
       he doesn't own it,
        he's paying off the interest rates!
so basically he's renting rather than working
toward a capital...
          i have no idea how the original
idea of money has become infested by
a %... it should really be written
     %10 rather than any elevation to
a currency...
                  £10 is actually £23.50 when
monday it is spent, and by friday when it's
asked to be repaid...
  it's an implosive multiplication,
covert...
       you ask for a potato,
you're asked for four potatoes back!
          i can't believe that people are still
so sane if at least playing the role of sensible
with a thing, that's clearly inorganic,
and can't self-replicate without a cheat
mechanism being in place...
             like i said, if i heard correctly,
islam abhors usury -
                lending on an interest...
     but i might have misheard this,
even though i might not have, misheard it...
i understand money in that
i understand someone willing to do
   a ****** job to get his UNIVERSAL UNIT
of interaction,
i get that, i'd do a ****** job if i had to
in order to watch the Pilates of this world
play the Gatsby...
(book? not so great)....
                    the philosopher's stone
the trans-valuation of values is but a copper
coin away from any reason to
fathom a sensibility in such affairs...
      but imagine merely paying off
the interests rates, and never the product
you supposedly bought...
            **** me that's a tearjerker -
all the communists in hell are either laughing
or immune in a pensive pose of:
the **** is that?
           - and if this is true about islam,
i.e. you take one, you give one back...
and not,
you take one, you give two back...
money unlike any other thing in this world
is sick... it's infected with
a propagation virus...
         a mad self-multiplier...
the same self-multiplier which is the reason
why we produce more than we need,
in that we produce both product,
         and waste.
                    even if you applied the keenest
of minds in the field of mathematics to
the concept of money,
   you'd create a half-breed of
both genius and ******...
         since economics is the antithesis of
mathematics, as is the mathematicians'
abandonment of the calculator,
   the only worthwhile arithmetic these days
is imbued by the spelling of a word
correctly...
                 you don't write it: you snap into it!
- and i must admit, a strange way
of "counting" - rearranging the set pieces -
which explains why there's a blind-spot
in the japanese puzzle: súdokū -
again: diacritical marks are punctuation
marks from above, intra-verbum not
inter-verbum...
         once again, why is money so supposedly
complex? it's not,
   i can understand that some people
would prefer someone else to do something
unpleasant, like, slaughter a cow
and never make it to guest list of a baron's
banquet...
  i understand the Pilate gesture -
i wouldn't even appreciate the baron's
company to say the least,
         but money, as it was originally intended
is sick...
     it can't be anything more than
a sickness that has infected it...
mind you, my father is self-employed,
you know how they actually treat contractors?
like ****...
   he asked for travel expenses
  for his sub-contractors...
                he wasn't paid the travel expenses...
say what you will, but at least communism
had some principles,
this degenerate disintegration,
decomposition of capitalism due to the lack
of external competition on
ideological grounds is festering into
     what one might only see as:
cannibalism...
                when companies shed
their respect for the workers,
  whether independent of aligned to a company
ethos, something will finally give way...
i understand money,
but money has a virus in it,
  it's become a false multiplier of itself...
sure, that might have added to the success
of the multiplication of mankind
but as people have noted:
a universal wage...
since how much work is there to be done
these days, when all this demand for
work inevitably produces a waste product
from over-production?
          money was never supposed
to covertly self-multiply exponentially -
which means why money no longer has
the same value as it once did,
ascribed to something valuable -
paper money is toilet paper -
            as already suggested by
those bankers burning it to light a cigar...
a perpetual hellhole where even
         a DaVinci canvas is paper and is worth
such as much...
             idealistic? tosh...
                no wonder people have started
to look for value in the crevices of ownership...
but i don't understand the smart-phone
clinging... i said crevices i didn't imply
a ******* ball & chain...
                            a crease in a shirt,
the fact that -1 feels a lot warmer on a dry night
than +5 on a wet night...
                 i'll still fall asleep today
thinking that money has is infected with
a parasitic entity,
after all... not even money, is beyond
illness...
                 if money corrupts,
it would seem only sensible that
the first thing to be corrupted, would be the thing
that corrupts...
    money made sense, once upon a time...
   it truly did...
           now all it resembles is spare change,
or the fact that, once upon a time,
you would be deemed mad when
finding a £20 banknote on the street,
as i have done.

Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.

"Trumpery."

Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?

[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]

trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\

Definition of trumpery

1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>

2
archaic : ****** finery

Origin of trumpery

Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive

First Known Use: 15th century

Examples of trumpery

<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>

Related to trumpery

Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or *******), claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, *******, senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle

Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus

Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum

Hunter was happy
The rain was now done
He could go out in the yard
And have some real fun

Staying inside
when there was so much to do
He had to go hunting
For his alphabet zoo

Hunter like letters
And numbers and things
He also likes dreaming
and the joy that it brings

He pulled out his toy box
And he dragged it outside
I'm going to go hunting
He put his hat on with pride

An old hunting helmet
And one wellington boot
A runner, his jacket
And a toy gun to shoot

I'm off to go hunting
I'll will fill a whole zoo
Just call me for dinner
And with that...he was through

A boy's mind is special
They can imagine the world
Is a magical jungle
That to them is unfurled

A zoo from a toy box
All in order....you'll see
He would fill up his zoo
From A back to Z

First came an aardvark
Then a ******, all stuffed
Then a cheetah, a donkey
All cuddly and puffed

E made him think
Yep...an earwig or two
It fit with the letters
And it would go in his zoo

F was a frog,
Made of rubber and green
G ...a gorilla
With a smile, not mean

H was a horse
with a cowboy as well
The zoo, it was growing
And to him, that was swell

I....had him thinking
It's my zoo after all
So, if I can't get a letter
It won't matter at all

J was a jacks game
Not an animal too
But, the jacks looked like spiders
And this was Hunters zoo

K...that was easy
A Kangaroo with a pouch
L was a llama
With three legs and a slouch

M was a monkey
A whole barrel he had
He played with these some
He wasn't doing half bad

In all of an hour
He had collected a herd
Of stuffed toys, ***** and jacks
And he still had no bird

N was a nerf ball
Or a dinosaur egg
It could be what he wanted
He'd now found that fourth leg

The llama assembled
O was easy for him
An octopus floaty
That taught him to swim

P was a parrot
With feathers all red
Q...that's a tough one
He thought to himself in his head

R was a rhino
With no horn, it was broke
S was a snake
His dad bought as a joke

T was a tough one
A terra-dac-til said he
Not knowing the spelling
And that it started with P

U ...under water
so he found a stuffed fish
This was not all that easy
V...well tosh tish

I'll catch two of another
If I can't think of one
Hunting out in the yard
Is really quite fun

W...a walrus
with a moustache and tusks
Like the gorilla before
made of coconut husks

X...was a tough one
Another dinosaur came
Made from his xylophone
And this dino was tame

Y was a yak
He didn't know what it was
But, he just liked the name
So, a yak ....just because

Z was a zebra
blue and black with no white
He'd colored it in with a marker
When he got bored one night

He'd been out for a while
When he heard his mum yell
Time to come in
Bring your toy box as well

All through his dinner
He told of what he had caught
Of the alphabetic adventures
And the creatures he'd got

He watched tv for a while
Then it was bath time and bed
Where Hunter the hunter
Now had a full head

Now, he was dreaming
Of all he must do
This was Hunter the hunter
And his alphabet zoo

THIS Piece of Poetry...
Is To... My Mans'... !!!!!!

Whether GOOD or BAD... !!!

RESPECT To BADMan...
NOT For Being BAD... !!!

But For Staying TRUE...
To Their TIGHT CREWS...
Who Make STRONG MOVES...
That Have NO USE For KILLING Feuds... !!!!!!

Bad Man Who KNOW...
About How... " Tings' Go "...
And KNOW The Coup...
So DEAL In... TRUTH... !!!!!!!!

Men Like THESE...
Are A... Minute FEW... !!!!!!!!!!

So PLEASE Believe Me...
The Respect I Give Is RELATIVE...

Because The TRUTH Is THIS...
That's NOT How I Live... !!!!!!!!!!!!

My Mans' Have To EARN...
RESPECT From BIG VIRGE... !!!!!

So DON'T Expect Respect...
Because You've DONE... " Bird "...

RESPECT To My Mans'...
Who Use CONSCIOUS Words... !!!
In A... Hip Hop Stance...
or... Song FILLED Verse...

RESPECT To Charlie Parker... !!!
KEEP Flying... " Bird "... !!!

Through The Fingers of...
Todays' Jazz Herds... !!!!

And...

RESPECT To My Mans'...
In... Reggae Bands...

RESPECT To... " Rootsmans' "...
Who.... OVERSTAND'....
The Way... " Dem Ah FEAR !!! "....
When We Come NEAR... !!!!!!

ESPECIALLY The Mans'...
Who SEE... " Tru' Dem' Plans "...

I Gi Dem' My RESPECT,
til the day dat' me DEAD !

But Let Me QUICKLY STRESS...
Men Like THESE I Do Suggest...

Are RARE Like Policies... !!!
That ALLOW Such Men...
To Speak FREELY About REALITY... !!!

Men Like... MARLEY...
PETER TOSH and BUNNY...

The Wailers... THREE... !!!!!!!!

Who Chose To REACH OUT...
To The People With BEATS...
Musically FILLED With Conscious Speech...

Like... " BURNING SPEAR "...
For Di'... " Man Up In The Hills "...

A Place Where My Mans'...
Could TRULY... CHILL... !!!!!!
And NOT Adhere To...
... Government Will... !!!

Time Will Tell If Life's HARD SELL...
Will Let My Mans' EVER Live Life WELL... ?!?

This Piece As I've Said...
Is To... " My Mans' "...

Those Now DEAD...
In.... " Foreign Lands "...

FIGHTING The Fight...
And Taking A STANCE... !!!

But It's... ALSO To...
My STRONG Womans'... !!!
Who NURTURE Children...
And Give Guidance... !!!!

My Mans'... In TRUTH...
ALREADY Live Cool... !!!

And KNOW WHO They ARE...
Because They LISTEN To Views...
WISE ONES'... Impart... !!!

They're QUICK To Diminish...
What Weak Ones Start... !!!

But Do This With...
The... BEST of Hearts... !!!

But... WATCH Your Step... !!!
Because What Comes NEXT...
If You DISRESPECT...
Is... SERIOUS STRESS.... !!!!!!

So Show... RESPECT...
When You Are Around Them... !!!

Then MAYBE... Yes... ?
They'll Be Your Friend...

BETTER That I Suggest Than Get Them VEX...
And FACE The Prospect of... DISTRESS... !!!!!!!!!

My Mans' BELIEVE ME Are TRULY God Blessed... !!!
And DON'T Retreat From Lifes' TOUGH Tests... !!!!

Their BEST DEFENCE Is Common Sense... !!!

Which Formulates Their Arguments...
So YES This Piece Is Just For... THEM... !!!

NOT For Pounds Or For Cents... !!!

It's... Just For THEM... !!!
And For Crews Who Deal In TRUTH... !!!

If I Don't Know You Just Do Your Do...
Then If We Meet We'll SHARE Some Food... !!!

YES I Mean... VIEWS... !!!
Then I'd Imagine We Will Be COOL...

This Is For... " My Mans' "...
YES... ALL of YOU... !!!
Who Choose To INCLUDE...
Rather Than..... EXCLUDE.....

And Who Choose To Receive THIS Poetic Piece...
Which In Truth Reflects Love For HUMANITY...... !!!!!

And ALL Lifes' Tests YES.... REALITY.... !!!

A Part of Our Lives...
From Which We CAN'T HIDE... !!!

We're ALL Humans... !!!
So Why Divide... Our - Sel - ves... ?!!!?

I DON'T Believe...
That's Going To HELP...
MAINTAIN Our Health... !!!

My Mans' AREN'T The Ones...
Who'll BURN In... " HELL "... !!!

Because My Mans' DON'T Have...
THOSE...... " Funny Smells "...... !!!!!!

I Wish Them WELL...
WHEREVER They Dwell... !!!

I'm Sending Out LOVE With My Writing Hand...
Through THIS Poem I've Used To EXPRESS...

........ My Love And RESPECT........ !!!

To Those Who've HELPED Me...
Through Their WISE Guidance... !!!

THIS Piece of Poetry...

Goes To................................. ....

......... " My Mans' ".........

I wear pants under my trousers
A vest under my shirt
Put on trainers to go running
Use a plaster when it hurts

I walk along the pavement
Put my ******* out in bins
Dunk a biscuit in my coffee
Pick up my mobile when it rings

I wash myself with flannels
Go out for a bit of nosh
And if you're spouting nonsense
I'll say you're talking loads of tosh

When I'm knackered I need sleep
I pay the bill after a meal
And if someone's in recovery
It just means they need to heal

I use a rubber for corrections
And when life becomes a drag
I pour a glass of vino
And roll myself a ***

Is weird this common language
I'm still learning the translation
And I thank you for your patience
While I change the situation

To learn the proper lingo
Is now my only quest
So bare with the girl from Blighty
As she tries to do her best!

(C) Pixievic 2016

The little bones of clouds
I used to keep; Lethargic Dynamos of odd begotten piccolos...
dainty mint of pish and tosh
a dandy lark
ellipse and farce, surpassing strange.
Are you then, a ' withering fiction ' ?
an addle carp of Cain's insurrection !
Or a less offensive Icarus
who hails from Sweden?
You, who sold me the bones of little clouds
and kept fair all frost and longing...

Hither go, encased in Larceny
a prince of deep wish
and ill-favored, disjoint Harmonies
Soiling Time... Adrift-
Our mad Geppetto
in waning light

But not quite
as redeemed.
For Hell's Bells have brushed
the tips of my wings
and I'm off -

and aloft

And away.

now if an apache shaman became a president of the "free world" i'd be glad, over the moon sort of speak, but a former kenyan export of a cotton picker? not so much, puppet for the pseudo-europeans to my sour distaste. if a native indian made it to the throne i would have applauded: someone who's native of this land, actually in charge of it... you don't say... but a former slave ethnicity? that just breaks the jaw chandelier: i'll be impressed when i die and see the big picture. it's a bit like in europe, the modern renaissance happened in england in the 1960s... then disappeared to birmingham... the other venus of the north (2nd only to st. petersburg)... and then the resurrection of rome became the job of eastern europe "barbarians / invader," who became the cotton pickers of europe, told they were not europeans but closely related to neanderthals... while chopin boomed replicas in japan... i feel discouraged from being european altogether... i think i'll translate myself as japanese... and shake off these western rats... i'll don a beard and a samurai haircut... yeah, i'll do that, they might get the idea that's behind the rolling stones of numbering 4, ageing to be about
2 galapagos turtles in terms of accumulated age... oh you
won that capitalistic child-plot to compete, i assure you.*

all these dating websites are in the shallow pool
of spectacles, a man logs into a dating website and
looks for what's clearly a cobra, or the end of him,
or a femme fatale... she needs to be attractive,
intelligent and funny... i thought men were supposed to
be that... look what copernican feminism did,
it turned inside-out rather than upside-down...
when i look at women i look for three traits akin...
she needs to be patient...
she needs to be resilient...
she needs to be understanding...

(good looks can wait for the middle-aged lynx,
she got the hang of body after puberty
and became arrogant with it - own one own all
motto - babe your time will come to avoid
plastic surgery;
i'm *******, of course i am,
but i rather show it than suffer in silence
and become ******* in thinking it out;
you understand one, you understand all,
not really, put a hammer in a set of a hundred
*****-drivers and you get the odd one out,
at least picture it, opaque if it makes sense better;
p.s. don't mention the power of older men,
socrates had to become poor to speak wisely,
he got away with it... poor men like jesus
have to suffer in silence because
poor youth, or youth without ambition
is not really a rallying crowd motif)...

there was something else - you immediately stare
a cold blank for a slate that's required a blink
for a square of cement...
sometimes this homosexual dynamics turns
originally thought heterosexual males to try the back door,
the bony ****** of five counts is no longer
adequate... neither is the puppet in the hand...
it requires the stage... a completion of the play
with female genitalia, the empty void...
oh don't worry... i'm sure disney will find your
perfect match in the realm of tech-colour psychoanalysis
perfection... in order to control your "father,"
just so you can salt & pepper a son into a lullaby...
but try a daughter... ooh... pooh tosh too?
how sorry i am... i bet it wasn't as infectious thinking
that one through... malignant cancerous pore of
relating something to something...
but as they say in science in a mongrel relation
of trans-breed mixology of a cosmopolitan...
among atoms we are *****,
among stars we are little men...
remember the microscope and the telescope
are a staff... there are two arguments either side
of the relation of conversing about them...
we can relate to atoms as *****,
we can relate to stars as satellites or telescopes...
in a polite society dialectics is excused...
only because we measure distances of known bodies
to foreign bodies... but this also provides a slack
on what is deemed offensive in casual conversation
because offensiveness is a forced mono-dialectic
where no counter opinion exists due to a third party:
democracy of western society is rife with this.

Funk
Jam Wam goes my Trunk
Punk kids rage and unleash the beast of the party out the cage
Hippie kidz just melt
felt there heat
you see there bodies fall to the ground
the Rock kids mosh and make the concert burn down like pete tosh
We were funky hipsterz watchin the motion of the devotion of these kidz gettin down
we were funky monkeys just swinggin and a singing
pretty girlz jewelry gleamin
ya they caught me peakin
**** I was geekin and cheezin
would'nt you
Funkin A

*******,
that pish and tosh that people bash out and post
at most
it's barely legible.
Quite incredible really that one would waste his or her time pounding on the keyboard just to post another rhyme or two
but
it's what I do to alleviate the stress
I might be creating somewhat of a mess in other's minds but I don't mind at all and if you don't read
I won't bleed
I'll just write something else.

when i started to smoke marijuana aged 20
with this russian cupcake of falling asleep in a seashell entwined
i took to listening to: ***** & the maytals, culture,
israel vibration, damian marley, stephen marley, ziggy,
basil daley, brenton dowe, bunny wailer,
burning spear, cornel & the brentford rockers,
earl zero, freddie mckay, jackie mittoo,
keith hudson, king tubby, lloyd robinson & brentford disco,
lone ranger, peter tosh, soul vendors, sound dimension,
the heptones, the new establishment, wailing souls,
willie & the brentford rockers,
winston & the new establishment...
i sometimes wish i went into the stoner rock direction
to experience that side of the ethnic cultural exploitation
of a certain intoxication... anyway, whatever...
i forget to mention barrington levy, gregory isaac,
alpha blondy and sort of classify collie buddz as reggae’s eminem.

Sarah Mclachlan - Plenty - the one time you told me
i was Eastern European, of long-forgotten Europe....
and you were Irish, then i knew.... time to breed
a knuckles's hello....  should i really mind reality?
you, godforsaken paddy skin-head?
throw a ******* paddy / potato
at me i'll get clued in at where
Chelsea gets tribalism of Hammer-smith...
oh lucky you, the Irish tentacle...
maybe the next Irish in me ought
ti dance the ******* leprechaun dance
for new years'... cos' that had to be minded
in newspapers...
                     i'll the be ****** of goth to mind
enter the dragon, starring the ill fated Brandon...
                   an you be the anonymous ****-wit
pardonable journalist with angst prescription
                      when mommy ****** the
milkman and daddy said: huh?
  or shave my head and become a fake neo-****...
                 or the atypical Irish-head...
       some said Celtic, but some said: Sale-tick-ticking-blah...
the meat-heads bashed their heads together...
                          wedlock northern:
every Mc-Noodle.
                      later read Mac.                                tosh
                                                       or Celtic
in the Glasgow curriculum, as said: Mac. arched Ranger...
    for the clover leaf brigadiers
                                               aye... spoon the
shovies! banknote worded:
                                                two pence a punch...
                some call it a London mo-cheese-sum
(mohican - heir to a higher phrasing: cannot but
will do) - and so the Australian banknote came
sooner than the migration points system:
as ever, plastic first, spooning baked beans
and later the "trouble": as Glasgow estate shimmered
the saying: concrete does two blues,
                          Hertfordshire horseradish:
alter. marketed green slime: or: guacamole...
   god, i wish i was soppy sometimes...
                             at times when it was least
explanatory to mention Vaughan Williams...
                  perfectly now...
        snotty curiosity ever went as far as
a hanky... or later read: a chappy chopping
wood with echo, blistered with
e-oh e-oh and the faked yawn, done, repeatedly,
  for purpose of a masquerade:
                 or Apache tribalism etiquette
saying: oh... h'allo'h h'allo'h h'allo'h;
pompous blues and said Peter to mind
                            while some geezer did the beat
          for the slang while regurgitating an attack
of the Zeppelins.

In memory of
Patric Standford
1939 - 2014

It looks so insubstantial this score,
its opening notes and rhythms
surrounded by a weight of silences,
empty bars where the players rest,
in anticipation, in limbo, rest,
while their colleagues bow and blow
‘in serene cheerfulnesss’,
or so I imagine Hanslick will write
after the premiere. He will say
it is ‘manly but gentle,
animated by good humour
and reflected seriousness’.
What tosh!

And I will say, when I write
to Fritz my publisher,
- and I shall be ironic of course -
‘It is a work of a darker hue,
meditative rather than tragic,
but full of grace and charm.’

Walking the lakeside
at Pörtschach by the Wörthersee
I think all these words and more,
ahead of the notes I shall write here
in my simple room in the Hauptstraße
where today my piano arrived,
to be miraculously tuned
by Herr Grabner’s daughter,
a shy girl, barely sixteen he says
and blind, to my gruff presence
certainly, her small hands,
barely able to stretch the octave,
play at her father’s behest,
my Wiegenlied.

. . .
Schlaf nun selig und süß,

schau im Traum′s Paradies.*

Ah, that this, indeed, might be so.

And I became inspired about a summer love,
surely she is somewhere now watched by all the angels above, her kindred spirits.

So long ago, we sailed the cat to St. John's isle,
where we'd sit and chat for hours on end,
sending good vibes to each other, enraptured,
smothered in our own astral plane.

We were totally exuberant, not criminally-isane,
in fact a bit silly, those googly-eyes we made,
along with the Myers & pineapple,
tickling each other's fancies.

We'd dance to Marley and Tosh,
do the limbo in our tie-dyed brilliance,
under the sun in that tropical paradise,
I think about of you so often.

A lot has happened since I wrote last:

The buzz of the university hive,
The blossom of a love, perhaps,
The sunken ship of a recent dive
Resurrected by society maps.

The gallop into some part-time tosh –
The push and heave of a new routine.
Assurance of some Christmas dosh
(About as sure as part-time could mean.)

The stress of snow that assures my fears,
The irritancy of an icy day,
I am now an adult, it appears,
And my childhood life has flown away

To a warmer place on Cayman sands -
A place I know I will never return,
For while I may travel to Cayman lands
My Cayman childhood was left to burn.

It is icy pastures I now graze
And snow that keeps me trapped away
Where temptation begins its seduction phase...
I stick to my decision that day
For now I am happy and the future begins:
My directional debut lies in wait
And a possible partnership to be kings?
A production team? We’ll leave it to fate.

Exams beckon, I’ll deal with them first.

i drink like a peasant, maybe i am of peasant stock,
which is nice, which makes value
the simplicities of life, oh, and i write this
while someone somewhere makes democracy real,
by evaluating the need for bureucratic complexities,
and it's oh so lovely to watch,
like i'm a seagull chic being fed regurgitated, things...
for lack of a better word,
i finally met a philosopher who engages with
the utility of grammatical words, who finally sees
categories... but, not so much a case to argue an imperative...
heidegger... once more, and thrice over!
maybe i am only slightly like him,
   although speaking a self-acquired posh-tosh accent,
coming from a catholic school, that isn't all that bad...
and to think i'm actually amused thinking
this through, given that there's no reason to state
that i need to fulfill an ought subsequently...
or... aphorisms 205 - 207...
     or what i call my work canvas-antithesis:
my vocabulary did this to me, the complete work
of jack spicer, alternatively called:
an ode to gabriel lorca -
   imagine, watching *****, where a dead poet
gets ****** by a living poet, now, also dead...
  some people go to the zoo...
just saying.
                    i have to watch my female cat take
a **** and later pick it up with a plastic bag...
she peers into me with a grimmace and a touch
of quizzical... i look back and am doubly
solipstic... and if you're uncaring: just call cats
autistic; that said, cats are perfect companions
to autistics... you sorta forget them,
sometimes you pet them, most of the time you
let them sleep...
   meows are annoying and a dog barking is
soothing... don't know how that works...
thankfully the greeks out-did the whole theology
bog argument of being trapped in a 1 + 1 = 2
logic of using words, or encoding sounds...
my my... the ancient greeks, weren't they the one
that said: you trampoline off of me...
  so thankfully we have the θιτανς
(well, that's how i imagine a greek might say it...
thigh-tans)...
yes, τιτανς...
     all that linguistic ******* of keeping a lisp,
but in this case: a clear transmorphing F sound...
sort of a signature by my way of thinking it through...
did i say the english language has no clear
syllable system? no diacritical marks,
   i never heard of dyslexia when i lived for a century
(of 8 years) in poland...
  ah crap... there was this one word i was thinking
of when i woke up today that proves
that english is a "two-faced" language...
i.e. you hear it, but then you see it differently...
what was the word?
   sight, site, cite, sigh, sire, citation, eh?
      always, always make writing conversational,
rather than anything remotely needing controversy...
fast and nimble, enso principle,
  what diacrtical marks, what diacritical marks
to use?
          ah, let's forget about it...
     **** it, let's keep it as pristine as a ****
marble statue of David somewhere in Italy...
Naples? Pisa?
but i did find that word i was thinking of with that
optical anchor leaving me bed-bound
and doubly-gravity prone to "waste" it with some
classical music...
        while figuring out why tapping my collar bone
vs. tapping my forehead gave a variation of sound,
how i tap?
          ******* tapped against the ring
finger against the protruding bone...
  doing a joke about buddha's stiff hand gesture,
that could never be translated into Braille...
  the fact that he bends his ring finger and creatres
an enclosure with hi thumb...
  that's a statement of continuity...
then you have papa middle and mama index...
the child is always the pinky... or the Chinese
one-child state policy...
this day was never going to make sense sober,
    in england you don't do sober,
unless you're really, really serious about buying
vegetables in a supermarket while
sniffing them.... a bit like angelique kerber
sniffing tennis ***** before a serve...
           some proper fetishists playing tennis
these days... i can't say i'm any better...
what with performing oral *** on a *******...
yes, to the talking donkey of her ****
and to the ropudy chimpanzee of her ****...
  yes, some people really do play a trombone
to get the music, others blow into *****
and get a vivaldi of something according to
an onomatopoeia... like looking for vowels
in hebrew...
   stretching... aching... agonising...
                                                    ­       pleased.
so, **** adam (english), walking about
the garden of eden... without a bay leaf to cover
his genitals (diacritical marks)...
it would make sense to call the existence of
the roman empire as: yesterday...
  was i wrong about the docile jews in the holocaust
and the story in the monday newspaper,
about how 850 migrants scaled a 6 metre barbwire
fence to get into europe via spain?
    the poles say two things about the jews
the germans wouldn't have said:
a. they shot with bent rifles...
b. and this one is true, wasze ulice, nasze kamienice...
which translates as: your streets, our tenements...
that's a true quote, as remembered by my grandfather,
which i'm transcribing into my work...
   that's what the pre-second world war said in
poland... your streets (i.e. you can be homeless),
but our tenements (our buildings, dogs)...
   and to think that my mother cared for two
elderly jewish ladies, to the point when they
bent over to do the eternal kip (sleep / death)...
well, as a foul mouth goes...
you read de sade and perform oral *** on a *******...
you're hardly going to speak like
you ate caviar and drank champagne at the Ritz...
are you?
well, i have ate caviar once... in St. Petersburg...
it was orange and let's just say:
you might as well drink a bit of fish sauce to get
the picture... but not the texture...
of what caviar tastes like.
orange caviar is the cheap **** russians put in
pancakes...
  and it really was revolutionary, when i ate
a pancake consisting of ham and cheese in Paris...
i never knew pancakes could be served as savory...
until... the world opened my eyes and i ate
that pancake... when Paris was what it was,
back in in the first decade of the 21st century.

Conspiracy ... ???
    
Theory ... ???    
    
Or .... REALITY ... ?!?    
    
This Is A Dilemma ...    
That Needs ... CLARITY ... !!!    
    
So Who Pulls The Strings of ... Societies ... ???    
People In Office ... Or Those We Don't See ... ?!?    
    
This Piece Could Result ...    
In The Ending of Me ... !?!?!    
Cos' I Don't Believe ....    
In A Card With ...  I.D. ... !!! ...    
    
It's Just One More Way ...    
To ... " Watch Over We " ...    
    
LISTEN Big Brother ... !!!    
STOP Checking On Me ... !!!!    
    
This Type of Ideal ...    
Is Just ... INSANITY ... ?!!!?    
    
We Can't Walk The Streets ...    
Without ... C.C.T.V. .... !?!?!    
    
Meantime The Police ...    
Employ ... BRUTALITY ... !!?!!    
    
I'm Trying To See ...    
How This ... Technology ...    
Will Make Living Better ...    
For You and For Me ... ???    
    
Sometimes I Do Think ...    
We Should All ... " Cop A Plea " ... !!!    
    
And Then We Might ...    
FINALLY SEE .... Who THEY BE ... !!?!!    
    
Masons And THOSE ...    
Who Are ... "hidden from view" ...    
    
Those Who Have People ...    
STILL ... SHINING Their Shoes ...    
    
Those Who Are ... "hidden" ...    
From .... Social Issues ....    
    
Where Are ...    
Holmes and Watson ... ?    
    
I'm Needing Some Clues ...    
Or Maybe Like ... " Muddy " ... ???    
They're Feeling ... " The Blues " ... !!!    
    
WHO CONTROLS The News ... ???    
    
WHO PULLS Our Sinews ... ???    
    
How Many of You ... ???    
Are Tame ... Like The Shrew ... ???    
  
Because of The FEAR ... !!!    
of ... What They Would Do ... !!!    
    
THEY As In ... " THEM " ...    
The ... " CONTROLLING Few " ...    
    
These ... Cash Marketeers ...    
Who ... THRIVE OFF Our Fear ... !!!    
of Losing Control ....    
of The Pound Being Here ...    
    
Simply So They ...    
Can Keep Up With Their Peers ...    
    
What's Wrong With The EURO ... ?    
I Don't Have An Answer .... !!!    
    
Do ...    
Any of You Know ... ?!?    
    
This Issue's ... " A SCANDAL " ...    
Just Like ....  " John Profumo " ... !!!!!    
    
Or Like ... " Watergate " ...    
But When We Find Out ...    
It's Always TOO LATE ... !!!!!    
    
These Thieves Don't Want Piece ... !!!!!    
They Want THE WHOLE CAKE ... !!!!!    
    
They're ALL ... !!!    
On The TAKE ... !!!    
    
They Slither Like ... SNAKES ... !!!!!    
    
And These Are The People ...    
Who ... CONTROL Our Fate ... ?!?    
    
It's NOT JUST The Whites ... !!!    
Who ... "KEEP Their GRIP TIGHT" ...    
    
Some Blacks Are INSECTS ... !!!!    

Just Look At What Happened ...    
To YES .... " Malcolm X " .... !!!!!!!!    
    
THIS Is A Subject ...    
The Nation ... REJECTS ... !!!    
So That's Where I'll STOP ... !!!    
Before They ... GET VEX ... !!!    
    
So .....    
Back To The Pound ... £££    
    
Why Do These Fools Hound ... ???    
When ... " Tapping Your Pin " ...    
Is Now The ... NEW Sound ...    
of Payments We're Making ...    
Across ... English Towns ...    
    
MP's Are Just CLOWNS ... !!!    
Who ... Make People FROWN ... !!!    
    
Cos' Plans They Are Making ...    
Simply .... " CONFOUND " .... ?!?!?!?    
    
" Money Makes The ..... "    
    
ENOUGH ... ENOUGH ... !!!!!!!!!    
    
I'm NO James Brown ... !!!    
    
But TRUST Me ... That Man ...    
Could Really .... " GET DOWN " ... !!!!!    
    
He Spoke THE TRUTH ...... !!!    
And Made STRONG MOVES ... !!!    
    
But Then ... Was Jailed ...    
Cos' He LOST ............................ His Cool ..... !!!    
    
Jacko' TOO ... !!!    
Was One ... " ACCUSED " ...    
    
HE'S A ******* !!!    
    
Said ....    
WORLDWIDE News ... !!!    
    
But Let Me Just ...    
EXPLAIN To You ...    
    
He Owned The Rights ...    
To Some ..... BIG TUNES ...... !!!!    
That Labels Were After ... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!    
    
This Is ... THE TRUTH ... !!!    
    
See ... Money FEEDS ...    
This Thing Called GREED ...    
    
How Many ... BLEED ...    
To Have .... " MONEY " .... !!!    
    
.... " Conspiracies " ....    
..... SUPPORT Money ..... !!!
    
And This Can Lead ... ?    
To ... " ***** DEEDS " ...    
By Those Who ARE ...    
The ... " GREEDY BREED " ... !!!!!    
    
Believe What You Like ... !!!    
But Like Flav' Said ...    
    
DON'T BELIEVE THE HYPE !    
    
Not EVERYONE ...    
Can Be Like ... " Mike " ... !!!!    
    
Wear Your Nikes ... !!!    
    
I'm Gonna Wear Mine ... !!!    
Cos' It WON'T STOP ...    
The ... " Grand Design " ...    
    
Too Many FOOLS ... !!!!!!!    
Just ... " Fall In Line " ...    
    
They Should Take ...    
A ..... " Little Time ............... "    
    
To Hear The TRUTH ...    
In ... Words of Rhyme ...    
    
From ... Angelou ...    
To ... Peter Tosh .... !!!    
    
Before Their Souls ...    
Are ... " ETERNALLY LOST " ...    
    
We Need MORE TRUTH ... !!!    
And ... Less Theory ....    
    
What's REAL To You ...    
And ..... REALITY ...... !!!!!!    
    
Which Brings Me Back ...    
    
To ....    
    
... " Conspiracies " ...

never certain whether it's actually happening,
or if i have reached a pinnacle
of myth-making,
never really know....
   but it's fun when you do begin
thinking less, and myth-making more...
   for one thing, drinking beer,
after about 100ml of whiskey is a hilarious
event...
or drinking in general,
i never really feel ashamed at my vice,
   ****, i embrace it,
  i like writing about it,
   after about 5 beers and 70cl of whiskey
i turn into a ******* sparrow...
   so i might enlarge my perspective on german,
and everything that was once idea,
   and... theory...
    like spotting the lack of diacritical marks
in english when the greeks are: well,
kinda overloading on it...
               a bit like writing about the sun:
it's recurrent, it never changes...
   or a bit like me giving my ***
  the jerks and wiggles, bouncing up and down,
watching the moon behind a clot
of cloud: hello!
   while squatting, picking up
   the cigarette buts off the roof just outside my window...
    frozen moon,
the dilation and shrinking of a cat's eye...
very feline, haven't you noticed, the moon being, thus?
    last night, i spent about 20 minutes,
drunk, literally about to do a coma
caressing a cat... a maine koon,
ginger, weighs about 10kg...
         forced him onto the back,
on a nice, soft back-rest...
     and those eyes appeared...
   day-time cat eye: scythe nearing,
actually a diamon sharp...
   night-time cat eye? wild-eyed!
   big, bulging things that could scrap
any theory on the black hole...
   i already said it's a 2-d object in a 3-d space...
it's monster carousel... spinning spinning spinning...
   like a fern bush in the first Lara Croft game,
and with computers being all about
experiment, it's possible, you actually can
encode a two-dimensional object in a three-dimensional
system, it's doable...
                 well... i'm sorta *******
that i get to teach the lesson about forgiving your enemies,
i'm actually: really, really ******* about it,
  i've become much more disgruntled with life
and i've turned into an imitation of a boar,
i.e. a boor... gboor in polish,
  and no, i don't belive that in gnostic
the g is silent, nor in gnome...
given that you perfectly say it in the word:
diagnostic...
              that's english: so many particular
examples, quasi-etiquette, that you might as well
forget bird-watching and look at the language,
given that it perfectly complies with
a universal quality, as it stands:
it really is a lingua franca,
besides talk of a commerce medium, there's this.
oh, that guy who tried to **** me
  telling me i'd be taking something akin
to l.s.d., well, he's bipolar now,
oh sure, i know his name,
    i know where he lives,
his mother was, quiet fond of me...
     started acting like he was the only one
in the "ghetto"...
          and the woman who invoked
the original plan.... schizophrenic...
calls me up (9 years ago, pst)...
****, what's a prolonged S in german?
thankfully i have a sense of humour...
dark, isn't it? i don't know where they get those
stars from, on screen and with camera,
dark as **** around here,
     very much akin to a blue sky...
so dark, i have only about 3... ok, i'll stretch it
to four constellations i'd care to talk about,
that rhombus, that zodiac scorpion,
and those two identical constellations of
the big and little dippers...
   and i was once asked to travel to Australia
to see: "the many more constellations"...
i went up to Scotland, to a remote place
   near Ben Nevis, in the highlands,
   got dropped off in Glen Coe...
climbed a mountain, walked a craig...
   camped in complete darkness...
went to a pub, drank an ale called:
   sheepshaggers...
        huh?! the Welsh, so far up north?
and guess what: all that talk of light-pollution
proved to be, utter tosh....
           where are they? am i sight-able,
am i blinking?! what's with this talk
of so many stars that William Blake talked about?
i.e. how, there are more stars than grains
of sand on all the beaches in the world?
  i can see jack-****!
i already said, a max of 4 constellations!
      i'd see more stars in a cat-pounce-ready
being petted at 3 am by a drunk like me...
it really was me listening to bonie m's rasputin
picking up cigarette butts off the roof
   just outside my window, above the kitchen...
squatting, and looking at the moon from beneath
the clot of wintry clouds, moving across
the sky like a Mongolian horde...
   i have many names... huh?
oh right... i've been called the hunchback angel
by a thief, and simply an angel
   by this spanish girl who took me back to her
flat and i said: honey, been with prostitutes,
we don't **** under the bed-sheets...
to know it all, you have to see it all...
   then we went to the Notting Hill carnival
the next day, after some time spent talking
in a bath together... and her two intimidating
gay friends... my "erectile dysfunction",
and my limp phallus in her mouth,
  *** under the bed-sheets... ugh...
   and her madonna-***** complex prescribed by
Freud...
         she lived with two gayos...
     i'm sure my **** was just about ready
had i asked...
              and that robin in her garden...
puffy-orange breasted nibble for the eyes...
chirp... chirp... the smaller the better:
nervous twitching, lightning like strokes
of head-movement, a bit like a sparrow,
that never could walk like a crow, indulging
in a funeral-procession, domineering schwarz...
  just skipping, unable to walk, just... skipping.
so that's nice... being called
   a hunchback angel...
   (i don't leave my hermit hole that often,
when i do, i hear the most amazing things,
as i usually do, when picking up a newspaper) -
but the cherry has to be coming from this friend
of mine that tried to **** me...
oh it's a cherry... the death of death...
     and it's in English!
  how could they ever drag the gentleman out
if not in speaking english?
                 now i don't know whether i should be
******* that i didn't die aged 21,
or whether i should be happy, that i have
so much happiness in drinking...
         and look! so much agility and capacity to
write a load of ******* while drinking...
  ah... rose Isolde... don't despair...
           i have canned laughter
             and a theatre filled with an audience
of 1.
   this is the part where you say all of this
is *******, and find adventures in a supermarket aisle
while shopping for canned sardines.
bon voyage! mon ami.
   not all punctuation marks belong alongside dot...
   hence the ...
                            how to transcend into the
practice of ensuring ! ? are not like dots
and more like commas? and do not, necessarily,
belong as sentence-show-stoppers?
          is it just me, or is there an astma problem
in the punctuation sector of the, given language?
hoo! ha! hoo! ha! who! ha ha ha.

There is a great party on Neptune and
Brian Allan brought two mates who were
Ken Kingsley and bob broadsmith and
They started off drinking heaps of methane and dAnced to Judas Priest
And yeah it was fun as ken took his clothes off for cilla black and said do you want to go on a blind date and cilla said ok why not and then Sam kinison came in and sAng wild thing you make my heart sing and it matesmy heart come out of your body it will make you wanna scream and then Sam sang take your clothes off to belinda emmett and
Belinda was left mesmerised and then they sang along to nothin but a good time
Not a dime I cannot pay my rent
It
I can barely make it through the night
It's Saturday night and It!'s party night
So we have to figure out how to make my ends meet and baz boy chucked a methane smoothie all over us and said yeah I will show you cool because I did
That a All for mummy to make her feel better and now I will
methane all over you Brian right now and Marilyn Monroe sang a look in your eyes can be quite continental but diamonds are a girls best friend
You heavy metal music is taking over and I an Emily Symons and Brian dressed up as Santa and said August fool it's not Christmas it's just a regular party
And slim fudty sang I would love to have a beer with Patrick I would love to have a beer with pat we drink in moderation and I am calling him up here in 5 seconds flat we drink in the town and country where the atmosphere is great we love to have a beer with Patrick cause he is our mate and I would love to have a beer with pauly I would love to have a beer with Paul
We would sit in our plsvet and listen to kiss to our ears bleed we drink in the tosh and country
Where the atmosphere is great
I would love onto have a beer with pauly cause he is our mate you see now we have Robert palmer with all his dancing girls the lights Re pk but your not home you see the afterlife is so much fun
Everyone is really having fun even conservos Luke Margaret thatcher and robald reageb as I stic my finger am up saying stic it where it fits and you might as well face it your addicted to money
And everyone was tipping met gab on each other and Brian said I have to leave, U.S. Know things to do
But this is where you dead people can be so uplifting

There is a great party on Neptune and
Brian Allan brought two mates who were
Ken Kingsley and bob broadsmith and
They started off drinking heaps of methane and dAnced to Judas Priest
And yeah it was fun as ken took his clothes off for cilla black and said do you want to go on a blind date and cilla said ok why not and then Sam kinison came in and sAng wild thing you make my heart sing and it matesmy heart come out of your body it will make you wanna scream and then Sam sang take your clothes off to belinda emmett and
Belinda was left mesmerised and then they sang along to nothin but a good time
Not a dime I cannot pay my rent
It
I can barely make it through the night
It's Saturday night and It!'s party night
So we have to figure out how to make my ends meet and baz boy chucked a methane smoothie all over us and said yeah I will show you cool because I did
That a All for mummy to make her feel better and now I will
methane all over you Brian right now and Marilyn Monroe sang a look in your eyes can be quite continental but diamonds are a girls best friend
You heavy metal music is taking over and I an Emily Symons and Brian dressed up as Santa and said August fool it's not Christmas it's just a regular party
And slim fudty sang I would love to have a beer with Patrick I would love to have a beer with pat we drink in moderation and I am calling him up here in 5 seconds flat we drink in the town and country where the atmosphere is great we love to have a beer with Patrick cause he is our mate and I would love to have a beer with pauly I would love to have a beer with Paul
We would sit in our plsvet and listen to kiss to our ears bleed we drink in the tosh and country
Where the atmosphere is great
I would love onto have a beer with pauly cause he is our mate you see now we have Robert palmer with all his dancing girls the lights Re pk but your not home you see the afterlife is so much fun
Everyone is really having fun even conservos Luke Margaret thatcher and robald reageb as I stic my finger am up saying stic it where it fits and you might as well face it your addicted to money
And everyone was tipping met gab on each other and Brian said I have to leave, U.S. Know things to do
But this is where you dead people can be so uplifting

***** grey fingers in every village

Every town

Etched with simple names

Of the lost sons to the new madness

Of love of land

And unknown king

Breeding hate of fellow man

For whom they prey and ****

Knee deep in mud

And jingoistic tosh

Said alike by

Tommy, Frenchman, and Boche

My muse is not amused today.
I'm singing oh so out of tune.
A silver spoon placed in my mouth.
Loaded with cough linctus and antipyretics.
My head is full of puffy fluff.
My brain is thinking loads of tosh.
Catarrhal mind.
Well stuffed up.
Guttural laugh of a cackling witch.
A throat full up with burning itch.
A nose that's headed to the store before I even leave the door.
(c)Livvi MMXV

Bob Said These Words...
So... " OVER - Stand "... !!!

"You can't tell the woman, from the man ?"

And NOW These Words Are RARELY Heard...
Because The TRUTH Is Now IN VIEW...

Transgender Education...
For The Next Generation... !!!
While Peoples' Confusion...
Is Now... POLLUTING...
The World We're Using... !!!

So MANY ABUSING In Institutions...
Where It's CLEAR They Are CONFUSING...

Their Actions of... COLLUSION...
With Those of... AMUSEMENT... !?!

... " Midnight Types "...

Work In The... SPOTLIGHT... !!!
Cos' They Like To Moonlight...
AWAY From....................... "sight".....

You Have To Wonder...
What's In Their Minds...
As They Put ASUNDER...
What's Wrong From Right...

Marley Used MUSIC...
Like These People Use FUSES...
To... IGNITE Midnight...
With Light Personified...
As Confusion In The Heads...
of The... " Midnight Types "...

The FREAKS Who COME OUT...
In The... Middle of The Night... !!!

Because of Who They Be...
When They Look INTO The Light... !!!

The LIGHT That Resides...
In CONFUSED POLLUTED Minds... !!!!

The... " Midnight Types "...
Who Ride Like Knights...
Who Have NO SIGHT...
And Have NO TIME...

To ENERGISE... And FREE Themselves...
of The Passengers They FIGHT... !!!!!

The PASSENGERS They CANNOT Quell...
When DARKNESS Meets Their Light...

Within These Simple Messages...
Are HOMAGES In Rhymes...
To One of Our GREAT Messengers...

... " Bob Marley "...
" Truth and Rights "... !!!

These Words Are Simply...

....... " Vestiges ".......

of What He Saw In Life...
The... " Midnight Ravers "...

Doing Things...
That CLEARLY BLEW HIS MIND... !!!!!!
So Now I'm On... " The Ride "...
THIS One That We Call... " LIFE "...

These Days I Don't Feel Strong...
But Just Like Bob Said In His Song...

I Say...

"People RIDE ON...
That's Right People, RIDE ON...."

Because My Words May Not Be Heard...
But THIS I MUST... Pass On...............

Marley Was A LEGEND...
As Were Bunny And Tosh... !!!

Ravers With Those Flavours...
That Made People... " RIDE ON "...

So As I End This Piece of Verse...
THINK of The Wailers Song... !!!
And REMEMBER My Poetic Vibes...
That Now Speak On These......

... " Midnight Types "...

So YES People RIDE ON...
YES YES People RIDE ON...................

i always found the real crux of horror to be the sound, rather than the image: you are sure to watch every horror movie there is on mute and barely flinch... as if to say: about that man in the sky? he's in a vacuum, and what he sees is hardly that horrific, in need of intervention.

and may i add... sound doesn't underline
the image, nor does it compliment it,
it's there out of its own right -
    which begs the question of nosferatu...
           if i remember, a silent movie...
and the epitome of further b-movie horror types:
if it ain't got the perfect chiller-score...
it ain't happening.

i only say this, because i have just been
watching a bbc2 documentary on
francis bacon...
      but it's not really about the documentary
that i'm suddenly prompted:

and so the saturday papers
land in my lap...
      and it's hard not to notice the saturday
times* magazine...
      and how there's this focus on selling images,
or how to get from 212 to 5K followers
on instagram...
           they really have created
a grotesque version of carpe diem, haven't they?
i always imagined carpe diem to
be something like a memory of a single
chance at catching that blimmin' unicorn...
   but to carpe diem, carpe diem, carpe *******
diem that maxim 100 times in a day?
  oh look... a doughnut... oh look:
a stampede of commuters trapped in a hamster
maze of the Tottenham Court Rd. station...
    i've never seen such an abuse of a maxim
as i see now... it's either carpe diem: truly,
extending well beyond a month or a year and
gives birth to an atypical nostalgia...
or it's diem epilepsia -
    then again it might be called:
                                         blitzkrieg tag...
         oh there's nothing stupid about it,
let's not be condescending...
                             we need more models than
plumbers, we'll get the construction workers
from eastern europe,
             josh sho we can pose and talk
        posh tosh... with those purshed lipsh...
and i do get squinty-eye eating a pickled raw
herring... smacker a dozen extras and we're
en route, to the moovies...
       this bound to make more sense to me,
to the point where i like saying these things
once of wolkewein is in me -
since i'm currently not even sniggering:
well, there was the fact that i saw the results
from France's presidential first round (april 23)...
as if the current times didn't need
a biblical reference... about how the EU /
revival of the roman empire...
      would be / like that statue in nebuchadnezzar
be standing with a golden head...
    silver torso... (pst... if you're a journalist
working for a respectable newspaper, turn away,
now... us religious fanatics can keep a dream
by some king for a long time, and drape reality
with it, give or take 3000 years)...
    because there... standing on clay tip-toe...
the moment you shout
    into a forest rather than a cave and hear
an echo...
                    it's biblical realism, i really can't
imagine it otherwise... but hey!
                the Europeans tried to be united...
then again, they realised they were the indigineous
people... and they all spoke their own tongue...
   or maybe they were bored by speaking English
all the time? maybe they said: ****'s with these
terrible accents? so they went back home and
spoke in pristine, middle-class accents...
                      and thus said: ah, that's better.
a bit like: try talking Glaswegian in Chelsea...
   they'd ask you if you're chewing on a toothpick
sooner than tell you where the nearest
tube station is; but you know, i'm just a little man
in a big big world... and if i wasn't writing a
commentary about the times i live in...
                           wouldn't i? i surely would...
it's even more fantastic than seeing Troy pillaged...
or Rome and in the background Nero's lyre...
  something more precious is crumbling...
         it's these dreams, ambitions and hopes
and guarantees that are burning...
     and they are more fantastic to watch than
any temple or citadel...
   then again: i could be thinking these things prematurely,
which would mean they're a load of *******...
i don't, i always liked the idea of a quiet life
in a small town in Finland... where i couldn't
get a newspaper, and get so agitated about my
impotence in terms of changing the world as the people
littering the pages are capable of...
                 then again: that's probably a good thing -
minimum effort, maximum result,
or as we love to say:
   from geocentrism, to heliocentrism... through
to egocentrism... which can only mean one thing:
              egononcentrism - otherwise known as the people.

We lean on the balcony
looking down
on the Square;
it's a summer evening,
light still,
kids playing
by the pram sheds,
on up and down the *****
on their scooters or bikes.

Fay smells of flowers;
her fair hair let loose
about her slim shoulders;
I sniff her secretly.

My father's away,
she says,
he'll be back
on Saturday.

Where's he gone?

Business in Scotland;
he said I was to learn
Chapter six
of St John's Gospel.

Why?

Just his way
of making sure
I don't waste too much
time on earthly things.

Will you learn it?

I will have to;
he'll test me
when he gets back
and if I haven't
there will be trouble,
he said.

I see two kids fighting
over by the pram sheds;
a crowd gathers.

Don't your parents
make you read the Bible?

No, my old man
wouldn't know
the first thing
about the Bible;
he thinks it's all
a load of tosh,
but my mother says
we should go to church
and sometimes we do,
especially
the Bible-thumpers
by the iron bridge
who take poor kids
to the beach
in the summer
and they have feast night
with bread
and cakes and such.

Fay looks at me;
her eyes have
a sadness about them
like a puppy
left out
in the rain.

The nuns say
that those who
do not believe
will go to Hell.

Be quite
a packed place, then.

I believe,
but I want you
to believe, too,
she says.

Believe what?

In Jesus and God.

I watch a tall kid
ride his bike
by a couple
and shout
KAZOO!
as he passes them by.

I do believe.

You do?

Sure why not?

She smiles.

I would kiss
Miss A's backside
for a smile like that,
but I don't tell Fay;
I just look
at the brightness
of her eyes
where stars
are born
and an old star dies.

sometimes i leak, lots,
what's your plumbing skills like, tosh?
sorry, price too high!

perhaps the hardest lesson to learn
is based upon drinking
whiskey slowly...
    you can down one kalimotxo glass
after another, and if you have
to litres of wine, you can also chain-smoke
choo-choo it down the slide
into more uninhibited territory -
but with whiskey: there's a need to
keep vigil, and wait, and wait...
  and it can sometimes be disengaging
that you somehow have to wait
for the right moment, and begin...
      oh, i drink out of choice,
not out of an addict's plea -
   what three weeks in Poland showed me
was that i can switch off the "addiction"
in a day, and feel no cold-trukey drama...
the western world with
its romanticism of madness and its
theatre of addiction narratives bores
me... quiet literally bores me...
   so why am i writing this?
well... i feel the tipping point of the Libra
working its way into my drinking session...
a few aphorisms by a german
philosopher in hardback...
   then a few newspaper articles from
a newspaper (column section, primarily)
and i can begin...
   and i can begin: because i feel no shame
in writing what i would consider to be
utter tosh... but given the Libra principle:
at least i'll write nearly as much
as i have read...
     i find it a disaster to merely write...
to fill some void, as if to rekindle once had
conversations with transcient friends:
notably those in a system of either schooling,
or work...
    i just have a void in my head
that once had pristine conditions (soul-like)
for thinking... now i don't...
  as happens when blood spills onto neurons
and you hear a sound akin to water
on an electric current...
but never mind that...
          do i care for past conversations
as a writer might, in that current film 5 to 7?
well... i'm not really a writer...
   as it is self-evident: i have the least
interest in paragraphs, or ensuring someone
takes me writing to bed as:
the best way to fall asleep... not as depressing
as someone falling asleep with the television on,
i gather that much...
     but i'm not really here to talk,
to orate grand things in the vein of a Cicero...
i thought i could begin citing more
Seneca and Cicero than the Greeks...
but then i found that: they cite the Greeks...
so why bother citing those two?
     pedantry, for the care of it being
a reflection that: there actually was a beginning,
and with that beginning i find myself
lodged in the current year, a.d. 2017.
    it's not that i care about these historical
figures... they're as far removed from me
as someone in a village 100 miles north off
Beijing... gearing up from tending to a field
to occupying a cubicle-sized room
with a naked lightlulb dangling off the ceiling...
it's hardly an umbilical cord...
but such is the contrast i'm experiencing,
a philosophy book on the one hand,
and a newspaper on the other hand...
  you can't find a better case of zenith and nadir...
i read one and i reach a nadir -
because current affairs and my place in the world
are a bit pointless by comparison...
  but i read the other, and i am walking
up a mountain, upon which i find coordinates (0, 0)
and of all things: gravity - a pulling force
that drags me to say, well...
coordinates (0, 0), but that's on an x-y graph...
i'm the z-line, so, more precisely 1 (0, 0) -
neither of these two mediums are actually
three-dimensional, as such, not the objects
themselves, but the content...
   so i have to stand outside the already prescribed
coordinate foundation...
but i still find philosophy books inadequate
in some way... a) no grammatical words...
not using the basis of categorising language,
all the time, just throwing words into abstracts
and geometric bulwark -
      no grammatical words, not one,
only Artistotle nibbling at it: proper names...
       or such thing from ancient lore...
and b) the rigid concepts used, intact,
to further an argument, or merely state
the logic of language...
           e.g. ad infinitum (to infinity) -
and never toward, say, something poetic...
   it's enough that grammatical words have never
been used in philosophy books...
  allowing a pseudo-ping-pong or at least
the quickened step... a wormhole effect...
but the fact that there can be no, i.e.
    αδ μηταφoρυμ -
        for example syllables, diacritical marks
as punctuation marks / syllable enforcers within
words... why then all the way to infinity
and not toward the given, now?!
toward metaphor, yes...
               how there is medicine all around...
a doctorate in linguistics might also mean
using another kind of scalpel to cut open words...
and not begging at the oratorium of:
the pen is mightier than the sword...
         so i guess that would mean:
the tongue is mightier than the thought,
  or as some would say: the thing that incubates
thinking... the in abstracto brain...
why would we begin to think by claiming
the origin of thought is in the brain and is by
brain solely coordinated?
   what of feelings concerning the heart,
and my drunken odes when the liver speaks more?
i can hardly be as merely a brain in a pickle-jar
attacked to a computer (some time in the future)...
the heart speaks as much as the brain,
if not more!
           side-tracking,
and why:                    Γγ      Υυ
   and not akin to Ιι                      Ρρ   Ττ    Χχ
      Ψψ, i.e. identical shrinking?
   some would say: can that ever be a serious question?
well... unless you're part of the crowd
asking about the mysteries of the universe,
i guess it isn't...
                   well... it's there, i'm in it...
it's unfathomable to the extent we currently
understand it... but at least this thing i asked is
concerning a human question,
   not a dialectically theological question
that stacks a lot of brains working on
the cartesian "i am" without much thought,
i.e. the tri-tier dialectics of theism / deism / atheism:
no matter what thought i put into that thing
that boasts moons, stars Jupiter and Mars will
ever produce a lightbulb...
     or a recipe for a well cooked roast...
here, now... language... it's bewildering
on the basis that: well, we're not exactly
merchants on the silk road writing route symbols
so we don't get lost when we travel across
Arabia... by the looks of it... we're already lost!
yes, that really was an exaggeration:
but i like to think it's so,
it's not as simple as 1 (straight), 2 (turn left)
and 3 (turn right) -
so to walk through a maze you were given
the instruction schematic:
1, 1, 1... 2... 1, 1, 1, 1... 3... 1... 2... 1, 1... 3... 1, 1...
bingo!
   and believe me.... you will end up writing
these little codes at some point, wondering
why it was that you didn't remember modern
code given computers... or as i do...
or why i do these little codes, because,
as a byproduct of being drilled 1 + 1 = 2
   from age 8... i feel like taking a break
and writing the most basic ciphers...
a bit like receiving complimentary chocolates
on your hotel bed...
  it's not exactly a chocolate fountain...
but hell... they're there.
yet what was that thing i mentioned,
the Libra principle?
     well... it doesn't matter what i wrote...
i spent the past hour reading...
   which makes me feel, actually a bit shameless
about writing anything at all...
   it's how i find writing to be at best
a chance of being trapped in a moment
    that post-pones more balancing acts...
i just can't stash inside of myself
  this high-air i'm wearing a cravat sort of airs...
like i might need a butler...
     i can't say i write more than i read...
but at feel less urgent in writing anything at all...
and the content just passes me by...
the context is more important:
whiskey, cigarettes, newspaper, windowsill
a bit of heidegger...
               and that's how it should be:
it can never be that important as i might even
like to think...
         and yes, as Kafka noted should
his works be kept, published IN LARGE PRINT...
you seen a Kafka book?
    New Times Roman... probably size 9 or 10...
they overdid the justice bit with Bukowski...
Kafka is stacked on my shelf and he's moaning
saying: you ******* should have at least
published my books in larger font:
so it's easier to read... who's this chuckling Charlie
doing in the myopic section of the library...
i mean: how many insuctices have been served
like that... he can boast all he wants:
the reason he's pop is because they printed
him in LARGE TEXT... Kafka received
a **** when he ordered a steak tartar...
   and yes... the stench of a nation once incorporated
into the Roman empire is all too evident
in an English newspaper...
   coming from a faction of peoples who didn't
experience being brown-nosed by the Romans
or who claim no conncetion with the Roman world
can be a bit daunting...
               it would seem to suggest that there's
nothing to boast about...
    and that much is true...
as if true that Poland: has absolutely no moral
obligation to prevent the people of Hong Kong
from being swallowed up by the one-party Chinese
state...
       because no more Kowtow means: no more Kowtow.
if i were British i'd cite Bilbo Baggins...
Gandalf... i feel streched... like
    too little butter spread over too much toast...
what's with this predicate of having moral
obligations... 6000+ miles away from Dover?!
well... these are middle-class opinions,
   instead of reading a newspaper, i should really
try to get an invitation to some *******'
    dinner party in Devon... or Richmond...
that's what i meant when i meant: two Europes...
  suddenly got the fear
and left: because there emerged a workforce
with a communist work ethic,
a generation who had to join the army for 2 years...
given the conscription laws...
         every time i wake up and feel nothing
but jealousy of not being born in poland in the 1960s.

it's sloppy, it's messy, but thankfully it's not an Ikea manual to put up a coffee-table... or precisely why we call it copernican... and east is where? how could copernicus ever help as navigate a ship... for all intensive purposes... sometimes the earth just has to be "flat", so it can be managed... ever navigate a car from Romford, Essex (a.), to Ostrowiec Św. (b.), Poland, using a map? an orb for the mere pleasure of imagining it to be so, doesn't exactly get me from a. to b., or what they might tell you in an English Catholic school: imagine the earth... and then imagine yourself moving away from it... ******, i still need to get from point a. to point b., Neil Armstrong isn't going to help me while having a kodak moment on the moon! the earth's flat, for all the right reasons, next time you hear about japanese tourists, driving their car into the sea when listening to some Tom / sat-nav off the coast of australia; then i'll tell you i'm imagining a pear, or a woman's ***.

the genesis comes with *homer's blindness...
then onto peering into darkness,
and extracting the light
within darkness...
  perchance we might mention
the islamic intoxication
of rumi - peering into it
all, liberal, sufi...
        last time i checked i was
so drunk that i could only create
a focus on the television
with only one eye open...
oddly enough i watch more darkness
and listen to more music than
i care to abandon and take to
having a wife...
    somehow music overpowers all
my natural urges to have a wife
to father her children,
to scoop into society for a few breadcrumbs...
how we are fated to so diverge...
thus in the night, in tormet
from a migrane, how many poses the lying
body made, how many groans,
as if in labour...
i can account for the medicine that came
intuitively:
    lying on the bed, with my head off it
upside-down, then arranging
the cushions for i lost the third cushion
as to lie as flat as possible....
so the neck was fully extended...
  and easing the pressure...
   why didn't i just go downstairs and drop
a paracetamol or a naproxen pill?
    i wanted agitation, i wanted to
be, for at least one night, akin to a chinese
sage...
and to be honest, if it wasn't for the turks
(the great translators of islam)
   i wouldn't think twice about it...
   or have read rumi,
  or fiddled in bed at night with a migraine
like i might be creating crucifix theatre /
the vanity project of golgotha...
   and you never really get to write
any poetry at all, when you've spent too much
time watching the sun, right in the eye
until it shows you itself, as the ultra-violet
           pulverising, vibrating entity
that it is...
        which is why i returned to closing
my eyes, and listening to music,
with such zeal as to not bother about women...
  and peering into the void to then see
these mini-shadows emerge from my travel
into Hades... words... as any ancient greek might
have said: a god's fondness and appeal
to a cerberus...
       or: what was once a sphinx...
or as some said: the original sin was plagiarism...
and i say that, because there's the need
for irony to be stated, and subsequent ridicule...
we plagiarised, and we still do...
    i mean, a man's head on a body of a lion...
became the unravelling, the anti-thesis
   of, say, Ra, or Anubis... an animal's head
on a human body... the sphinx... unravelled
the genesis of egyptian history
and led to its decay...
      as was Hades' pet, the three-headed dog
the basis for constructing christianity...
            we are prone to the original "sin"
because our "original" sin was to plagiarise...
             hence the irony... since plagiarising
is, well... unoriginal;
but for a poetry that's contained in the bible,
you have to speak in misnomers...
          as the concept of original sin is...
a misnomer...
            a misplaced name for something too
blatant that it requires some sort of mythical
narrative, just like cooking chicken
      in water / poaching it, to get a soup...
we have our boring dialogues,
   so instead of calling it a chicken poached in water
we add cinnamon, cardamom, cloves,
         bay leaves, chilli, turmeric,
            garam masala... etc., and hey presto!
it's a curry...
      like any self-respecting white boy can say:
they think curry spices are bad?
ever sniffed sourcrout?
   the turks pickle chillies... the slavs pickle cabbage,
i am not entirely sure how the two didn't meet
in a kebab concept... why not?
   pickled cabbage could really compliment
the lamb... we pickle vegetables  that we like
to feed pregnant women to,
or so they ask for: pickles doesn't just mean cucumbers...
chillies and cabbage...
now i'll show you africaan: kebāb...
ya, tosh-posh invitation of what's said to an essex
standard of: kebáb; funny, isn't it?
these distinctions, actually do exist -
    evidently english required a painter to come
and learn it, and then paint onto it.