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Àŧùl Jun 2015
Hindi in Devnagri script:

वो सुबह के सूर्य का प्रकाश,
प्रज्वलित करता है तुम्हारी ये कांति.
तुम्हें देख कर ही होती मेरी भोर है,
तुमसे मिल कर मेरा रोम-रोम विभोर है.


Transliterated to Latin script:

Wo subah ke soorya ka prakaash,
Prajwalit karta hai tumhaari ye kaanti.
Tumhe dekh kar hi hoti meri bhor hai,
Tumse mil kar mera rom-rom vibhor hai.


Translated to English:

That morning sunlight,
Enlightens your radiant face.
Seeing you my morning happens,
Please know it that meeting you I have gotten goosebumps.
My HP Poem #875
©Atul Kaushal
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
you know, on that N86 bus listening to dikanda's
https://goo.gl/OAUjMe (ketrin ketrin),
while going to the brothel, where i kissed *****'s
eyelid skin i turned my heart into a lung...
and it burst akin to muscled stress of the softer tissue,
by heart was the black horse of the race...
she would only be worth £110 an hour...
but in my heart... a lifetime... so classical fm is
asking for three songs to be enlisted in the hall of fame
here are my three:
1. something to think about (christopher young) -
   hellraiser ii,
2. no time for caution (hans zimmer) -
    interstellar,
3. spectres in the fog (hans zimmer) -
     the last samurai, competing with
(4. any other name (thomas newman) -
     american beauty,
and....
5. carpe diem (maurice jarre) -
     the dead poets' society);
i always found classical music invoked
by fast image exchange most adhering
to a modern public... after all...
the notes written down are transliterated
from moving geometries
asking for a human face...
that one abstraction leaving another created...
so enriched we can be living and leaving here,
but leave and live here cradled and crawling
and nothing more than an attempt for
a crafted shawl of woollen care...
assuredly we were the blank canvas,
when the sheep and lion were clothed...
the lizard inwardly having its blood cooled...
and we the mediators...
to evolve from an origin of such biological diversity?
why will darwinism claim to be a humanism
and let no humanism in?!
if darwinism branched from science for a populism
of understanding prepositions as propositions
(given that propositions are allowed expression
with far many more complex words than prepositions,
given the former are deemed a nature or origin
and the latter a nature of coordination)
why allow it a humanistic simplicity
and complicate humanism to a non-expression's
extent of a complexity? darwinism cannot grasp
humanism's complexity per se, for each its own per se
allowance... darwinism cannot relate to humanism,
since humanism deals with the one diluted into the many,
while darwinism deals with the many concentrated into
the one:
and noting the varied dimensional usage of pronouns,
the singular (engaging), the singular (disengaging),
the plural (effective), the plural (ineffective),
to use but a few among others... how would a self,
as either realistically concerned or as expressed
in an atlas pose when one individual speaks of a species
to ever survive... to speak of humanity per se,
is to not speak of being human per se (a self),
but as if under a constant threat from either internal
or external stimuli, it's to speak as if human
but hardly being human... darwinism only said
in simpler terms 1 = ~∞ 0 1 (one equals
approximately infinity denying one... expressed
further: one equals approximately infinity denying
oneness, hence ethnicity, hence disparity,
the infinite approximate is due to the no. of equally
represented identities of reflection as one's akin
in historical content for a vanity representation
of ego) / although there's a parallel disparity:
1 = ∞ 0 ~1 (1 equals a reasonable infinity
of the semblance collective, as approximated within
one's own constitution, denied by the constitution
of the semblance collectivised denying 1 its
oneness by a division, into pop. psychology
of subconscious, unconscious, ulterior and posterior
assembling of identification in order to relate
a concrete un-divisible one, to a oneness
of ~∞ 0 ∞†, whether governed by animate or inanimate
things, worthy of either representing
∞ = 0 ~1, or ~∞ = 0 1 (infinity equating itself to
a denial of an approximation of one,
or approximate infinity equating itself to a denial
of one) - by most standards a collective power
increases, while an individual coercion with
such increase in power is diluted to mediocre representation
of what was once hoped for to be an individual...
as worded: i'm about to inherit a pickaxe, an igloo,
a herd of sheep, a land arable for regular hunts
to provide sustenance, but as i said, the oddity
of increasing vocabulary as body-building index muscle,
will hardly teach you the physics of quanta in
the realm of modulating grammar,
on the basic basis of grammatical as
a method of de-categorisation one word from it being
named, to it being acted upon as a termed way of
walking (differently), or otherwise.

†a bit much for me, an alfred jarry moment
at the end of dr. faustroll's opinions and exploits...
papa **** got the dangling essence of things:
je suis jarry among the je suis cherub charlies,
if poet does not appreciate other artistic mediums
he can't mediate them,
poetry is supposed to mediate all artistic expression
with platonic criticism... it's supposed to mediate,
with poets appreciating each and every craft...
whether sculpture we scrap metal stolen from a park,
or whether an oil canvas be worth as much as toilet
paper when the painter is alive, and millions more
when he's dead.. we need gravity a demanding
drama to extend drama into grammar...
poets have to become the middle-men of haggling,
they need to appreciate art in an elitist way
in order that art can't become genealogically defining,
like dramatics of the theatre lost between idols
of 1950s screening compared to idols of 19'90s screening...
we need poets as the glue stuck to every output...
we need to appreciate all art other than their own
to discover their own... we can't have the mindless
jealousy bribe us to reconcile composition,
so that poet against poet is still writing poetry...
he isn't... he's writing a polemic... and that's hardly
a dialogue... it's a mortifying analogue of monologue...
and we don't want poetry to be such a belittling
circumstance of the original intent of practice,
why would a poet's rarity be reduced to
a market blasphemy of ultra-eloquent speech
in order that it might be used to scold?
why the jealousy? why?! it reeks of revenge
that only requires a Darwinism to include it,
as sustainable and necessary,
too many monkeys to create a single man...
too many difference in man from continental span
of africa, to asia... to even bother a standing ovation
origination in genetic scrip of a chimpanzee...
script wants man to be genetically above
a genetic script of a banana numbering more genes
that itself... the biodiversity of monkey
is akin to man... why would the two chiral statues
suddenly become gemini of explanation?
it all fits... but it stinks...
well, whatever that was... it's the pride of a language
that keeps darwinism alive...
but theology is closer to humanism than darwinism...
it's a compound logic, darwinism ends with with an ism,
an empiricism... and the only logic accounted for
is a logic of repeat... just look at the forms of these words...
formulated by L and Γ (origin of the kabbalistic interpretation
of allah)... keep the prefix akin to a suffix composed to
an enclosure... theology provides the better logistics
of expressing being human than an empiricism
known to be darwinism... after all a -logy tends to
repeat a systematic use of words...
empiricism a systematic use of facts...
easier to become bored of facts than words.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.i do expect you to become lost in this labyrinth - at least that's what i'd rather say - sleep-deprivation is for "some" reason to escape the mediocre of having catched the "8 hour wink"... or whatever the Minotaur wouldn't call it... because i wouldn't call it a "problem" of "gender-neutral pronouns" either... i would call it a "problem" of noun-acquisition-status of letters; notably in greek and hebrew.

friends of "the" family have been looking
for on fb,
****... the caron S (š) will not do!
i need to use two alphabets that...
did not nurture yiddish into existence!
cyrillic didn't accept hebrew...
it'll have to do...
it wouldn't be enough to simply write
my name in cyrillic...
and no... in hebrew no less!
since the vowels are hidden...
and inserting the proper hebrew vowel...
it still wouldn't matter that...
my surname is missing... the galician germanic
e(ch)lert or the e(sch)lert...
no... but how is one to insert
the right kind of vowel: all in hebrew niqab
harem of diacritical markers subscript...
when... you don't have...
enough letters as nouns as scientific
constants as the greeks... do...
i guess only η (eta) stands out as a sore thumb /
black sheep... but i am bound to be wrong,
in the meantime:
well it's hardly a letter-with-a-noun
inclined akin to alpha (α) -
otherwise all is well...
we use the prefix prime (the grammaton per se)...
and discard the suffix when constructing words...
ergo? a-lpha...
and so an so forth...
till be arrive at...
blasting your ears nearing deafness because:
beethoven's mrs. H is:
music so you have to shout over it!
loud! what?! loud music!
loud music what?! loud music
to shun the "pain"...
oh... see you in one of those classes
when you can write sign-language for the dead
when you've been allowed to write braille!
see you sputnik ****!
yeah, see you deaf in one year divine John!
but you get the promise that's:
not your everyday latin castrato sing-along...
those greeks sure have all the best
science... stabilizers... not a lot of songs
to sing along to... because their letters
are also noun-status: also have noun-status...
otherwise the ol' prefix use...
and the suffix recycling centre...
a word like: matter...
well...
   ματτερ - no... i will not use the greek word...
i'll state... mmm... hm!
mu implies m- and cutting off the -u...
alpha implies a- and cutting off the -lpha
tau implies t- and cutting off the -au...
epsilon implies e- and cutting off the -psilon
rho implies r- and cutting off the -**...
and so... we have the word matter...
and the recycled materials for...
some other words...

hebrews? hebrews do have... noun-status letters...
(א) aleph - what's vogue?
inserting the iota into the omicron that's
the marriage: φ (phi)...
or whether it's the turning of the iota in
the omicron to provide the opening of the door
θ (theta) to see: that light at the end of the tunnel
delta (Δ)... again... it's only aleph we're "investigating"...

the other letter in hebrew with a noun-status?
(ג) g'imel...
another is (ד) d'alet...
(ז) z'ayin...
(ל) l'amed...
(ס) s'amekh... most certainly (ע) a'yin...
(צ) t'sadi...

interlude: what is the distance
between (א) a'leph and (ע) a'yin?
a kametz...

now we can "debate" - noun-status letters...
the greeks are in the same sort of pickle
as the hebrews...
there can be a debate whether...
the greeks have more than:
alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, iota,
lambda, omicron, sigma, upsilon, omega
as noun-status letters...

why? because it becomes silly...
(ק) qof and (κ) kappa...
(ר) resh and rho (ρ)...
(שׁ) and... well... to be honest...
that's heading into cyrillic territory...
and the caron S (ш)...
given (ס) samekh and sigma (σ)...

this always happens to me when i come
across a hebrew...
even if he's old and riddled with dementia...
i see him with his polish bride
and i see a "romanian gypsy"...
the feeling is... strange...
this hebrew is like an old cousin of mine...
but it's always a touch of magic...

i am not good at solving crosswords...
(כ) 'xaf' and chi (χ) -
perhaps i have exagerrated the letter-as-noun
status on some of this greek and hebrew...
tightly-knit bed-fellows...
as the boasting resounds in the labyrinth
of the rise and fall of the roman empire...
and the barbarian attempts to have
settled the lands near the seven hills...
and revived the eagle...
spec-ta-cu-lar failures!

the germans should console themselves
with having a crow on their marching banners...
and polacks should...
satisfy themselves with the unicorn myth
of an all-white bald eagle... albino eagle...
and so the harry potter: minus ***** 'arry
can have their unicorns, swans,
honey-badgers, welsh dragon,
st. andrew's gryffindors... etc. -

name, a name... i need to... change it...
obviously...
no hebrew vowels will be used...
since... their use... is devoid of what's already
concrete usage of diacritical markers
in established letters...
if cyrillic and hebrew is to be used...
and not greek and hebrew:
because... well thank you for the new testament
riddle... let's move... away...
to "greater" / other... things....

i can't use a kametz alpha
a tzere epsilon
a chirek iota
a cholem omicron
or a shurek upsilon (omega)...
so all the vowels will have to by cyrillic...

my... latin, name?
mateusz konrad... let's drop the surname...
let's call it a game of:
ibn... or ben... matthew son of konrad...
and since i don't have a... confirmation name...
what name? i would have chosen: Isidore...
after the saint of seville...
or... Ignatius (of Loyola) -
the only fun part of going to a catholic school
was... learning about the counter-reformation
and writing an essay about it...
and their library was decently stacked...
so... plus plus...

this is but a simple exercise...
first the name in cyrillic...
there will not be a full name in hebrew...
which i'll probably lace with greek...
and it will still make all the more perfect
sense... should it be transliterated back
into anglo-ßaß...
yeah: why i don't have a girlfriend...
with these sort of interests?
i guess an hour with a *******
once a year is enough for me...
and for womankind in the hospice of omni...

just following the laziness
of the russian visa authorities are the embassy...
they didn't translate mateusz into matvei
or konrad into: Дракон...
мат-вей...

these are the sort of idiotic tier-1 level
кaцaпс... working in the russian embassy in Loon'don...

because i was never going to be the матвей
who'd **** an илoнa like the 300 deadly mongrel
saracren mameluks or the spartans... no...
i counter the 7 headed beast on her
with every ****** in that one night
i was making my final goodbyes...
but keeping the mikhail bulgakov novel...
through a repose in Warsaw and...
i finished what, "apparently" i wasn't supposed
to finish...

and she is one of those troubled girls...
every ****** partner that meant anything to her...
she will have a tattoo of that lover
on her body... i know my place on her body...
it's on the right shoulder-blade...
the tattoo is of a dragon...
i know because i've met girls like her...
elsewhere...

even as i was being driven home after taking
my mother for her rheumatoid arthritis check-up,
blood test, x-ray... and the pakistani cab-driver
was talking about all the precautions he needs
these days: video ahead of the bonet for insurance
policy... a camera looking in...
and audio recording on his smartwatch...
because what he said... didn't surprise me...
i once picked up a spanish girl - Tamara in a club...
and she decided to take me home
for a one night stand...
as we were approaching the house she was
sharing with three homosexuals
she decided to jump out of the cab...
and make a runner... i calmed the cabbie:
i'll pay for it...
we tried to later **** the hetreosexual way
with her calling me angel because
of my "erectile dysfunction" under the bed sheets
in that putrid smoke of cocoon ***...
like the birth of a rancid moth embryo and
choking from the heat of dust and alcohol
and... what i am alluding to is that some girls
do jump out of cabs to avoid paying the fair...
i knew what the pakistani cabbie was saying...
she owed him 40 quid...
he filed the whole thing to the police...
she accused him of ****** assault...
the story would have fit...
she run from the cab when he tried to sexually
assault her... but... he did have
that audio recording from his smartwatch...
in the end the girl was fined 700 quid...
which is nothing... compared to...
what's that called in h'america? a false accusation?
slander?
i know that girls jump out of cabs...
to avoid paying the fare...
i drove with one... who did just that...
i guess she was so used to this act that she
forgot i was sitting next to her...

- all the *****... but then all the chem-soup
post-psychiatric *******?
the ***** i can stand...
the pills are just tasmanian devilish when
it comes to catching the perfect
battery insomnia recharge...
and always meeting and respecting
the elder of the group darwinistic:
prat pact... a hebrew...
there always needs to be a yew
a *** in the equation...
no... not some english society
uncle tom worth of a high society rabbi...
i mean a jew that will support
west ham... because...
it's an irrational team...
it can fathom beating chelsea (A)...
but then... "forget" to win against...
for god's sake! Norwich (H)!

i know! i know! joseph conrad took his place!
here's my part anagram!
Mатвей Дракон...

the near non-existent diacritical presence
in the english language...
well... no "surprise surprise" if...
you're starting with
и (i) or rather (ı)...
and what's being the flock of salmon
up the river, being caught?
the j but not (ȷ)... imagine my... "surprise"
that the russians arrived at...
и and ı - in tow... ȷ and the й...
the breve...
parabolla or... my eyes only see
the microscopic details when someone
will simply slurr?

- borrowing from yesterday and...
in the early night of winter standing
in the garden with four potatoes
and something else...
looking up at the sky...
i am used to seeing unusual "things"
in the sky -
i'm not unusual when it comes
to having seen a u.f.o. - fluorescent
and squid like in colour -
but i'm also the sort of person that
would carry a few beers for such
spontaneous encounters -
rather running around like a raving
lunatic armed with a camera
filming the whole thing...
i have no proof: i hope my words are enough...
and if they're not?
well... if it can be seen with a naked eye -
i don't need to blink via a technological
feed and argue about: quality of the picture...

but even i wasn't ready for...
what i saw today...
those are roaming stars? aren't they?
and i really did forget to count how
many moved in the same direction
askew - one by one with equal distance
between them - before the distance between
extended - there must have been more than
10 - i'd say there were around 20!

is this always how things are -
when one contemplates the tetragrammaton?

part anagram? well because the russian
do have a version of the hebrew matisyahu...
but they do not have the german conrad
in their language...
probably as to why the germans do not
really have... a yuri or nikita in their language...
nikita after all sounds more feminine than
masculine - anyone could with hindsight
speak of mr. rocketman's lover of
the same same... as not some russian beau
example of the fairer ***...
but a comrade khrushchev...

- and why wouldn't i call those russians
that work in the russian embassy in Loon'don
кaцaпы? for one... they just type letter for letter:
a mateusz / a matthew is a мaтэусз...
for all "legal" purposes...
they already have the сз = ш...
bureucratic purposes...
and no wonder some are like:
how do you say that?
too many consonants some add...
and i really did think that all of us were
allowed to be fully literate...
that's not the case... blowing my own horn...

having a wet ***** over: because i like my given
names... perhaps that's why i didn't want
the confirmation option of being allowed
to change any of my given names: legally...
to one of my own chosing...
when i was 15 / 14 i didn't even known
or think about a name like Isidore...

when the german name became coupled
with a hebrew loan...
otherwise the russian with the first
being an anagram... drakon -
Mатвей Дракон - it's just a name -
it's my name - what's in a name is what's
precisely not in anonymous names
.666 handles and avatars on the internet...
i can own my face - and i can own my name...
because - i kind of like it...

again: on in russian can the west slavic
C be distinguished from the K... Ц -
and back into the cyst of the western lands...
Ç or what came with sigma's tail...
it's so... boring... to have less the different
sounding letters - given no diacritical markers -
and only the "exotica" of spelling -
all the metaphysics in the world combined
and concentrated in greenwich...
but no real orthography...
i could begin the day by bemoaning this poverty
of the english language...
oddly enough as both the outsider coming in...
the immigrant who became a citizen...
and as the insider coming out and coming in
again on that expatriate spectrum of
working from the thesaurus: IMMIGRANT...
for all the beauty of Macbeth...
i can have to ruse myself to bemoan
conventional english... the formal english...
the antithesis poetica...

but i do somewhat "know" why it's called
a tetragrammaton...
i wouldn't classify any of the letters that make it up
as noun-worthy letters...
the kametz (a) and the tzere (e) are nouns...
and letters... but you don't see them when
the hebrew doesn't exfoliate and is left
crude with "missing vowels" for the gentiles
to read...
saying that... calling ה (he) a noun is pushing it...
as is calling ו (vav) a noun...
or י (yod) - although...
the yod could be allowed a noun-status
as... an apostrophe... or a version of the caron -
but the remaining letters of the tetragrammaton...
are "syllables" in that they are consonants...
and when the tetragrammaton comes face
to face with noun-status letters of its own
universe: g (ג) gimel, d (ד) dalet, z (ז) zayin -
l (ל) lamed, s (ס) samekh, ц (צ) tsadi -
resh? shin? the gates are open to allow the question
in... but when...
there's also siamese Adams aleph (א) and Ayin (ע)
being and nothingness respectively...

what could Islam possibly offer me...
intellectually?
when i once asked a muslim what...

alif, lam, meem                                      meant...
he replied... only god knows...
so i thought... only god?
i must have been talking to one of those muslims
who have arabic overlords...
before they can catch a whiff of the almighty
blah'llah...
ا, لَـ, مَـ
again... greek only touches upon...
the initial - the medial and the final
version of sigma...
isolated you would see the capital sigma...
Σ - which could also be treated as the initial
letter - given that the σ looks more like a medial
form - although it's also initial -
whereby ς is the final form -
almost like the english: 's... apostrophe s -
which could be claimed to be an article of possession...
or the plural article when the apostrophe
disappears - or when the ς altogether disappears
when: the possession is plural:
a teachers' strike... e.g.

no not with a fatha - we have our own diacritical
markers... thank you...
but good question...
so... why is the meem written in an isolated
form in the word - yawm (day)...
but not in a final form?
but i do not write in a squiggly line in this digital
arena... perhaps my language looks simply
written... oh yes, the aesthetic of the arabic script
is always stressed...
but even the hebrews think like the greeks
and the latins... in a way...
nothing has to flow in one river-wry format...
there's no isolated letter... of a letter -
as there's no initial no median and no final
form of it... but there is a "question"
of the hiding of vowels...
for gentiles and muhammadians alike...

- perhaps some will call it the trans-community...
there was once a dead poets' society...
evidently with the rise of de-transitioning...
there's now a nag hammadi library society...
circa 1945 when this library was left unchecked
in the hands of: the children
with too many toys and too many sandpits...
probably that one neu-mecca of san francissco...
at least the dead sea scrolls:
that were unearthed at about the same time...
treated the hebrew far better than
the nag hammadi library treated its children...
and why the former power, the vatican,
didn't step in... to control these text...
as they flew out on a *****-nilly without
herr zensor... herr inquisitor...
i will never know...
the scouts of medicine left... black holes
of having advanced in the field of anaesthetics...
too many toys for the the children
with too many sandpits...

- because i would rather the fascination
with a language... than its immediate...
polyglot acquisition and use...
if i put my head to it... perhaps i could
speak the 7 languages my great-grandfather spoke
before jumping into the Niagara Falls
leaving a postcard sent...
but when i peer into the details...
i quiet like these two trenches of mine...
this english this canvas and my eye toward
the east and the south and semites...
just because english is a language without
diacritical markers...
a language filled with metaphysical dialectics:
but missing any mention of orthography...

a hebrew might hide a vowel...
and write only consonants on street signs
for a gentile to read...
but then the gentiles' languages morphed...
and a vowel became distinct...
there is A that begins the word: ah-men...
but there's also an A that is invoked with a tail
to point and identify a tree, an oak:
dąb...
so much for kametz being hidden...
if there's no 2nd tier "complexity" of kametz...
but there is one for the visible...
A - vowel - a vowel with a tail...
but without a name -
as all letters are - whether vowel or consonant...
in the litany and choir of the castratos
of ancient Rome...

pause with me...
what music are you listening to?
i'm listening to... years of denial - burning sun
(veyl channel) - 1,319 views...
i like to... find the better alleys of my entertainment...
as i can't hate kevin spacey...
not because of kevin spacey...
but because of lester burnham...
or more to the point...
why thomas newman reminds me of a...
reincarnation of Satie...
not a Chopin or a Liszt virtuoso of the piano...
not a when a hammer strikes
a line of 88 nails...
but when a butterfly chances the here and there,
on a shy-loot of a beauty of scarce sounds...
just the same of nostalgia for this era of
movies borrows me from out any new
suspence... as that sort of nostalgia creeping
into people born in the 1960s who truly
admire h'american movies from the 1950s...
even i am to blame when i feed
a nostalgia - more to the point for the technicolour
acryllic glow akin to...
richard quine's 1958 bell book and candle...
but of course scandinavian existential cinema
of a Bergman would be in black and white...
black and white photographs...
but if we're talking movies?
Undogmatic & Kernfeld - thought experiments...
Amanti d'oltretomba (1965)...

i will have to refine the greek to hebrew to greek
similarities...
an Ezra Pound can hide behind counting
matchsticks and reading into chinese ideograms...
when lo and behold! some japanese *******
comes up with a minimalism of the on'yomi...
or perhaps japanese is a language
that fuses elements of braille?
no point question the matter since
the mongols famously didn't come over to Japan
to add to the already Mandarin caste of
the kun'yomi...

but no... these greek letters are nouns...
even though π is equivalent to understanding
the wheel a posteriori: as a circle -
prior to there was only a wheel but no
knowledge of the dynamic of the radius,
or the diameter...
but it's still a prefix weak hardly a noun...
alpha and beta are nouns because they
denote something - prefix category shared -
but... the alpha and the beta male...
even gamma rays...
what's that? π-networks of coming back
to point (0, 0) in terms of:
no more than three powers of seperation between
you and some random from hugh yawn'khh?
my bad...
but η, μ, ν, ξ, π, ρ (ρ requires delta epsilon
and sigma to imply island of Rhodes)...
τ - but this is not China and tau is not Tao...
to tow is... to tow...
φ, χ, ψ... these could be names...
but ψ is like a crucifix for psychologists...
so these are... but at the same time:
are not names...
working from Latin, "borrowed"...
A (or aye)... B (queen bee)... C (i çee)...
D (dye or dry or d.i.y.)... E (eh? vowel catcher
arm no. 1 of the tetragrammaton)...
surd if the other arm... most notably in gujarati...
or not...
but this leftoever ancient Latin:
                                sing along! sing along!
a, be, cee, dee, e, ef, gee, h "hatch" / hay,
i, jay, kay, em, en, o, ***, que queue cue,
Ar, Tee, U, Vee, ekhs (x), why (y), zee or general Zod /
Zed... etc.
do i remember the "correct", french pedagogic
sequences of: letters of the alphabet?
i thought the whole "game" was about
the lexicon? and the lexicon within the lexicon
of the correct spelling?
are there 26 letters in the english alphabet?
there are! mein gott!
do i have to monkey-play-me-harmonica -
monkey-play-me-the-acordeon and tap to play
the drums... really? now?!
there were never going to be any alphabetical
sequence of events...
if i can remember that there are 26 letters:
the order of the pedagogues doesn't matter...
the lexicon matters... one's own vo(gue)-ca-bu-Larry...
short of Lawrence...
and shouldn't i give up my Lawrence Vogue...
i will certainly to remember to give
the "correct" order of what begins
with abc- and ends with -xyz...
this is the inbetween...
please see fit to spot a sparrow or a typo...

becuase if the british are to be proud of their past...
proud in the sense that it is...
fermenting and all this decline of the west "thing"...
of the people that has to "somehow" welcome
a revival... кaцaпы (plural of кaцaп)
is a racial slurr - designated for russians...
by those who had a pseudo-isarel interlude...
of what was known as the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth - of the last european pagans -
who didn't become the prussians
and made the bavarian spirit rigid
and militaristic...

i find this part of history... rather... infantile...
i have been taught a version of history
through the lense of infantalism...
perhaps science-fiction was the serious medium
of literature after all -
all of the past - if it is to be called a past -
is prescribed by zeitgeist -
my contemporaries' suggestion to be an infatile dream!
it must be a version of infantilism!
at least: that's my response in relation to:
the past having any aspect of being worth
celebrated...
me struck dumb being coerced by a...
genetic archieology of a past...
what some of the current people invest in...
mirror mirror: on no wall beside
mirror mirror: my face...
speculum speculum: well! there's always history
as etymology!
i don't like the word faciem...
where does visage come from?
oh... right...

quest to perfect the algorithms to escape
the everyday speculum was prime suspicion:
to speculate...
i guess any search engines requires:
etymological root...

mirror mirror: my void eating face...
my pulpit of vanity -
my valley of aeons...
my detail of the smirk the demonic glee...
of your most greyish glee...
of no concern for celebrated beauty...
or at best: no beauty to be exemplified
and stealing memory having invested
in the memory of cinema...
mirare mirare: comesse vacare visage meum...

now that's rather different...
isn't it? a history lesson with...
a stress for a post-scriptum in-and-out
"epilogues" (misnomer) and a return
from the trivia interlude back into the narrative...
only with an understudy of etymology...

who do i look like? some ******* ***
who would use such a ***** word as epistemology?
"epilogue" is a misnomer in the context when...
there was never a justifiable metaphor...
a misnomer is a metaphor:
for the **** by the ocean of the shore
in the vicinity to claim town status - Dover -
albino cliffs: more or less...
epistemology is a word most frequently used
by people... who read to people...
encyclopedic entries... cyclopes reading...
all that matters is the cwowd: which is the Velsh
variation of: that already numb-R lost trill
of tarantula bit anglo-ßaß...
which didn't require zeppelins or h'american
spaghetti accent westerns of draw and drule
and drawl...

such a minor racial slur when it comes
to the russians... soviets or red barons...
you must have never visited Moscow or St. Petersburg...
**** the right sort of ******-up russian girl...
and... if you're lucky!
she's take you to... the russian versailles!
Peterhof -
the racial slur stills remains...
a thank you matka rosiya...
satellite son over 'ere: the bellowing from Berlin
is like a sudden plague of hyenas attempting...
no... the foxes are imitating the hyenas...
which is which or rather: which is why?
a mutual agreement: reciprocated...
a great a great much decent ****...
for both of us...
the memory still feeds me...
oh no, it doesn't haunt me:
it feeds me... i could only find replicas
in brothels... i would never dare usurp
this catherine this tsarina of my memory...
i would never dare invest my personality in someone
else... she can be married her... 3rd time...
and this might be her 10th repentence...
of an 11th lover...
on this sinking ship: Potemkin i go as one -
reincarnation or no...
i still don't believe: this hindu myth of:
only a fixed number of people were every to be
born... and the rest are the harsh realities
of the base focuses of animals...
as we somehow drag these n.p.c. mysterions with
us... whether strangers or fathers or mothers...
are you not attached to your grandson:
dearest "catherine"?

such is the tyrany of the hindu polygamy
trans-temporal polytheism...
a diadem with a mouth for an eye...
and an eye for a mouth: or what better way
to salvage this grief of being only being 20 and 21
when having met and having to vow to
allow ourselves our each his and her seperate
lives...
at least some people call it:
the house of lords... and the house of commons...
on a much grander scale...
oh i'm pretty sure tsar (ras)Putin is much amused...

as i am now speaking with a borrowed tongue:
someone lent me a tongue -
i desired to speak with it -
imagine this complete lack of horror with regards
to being lent -
when reicarnation comes to the fore...
i agree: with "him": a most disagreeable
metaphor for... whatever it is the hindus truly believe
to be: the most humane form of
being allowed a human: self-consciousness
and a relationship to all those teenage
*****-dear-diary entries of... precursors
to the menapause and... the blue blood gremlins
of the big pharma pills-down...
the big pharma *******...

unless asked... always in uniform before your "majesty"...
as with any decent *******...
god forbid one of them thinks i'm jesus christ...
come back...
but never with these... grey-area maidens...
this "tool" will not be aroused
on the simple signature end contract promise
of: he made it to the finish line of a one-night stand!
where's the finish line of a one-night stand?
the next day? the *******, the *******...
her ******? at least the new generation
have the... cipher password for sexting...
or whatever has become of a good old fashioned
**** your brains out?
via you **** a plum sore tattoo into my pelvis
with your coccyx like a well balanced
african body of ivory beauty?!
you know the type... it looks like butter
in moonlight... like... what's the point of a niqab
in africa?! it's already... a warewolf has come
among the wolves...
and how i miss you, i esp. miss you when
i sit on my windowsill and listen to foxes
mating...
how those ******* squeal yank and bite nothing
but bone having omitted both the flesh
and the fur!
i miss you the most when i sit at night -
and listen to foxes mating;
after all... this is essex... this is england...
foxes at around 1am are my cognac...
beside ms. amber: and you know you'll also
be ******* her when i've had my fill...
but oooh... look at me: oooh...
gravy...
but i've watched! crows don't attempt fucky-fucky
tow-dollar sucky-sucky bangkokh style
during the die... all that is black that's worth
the crow is done in the night...
perverted pigeons during the day!
****-*******-me-into-a-voyeurism of their
greedy insect esque antics of coo coo...
then jump onto the rucksack of a female...
and all those beta-male pigeons... and that: huh?!
moment of bewilderement when he "thinks"
he has cooed like an alpha...
only the memory of you...
and all the prostitutes after you...
which always made imagining ******* you again
all that more simple; there was no кaкaшкa
with them to begin with.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Holocaust Poem: "On The Slaughter"
by Chaim Nachman Bialik
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Merciful heavens, have pity on me!
If there is a God approachable by men
as yet I have not found him—
Pray for me!

For my heart is dead,
prayers languish upon my tongue;
my right hand has lost its strength
and my hope has wilted, undone.

How long? Oh, when will this nightmare end?
How long? Hangman, traitor,
here’s my neck—
rise up now, rise and slaughter!

Behead me like a dog—your arm controls the axe
and the whole world is a scaffold to me
although we—the chosen few—
were once recipients of the Pacts.

Executioner, my blood’s a paltry prize—
strike my skull and the blood of innocents will rain
drenching your pristine uniform again and again,
staining your raiment forever.

If there is Justice—quick, let her appear!
But after I’ve been blotted out, should she reveal her face,
let her false scales be overturned forever
and the heavens reek with the stench of her disgrace.

You too arrogant men, with your brutal injustice,
suckled on blood, unweaned of violence:
cursed be the warrior who cries "Vengeance!" on a maiden;
such cruelty was never contemplated, even by Satan.

Let innocents’ blood drench the abyss!
Let innocents’ blood seep down into the congealing darkness,
eat it away and undermine
earth's rotting foundations.

Al Hashechita ("On the Slaughter") was written by Chaim Nachman Bialik in response to the ****** Kishniev pogrom of 1903, which was instigated by agents of the Czar who wanted to divert social unrest and political anger from the Czar to the Jewish minority. The Hebrew word schechita (also transliterated shechita, shechitah, shekhitah, shehita) denotes the ritual kosher slaughtering of animals for food. The juxtapositioning of kosher slaughter with the slaughter of Jews makes the poem all the more powerful and ghastly. Such anti-Semitic incidents prompted a massive wave of Eastern European emigration that brought millions of Jews to the West. Unfortunately, there have been many similar slaughters in human history and the poem remains chillingly relevant to the more recent ones in Israel/Palestine, Rwanda, Bosnia and Kosovo. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, Bialik, translation, slaughter, massacre, God, prayer, executioner, hangman, blood, innocents, justice, false, scales, injustice
vanessa ann Mar 2018
How does loving him feel like?, my sister had once asked.

I couldn’t put together my words back then,
so here it is now.
Words bearing the weight of the universe,
transliterated into a language you can comprehend.

Loving him feels like Christmas mornings at Hogwarts. When little Harry arrives in the Great Hall, and tasted magic for the very first time. It’s the same feeling Percy gets when he tastes ambrosia, the same satisfaction you’d get when Percabeth kisses underwater.

It’s the safety of your covers when the night had passed, and you still couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. It’s staying indoors when it’s pouring outside, occupied with the company of a book. It’s getting lost between the pages and not minding the time. The fresh smell of your favorite outfit once it’s out of laundry, ready to be worn again.

It’s warm,
it’s soft.

It’s not another cliché,
it’s love.
I'm sixteen, I probably wouldn't know the first thing about love.
But I think it ought to feel like this: safety and comfort, much like home.
And the deeper I fall in love with this one person, the more I realize this:

To love the right person, is to love oneself.
Nuha Fariha Apr 2014
Hey, how was your day?
(do you still hate me?)

It was okay.
(yes I am still mad)

Anything interesting?
(what can I do to get you to forgive me?)

Nope.
(Not  a single thing.)

Words not said:
I love you,
I can't be mad at you,
I'm sorry.
Vernarth was ready at the threshold of the validity of the constellation of Orion, barely a hundred millionths as indicated by the Duoverse in his Cosmogonic amphiboly, and sensitive to physical space with the Kli vessels that he carried on his back that were in the proximity of the Loop of Bernard as the Omission nebula as the exponential hemicycle in the center of Aurion's oculus waiting for Vernarth and redistribute its molecules at 518 light-years or 440 Parsec, with the diameter that will be reflected in Patmos of more than 300 light-years condensed with the element of Hydor or water from high space over Aurion. Vernarth, united by the fragrant hand of the Mashiach, could carry it when he moved away from the Opistodomos and the remains of incandescent lagoons of supernova materials that surrounded them to accelerate the mass of the Iridescent Nimbus that Vernarth would carry, and the Mashiach as a sentinel of his Purgation. already defined whenever the simultaneous explosion of the Super Nova with Patmos becomes effective, and the Terrestrial World in impulsiveness that admonished him under the right shoulder blade in the skinny hollow of the arm that was getting rid of the oscillometer right at the original entrance of Betelgeuse, and when Vernarth remained alone in the frontal altitude chamber to take off towards the cosmogonies of Eridanus to tune into the Ptolemaic astral. The Sybilla who acted as stellar consort would be Herophile with overtones of expansion and her brilliant metric mass that would take her through Betelgeuse Orionis allied to a multifunctional instrument such as the entrance Aulos, expelling hydrogen-like an Ace in 240 harmonic scales, and sounds of light that they boomed towards the Pleiades and the Milky Way where it would be the supposed first state of paradox where Vernarth would utter: "Give me a little Gála and I will be more than Zeus". This is where he will experience the diarthrosis of his synovial joints in the process of Hyaline cartilage, allying himself with the two bones and synovium to hunt down the Trapper Aurion in advance to wake up from the feared defenseless world that he feared since everything he abandoned despite having his Purg discharged, he kept sensing that if nothing would work for a lost world. Here Vernarth would hold Alexander the Great's first childhood vision as an infant at Péla using his scapula with the force of rubbing discs at the Olympiad making the sky his Odyssey-encrusted Constellation of whips, and sullen Hellenistic being by May in the amber trunk trapezoid and in each hand a Xiphos and Dorus.

The pathologies were at the forefront with dexterous inclinations of his Kopis to the west when he throws it and the whistle of return makes him see that the meteorites reached as far as his gaze could observe the latitudes of the Tyrrhenian. He takes his bronze-brass cudgel with the corrosive breath, filing the odysseys on the concupiscent ******* of Eos, Goddess of the dawn, opening the heavens of the eager natives of Gála, by sipping raw milk from the right edge of the corner of her upper lips before the first dawns of the world, when Eos would be in grains or grasses that brandished from the bronze club that Vernarth waited for before leaving Gaia, or rather the fertile land of Patmos that officiated at him. Mega hectares appeared that threatened Enopion's revenge, disturbing his eyes that shone in Hesiod's striae by advocating for him in the Duoverse where all deities would be annulled but his psychic ramifications as stellar humans would be covered by the action of Helium gas. In this way Vernarth was already bidding farewell to Saint John the Apostle with his rounded eye set on the shine of both pupils between Mintaka, Alnitak, and the third shine of his pupils united in communion with Vernarth when arriving sideways at the pale shine of Alnilam (The Three Mariah) fourth star to follow in Orion as the brightest of the three on Vernarth's neck like a necklace of precious pearls. In this way, he climbed the steps to measure the slow brilliance of the immensity of the celestial solstice that raised him with the expedient Sun that also led him towards the twelfth lunation of the celestial vault attached to Pléyone in his bolometric oceanic matrix, which will arise between the stellar limitrophe between the Canes Mayores and Menores, and a priori in the measurement of the eye of Aurion always harassing the Pleiades. The intrigue will be reborn for the second time from the Duoverse's momentum that Vernarth will have to leave in the biosphere oscillation wasteland of Prometheus already freeing himself from life in community, and from an extreme sensitivity of major psychic connections that will flow throughout the immensity of inaccessible time. , on the atmosphere of the earth like bronzes that twist in the necks of the oxen that urinate on the endowments of the Barnard Loop, and its polyphonic magnetic exciter, on it the ***** of Orion falling on the poles as flagrant Amphibology. The Kanti Steed and the Aorion nebula to the beat of a waltz will ionize chemical portents of ions free of electrons, on the neutral molecules of Betelgeuse to propagate in the nerves of the shoulders of the bronze club ad limit of harmonious praxis, and net compromise by supplying steps to the nebula and art of the Duoverse that shows the primeval daily days as in his alchemical armband, germinating astral Lynothorax and axillary armpit that held him in his maximum club, cutting down roots of Olivo Bernar after Barnard's Loops in between of fugitive stars that go regimented in their ionized bleeding esplanade, like Stellae Novae that transfers astronomical cults in the formation and pretext of going through the darkness to sleep near his parents Poseidon and Euryale, acclaiming him near the gramineous fields to paste him with explosive clay on the portfolio of such a smiling face drunk with Ionian wine, in precedence of the disemi nar by the new and expandable Duoverso, Vernarth was already on the last steps of the stairs similar to that of Florence in the Medicea Laurenziana as well said to feel alive when going to paradise next to the Messiah who came to pick him up. But at times electrifying residues would vanish over his field of vision in small beams or flashes, which would prevent him from moving forward to the last stirrups without looking back where all the Birthright was watching him for one last time.

Sitting on the edge of Andromeda, Zefian was waiting for him to meet him in his dark chamber, since the most intimate and primordial causality of his metaphysics emerged from the bases of the reason for all things that should exist, before everything was created and that it has never had pre-eminence as it is in this case of the parasitic chamber of Zefian in the company of the Auriga, which also came to wait for him in the calash running wild as prescribed by the Duoverse in the structures of luminosity in the midst of this colossal inter-planetary chamber, between molecular agitated points that will venture through the axon of infinity longitudinally unpredictable for light-years even though it is so. The thermal outcomes of superheated remnants over the entire luminosity will speak of the catastrophe, and of the inherent emptiness in the eyes of the eternal hothouse very close to the supernovae that can only strengthen the fusion of the space disks of the Universe-Duoverse long before the explosion between Orion and Andromeda. The axes of time will be dislocated between both astral components in this dissonant chaos that will contract with Vernarth's levitation whenever he has stepped on the last step before entering the Hydor chamber in every dark portion of the Universe, making both constellations the ferrule or ring that will yield to the underbelly of Betelgeuse, dispossessing the boasts of the appropriate Commander Hetairoi of his Lynothorax to resist the ravages and turbulence of the Apokálypsis, which brought the immense loads of matter that discharged all its constant energy through the circulating nuclear power plants, and tangents that caused galaxy changes pierced by Hetairoi Aorion clods satirizing expenses for retracting the galaxies below Soldier's precept and super homeostatic mass attracted from their distance on astronomical scales of 2.5 million light-years.

The galactogenic galaxy made use of great prominences that would cover the greater proportional that is outlined in Andromeda of the strands of the Universe adjacent to the spiral that rolls on the underbelly, deferring to telescope sections, and the gravitational field to execute its nocturnal translation like the Hyperdisis Galaxy that collects the bubbling of the belt in conjunctions of minor stars making star mechanics by exaltation, and magnetic disorders creating other leading atmospheres in those detached from the cord of Andromeda, the Milky Way, and Orion. Vernarth was still holding on to the transparent hand of the Messiah while he was climbing the ascension steps to Hydor that would transport him to travel with him through the globular clusters, they will form the perfect delay in transfusing the lineage and not another, in this way the Lynothorax or bleeding pectoral de Vernarth continued to flow from this polynomial tractatum between all area subjugation guidelines, and refinement of the sagittal profile of Hyperdisis in the inter-galactic reversible staked Duoverse.

Lenticular to irregular above the nails of the trapezoid, it spread towards Aurion's right armband, sequentially making the centric radiogram hiccup, despite taking advantage of interstellar matter to self-generate its own transmission light, this made it refrain from emanating the hybridity that came out of its body by vibrating above everything that expelled from its center towards the right rectitude of Orion, thus making the multiplied speed of containing itself of both parts of the null hemisphere of its free will when verifying that it never existed, that it was only an illusion of doubtful matter that would soon Go away like gasified water on the galactic repulsions that would settle on Patmos as devotions of Skalá, and Astro-omegas that would be adhered to the Xiphos and Kopis, who were still united to their being rather in the contour of the perimeter of his soul two meters floating like invisible quantum universes. The totality of everything was inciting the fields of omega-stars that would begin to advance after becoming visible from the spur of the sword that became denser with the viscosity of the Hebrew Adom, which trickled from Orion to Hellenic lands as an Omega age for Vernarth which is conceived early when it carries Hecate's Kleidia or keys to the Omega world towards the proto-galaxies that provide ultramarine loaves, knowing that the Milky Way and Andromeda come so close in their stellar mass that they can collide in a few million light-years. The Duoverse of Hyperdisis was predicted in the visual reality of a fusion of change to interact with each other as it dismembered but re-transformed into the new theoretical core of the Duoverse as a large Black Hole embedded in the center of Patmos. In such a way all the inhabitants began to worry when phenomenal masses of warm air that began to take on the appearance of the Universe plagiarized each other generating incoming earthquakes, not affecting the Opistodomos or the Primogeniture, nor the crowd that was waiting. of all the monstrosity of monks who were grouped kneeling on the top of the Profitis, floating the shattered shaggy skein parts of the Himation. As it was dyed in the albi-color of Calígine, demonstrating the darkness of the intrinsic terror of whoever plows later to free all the succumbed who fell throughout Greece and Judah, exposing all the origins of appearance from the internal now in the converted Universe that was reimplanting itself in the helical of polarity, and bifurcating by pretexting all the reincarnations and polishing the stagnant cessation of darkness towards a luminance that could warn them and observe where their feet could move, sheltered from the monumental litter of calorimetry, and chromatics that was linked in romances trivial with the residuals of the angel shark galaxies where Aurion's progenies will deliver in candelas per square meter: LV waking is the luminance, measured in Nits or candelas per square meter (cd/m²).

• F is the luminous flux, in lumens for the Andromeda triad, the Milky Way, and Hyperdisis in conjunction with Orion. From here Vernarth will supply all of them as the one who will dwell in it in the preface of his Fables of Calígine with the following: "Ex Calígine Chaos: ex Chao et Calígine, Nox, Dies, Erebus, Aether", which transliterated means "Of Darkness: Chaos. From Chaos and Darkness: Night, Day, Erebus, and Ether", Decreeing the (Burning Darkness) before Chaos as flow F, is he also the only one who divinized this abstraction, conferring a proper meaning to the word. And then make of the normality of dwelling in the darkness that is the irrevocable opulence of the desire to maintain the radiance of all the forces that devour eternity. From the remote aces came dark families of flying Lepidoptera Ditrisios, lined up with countless other species that carried dimensional eyes that will be devoured by ocelli or giant eyes that come from the chaos of Vernarth's Caligine to appease the effects of ultraviolet rays, which started from the Nimbus Iridescent creating a layer of protection between the new dimension of the twilight of flight that was already beginning to ignite from the Aurion's scaly fingers.

• dS is the surface element considered the triad Kímolos, Rodas and Patmos. While Vernarth is distracted, he manages to dissipate the twilight of the inverted Erebus between Eleos and Ezis, personifying Clemency and Sadness, where they border the worlds that are not yet riddled with chaos or Calígine, who exalted himself over Erebos with the redemption of Eleos, who was getting ready to swallow the sadness of Ezis. Therefore Kimolos, Rhodes, and Patmos will consolidate their hegemony of unalterable lands where Eleos' piece of clemency will bring the support that makes Ezis's faceless portent, close to the hybridity of the Itheoi gods, in the Transversal Valleys of the Horcondising, with the Norns and generosity of Apollo who had given them after long stays in Hyperborea as female spirits once again as advocacy and imperishable protection of the legacy of Smintheus's travels by providing the company of Dísir, Uror, Verdandi, and Skuld as a female entity, of the past, current and future that should occur by order of Skuld. This will allow the three to unite with the Ds to merge the three as a complement of three female entities that will safeguard all climate change on future disasters in the Dodecanese.

• dΩ is the solid angle element, from Vernarth Omega and the origin of the Duoverse. From this premise, the worst of Vernarth's fears was to let go of the Messiah's hand and fall into the anger that blushes even Hetairoi Hero from Deimos, when the night reverts to the rest of the demons and the night adopts those who go perceiving in Vernarth that perhaps he was holding hands with Ares for the battle alongside his brother Etrestles, under the orders of the savagery of the metaphysical engines of panic. From this vision, Vernarth manages to open his eyes with the desire to show those who were watching him and to be able to show that he was aware of being a prisoner of his emotions and escaping from himself in the illustrious suffering of thousands of arrows, which ran around him like fleeting meteorites to the flat field of Tisiphone's revenge. The luminances became and became colors that were molecularly twinned with disparate tones that were capable of differentiating them, and at the same time nullifying the power of obscuring Vernarth's countenance to take his right hand and take the arrow to break the darkness that was lunged at him.

• θ is the angle between the diameter from Andromeda and the Milky Way (2.5 million light-years), Nemesis or Ramnusia as the retributive coercion of disobedience, being aware Vernarth became more and more of a being adopted by balance Nemesis for balance to command him to his senses before entering the field of limpidity of his soul in transit to liberate himself from all the chained who used to be happy, but sad that no one acclaimed them except Aionius Itheoi of Vernarth who translated the messages that from now on will move diametrically from Andromeda to the Milky Way, without any of these two portions being invaded only under the order of Nemesis, and Vernarth abiding by the retributive justice of The luminance that can be defined from the radiometric magnitude of the radiance without more than weighting each length of the wave by the sensitivity curve of the eye. Thus, if LV is the luminance, Lλ represents the spectral radiance and V (λ) symbolizes the sensitivity curve of Vernarth's eye in the underbelly of Betelgeuse, spilling plasma and magnetic bruises on the galaxies and Eyes of Orion.
Meanwhile, it manifested itself as a personal universe, not excluded from time and space for a metaphysical causality that will not be able to compose the mentality that is measurable in the joint senses of a Zig Zag birth from this same calígine emerging from another creature of self-observation and see the physiognomy of the anti-material and mass Universal Horcondising. From which we pre-exist to waste of science that models the system of energy and matter in causes of ancestors with which his life and ours that were propelled furtively. Gravity made great paternity in Vernarth's active Biomass, being in the Dodecanese and cosmos in the verification of curvature that makes us with the moon of its romantic astrophysical swings and exaggerated geometry of a Zigzag.

We are versatile multi-dynamic mass that expands simultaneously in the void that pauses in the Nothofagus Obliqua of Vernarth's Horcondising, and also of time2-space2 that have not been attributed to the origin of the stars that move irregularly in Zig Zag, for their immature componential that is clearly of Aramaic blue light from the Pealim of the Abba, circulating with bullets movements skimming the air of the grasses attracting the attention of the entire order of the hypnotized universe, making appear before them the duplication of the universe itself; in Duoverse, which is the recently shaken Universe and of gratitude in the distribution of nearby galaxies that are keys to the paleo kosmous already arranged in macro waves, which are percentages of the spaces of the Tri-solated energy fields, which interact with the phylogeny of the Mashiach in Gethsemane, lying now in a stagnant decomposed future, in a frozen present specific to the peri Kosmous. Its final station is to wager the Zig Zag Universe on the temporal middle Ages chrestomathies re-expanding in qualities of gregarious Sub-mythology, already settling here in Archangels to activate. The implosion of gravity has procreated worlds of visibility of magnanimous astronomical longings, in some fractions of time in Zig Zag by millions of fractioned light-years, as an irregularity that resembles the measure of everything quantifiable, being omniscience or not acquiring the hexagonal of the primogeniture of the fragment since Jerusalem goes to Bethlehem, where the Davidian prism whose Original is attributed fractal in form.

The personification of longevity was trapped by Geras, always escaping from the obfuscated universe or temperament that could be represented in humanity that relied on the antigens that served as support for the reversibility of every hero like Vernarth, who tried to glorify himself in the fullness of life in Heraklion or in the sand that was dyed red-azure when the soul of Alexander the Great would rise together with Vernarth with the Mashiach. The fractal beating line of the Mediterranean towards a vein resembling the rhinestones of King David to the Ziziphus of the Messiah simulating to be irregular symmetrical formats, to build gems in thorns of landscapes that basically subdivide into similar conical funnels, to then be randomly displaced towards its central point shared with King David's five o'clock Incorruptible crown, recursively reiterating it in each square until the eminence of the desired detail was reached in the curve that joins the landscape to Bethlehem and then to the Baptistery of the Shepherds in its hexagonal base, figuring to be the sleet in the final Crown of Rejoicing falling on the top of the roofs "Doroteo or theological gifts" in which the Mashiach's stable of Kafersuseh burst and agonized in the abstraction of the One-Dimensional Beams with foreign eyes, and own tissue eroding to mortal frowns that can be seen with their divine eyes in our own likeness, and of the planet n failed to increase the size so unknown and analytical in this peripeteia of the implosive ideology of the bubbling of the Verthian Duoverse.
The nature of the snowflakes in Bethlehem are natural fractals detailed in their nature, and in the natural infinity that here was envisioned from the new privileged world for self-similarity in speculative functions of Vertnarth, by intervals in each space of shadowy fences, bringing accelerated courier bulbs from Gethsemane in intermediates of olive trees transformed towards other humans.“Their correlation is infinite with reversible observable time, and paternal belonging to mobile gagged echoes of a space that is obstructed by Vernarth, in such a monograph and integers among the fractional integers "Finite is the curvature between the path that walks through the thickness of the Duo-Universe as an alternative of Zigzag and Duoverse energy, which is unleashed to our subconscious observable orb, and what a great beacon reflecting eye that ignores and prescribes extreme distant and focal parts of the One Dimensional Beams of Kafersuseh in Ein Karem. The Duoverse is the rehearsal Universe that the Mashiach had before coming to the Holy Land, provided by his form of Hyperdisis escorting him from Betelgeuse Orion, changes of arduous colors in gradient and Avant-Garde, for limits of perspectives and verbally of amendments of physical fields framed by an external gravitational means. The macro waves are exposed to matters not contained in the abrupt changes of the Mashiach optical selection with the One-Dimensional Beams, attracting selection crystals to atomize them in reaction disturbances, and recreation of multiform plasma saviors of Christian astronautics, examining the double of the macro waves and equation of them on the axis of the universe converted into Duoverse, already in millions of light-years, they will continue in the Duoverse, to reconvert from ectoplasm with large margins of assertiveness. Cartography is the error correction of the current universe, getting lost in the second thousandths of figures that separate us from the Universe, but all being more than time…!, remaining at the expense of the wick of the Cirio with all its electro-matter” Having already established the sub-mythology, Hestia appears after having slept a great dream, when she appeared before Vernarth in Tsambika she was seen changing size, when she was six meters away she looked tiny and when she was already two meters away from him It looked monumentally enormous, but with a versatile physiognomy, therefore it was already appreciated in the last steps with its domestic figure of a goddess that emanated light-years disserted by chimneys and its rooms. The critique of immanence that would happen, would pre-exist the perfectible plan for the Zig Zag Universe and Hyperdisis as Hyper-Hestia, bringing torn words for those who were approaching the main altar of the Vas Auric, which consisted of the great ratio of the proscenium in the Teodora vicinity of Tsambika, between Clairvoyance/Judgment for Wisdom/Meditating constant mechanisms according to the cosmological constant, leading perhaps to the beginning of a decade and third universe called the Triverse. The oscillation of all these fantasies was observed by Vernarth, but he knew that he would have to collide with this finally, already precipitated by temperatures that acted on the average of the normal range, therefore it was imminent to mutate him into the proselytizing provisional Duoverse, which moves backward between the lights vertiginous of creation. Immediately afterward, the Universe has torn apart and lost among those around him, establishing units of millions of years of compressed light from the piccolo Aulós, which Hestia carried in one of his pale hands, his prytaneion was lighting up with the flames of the heart of fire and passion of consanguineous love, "Prytaneum", paving the light in the clarity of the faith of the owners of farmhouses that were founded when they arrived in Tsambika in search of the Vas Auric, acclaiming with the omphalos stone that marked the navel of the world with defiance wandering to the island of Delos in the daily warmth of a spring afternoon in Rhodes. She is a woman with veils over her face always walking to and from her home unscathed in the house of foolish or vestal virgins, there is no Hestia, only perhaps there are some similar ones who were staying in the cold fire of her climacteric losing fertility after his father swallowed them, and then they were expelled from himself regurgitated in flaming matches from a blessed house full of indemnity, giving the Duoverse another category calculated with angles never contained vibratingly sliding between distances that discount minutes of Hestian space for such a corollary of approaching to its finitude and inaugurate the sub-finite,  which will never be a source of terminus in a disconcerting end of time not finished flush with the physical equation. “This consolidates the Duoverse in Duouniverse, expressed in figures that moderate the length of a physical state before it is consummated and restarted in a process that does not end (sub-infinite).

Vernarth was a few meters from entering the Nimbus, when suddenly his soul darkened and his panic flared..., suddenly he felt a scream from above and below he saw how everything was made of rubble. Courage blinded him, not wanting to observe what the evident end of the world and rubble intended to consume him if he said goodbye to his most beloved beings, until the lines of infinity approached those of the earthly world, intending to eliminate all traces of his family lineage. In this way, he begins to run through his hands the reflected Hydor of colors that pierced the skylight of austere words. He manages to see Calígine del Apokálypsis farther from the mist, detached from all gravitational force, only being able to see his mother among the smoke, who was coming up by a ray of light, Vernarth tries to free her from that moment of expiration but does not reach the synchrony of catastrophe in what pretended to be from the hand of Eris as the disagreement that did not allow him to put his survival weapons in order, believing that this instance would not allow him to ****** her from the goddess Eris, if he could believe that it was inevitable that his mother Luccica became a granite coat of arms, after the dark night that threatened to unravel her from her flimsy solid state, and then crumble to the ground turned into the ground that was crushed from roots that postponed it to be consumed by the gift of the light of life, and end of a light that is visible in all the roots of the earth when consumed by the infinite that vanishes in the existence of all being.

Vernarth, when a moment of clarity allows him to see his mother, tries to rescue her, realizing that his father Bernardolipo was with her, between them they would try to redeem them from the spread of Nix and Calígine, who behaved with great pain by mocking the edges of the Ether that they received Crono, they could not be victorious in arriving in time to rescue them, if from the harmony of a troubadour of the Mashiaj he observed him see if he would return with him to enter. They became visible in their parents as they contended before an avoidable awareness of this indivisible event with the aggressor words of hindrances and generations of millennials who anticipated the omega of everything in the lower part, under the feet of their parents appearing insignificant one (w) that precedes and succeeds the beginning of a beginning based on the end of a beginning a thousand times more than a threshold based on hundreds, appropriate to the metric unit of the numeral Myríaz = ten thousand, three times more than the Falangists, one thousand less than the Peltasts and three thousand fewer than the horsemen, total thirty-seven thousand fewer than the fighting forces in Gaugamela out of a total of forty-seven thousand, under the myriads of the Myriaz of Phalangists undermined by their Xiphos in the area of the right calcaneus of each faithful man under his command before facing the Achaemenides. During this period, Vernarth took extreme steps to rescue them and stop the numbing effect of all organic matter, not being able to rescue them, only granting them in the image of each one when they began to turn stone from feet to head until the fragile solidification of their eyes. when for the last time, they looked at each other only making it clear that it was a belated rescue gesture. The omega was ineffable even beyond the omicron, being Omega and Micron in the warfare primer of initiation of its cause within the prophetic in all the necropolis of lowercase omega (ω), towards an Omega that reaffirmed the raised hand in Saint John the Apostle to rewrite the Apocalypse twice, having to be the same but with the voice of Vernarth commanding the ten thousand Phalangists that made up the intergenerational gaps, more than mimicked alien ancestors. In such an effect, as is known, the Duoverse opened the skylights with its sheathed pillars and with the strings of tetrachloride of chlorine in solid angles of Ω in what was Virgo institutionum/Aurion, an entity that interfered by projections and leaks that converged in the strut of the omphalos of his heavenly father dealing in frequency and bloodless of immortality, consisting of an auxiliary being towards the planes of subconscious reprogramming and perspective. With its arms raised in each claw, a sword raised to pierce the vanishing point between the spaces that were ascribed, under the solid projection from an observer that inhibits and limits the biomass in all the aqueous filter pastes and lumens, towards the throne of the angelic guardian of Avant-guard by stereotype and sclerosis of Zeus of dissociated physicality, still being an amorphous entity with magnitudes pulverized between numerosities of Pi and Aureos, fading without area or volume.

Saint Jerome of Estridón: “Vernarth, I come from Bethlehem to help your life because I have detected the subsuming of the chains where your parents made the alliance from where your life has been erected from Sudpichi, Transversal Valleys in the temple that bears my pseudonym. The only rune that will determine that your parents can remain united, is through the action and direction that has been consecrated to me. No dead language will unsay what a dead soul cannot interpret. Our Mashiaj has entrusted me to free the languages that have conspired at night, and low luminance where Calígine has been uncomfortable seeing me knowing that it is my favorite environment, the memory of the chains want to incarnate in the stones that surround your parents, but  they are typical of a response that I will get to conclude by urging your mother and father to recognize that here they made the alliances, ordering, and reconciliation of your world that concerns us all in endless dictates to be agreed, I know very well that the point has not of allowing your atonement to have been prevented by this cosmological affront, here are the transverse Valleys in the favorite place of the Spirits lie the treaties that will move my greatest interest to re-marry your parents from the true chains of the complacent scholar, thus all the vastness that afflicts you will belong to your servant Jerome”

Vernarth replies: “At your service, his majesty, here I have been since dawn arriving at the town to meet them when they contracted their marriage. I know I shouldn't be here, rather I know that decades of inquiry had planned it that way. Of such conviction that their chains were anointed from the heights of the Kanthillana whose partiality emits the partials close to your direction? As is known, my very extensive walk through these dusty paths must recognize that the personality and nobility of its burial mounds will strengthen my presence so that everything that is incomprehensible if it is brief by making it neighbor to my reason”

Saint Jerome of Estridón: “everything has been planned like this, and as time drags on I know that your wounds burn in my epistolary like Latin and Greek voices that reluctantly direct me to your aid. Everything is beautifully comparable, and first to what should not be said..., but to do to the genre that above all it practices, the second to one of the ways with the above all that it practices "
By the reverse of the expletive to the insurmountable destiny, Vernarth takes his hands and Saint Jerome withdraws them telling him that it was not time for greater vain for the equivalence of minor desires to please him if he had not appeared before him. It shows him to celebrate him and to want to make of him the permutation of his golden polysemy or interpretation of the world's Apokálypsis by not changing his axis of change, by redirecting them to stated comfort interests. Namely; the leaders of the world in their world of annulled freedom of will to practice following as they please when interpreting the Apokálypsis only as a revelation, and not as a destiny that exalts the senses and compensation that will reconquer the consistency of the nature of the Apokálypsis that adheres to humanity as golden that will consolidate humanity fearful of its own ******* and excess of greed, just as it was just a few steps before entering the Temple of San Jerónimo in Alhué hand in hand with Vernarth already fully healed of his Lynothorax pectoral. They go to the ambo and Saint Jerome essentially takes out of his pockets chaff that was from the escape of the mass of stone that had not yet finally hardened, allowing them to generate a mystical sermon so that their parents return to the nave of the temple in person to surpass farther from the spring of awakening of the Kantillana requesting the unification of the ashes of his father Bernardolipo and Vernarth, to rescue his mother from a poor abundance, and is transposed by the metaphor of the life-giving spirit. Immediately afterward, Saint Jerome pours the chaff of his parents all over the surface, a great noise is produced, the doors and windows of the temple are suddenly closed, and his parents can be seen walking along the central row of the nave, where fiction could testify that everything was a fantasy, rather a great testament that would exhibit the union of two juxtaposed flanks prior to an invaluable crossing of smiles and flowers that fell from the upper altar on their crowns, they came holding their arms like open borders with the procedure before the harsh reality of a metaphor made real in the future of two beloved shepherds who crossed the limbo of their fingers, with the ferrule or the act of engendering rings of family procreation. The crosses of Lisbon and Saint Jerome resembled the monograph in beats of her wealthy feet that were consistent with the nubile gesture of her lips and then released with all frenzy towards the meeting of her beloved Vernarth, the three of them dancing together on the central pinnacle of the obese light that sheltered them, meaning from the testamentary Hebrew the Aleph on the way to Sudpichi after the Raphaca “Healing” ceremony until the diastole that adheres between the middle of the gap that was produced when the three confronted each other and the word “Heth” again He was bent over to take them like gigantic camels to meet his relatives and ghosts that surrounded him when observing the heights of Kanthillana at the assent of all this.

Because of all this similarity, the tribulation from Patmos was raging with very strong resistance, leaving totally clear of the conditionals of the flint or flint, which enveloped the parents, began to fade from their bodies while it was recomposed of seven elemental forms in relation to the transcription and identification of the three as a family trunk enormously of its exegetical possibilities. Tangent to the transcription, and if it is the case identification of the names that we stick to reunion and redemption of their parents, like all anthropology that was chained to the figures and characters that cordoned off the top of the temple when the three met they hugged and held hands as a sign of illustrative demonstrations of never surpassing oneself. Beginning with the compensations in the fullness of the tables, and completion of all the facts that showed that nothing of language escapes what an eye can observe; that is to say, as long as there is a speaking light, it will always be necessary to listen and then observe in the presentation of the mechanics by the lines that expressed the figures, which were increasing the number of letters that were possible to decipher; called stichometry or measurement of the lines in the texts that Saint Jerome that they were ordering to order a vade mecum or memorandum of this unbridled situation, which in any case had to simplify it whenever it is indicated for the reading of three beings that would meet in what literal of four spirits articulated in the continuum, in such a way that Vernarth added his bilocation to this symmetrical experience to meet again with the Mashiach who awaits him on the third step before entering the Iridescent Nimbus.

His parents will be the co-princes gathered on the Supichi road bound for the Horcondising, where Vernarth all Austral Winter Solstices will come to ask his parents for an audience in the Kanthillana Heights where they will summarize the exact day, that everything happened from a Thursday to a Sunday in the first hour of the most certain Saturday in which the twelve unnatural candles will be incorporated into the Duoverse from the branch of the Raedus Codex, specifically from the Antiphon that accompanies them to the compromised one, and sinuous height that was misted by the mist of snow, and vehemence that was perceived in the greatest regulars of Spílaiaus, having a ring of lights as if such were a gesture of Jerome and everything that was named in the concordance that could be confusion that slipped from the metaphysics of new space by beginning. From such a root emerges the Eta or value number and Vernarth symbolized as  N times from "8" to the entire value of the figure of 800 "w" or Omega, which will be the values of figures and numbers to predispose the alternation of the visits that will take place. to have with his precursors each Solstice, after alternating with the Elves of Archimedes, and to cross with them the manifestations that made him lighter than air, as could be expected before the imposition of everything that he imagined to sleep to the badly gestated world that had been altered, even with a remote Faith that symbolized the decisions of Saint John the Apostle by disposing of the salvages of the vestiges that had been destroyed in the physiognomy of a cause that proved more eloquent than a mere revelation that was never believed which would awaken from its very Semitic superlative. In this case, the allegory surpassed the prototype of all curly visual language that emanated from Vernarth's decision for the humanity that needed him, on the one hand, Saint Jerome already resolved, and Saint John the Apostle in the division of two events of the same story that It was melting into the complexity that would be unspeakable for two Saints in the middle of Vernarth, demonstrating that he had taken them with all the power of the force that is capable of pulling and manipulating until arriving at the darkness of the senses where all understanding and reasoning fall asleep. only allowing the silence to take them in the ellipsis recently emanated by the Nothofagus that were walking on the flaccid snow, the three went with graces of faith and satisfaction, Saint Jerome escorted them with everything healthy that made the incomparable awakening of two latitudes explode who managed to revive in invisibility, after resisting the latent verbigrace of the Apokálypsis that showed that the incomparable topic denoted the ma Greater resistance to everything destructive and Omega with the only subjection that only the verb "Love" does. They reached the icy and stinking gases similar to what Santa Rita de Casia emanated, which at the same time would be dividing breakers like those declared by the Corinthians about the Israelites when they were blinded by the radiance of Moses. The same would happen in the veil of little snow that was left behind his last steps when everything was white as a growing incident that would be attached at once to Patmos and Sudpichi, as well as Kanthillana and Olympo. He says goodbye to his parents and they carry their impulsive agreements to meet on the next Solstice together with Saint Jerome and Spilaiaus on the plateau.
Genesí of  Apokalypsis
Having arrived at Patmos, on the southeastern ***** of Skalá, Wonthelimar observed that the Seleucid ships were there. Already knowing of the myth of Seleucus and of his Divinity, since her mother Laodice, according to Vernarth's parapsychology parallel account, and aligned with Wonthelimar, that she had presumed that her son Seleucus had been conceived by carnal union with Apollo. These oracular dreams separated them from Vernarth, for a certain Antigone of the imperial Seleucid with the anchor of the ring that Apollo had captivated from the gematological extract, now wading in the quantum of Chauvet, which had been identified from Gaul.

Wonthelimar says: “from such a thigh such as a Vas Auric you will be anchored at your anchor, in a proud fallacy if you have been engendered by Apollo if it is that your mother temporizes in a hallway idyll or Antigone, and not of someone wearing a ring that smells like broken neo-Hellenic dreams in one that anyone believed, born of one being or another like me from a mythological Iberian, but being carried from a very young age on the haunches of a Bucephalus. Here I believe where Laodice would be or would be caught by knowing that creatures like me, spawned in the darkness of a cave, should wear that ring, but in the seventh ring of the horns of my paternal Ibez with its antlers constantly growing, and in my forehead having one of them in the antlers of the female that fed me in the reign of darkness and in the heights of the mountains. Upon leaving Chauvet I embraced her suspended antlers, and when I separated from the sixth ring, my female nurse with her pale neck offered me the seventh so that I would do it with brown illusions to be like her in the maternal ***** of the Rhone that in altitudes Thousands leveled out over seven hundred meters, with each ring being the power of a reign of darkness filled with light and undeserved talent. In the autumn, my female mother would get involved when I timidly approached from my cavern full of aldehyde, eliminating it through my mouth and eyes, creating from them the brave fear of misunderstood symbols..., if you saw it, your Seleucus...? You would abandon your divinity with a single breeze of the elements when you would recover your anchor rings on the roads. On the other hand, I wake up in his ring because of the meager light that intimidates the converted mountain beings, who interpose me in their combats, if an antler was or is torn from one of my attempts of frustration, after not seeing what it is not noticed even in thousands of distant blushes, and not even in the emission of the eyes of a hypothetical Apollo "

Behind the philastic zoomorphic of the exalting from Seleuco's mouth, the bilocated Epidaurus on Patmos was lowered by the steps of an amphitheater, bossed around in the conclusive closing of his story behind bars or horns that splintered his revoked mention of aspiring to a ring, which is not and will be nothing more than a synonym of despair, more than an immortal that is now abbreviated from the stigma of co-founding itself in meaning as a temporary truth of Hellenism, deducing to qualify its origin as a plus part and ascendant servant, but not descendant in shirts that have to transvestite him on the Epidaurus proscenium. Seleucus began to doubt his converted eagerness to lash out the mythological divine lineage for a sanction, in which the lightning bolts of the stunning sky themselves demystified their annoying gales of submission, by dynasties of the proverbial Kleos for the purposes of fame, and politics that open the loaded winds with cots of gold to marry with diligent nebulosity in transliterated and linked tripods in cumulus universes, where the first two abuse the fulcrum of the obverse that falls by gravity on no man's land..., here is the myth of anchoring and not of to aspire to a ring or earring that will drag us to heights where the icy cold wind crowns you on legs of bronze and not of gold "

These coins were carefully observed by those who observed them from a gorge, capturing the humility and infallibility of a being that came from the entrails of Chauvet, interpreting courses that awaited Seleucus. The appendages were detached from the koilones and tiers that jumped over it, to press and narrow the diazomas or corridors that were already deployed like a laser in the cubations of the consciousness of Megarón and the Vas Auric of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, which already was made ubiquitous. It was released from an Alexandrian Greek fire on the jaws of the hecatomb of the ex-generals of Alexander the Great. Here in funeral periphrasis, few prostitutes rusted behind his inheritance, each with their bronze panoplies and banners in favor of Leonatus in the hands of the Satrap Antigonus, Ptolemy, and the most outstanding applicant of his divine inheritance, Seleucus. They all meet outside the Eurydice ship in Skalá to settle decisions and franchises of ancestry, for the purpose of divinizing the destinies of their tasks and interests, to sink them into the first stone under a base of faith, and of those who will come from the return of the Anastásis like Greek resurrection of bread and wine, Psomí kai krasí…; "The Mashiach for being of whoever and whatever"

Seleuco says: "Psomí kai krasí, Bread and Wine for all." We have revived our leader, who in good time should resurrect us all for his mentions of the new future of fallen leaders and heroes. We are not oblivious to your expiration and perhaps your negligence in Babylon, but the steps of a king require other Seleucid measures and their oriental legitimating, being oligarchies that should morally do what is known. Antigonus, Ptolemy, and I appear here with me, preserving periods that leave us of mediumistic notions of the grim, who does not allow us to close our eyes. We confer the denounced ambiguity of previous riches that do not fit in any silo that can contain it, nor what happens to the secondary after diving early in the morning mounted on your Bucephalus, full of its manes swollen with the posterity of a Roman emperor besieging it, without advancing by requirements or where he rides now in steel wastelands, and not through upholstered steppes of the cautious ensign on your guard and in the solemn light of life that the **** leaves behind in your symbolic sarcophagus! We want you to join us, and to be able to banish our distinctions from where Apollo has given his eternal sleeper in the sense of an ephemeral truth, which makes light of flesh colors in the fiery figure of your coat of arms.
We have stolen the traced areas of Judea and from there Maccabees have donated us inscriptions back to my threat to you and Antigonus,... to my enemy debtor, but even so, I come to repair unevenness and want to repair idylls more remote from the Euphrates to settle in the ranks of Ptolemy. We have all sinned to look for you in our slogans, gaining fleeting territory, but we have lost your lux, already well said in my sanctuary in Didyma, but in seconds that continue from the first, already raising flags and heralds that increase your vox, more than a David that defeats a colossus; that from his own death resurrects...! "

All perceptibly dismayed looked at Alexander the Great who was behind a canopy listening to everything with his ear attached to the canvas that separates him from a presumed truth. He draws the curtain and pounces before everyone with stealth and courtesy, incontinenti he speaks to them after inhuman efforts to move away from the stagnant sub-understanding of his former commander.

Alexander the Great says: “The aureoles of sanctity have dislocated my Beelzebub, and the brambles brush against the Scabious flowers like widows that sing in the cenotic lines of my hands from a purgative cathartic in its graceful subfamily that makes my eyes heterochromatic de facto, between the thistles that are spiced between the aromatherapy of the Scabiosa cretica. In their oblong shape with pincushion flowers, they make the basting their nailed pins waiting to be used so that my desolations are not lost even after being just reborn. After the annual Attic calendar in Elaphebolion where they walked on me to resist the deer of Artemis, in attempts to get up and ***** me in the sessile voices of Scabiosa dispelled by Vernarth that have raised me in the involved species, like a chalice of unstitched shreds in seven holes, leaning back to the Aquenio in his fruit tree that is stained with lavender-blue, and the Lepidoptera bringing Vernarth from Gethsemane and the anti-Sarnic clothing that makes him exalted. Now from here, I harangue you, like immaterial troops that do not move their courage, with enemies that are left open to the fear of my walk on them, on rams of the imminent danger of warbling victory with steely Falangists. What a nationalist Faskéloma attribute as obscene fuss and Pashkien that reorders the armies that invade its headless stadiums, in raised nightingales that chirped the sadness of seeing myself fallen on the nose of the common soldiers and full of scabies in Arbela. I have to fly with you my lost flocks ready of Apollo surrendering twilight fire, and of moon-sun between the legs of a colossus forged by greater fires, speaking to me of Macedonian triumph, under the yoke of the crackle of a people that lies taciturn with the satraps in Hercules's cunning conquering in the cheers only after three laps they made debits from my left, while I saw the light of Uriel coming towards me in the Lepidoptera with his sheathing, and entirely of a horse placed Beelzebub, to transmigrate him with me from Cinnabar chains and honor what serves the world also that dies with me in Thrace or Alexandria Bucephalus, after the south of Corinth, regardless of me, who already sensed that he was anti-diadoco..., being at that time a leader of the Sacred League of Delphic Amphibian, after feeling so much pain immediately from dying..., I still had life left in the Scabiosa flask and in bronze vessels that I removed from the swirling wind of the s Thermopylae, leaving me stranded with nothing but chimeras of winning the world, but losing a Life that had just begun "

Meanwhile, at the dawn of Vas Auric was projected at relative height, Syrmus's light and resounding fall were shown when he attacked the back of Macedonia -... here Alexander makes a gesture of modest resilient power... -, after he glimpsed to Saint John the Apostle how he moved with his staff the tricolor clouds transmitted by the troops of the Tribalios and that was crushed by the carnal battery of Macedonian cavalry that immolated them before their knowledge, and then after their three thousand victims..., which according to some outstanding Hypaspists also rushed them far beyond the Danube where they were engulfed in the confinement of the Getas in thousands, and in greater proportion but with leather rafts, the Hellenic troops crossed this same river and with a few thousand they conquered them filling their saddlebags..., not gold... !, but brandy that burned all the pastures where no Bucephalus crossed by fire.
Wonthelimar Dismissed Diadocos
Medusa Nov 2018
"Mystery Cult of Two" by Medusa  (in translation)

<this is Modern Greek, transliterated so that I can study, but it is my own original poem>


oi archaíoi pólemoi ypoféroun apó ti moíra mas
poté den eípa kalá, poté den eípa alítheia
O, i agápi mou, poú échei páei i alítheia?
ópos ti mními kai ti dikaiosýni

pou chánetai sta óneira
den oneirevómoun pléon apó ména
gnostó vathiá se sas

móno eseís, epithymóntas kai oi dýo
mazí mas gia álli mia forá

oi archaíoi pólemoi ypoféroun
mia moíra san erastés
to parelthón den tha gínei poté
na eínai arketá gností

mia mystiriódi latreía tou chrónou
makriá, mia latreía mystiríou
dýo, móno dýo

agápi: mia latreía mystiríou
tou eaftoú mou
Poetry as study guide, seems to be working for me.
This poem is sincere, and also helping me re-learn my Greek.
Hey Yehoshua (Joshua),

How did a nice Jewish boy like you become the savior of the world?  They transliterated your name into Greek and called you Jesus, but to me you will remain a Jewish boy from a podunk little town.  You were probably lonely and out of place like me, a shy immigrant boy from Korea growing up in Western NC. You had giant expectations to fill.  Your dad was larger than life and sometimes a little demanding,  I relate.  
  More than my savior, I want you as a friend and a fellow traveler.  Sometimes I focus on your divinity so much that I forget you are flesh and blood like me, a God with skin.  You've felt the long sleepless nights, the thirsting and hunger for a God sized whole to be filled.  You've experienced the pain of betrayal and most important you know how hard it is to love and be loved by imperfect people trying to love with all their brokenness.  
  Josh, I'm not sure if this is a poem or letter, but I wanted to say hello.  Thanks for welcoming me into your life and calling me a friend and a brother.  I'll try to pass on the message by living it out, and share how my life changed when I encountered a God with Skin in the depths of my despair.  I keep walkin' the walk a day at a time.

Peace,

EunSung aka Silas
The Mashiach opened the Shamaim from the conception of the position of the Himation as an investiture of the Greek-Hebrew World that subsisted at the expense of the Tragigonia or Generation of the hyper-stellarization of the Himation particles. He did not stay alone wandering in the city of Kosmous, he would continue to fervently contribute to his Heroic Death that was already imminent. He structured his hereditary Submitology as galactic chaff; similar to the chaff of the Olympus Marble. Vernarth, before being invested, transfused as an exasperated Substance that teleported him to Olympo with his destitute feet but crammed with the chaff of the Kosmous where Orpheus and Dionysus received him, one with the chaff of tinsel and the other with the chaff of Eleusis, conforming to the metempsychosis where centuries became rectilinear of the immaterial conglomerate of both, but if in the liqua aura it would gradually refine from Britannia, which could be replaced by the patronage of hyperboreal islands, moving to the Dodecanese, perhaps instituted by the Romanesque Voice of the same Empire but with the dazzling Hellenic or Helleniká root in the Last attempt to approach the insular inheritance of other reverse islands called “Pretanniká Nesiá”, right there on top of Olympo. Suddenly by factions of immortality, they made tragedy and lethality, which implied parking for thousands of millennia trying to decipher the true identity of the ahistorical mythological beings, who now survive together with Vernarth in the ethons or screens that would reflect the composition of a living being. that instantly dies for its exuberance of life.

Vernarth, would go with his noctilucent Himation to the Krystallina monopathia or the Paths of Crystallization that made up the Olympo like a pantheon that was assimilated with rancid and weightless fungiform fluff, all this wild persuasion carried him on his decals by the crystal silica of the Olympo. The Himation was made of shoes and thrones that were not clearly related to the Olympic heights, and of not fearing with more heights that would exceed the interstices of the exaltation of everything that existed in front of its doubt that was clarified with the presence of the Souls of Trouvere. Everything seemed easy to explain in the hands of the circumlocution that Orpheus and Dionysus would make him in the luminosity of the Olympo, which is Ohr transliterated from the Olympus as the prominence that will be torn from the unstitched Himation, beating him with exulcers in the altitude of the Balkans. , and adhering to the tripartite relationship of the elevations with Delphi and Patmos. The quantum of time condensed the atmospheric hailstorm that had been decaying from Aurion, thus creating the orographic leveling of these converging quantum elevations as a flood subject to the Makryrema river, and as tributaries that will be activated with Delphi; specifically with the Kassotides and the Profitis Ilias in the concomitance of the Fifth Chalice of the prophet Elias who would come to challenge the glories, to mend the foothills that united them in this Monopathy or Pilgrimage of effort with essentials of superiority, which could be linked to the Agia Triada. Vernarth walked in complete solitude through the southwestern subterranean and bizarre mounds, figuring he did not feel that way at all since he did not measure more than a hundred meters in radius where Orpheus and Dionysus followed him, snooping in his Monopathia that would make him unreceptive before the advent of his A body destined to the method of objectively glimpsing knowledge that was extremely neophyte to its bustle, it was only motivated by praiseworthy essences that emanated from the Agia Triada string, which supported them with its beautiful channel by dressing what became lavish when walking and dressing naked, and also what made him ragged as he squandered his creed kits with dogmas that were instigated in his unleashed tragedy. His Purgation was an onslaught of his somatization that was renewed from his epidermis and that was totally transgressed by the Himation filigree that was unstitched in Golden fleeces, in the presence of some heroics who fought in the fallen fratricide of Olympo. Everything accused a brotherhood of Lineage that superimposed investiture or secular genes, over the science of accounting for their monopathies made by more than one parapsychological and Submitological regression. Undoubtedly, the factotum of the preludes of his Parapsychological end would be present before him, of what would **** from the ******* of the Renaissance after being subjugated by the Roman Empire as its decline, protocolized by the authorship of the scribbled hussar, trying to be the moderator with new castes that would reign in the surrounding Romania and Hungary for an extraditable rebirth in 1436, becoming resurgent reformed antiquity. From this perspective, the cursory Uttukus in the umpteenth parapsychology would appear in this trace together with Vlad Strigoi and Wonthelimar, who for so much quantum and excessive composure would let them know of a Reborn in the Olympo of the Olympos by knowing how to conceive that their heroes would have the life of its own and independent of universal mythology unified to the world, which in these elevations had great consonance with those of the Kantillana of Sudpichi, Kingdom of Chile and its Transverse Valleys / Regency of Horcondising with this rhetoric that would be strengthened in the placement of its Vampiromagia Automata Iconoclastic. All this heritage would lead to pastiness in all the corny monarchies that were intermingling with the eastern empires ..., specifically Hellenic and its perceptible quantum isomers, which were thrown from the veins with magnanimous elephantiasis masses that were falling from submithology Aurion.

Vernarth continues the intrusive internment of the suffocating aid of the Olympo, and of the profuse victimization that he believed to delight those who had only saved them from the axiomatic spark of beatitude and his predestination, which was only sponsored by Orpheus and Dionysus who were distant from him. , to see what would happen with his enchanted Himation, in the face of any setback that reinvented himself par excellence of the Vespers of his Triumph in the face of Death, everything has happened after that in some Brueghelian folios. This would testify that his leap towards the Renaissance was peremptory “And why not say it of the Kafersuseh of Ein Karem, that from where the stereotypes of a Mashiach would be based that would be reborn as many times as possible of the chained isomer of its quantum in Vernarthian parapsychology, being able to and to be warned from a virtual halter, to hold the infractions that consanguineously raged between life and death, and between the transgression demanded by the origin of error and naivety. Vernarth continues to transfer areas of the Olympo from which nothing could be ascertained if any shallow abstraction of its undeniable orographic height, perhaps a demiurge would make it, secreting par excellence the greatest mesocratic powers and the most abandoned demiurges in all their glories, lacking everything that makes his complete foolishness, and radicalized alterity due to the savage dominations of poorly contained wealth; That is to say, giving off the stunned Vine from where the monarchs would serve their henbane in vessels of the same servants, and their same harvests, and of their same vines that par excellence constitute the negligence of a right of territorial change with the basality of an inborn right that emanates from the vertical culture of the end of the Middle Ages, which is served in the same chalices that are the Kli or containment vessels for the eternalization of the Merciful Light or Ohr Hassadim. Behold, the Brughelian Death becomes Vernarthian in the unhappy planes of being born or reborn that is intricate from its Alpha and Medieval chaos ..., where nothing and nobody will be able to restrict the unbegotten Vine goblets to serve them in the original Servus Gleba vessels or Servants of Gleba, inborn with the Hoplites of Vernarth, who with large detachments kept vigil for him from a meager spiel from the Ohr ..., cheering their Lord on the Olympo directed to the tripartite, and towards the Delphic and Patmian.
Triumph of Death
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
in my native tongue:

croat...

    is transliterated

  as...

        horwat:

       (not *****,
similis of how, with an R,

and V.A.T. -

          vat):

   harking H,
   passing omicron,
trilled R:

and sharpened upsilon:
via, exactly: vat -

    horvat.

and if they do fail:
we can finally attain
the english asking
for the post-modernist
french bellowing
of defining a ball,
a sphere, an earth,

a "something".
i tell you is it worth to buy a book of
£50 and i tell you
about the weight of horses
and of teeth

is it not refreshing to read a book
by an Arab
and escape thus
outside the first contact of the Quran

like saying:
Christian find the apocryphal
library a devil a humanist

what happens in the Church of Los Vegas
San Vegas stays in San Vegas
and Vigro
how you mingle pagan attributes
to your life with wearing the clothes
of christian blood
but why i ask
can i not venture to these texts outside
of church and discuss them
with you
all that brings forth conversation
about god but not these strict
conversions and anti-conversions
and no more swaying no more wind
nor rain nor this happiness when
the birds sing...

from Jahiz the Abbasids -
of the ****** Fa'iq
such a different story line and history
to have arrived at the same place
with the taborns
the taborns... what are taborns?
camel slither on the desert sands
when walking in line
with the history the great serpent of time
and man
the time-man concept within the space-time
stresses of authentic atheistic
reality
some people purport to keed (P) rigid
for us little religious types
like under constant scrutiny
for not paying prayer unto deity...

in my youth the story of the *** form Nazareth
and through Islam's prism
at least some reality outside of the church
the Stellar Couchsurfer arrived in the capital
of the ancient world Jerusalem
with a newly sprung Empire of the Romans
and later Byzantines like
this was a Greek revival in the stage
of the ancient peoples

                                 Couch-surfer majestic
came to Jerusalem from Nazareth (the Arab capital
of Israel)
               Tel Aviv being the Jewish capital
of Israel -
                    as of yet there is no clear partition
of Jerusalem not as clearly
as the division of Berlin -

                            a fate of a people in a place
a fate of a people in a time
how different the too that now what can
be the Vatican of modernity
and only the rising sand vacuum...

some distant away end of the spectrum of
experience:
outside the bedroom and multitude
of throng -

Throng - this is the name of our Planet -
it is no longer Earth
but Throng Pirazyjvi

                               well... if i've started to read
books with names
like real people in fiction
by time disparity
for example:

                      abu al-qasim ja'far ibn muhammad
ibn hamdan al-mawsili

13th worrier cut off point for
the prince of Baghdad:

Abu... IBN...            abu yb'n

at least for my own sanity how long has it been
since i was last involved in literature
and now this break-up is going to cost me
much more than just
a heartache - this will spiral into a controlled
vizier -
            a dervish love for spinning gravity
instead of gravity of the fallen...
the gravity of the fallen angels implies a fall
a gravity by vector -

if iblis will not bow to man
then iblis will be falling in a one dimensional
space of the point A to point B
while man will revel in gravity with the earth
and thereby spinning on
point A
                  thus:                          Å
                                                   ° °

this letter:                                    Å
                                                   ° °

the king's letter: all unto Allah - or how to simpler
say: utter backwards the name
Yahoo - or Yahweh -
                    vocal because apparently "we" do not
know how to utter the word:
yet so apparently:
i remember in my lament
on Brick Lane
falling down and crying
allah allah like a child of why do i have
to see these two rivers from the coals of my eyes
blackened by past and future riddles...

what revelation comes from a wholesome diet
of books to find oneself preoccupied
with a child who didn't see the forest
for the books
or the books for the toothpicks or otherwise
sand as glass because
surely i can at least "inte-

          ʾAlf Laylah wa-Laylah -
or rather my alternative script...
Dune by Frank Herbert +
             the Quran +
       the Meadows of Gold by
    al-Masudi +
Rumi + Omar Khayyam

because i did spend a good portion of my
life shielding myself using
Knausgaard's Mein Kampf
and it was a dark period of my life
that culminated in a division of labour
3 volumes through when the original
buyer made his last impression on
a grandson
by 4th volume grandfather was dead
then uncle moved back
successful uncle
in his father's eyes
thus for 2 years not even cleaning his dead
father's room
it only took me to come and clean the stink
out stink of dementia
and this is from a love a hidden place
that cannot be on the same pages
as that of the fate of slave lovers
because there were slave lovers
and how slavery looked back in Arab times
and how slavery looked back in Roman times
and we can see a massive distinction
and oh jeez perhaps the Arabs were the best
slave masters
    and that's why they openly practiced it up to
well let's suppose 1978
for some reason that number sticks...
and perhaps that's why there's this argument
that the only reason why the English
abolished slavery is because they were
the worst slave masters the world has ever seen!
maybe there's an argument there
perhaps slavery per se is
misunderstood just like the word
apocryphal is misunderstood among christians
in terms of what writings can be turned
into money slot machines of sophistry
and the mega church and what ought
to be spoken in private:
but still that third man in the picture
like the diamond face of muhammad
at least if illiterate then had some knowledge
of other forms of communication
like algebra and Pythagoras and ******
expressions
but regardless this Christian focus on the face
and what mellow eyes

imagining myself sitting in a cafe in Amsterdam
going about my day micro-dosing
the shy effects of marijuana
because Amsterdam is a liberal city
and some people are sensible not operating
heavy machinery or driving buses
on a ******
but at least this scribbler is an envious scumb
comb
    working the security industry for the kicks
of: when will the time come
when i'll get to punch and shove and push
and manage crowds like a butch?

yeah yeah: i was going to add: like a butch lesbian?
point of concern:
the book was advertised as a FIRST EDITION
the Arab in me is thinking:
for the knowledge within this book
there are still about 30 unread message from
Edie after i mentioned what
if Reyla comes and stays with me for the summer?
i think that's how i ended last night
but if this book is sold as a first edition
how much of a first edition is it, actually?

flick to the first LEFT page
first published in 1989 by
Kegan Paul International

this edition first published in 2010 by
Routledge

first issued in paperback in 2015...
hmm...
The Night Gate (as film) sort of appeal to writing
per se...
is there an ISBN tracker?
                                         is there an app or something
on the internet... maybe chatGPT can help
if the internet spews out *******...

AI is the new internet
that's if you knew how to use an internet...
privately
i don't mean the public use of the internet
for commerce
this is not a critique of the internet
for all the infrastructure convenience
like speed dating off the island of Kauai
otherwise it would take a Capt Cook
to sail sail away
and bring back a fruit for Gaugin to get
a ******* and for Dr Jeckyll and Hyde
to find graves there
and rest and smile with diamonds instead
of teeth...

9781138980617

   let's find you: in my Little Aushwitz
where things are numbered, cataloged:
well can't exactly say the Germans
understood the concept of slavery...

      could have won the war with all that forced
labor... Schindler understood this
but where's an economic genius when
you have all that Bavarian drunk singing
then sober acting like there is no
alternative to alcohol so up with you
to the Luftwaffe and on Pervitin with you!
transliterated as: perverted vitamin.

ISBN-13: 9781138980617
ISBN-10: 1138980617
Author: Masudi
Edition: 1
Binding: Paperback
Publisher: Routledge
Published: 2015-11-26

well then... maybe i should be mad enough
to send this copy back
and instead get the hardback edition
for £200?
                
but wait, there's a sticker over the ISBN...
LPN WE 21884 8812

never mind: when Abbas became Caliph...
a century gone to kings
and no such benevolent slave owners
that might be sung their fairness as
if a litter of little Solomons running about
from dune to dune to a salt rich sea
where nothing lives
this desert in a desert this puddle of salt
in Israel this desert in a desert
a reminder that the desert is not the harshest
place on the planet but
that the Dead Sea is...

                        al-Baḥr al-Mayyit
Yām HamMāvet                                     some little
citation here and there...

the reign of Mutawakkil...
some humbling rule not to mention the only
notable on our side of history
is matched by only Richard the half viking
half saxon in the domain of body
and mind as Saladin - the Syrian -
Assyrian -
                              makes ***** of 'ryans?
some land of Ur and Yr to ask for the annals
of more sense?
how about i embark on writing this mid-afternoon
preparing dinner
and thinking to myself:
just your normal afternoon in Amsterdam...
just your normal afternoon in Amsterdam
because i do actually get my **** delivered
to me when i go out and buy my groceries
and that's like the anti-thesis of delivaroo
and all the kamikaze electric bicycle riders
form Bangladesh
jeez i mean this is modern England
and it's not like the industrial revolution
promised anything beyond its expiry date of the late
20th century...
given where soft energy goes with hard intellect
to suspending human life above nature
that even the admired Arabs of Frank Herbert's time
can no longer be admired...

but there is an alternative history
of Corbeas the patriarch of the Paulicians
a talk of the ****** Yazman in procession
surrounded by his man
like he was the virile **** twice removed
from the testicles because
i imagine being an ****** gives you
double the virility
i might imagine wrong
but when as men we get told so many things
wrong like how menopause is somehow
bad for women when you
can finally have uninhibited ***
and no ****** instead a ****-ring
and i imagine this time of the Arab expansion
like some injection of faith and hope
for Old Iraq or Babylon
or what the world used to look like
on the current scale of Empires still afloat
like this world will never rid itself of Empires
this world will never be a place
for small people
or villages or islands
there will always be grand ideas and empires
and they will rise and fall
and even the murmur of a beginning will
bellow for ages unbecoming aging
and succumbing to the folly of mortal stuff...

yes: i can concur: this book is worth £50
and i am not mad enough to buy
the hardcover copy
because as much as i'm a bibliophile
i'm not a collector -
because i need working books
and working books are paperback
books and i know the fate of hardbacks
they stand the test of time: provided they are:
NOT OPENED...
not necessarily unread:
a collector would buy two copies...
one for the moths and time
and the other for his work ethic being tested:
when, yes, a large proportion of the public
was illiterate
a literate man could call writing work...
but i hardly think that possible these days
given what squalor of intellect this medium
has been exposed
at least there is some hope in a portion
of society being used to code anti-mantras...

otherwise none of these snippet artefacts
from so long ago:
continually weaving a historically-journalistic
endeavor...
nuggets like the Spaniards
like them in tapas
because such is the frivolity of eating
that you never want anything particular
but food and conversation
and fascinating how the culture of food is
very important and how to best describe
the culture of food these days
this culinary cult and some personalities
like excelling in farming
but somehow diminished learning
when it comes to cooking
like this Slavic aversion to spice
and the people's i will not name
aversion to the use of salt...

        is that an apostrophe typo?
should that be peoples'?
       i wonder i don't wonder
but when it comes to being culturally influenced
it's not like i heard about al-Masudi
from a Muslim:
how could i have if they take their public
intellects to be donning Niqabs like
women?

   not if i heard of the author sooner would i be a
Lawrence of Arabia Sinbad wannabe...
like some thrill off the page
to venture with humanitarian aid to Gaza
and get blown up
like some ******* adventure that would
be i already have an adventure piece
with a girlfriend over 20h away on the dotted
line where day begins and day ends
just shy of Francis and the Canine Islands
no the Desert Islands no
those Miraculous Taiwanese and their Polynesia
Trip because that's some history
there like no feet just four hands people
oar no oar just paddle with hand
or perhaps there's no myth of earth there:

but salt shrinking then expanding
into a sustainable / visible gas
the clouds are the only visible gas known
to without being the gas with fire
so i mean the salt gas:
sodium chloride as gas...
and not gas...

sodium in chlorine gas is a dim sunlight
hazy morning reach into my flask
this is like a new beginning
couple this trip:
just not willing to finish vol 6 of Mein Kampf
some other books in between
fascination with Olson Maximus long gone
now
then couple movie Dune with girlfriend Dune 2.0
then the book itself Dune 3.0
and then refresh to what blah blah
ordeal holy: bible or quran does it really
matter i mean the lived experience
of Islam is a bit like forgetting
but the lived experience of Christianity
is a bit more sinister in that it's remembering...

Islam is a religion of forgetting
while Christianity and Judaism
is a religion of remembering

i find solace in this...
         a great parody of paradise not being
attained by graft or vain-hope
         in simply born to be simply
    relieved from the stomach of celestial
and cerebral ordeals
of minds and stars
of milky ways and intellect's weaving
a narrative: slave owner of ego
or the master destroyer of egoism
in this void blanket of automated hands
filling the void behind two organs
nose apart
this mind and eye duality
that exists when there is no voice of "thinker"
in the ether of whatever substance allows
this clinging of voice outside the mouth
in the chamber of the hard hit head of bellows
at a later date...

swarming of words in empty interludes
some would be sung some would
be defaced and abandoned
like miniatures
of mentions
words like details biological emerge
and violate a presence
to then abandon a people they themselves
abandoned in the dealt exercise of chance
by then chance and determination
complimented regardless of
religious affiliations and desires...
this sickness of people telling other people
that they are right
like there was ever a clear distinction
between right and wrong
ever since it was made unfeasible
to then say that how original in sin we might
be if the sin be nothing more than
a judgement of confusion -
         how perhaps it was not in the god's
mind to think a man be born
into confusion or perhaps there was no confusion
while god painted the naked blessed
duo all enraptured and silky smooth
not confused to be anywhere not
some Eden on the periphery of life in
the squint of the Eskimo like:
suspicious even i do that
my fish bowl eyes are not so much darting
but when drawn by hand
are not fish bowl eyes the aesthetic standard of
Manga - but no argument from cartoons
no real remedy against Disney indoctrination
to safeguard against an evil frown
and the third eye blind as the evil eye...

like one eye and one ear unto the brain
which gives me two tongues
and that's more than can be said:
when Islam becomes a religion of two tongues...
this is a prophecy:

WHEN ISLAM BECOMES A RELIGION
OF TWO TONGUES...

just saying: don't know what that means,
i'm just saying what i haven't been told:
when islam becomes a religion of two tongues...
given christianity and their
many tongues not-o.k.
sorry not o.k.
               this religion ***** *** ***** ***
so many tongues and English is crass
and no i don't like christianity in English
just like no i treat this tongue as my Lingua Franca
εμπόριο γλώσσα και ιδέες...

            from the same book:
alchemical text:
the spontaneous synthesis of nesquehonite
from natural talc reaction with CO2 and ammonia
was attempted with an aim to control
the crystal growth by Ding et al.

or as mentioned ascribed to Byzantine
alchemists -
take talc and ammonia and what is found on the roads,
all in due measure, making no mistake;
then if you love your Lord,
you will be master of creation...

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such modern referencing like trigger-happy
to just copy paste copy paste
like this is never going to any holy place
like there are plenty of those holy supplies
now sober now drunk
about to fold on a backlog of 30 messages

of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
these adherents to geometry
and sophistry as if brighter and loftier
than the songs of birds...
of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
adhesive invisibility of strings
head-strung strong virtual puppet a bleeding
wound like an oyster on the body
when dipped into the sea...

well less the chess anecdotes but at least
one anecdote playing backgammon with a woman
this
could belong somewhere in these pages
an anecdote of playing backgammon
with a woman
not just playing backgammon
but playing backgammon with a woman
and spicing it up
the breath of cinnamon from worm
and the breath of apple cider from a serpent

as frightening as the existence
of angels
as frightening as the existence of eyes
in souls...

as frightening as the existence
of angels
as frightening as the existence of eyes
in souls.
woke up at 9:30am
got out of bed at 15:30
as someone once
wrote in a Tottenham memo
about a shift reminder:
15:30pm
and i thought
this is a person in authority
of details
planning permissions etc
and then it dawned
on me like a slight itch but more
like a nail into the head
and i realized something
peculiar...
the cushions and harems
of getting slightly tipped
of getting somehow sky high
by listening to music
and if god was alive
he'd have heard
through telepathic snail mail
that i committed suicide
today
today
i committed suicide
in bed
by wasting a glorious
sun dance of the wind with
the trees
i committed suicide today
lying in bed
actually if dreams are
are recurrent theme
because SPAZ
me says: so is sleep: d'uh d'uh
(did i poison those words
with enough sarcasm?
i think i did
i will not write those in italics)
well...
tone, choice and a voice...
remedy of rhythm and
then a change
music text art
that is the medium non binary
i just realised
Adolf ******
Jesus Christ
and i am 19 and i'm 40
and wow and this
the world i to inherit
because
i am man
not boy now
i will lay siege to Istanbul by
throwing paper nuggets
of owls
and i will be launching
with heart in Oslo
and with bakhlava lava lava
and beards on fire
i will be the first generation
European living side by side
with Muslim and German
Russia can wait
i ****** Russia and have
stamp to prove it
i also ****** America and have
heartache to prove it
and i have a daughter
who isn't my daughter
and she's still only using
only half of my hemisphere
of mind sea blue bluuuuuuuue jeans
and this nagging nagging
mosquito
but this is first generation
living with a Muslim
and i don't mean (except) funny Pakistani
Muslims...
i mean those other Muslims
from Muslim Muslims
from Muslim Muslim'Lands
and indeed the hyphen is SCIENTIFIC
the HYPHEN is SCIENTIFIC
but...
but the APOSTROPHE is HUMANISTIC
and that's there
where
i take off my OJ Simpson gloves
and put on my Forrest Gump
mowing the lawn type of baseball / trucker cap
oh if ****** was the sole instigator
of a genocide
but imagine the genocides of transliterated
souls that fire torches of Nero
and all those Protestant and Catholic
and Orthodox and from this octopus
a squidctopus
was born
and what horrors just as the Hebrews
followed the Assyrian
into Hades
and jeez what a ride we had Medieval
Poles
   so tolerant back then so be the Israel of the North
no not city...
an entire country of the north
coming to vectors
and i would like to finally pitch
my compass
and... what city game
i will leave two prototypes
for comparion
given

(a) Edinburgh
(b) London

as a different compass
esp noted when looking a meteorological
schematics
on t.v. and elsewhere

or maps
reading them
so therefore what direction is most important
in these cities

and if i could bypass all the editorial hassle
after all in the construction industry
and the security industry:
i am still foremost an artist!
and i am the literate one in the trenches!
what culture war
unless you start sneezing in the direction
of L'viv...

fine fine!
compasses
of compassion and diverting perception

Edinburgh (given the Firth of Forth)

                       N




            W                              e






                       S

London (because of the River Thames)

                        E




                      Ns


                        W

there: did my editorial interlude with what letter
to not utilize CAPITAL

just saying that Gandhi would be right
about Europeans citing
the name ****** more frequently
than Christ:
yes: but Christ wasn't a European
so think
about a future where there emerges
a Jewish leader capable of summoning
all the Diaspora of Hebrews
to Mount Zion for a Judgement Day?

well... this ****** wasn't a Slovenian
well this Christ wasn't a Greek!
so?
are we all Christs and also all Greek?
but why can't ****** be admired
as let's say
the people's person
he wasn't alone but he was still an artist
i am an artist
i am working in an industry
where people don't have literary dreams
i can be the perfect spy for liberalism
in that i know there is liberalism
and there is libertarian tendencies
but please none of that here
only today i masturbated twice
then measured
the frame of a bicycle
from my legs
as 17" suited for someone up to 6'0"
but i need a frame
21"...
           no... my ***** is not 4" long
i am assured
too
that i am not 6'2"
but actually 6'3"
so i am a Brat Pitt i am a Chris Hemsworth
too...

oh right... curious looks
whenever i hushed in a HELM
a worth of a helm...

Christopher is not a Christian
i'd hate to have a christian name
Alexander isn't a christian name
Matthew is a Hebrew name
and Conrad is a Germanic name

i'm pretty sure i have names best
associated with the Hadif of Berlin
a saying about Berlin:
go see Auschwitz first
before seeing Berlin...

        it would have been much harder
to criticize ****** the bad poet
sooner poet poo
then all investing me too
in painting when some two year old
is a freak show revelation of people
realizing the better reign in hell
than to serve in heaven
then yes
like Christ the Great Cosmopolitan
wanderer beyond the jokes
of Egyptians about 40 years spent
from Cairo to Sinai...

          but as a man with pomp and momentum
i don't work with the hyped up
about literacy rates sort of volk
not that they don't see me standing
one foot pelican
constipated
i do wonder maybe some ayuascha....
****... spelled it wrong:
obviously i'm not thinking about it...

but how to redeem myself lala
and yawe
              who else than to borrow from
Adam and he heard Lala
and Eve heard Yawe...
no Hatches of Hay and T'chit T'tchit chatter
Lala and Yawe


H                                               H

                     ()


               (that's a rugby match,
call me... huh?)

the gods Lala and Yawe
are obviously a heresy in Islam
since god is an ******
clearly no partner
or just shy
oh just shy Allah
well then...
come to think of it... Yahweh
didn't begin life as a god
but maybe a man
or metaphysically a genie
or whatever
and coexisted and virtually knew
who walks first
having himself as us
as they who walked
as i walk

                    so the last god for "yahweh"
to claim would be Allah...
namely... ah ha ha!
drop the H and let's rearrange you to look back
at me!
Ya    La
We   La

                 Yawe says to aLLa
     i say: priest: and till death us no part
Yawe and Lala

from which sprouted names of people
who might become BIG
like Leyla
and imagine is this not better
for European sexuality than this Hebrew
hybrid
o no not definitely
o such bubble froth so frustrating

just relax and snooze some jazz
some axe and a forest of 3
cut down into Z or |B

          i am artist and for the masses
a ****** a thorn
like some: you will never
never rise above him
you will never become like him
you better know this is Germanic
covert diluted in England
this is ******
this is Genghis Khan and look
how poor and admiring
the Mongols still are
began to relax from not even paganism
by the gods of waves
upon this earth
still poor still admiring the spirit
of Genghis Khan
and they don't care they are poor
are rich as the dirt and wind
and freed from subjecting horses
to work
to war
now look at them admiring the horses
as pets and as jolts
and perhaps what are we
Europeans to fall first
from the cliffs of reason and science
and technology
first thrown off the cliff-face of self
perception: in self rather of self...
inward cluing in
with outward cluing out...
game of prepositions

    how difficult to be given an ultimatum
of marriage
and visa
but then not giving the coherency of the use
of monetary funds
and suggesting that Reyla
be moved out of this supposed Christian:
private... just private...
school and into a public school
and let's hope there are enough
teenage boys around her that ****** off
and none of these sexually frustrated
devious "christian" boys
from good families...
what the **** am i getting at this isn't my life
i had a holiday from hell
i might have pokered my heart
or whatever is the new guise...

can Adolf ****** please down
from his peddlestoof
of being admired
and not join the jilted
oh believe me that
was a surprise
i was walking home
from a shift not my usual way
and in clear daylight
and haze of sunset
i walked past a house
with all the open windows
and in it
i heard people shouting
from room to room
so that anyone walking past
might overhear...

******
BIGGER
SNIGGER
NIGER
******
GIDDY
JAVOLINE
LI­TTLE
******

            and not that i'm worried
since i'm not an anti-racist
i'm just not, racist...
but i think this is no intelligence question
but a question of, the final question
of mobility and world
claim
what if to suppose racism
is an outright
question of not being moved
concerning a people so far removed from travel
that they are not this cosmopolitan shelf
of selves and technologies
and perhaps these people can be understood
on the grounds of not so much
a deviation of i.q.
but not deviating from say... an Eden...
what if some ******* on the coast of England
was actually someone's Eden
with an Eve
and a postcard: wish you were here
and then... some Berbers appear!
and you're a Spaniard being sold
into slavery for gladiatorial new-real?

                             non-referential blind spots,
too much gravity,
too much gravity people,
like ants in a sandworm
or beetles in time measure of
how much **** to perfume...

                oh this can end here...
just realized...
one Yawe and Lala and i didn't commit suicide
happened but was all artistic
hungover and lazy
with wanting to waste as much sunlight
as possible
because just because because because                    because
what's in a name what's in a name
in the end
within a name there is no name
but a pre-noun and a pronoun
and          that glorious word THING
and boomerang not a boomerang
of I to It
           to I as It           and It a non-It
a spoke
              the spokes in a wheel...
a wheel is an Ezekiel
                     is my first learning of the name:
little Yash                 and jesz? i.e.
are you eating?    my words my silences
my atonement for say:
the miraculous spring afternoon
finding myself enjoying the act of reading:
regardless of what i'm reading:
or rather i am actually reading Frank Herbert's
Dune but i should be reading
al-Masudi's the meadows of gold
and currently that's a first edition
on amazon going for
£47.99
            so until i get a wife and a surrogate
daughter i can and will splash out
on books in the purchasing window
of £30 to £50 and since i'm not rich
enough of rich-autistic enough
or autistic enough
to be splashing on paintings
like that story of the founder of Barbie
no not Ruth Handler
before pornographic magazines
the Swiss invented the Susie Susan Sour-****
to gag men into
the predicaments they found themselves
in as world war ii bomber pilots
then came the infamous poster reel
from Shawshank Redemption and
boys those girls those flinging-mig-magic jazz
of ****
those lonely nights
and days
but mostly the nights
and on my 38th birthday i masturbated
like 3 times
because a day prior i was talking
to a friend outside of the Spurs' Coliseum
and we talked about being 38 and 72
and cancer of the prostate and how he got
it removed and now can't get an *******

i would have killed to venture into
the ear to eye osmosis
of being at the
Boris Brejcha at Arènes de Nîmes...
artist to artist
this is not me Matthew Arnold
a limp **** poet
crying to bed after seeing Liszt play
because music has changed
and there's no genius of music
but a genius of music-inclusion therapy...
"therapy" / therapy?

Friday came a little late: now that i'm imagining things,
writing on a chrome book
in my own room i remember days
when i used to drink a liter of whiskey
and write from 10pm to 5am
having given up smoking marijuana
at the age of 21 weighing in at 65kg
after an experience
with: what i'm guessing...
not Jesus and not Yashwa...
but rather: and i only learned of his name today:

dualism of monotheism: the little yahweh...
                       A

           E          Y         I                   𐤃

                                                   ∇
                  O       U

yad dah...
           YDDH...

                     turbulent lessons in how the consonants
are props and vowels drift in and out
to allow for Semites to transliterate nouns
Semites need to transliterate nouns
which cannot be said
of Matthew of Mateusz of Mateo
but Matthias says it's possible...

the angel: Metatron...

                        i'm seeing Mega:
like the movie Tron (updated like Dune updated)
and the soundtrack and something megalomaniac...
like the affairs of non-existence
of supposing within
pre-noun pronoun
preposition and proposition
are so why can't a pre-noun
exist before i learn the names of things
before i inject conjunctions and adverbs
big and small
i usher in a chemical laboratory of
Ar Na Cl He Fe
no Ar...

natrium chlorum
    helium            ois

                 ferrum...

terra ferrum: iron earth
                              in akimbo venturing for
broken bones and fixation on bones
206 of these...
and i overheard that Muhammad Ahmed
knew the exact number of bones
in the human body (does that include the teeth?)
32 teeth...
   that's 9 vowels and 23 consonants
in the Polish alphabet...
bad tooth England only has 26 letters
and boast all it can about Latin VQ
it does not have...

oh not bones then joints
i heard about the number 350 being cited...
although i sometimes wonder
about O and little o
of degrees and that's really thinking about
the 0 and to the power of
infinity is infinity oscillating in
a duality: even and especially if it's
a monotheism:
why then o why i wonder
at the predicament of Islam
because it is not out simple migration
but the excesses of Dubai must
be hitting the average muslim hard
if they be wanting to move with us
European paupers, no?
us drunken savages we are savages
and we returned to our pagan ways
just as i might have predicted why
Poland defended the pagan power
of Lithuania and why Christianity
never really spread to certain parts of Europe
but was kept in check by some
Russian Greek or Varangian...

i saw it in his eyes when his father
head-butted one of this soldiers
i'd bet i will put a bet on, everything i have...
on Usyk beating Fury...
the odds?

Fury 5/6 ahead of Usyk at 11/10
strange numbers...
i saw Bohun in his eyes
the cossack romantic figure in Sienkiewicz'
with Fire and with Sword...
yes saw it and this is the only sport
i'd bet on with a heart of a gamble
beyond the £1.00 threshold
unlike Bukowski betting on horses
i did similar antics
betting on scores in football...
but nothing major always stingy no greater
thrill than earning money
and saving money
and then spending it on kayaks or canoes
or books or compact disks or
£12 summer dresses and what not
however the trend is these days
last time i tried tapping into anything
relevant on the internet
but same old:

men, bears and £12 summer dresses
that are like the rule
pulled up in the forest on the sly
with no suspenders or tights
just the suntanned skin with no wintry
attaches of still ***** still
playing chess still not playing
backgammon still no chess
unless with a kid
and i loved how i saw the engineering
of AI in chess games
and how the kid was losing and
just because she's a girl doesn't mean
i'll let her win
or that i'd let her win no because
i didn't but i don 't mean playing
chess with a ****** partner
or watching t.v. with her
because no unless there might be physical
dimensions askew like how could
we possibly do it, physically speaking
i mean how could we when we couldn't
and that would be her licking
the eyepop pop-sickle sickly sweet
no teeth grandma ***
or me and her already wrinkled *****
slurping oysters
Bang Dan... Bang Dan... sounds Vietnamese...

why would: ah: authenticity...
38 outside the range
but in the range 21 - 35 have to complete
3 months of agricultural labour
to qualify as citizen of Australia...
i think that's rather nice...
i only submitted the form on a whim
but i received no automated response...
instead a Jamie Chirpseer
got in touch: apparently they have been calling

now i don't know but
last time i "measured"
that's only an 8h50 flight from Auckland
to Hawaii
so i'm thinking why set my foot behind
a door with a mother in law
watching scoop me up Jesus
t.v. and being all paranoid about my status
as ******* on the closed enclosure
of Kauai
but i sure as **** threw a decent birthday
party by the pool
well shared but this is claustrophobic writing
i.e. claustrophilic my ego
says there is a cursor and pre-
to nouns so i'm cleared: cleared by I'II"
however many that is:
1 foot 11 inches last time i checked...
ego-**** that is: the little horn on my head
that turned into a hovering 360 degree eye spin...

seeing those last words written days
ago, happily discarded
now upon return with a pop-sensibility of aging
no new music but there are some unavoidable
stresses in neu alles neu: billy and eddy's
Lunch not naked Lunch not naked
all food in attire:
me sitting in a tuxedo and sneakers
with a baker boy's cap: some unifying piece of attire
whether you're at White Hart Lane
or whether at the Boleyn -
                  unifying attire like some distinction
between the Tribes of London gone out
of the window with the babies in a circus of bathtubs
falling from the sky
because raining cats and frogs
had all the dogs drinking from puddles of beer
morphing into hyenas - crying over Benson Boone
singing all god is jesus
and no god of a muhammad
there is no transliteration of tongues and words on
tongues and words not on tongues
but abstracted thought and missing in crosswords
because like a dyslexic being good with numbers
because is such a terrible word right
now...
but good in manners of speech: or is that speach
like i want to bite into a peachy apple
                         like crossbreeding happens and you
could craft champagne from thin air
breed a german shepherd and a spaniel
or what was used to breed a dachshund
from a dobermann...

   the Q and the Mark i.e.

                     Mark              +                Q(uelle)

                    ­                        =

                      Matt            ­   &              Luke

i came across people interested in religion and
the mammoth goliath that is Christianity
of conversation
and a revamp from the year 1945 from Egypt
the Nag Hammadi library -
and all that invoked by the Church Mothers
maybe another Frank Zappa moment if i could
sing but instead i found my voice
my voice in giving SIA a briefing after having
worked with stewards on a bag cordon
at Wembley...

now how to find respite, next day the cycle
still not fixed so house bound
at least able to wash the bedsheets
and hang them in the garden of sunlight
to then dress the bed once more in all that air
and wool
like floating sheep and perhaps horses with
wings
and perhaps apes to
and perhaps men with four arms and no more
than two feet
and perhaps wheels and fire and the internet
and printing and copying
and all that towers and gardens from Tokyo
to Baghdad -
                               cascade of the human experience
ethics is apparently objective
well i could have sown the swearing ogre oath
i loath in **** me **** me oh **** me
jurisprudence is subjectivity par excellence...
so rarely do you have judgement by the peers
by the jury: jurisprudence -
instead English law and the barrister
and judge and triangles of politics -
i hardly speak in the court of law -
perhaps fellow human will allow
me to think before god:
perhaps i can think before god
if i can't speak in the court of law if i can't speak
in the court of man then perhaps
i will be able to think in the court of god:
at least there's hope with me writing this down...

yes, i put a weird bet on two nights ago...
Tyson Fury vs. Olek Usyk...
bets on, whatever the algebra of gambling
5/6 and 11/10 as a decimal:

      0.8333                  and 1.1111

ニ: 0.747747748
      ホ: 0.9213

if i were to see mathematics with letters,
notably division by the first number
and multiplication by the second numbers
(Ni                   **)

but at least no muddle with too many numbers
like too many notes in Mozart's
'seph II  Holy Roman Emperor (1765-1790)

    ヨーヨー                 (yoo yoo toy boy not
yo! or yo-yo                but no ideogram?

let me rummage...)

                         bandalore... idea: image at least
some     :)                  or some :'(

      maybe get a hummingbird tattoo on my neck
in devotion to the Aztex i.e.  Huītzilōpōchtli

pero āmo tēchentenderoa lo que tlen
tictoah en Nahautl                                 TLEN:
oxi         oz                       oxygen-c-c

                           TKANKA: tis            tss tis tss
Sue: Ssue...                   SS: Ś
                    i.e. tissue:
                                                       /ˈtɪʃ.uː/ /ˈtɪs.juː/

maybe a truly phonetic poem
or a truly transliterated biblical text
a snippet only a snippet because i have enough
of a day to live to spend another hour
or so in akimbo or on my knees
before the writing desk that's my bed
no no: but a short equip-me "poem"
a quirk like a sneeze to base my focus on tissue
and SS i.e. Ś
and other instances i could possibly see it in
in the English tongue...

all of a sudden working with Pakistanis, Bangladeshis
and the Sudanese is or can ever be
about a white English boy with some
post-colonial stresses and ancestry questions
about why the former Commonwealth
Empire imploded and no wonder
given the Civil War in Sudan
why then complain about the English i wonder
but i don't have that problem
given no one can really look sensibly accusing
the Polacks of imperialism and colonialism
base mention of Mongols and the Ukranians
while the Lithuanians dwarfed under Russian Stalinism
and what remnants of German blood
fused during the northern crusades
to give birth to a German fusions of
Estonians, Prussians, Latvians and the Fins
at least we know that the Prussian pagans steered
the gentle happy german soul
for some time or so the romanticism goes...

                  this is still writing under the influence
of Billie Eilish's LUNCH on repeat:
the glad days of my 20s spent never speed dating
not really singing sad songs of psychopathic love triangles
and later sycophantic bare minimum poetry
yuck cringe and are we of the first people
to be given a literacy adventure in proficiency?
so my little historical debrief:
well... it's all funny how i too came on a banana boat
with the rest of them
that astounding reflection of a Pakistani from Luton
born and bred with mosque like a seashell brought
along in the night of the crimson moon
the LESBIAN flag of ISLAM
i.e. the marriage of the girl moon and Venus...
because isn't that "star" with the crescent not Venus
unless that's Venus with a scimitar
and who was the woman of the origins of Islam
running between two hill tops with her son
looking for water?
Hajarah and concubine of Ibrahim?

              at the diner with Ismail having no dinner
but food for thought
in some absent heaven and in some absent hell
but rather in a limbo of grey objects
and a blistering itch of sunshine that
turns a hyperbolic white skin of the north
a golden serpent glee
and invokes spying for the Greeks or ancient
Romans in Lebanon
with: mind you: with all those Pale Orthodox Jews
might just fit in...
but wait: i digress... i've been looking for an ideogram
for a yo-yo... wasn't i?
a yahoo too: a yo-yo playing with a yahoo
when there was whey and rye and lasso and spey
and whatever way was in the where...

          ilocano: aj aj: moje kolano

         (exercise in pain onomatopoeia
         and possessive article: moje / mine
         noun: kolano / knee)

oh yes... and a rubric of the bets i made on the Tyson
Usyk match-up... tailors to the glove
a dash of Polansky on the ring...
left right tango with tango of men
so rough **** so not like ******* a woman
so unlike...

thus:

    no yo-yo: but axle:                        軸
my guess is as good as anyone's
with however many confines of
//     \ |               |||          /|/|/      \|\|\

to quiz up a T                 or an L
let alone an O because so rigid have to swim
to Yippon for the proper edible tongue

now to reveal the Gambler and how i will never be
able to write yet admire
a Hemingway and a Bukowski...

Usyk by technical decision (100/1)
stake... £0.10
Fury by technical decision (100/1)
stake £0.10
Usyk by disqualified opponent (100/1)
stake £0.10
Fury by disqualified opponent (100/1)
stake £0.10
Usyk by decision of technical decision (2/1)
stake £5.00
net return £10.00
Usyk by KO, TKO or DQ (5/1)
stake £5.00
return £0.00

any anyone who might read the newspapers
would tell you
the decision was crystal clear, scientific,
on the margins, within talk of inches and decimals
and... ooh... itchy...
115-112, 114-113 to Usyk
and 114-113 to Fury...

rematch? what is now to be disputed is by winning
through that bet i made: 5/1
or rather 5:1 but ratios would be any less if
using a colon?
                               enough bark to patch up a
cagey sneer and then return to kiss daylights: out
because now somewhat disputable
in the arena or the courtroom
better judgement watching sport
than those daytime zombie land drug-shows
of the courtroom melodrama soaps
and operatic demand for feeding the collective
consciousness split seconds per day
accumulating into binge potato peeling of skin
and intellect on the sofa...
even now: hardly a waste of good coffee
   and tobacco...                with the added "spice"
of BIMBER... beam-bear to spread out the letters
and transliterate: not to imply anything beside
the phonetic arrangement
of the letters as beam-bear: it's still the meaning
behind BIMBER the sweet 45% *****...

(q)uelle: yet there is hardly a similar problem
associated with Socrates...
given the accounts by Plato
Xenophon oh and let's not forget Aristophanes...
especially him
because he was hardly all luvvy-dabbling in
writing works of just fiction...
satire of the lowest man in the village as it were...
well:

who wouldn't have said:

     pleasure is not only unnecessary,
     but a positive evil

i too have had the pleasurable burden and agony
of being able to cite
maybe saying maybe not saying
either way experiencing:
i'd rather be mad than feel pleasure -
further still what of pleasure and happiness
as distinctly opposite or not:
re-imagines (i)
                         the recently digested divulging
on meanings
constricted to words like guilt
and shame...                   thus too:
happiness and guilt                           pleasure and shame.
how dare i agonize humanity thus
with my writing
how silly of me
how pretentious and perhaps
even vain
to make eyes grieve having
unseen these words
        
                    how little i bring
no leech of remedy
no parrot of backstabbing talk
no carrot for motivation
no dilution of suffering
just this stressing of disparity
and differences

as if
as if that wasn't apparent

shying away from life in private
this reverse-engineered voyeurism
now clinging for a bouquet of
verbose patterning

like a brick **** having fallen
with a tumultuous sound
of a nailed stork
           a nailing that becomes a falling

now a coffee and a sobering
cigarette
now a walk to the supermarket
to buy onions and whiskey
before the mothers and their children
return from school

before the men come to their
homes with empty bellies
and worldly dust
of business
that men like me not huddling
but exacting a 103kg 190cm frame
waste out times on words
rather than athletic miracles...
seems rather strange
that i have not been endowed with
more oomph and furor
to strip the world to basics

but how could i content with scared
eyes
and hopeful eyes
of people i'd feel no private mechanizations
with...

truce at 20 and off to Africa
little Rimbaud
somehow transliterated into American
as Rambo
although i do stress the Rims of Bau -
and the D can be dropped

perhaps i'm still on a beach on Kauai
and i'm not giving this day
enough due diligence
to occupy myself as a man of action
of deed of consequences
just this hermit like half
clenched body
a kneeling prosody -
         will i actually forgo this stupid
dream
this decadent myopia
of attempts and further attempts
to deflate life
and shelve it...

                                    so impossible decadent
i learned to abhor this ambition
that's no real ambition
i learned to abhor this ambition
this tease
this: well it's not for the money
but the troubles of ******* into words
and doodle-d'ah doodle-d'is
                      
       it's so abhorrent that i should waste
such hours of sun
on a page
that is literally and not
an abhorrence
this is an abhorrence to literature
should it not come as vein and artery
and heart of distractions

at the core some legality of legacy
in transcendent disappointments
and not this
this defeatist slosh and sleuth of
beyond personal
detailing

                     this luxury of no antidote
to life's nether regions of
emotional demands for dexterity
actual conversations
less this defeatist escapade
this is no Guru Alias Self Help -
words from a professional zenith
akin to
   o let's say akin to:

     a james sexton

   in his words the man is a machine
let's say doing 50+ hours of work a day
and that's somehow an admirers' *****
bank
deposits: center

                      but not even like
yesterday all glazed eyed
thinking to myself: over indulgence?
or is this something
akin to:

well all the chores have been done
toilet cleaned
and i have no reading to do
and yes i did tip myself with some
marijuana and some whiskey
but at least i'm not watching t.v.
and if that's really a guilty pleasure

sure this is no Rimbaud
and romance and fantasy of
done aged 20
nor this can be the Bible of relevance
or a Dune saga
but at least i am not watching t.v.
and from a furthered perspective
i never thought
i'd say it
but i have become indifferent
to music
like once i loved music like all
children love something
be it football or a library of tracks
but so indifferent
have i become
it's almost a question formulaic
in that i have become
can be easily retreated back: into
the proper use of grammar

so in the end it's just
an exercise
an exercise in the use of language
as a way to disguise the fact
that i'm not a rhetorician
and that i don't speak air
but mumble dirt with words

what spurred the purge?
well... a nugget of ash
in my whiskey
from smoking a joint that's what
spurred me on

those images coming in to seal
of words

the body of "christ"
if that were me
all i would have given them
would be a glass
of wine
with some ash in it...
there would be no mush of bread
after all living among
those pagans and their ritualistic
hygienic concerns
with what to do with feces
and **** and the dead
well burn them
sewer that ****
then my Last Supper would be
a dash of ash
into a cup of whiskey
and that would be the end of it

it's as if the joke continued
when the Roman legionnaires
soaked a sponge with
wine and lifted it up to him on the cross
and asked whether he'd like to drink
from it...

yes... that story is true:
Στεφατoν (Stephaton)
Steven - a Roman Legionnaire -
well if i'm going to think about Jesus
on my way to the bank
i passed two young colts
maybe Mormons
but that's weird it being England
and also Essex
but when i left the bank
instead of the two Mormons
i was met by a Hebrew
and sorry
but proximity
timing
universe
spacing
this is all very subliminal
not relevant but very subliminal
in under-context...

this is a meditation
and not some thrill seeking
get tipped
to forget something not deal with
something
just the farce of going
to the bank with a flimsy
take on a legal matter
and made to look like an idiot
when the Power of Attorney
is a 16 page legality script
and not some half baked
but the bank "attorney": adviser...
knew that i was dealing
with some emotional barking garbage
since i did muddle in the expressions:

- i'm sorry but i feel i've
been sent on a fool's errand...
- this piece of paper is only a copy...
- yes, i brought my passport with
me just to show you i'm not trying
to scam anyone...

yes... the wine soaked sponge
a joke on bread
if it were my last supper
it would be a glass of wine (they didn't
know how to make whiskey
back then) with some ash in it...

wine with some gum from Sudan
and tobacco / marijuana ash...
            
                                     nazdrowie!
           sláinte!         (and where they get that
slanCHe from i will never...

slā (indo-european: advantageous)
                          swa-
                                    -va
swo-
                      -vo

                           certainly beats watching
daytime t.v.
which is just as bad
as having a little bit too much whiskey
and marijuana in the afternoon
without the ability to purge
and sober up

                  daytime t.v. is like a gateway
drug to lazy
activity -

              something those 19th and even 20th
century poets didn't have
to contend: contest: abbreviate
not even radio
i'd say
not even music
in seemingly insomnia mode of so readily
available
which makes sense
to constrain it
to an opera house
go and see the Magic Flute performance
at the ENO and storm
out like a phantom
with a giggling girlfriend
why so pedantic why so argumentative
well: the ******* production
is not in German
this is nothing like the magic flute
if this would be played in that scene
from the Shawshank Redemption
i would be doubly the gladly of being
indoors outdoors indoors
of a prison

                         ...

            elegance, knowledge, violence?

the original had an exclamation mark
involved...

     ruggedness, wisdom, compromise!
ruggedness, wisdom, negotiation!
a demonic silence and calm preserves this place
i call home:
today i was recovering from working
at the AC/DC gig at Wembley: henchman man:
wager man... wagey...
such pivotal hierarchies in the high viz
community outside of the construction industry:
human chess
it would seem: is the end result
of this working dynamic...

                   i'd call it my dream period but it's
more or less my nostalgic impromptu
retrospection thinking of myself writing in my mid-20s
but i really can't see:
in the classical period music was innovative:
it inspired philosophers such as Nietzsche
but these days i can't say: much about music...
it became an art form relegated to the piles
of dung of Beelzebub's ****** archiving of important
matters:
a total messy ******* he is...

            coughed up whiskey into my nose
which was a sobering experience
like a Pakistani girl
telling out in full claustrophobic no personal
space antic of taking a lift
imploring me to stand in front of her
imploring me to smell my skin and my ***
and my love to block out
someone else's bad personal hygiene...
and then i said: well: like nicotine
like caffeine: a whiff of ammonia: a chemical salt
or acid
          someone's poor personal hygiene can
become a stimulant: especially if you add to that
the torrential rain:

but my dry period?
i was young and not boring enough:
so i'd pick up a book and take out a snippet
and work with that:
i suppose i could rehash that youthful distress
by picking up
Ulysses - i don't remember any of it:






                                                      / /

nothing: nothing comes to mind...
         so when music used to be innovative in the infancy
now hardly irrelevant
but AC/DC are not an innovative band
if say: Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin were...
or god forbid someone take up the Q of Pink "barber" Floyd
because that's not Nirvana relevant?

i guess music of the 20th century
might require someone listening to classical and reflecting:

weird antics for the closure of a day
and it's impeding reopening after a nap
circa 8pm through to 12am
in the day made perfect timing to
send off a Taylor Swift t-shirt:
medium... almost a large:
regardless: she wanted to have it scented with me
so i rubbed the early stink from lying
in bed first...
then walked around in it...
then took a shower:
didn't use deodorant (but squeezed some in
when i finished packing the package
to get the plastic smell out...
the air around the item)
i rubbed myself cleaner than mirror versus
the glass
in i guess: if i can remember:
was a honeycomb and macadamia nuts
soap...
          then i washed my hair with Argan oil
infusion...
and beard too: ah: maybe the shampoo was
the macadamia nuts infusion
and the soap was just the honeycomb infusion...

but no deodorant on the body:
just into the back...

friendship bands
and me playing with my mother's makeup drawer
while writing her a letter
some little nothing something perhaps sweet
and to think i'm suited to a Christian girl
and i'm supposedly this Catholic
which is supposedly a novelty in America
like J.F.K was a novel Catholic
in the land of Protests and hyper-inflated individualism
that's so fake it beggars-belief...

Soup, joint and sweet. Never know whose
thoughts you're chewing. Then who'd wash up
all the plates and forks? Might be all feeding on
tabloids that time. Teeth getting worse and worse.


J. J. Ulysses page 217 reprinted Penguin classic 2000

as i said: innovative: music once was
no longer so and
it's a shame that those who wrote music are
more alive than some people
who are alive and haven't been gifted with
much: but as in that Dead Can Dance song
about great men:
Solomon, Caesar, Socrates... and there is a third:
how fortunate the man with none...
how fortunate that no one should remember

but even then what's that to life: expected...
if anything: a kind surprise to an otherwise unwarranted
***** of the hope...
some higher demand the everyday expectation
to the materialistic grit (spoken like a true
teenager)...
but just so: my riches are in books and in music
records:
at least one painting of my own:
a sitter in Grey
by Candlelight...
a sword from the forest i called my Cossack
SHASHKA...
              
           just a breaking of a night within night
to tip over the scales of time from day x
to day y
                      by nocturnal musings:
    having signed the Last Will of my parents
i am now the inheritor de facto
of this house and garden:
it's almost comical when
Joe stood before me at cordon 6
wearing a Quadrant Supervisor bib and
almost gesticulating at:
well: why haven't you been promoted?
well: who gives a ****
it's a wash-a-hand-hand-washing-hand
not nepotism but quasi-nepotism
of the family breakdown and making new friends
in the playground
so children are growing up my lord
but the elementary
and the pedagogy remains the same:
perhaps if with children you can pretend
to be an adult with responsibilities
when when in psychiatry you pretend to be a god
because that's not me saying:
Prometheus my Guide:
but at least you have to pretend to be a god
since god is so abstract
and that's what people required other people to
become: in just the verb and noun orientation
of this delicate ballet...
not by any stretch of imagining grandiosity
not in any way profound
there's the nearing of the bad grammar god
and his fetish is pronouns
and being a Dyslexic his favorite demonic ****
is at the pulpit of a pseudo-Protestant
i.e. Protestantism against itself:
dying off without a Catholic antagonist since that
path deviated and found root
in the life now enjoyed by the Spanish, French,
Italians, Pollacks...

                         i could mention the Irish but is there
a point of mentioning the Irish as Catholics
and not simply as the Irish:
the sublime masochists... which the Pollacks can't be
but what's horrible about us is
a Catholic Work Ethos that we don't share
with anyone: beside the Irish: in that span of rubric:

Spanish
French
Italians
Porto-Geese (easier, i'm not going to spell it correctly)...

ah... jeez: what a Chopin's nocturnes sort of
night:
it's blessedly raining outside and it feels like
the proper July:
did i forget to mention that there's a lesson
in geography to be had, right about now?

it bothered me: the English mentality
concerning Eastern Europe:
Poland is Central Europe with Germany
you ******* PLEB...
deafness and more deafness: no intellectual music
no conversation:
just innocent bystanders: collateral ditto virus...
geography bothered me in the lexicon:
is that common speech of man? hmm:
gonna get myself a Jane Austen tattoo...
not on my skin: but on the silk
bothered by the wind
itching inside my mind like no other caged ego
to thought or being:
just ego-nothing
beside what is already available
with i-think and i'm-not: i-am...

                           familialism: something
borrowed from Anti-Oedipus: i don't understand
the French intellect so well:
please can i gravitate towards German High Intellect
with some dabbing in Scandinavian:
everyday-ism?

   the French have a freakish morbid intellect
bent on destruction and painting with language:
i don't want to paint when i write...
i want to abstract: find solutions:
complications:
impasses...
              facts: i don't want to find bad grammar
and a chemistry lab
of boorish wordings overtly hyphenated into
compounds like di-hydroxy-carbonate blah blah...

who is the real psychotic?
i have no knowledge of a Spanish intellect...
Italian maybe with Machiavelli but
that's irrelevant:
Giuseppe Belli:     (o.k. **** me, shoot me
my youth was greatly invoked to age beyond
my peers because of Dante: *******
and yeah yeah ******* twice
because i had Horace and Ovid in my life)

inzomma, da la predica de jjeri,
ggira che tt'ariggira, in concrusione
venissimo a ccapi cche sso mmisteri...

      just look how Latin devolved...
to sign language and spitting
and eyes darting and foundations
like Rome and the Italians is an observational
view point of a mountain range
some weirdly anthropological
no people discovered or conquered
so aboriginal blah
i mean: just looking at the language
that's Italian: that used to be Latin:
it's a bit like looking at the Polynesians
originally from Taiwan:
perhaps they didn't gain height
rowing all that time no sight of horses
but they bulked up
and i can see something Oriental about
them with the exception of their tailoring
to a darker color of skin: complexion...

bad Latin to come:

in brevi, et ex sermon nos accepit
summa summarum,
                          idiom: say how it is... to:
            obtusis-lingua-acuere:
blunt tongue sharpening...
               videtur: mysterium est mysterium...

perhaps that's the non-authoritative
variation on Latin:
certainly not Italian: or what happened
when Germanic blood of the Lombard
achieved the fold to the Razor and Papacy:
the Pope a Drowning Man...

that lesson in geography:
well... whenever listening to a meteorological
dial-up
with a person in the luminary of a quasi-fire
that's the t.v. screen:
believe me in 100 years what will
the t.v. beside a fireplace
a radio and then what will internet access be

i'm listening to my favorite nocturne:
i've currently digested:
47 minutes:

nocturne in B♭minor op 9 no 1
     "         "   " minor op 9 no 2
and the list goes on and on
but i'm too lazy to type each song out...
but it would look pretty:
i gather there's that aesthetic concern
and if i wanted to spend years
on art
i'd become a grave sculptor...
not some celebrated Rodin bound
to the museum:
CENTAUR and the Urmahlullu...

in some there's this tease toward anticipating
Wagner's Das Reihngold: the entry
of the gods into Valhalla:

         like we all know the play on Les Mars

♯C
#****

       ah! subliminal! HELMHOLTZ! HELMHOLTZ!
just like
Les Marseillas... apparently a right wing
revival, non?
but instead a Fringe Red seeking majority?
i did say: Serenity Red:
not simply - but the left was becoming
constipated communicative-ly: all lively...

number: first: 1812:
ah yes: Tchaikovsky and the Polish Plumbers
Orchestra...
some Dostojnie: Igrzyska:
  
               geography!
England is part of Scandinavia!
England: Scotland:
Ireland:
this is not Western Europe!
this is Scandinavian Territory!
if Poland is Eastern Europe:
collectively...
blah Ukraine blah Czechia
blah Lithuania and not Russia
blah Romania
and blah some more maybe even Greek
and Turkish:
forget Serbia Croat

but England is Scandinavia:
it's not WESTERN EUROPE:
what is western Europe but an Atlantis
figment of the imagination
if Germany is Central Europe
and Poland too
have to look at the planet from sunrise
have to rotate the planet into
vertigo mode horizontal....
not some meteorological Chinese script
the westerners read weather
at X Greenwich
and Y equator: Kenya:
Z? the winds and casual tornadoes?

  England is Scandinavia
in temperament and feels:
                   it's not Western Europe:
there never was: beside
as the bad apple export to America...
Scandi to the north
while the also northern bunch
finding recliners and cheaper weather:
the Goths via the Spaniards
and the Berbers
toward Argentina...

               then again to a waltz:
still a nocturne waltz...

                       but that piece with
the reverbretating insinuation of the piano
working as a bass guitar...
not the waltz no 7 in c (sharp) minor
op 64,2

                absolved from the hierarchy of cultures:
that Germany transliterated
away from a superiority complex
of ethnocentrism of white via white versus:
such heightened exploration dynamic:
peace to mind: a piece of:
the langui: a **** in boots and a freakish:
i don't event want to remember
dreams...

         if no longer ethnocentric then cocktails
in Berlin with a hyper-inflation
of race mixing like
it couldn't be a sand story:
this new Dune
not a desert
but a "jungle" of Concrete:
this Nedu:
        planet of sand without wind
this concrete grey
this fudge packing:
this also glass and mirror and mannequin...
this planet we live on
i give a name:

           Nedu.
        formerly called Earth:
              Nē̆dû has spoken and spoke at its
crux of nadir: thus.
well Bukowski and the drudgery of work
and Mathias Eshlert
and the arbeit macht frei of
work about
to cook chicken wings
    and make a potato salad with spring
greens
and radishes
and i remember a line from a movie
form the 1950s
how radishes were the supposed cause
of going mad
or rather not marrying a girl
because a witch cast her eyes
on the to-be-wed
i mean:

          at the Leeds vs Southampton
match a manager with no high viz
then you know you're dealing
with someone senior
(not important, senior, there's a distinction
at work,
there is no hierarchy as such
only tenure,
there needs to be a philosophy of work
and there really isn't a philosophy
of work
there are no philosophical works
concerning the philosophy of work
but you can mention
Heidegger's analogy of the hammer
in that there are these supposed
laborers who are working
and while working they talk about
philosophy

well currently the hot topic in the workforce
and we are talking a predominantly
male working environment there is talk
about history and esp post-colonial history
of the English
a talk of the English before the union
with the Welsh and the Scots
it's as if these former colonial subjects
think it is easy to find an English identity
from all the quashed qualms with
the Scots
and to be honest

i've seen father bring back construction
schematics
and read them

i finished writing the poem Alz Heinz
and decided to go and buy a bicycle
waited like a **** / a stump
at the bus stop for eternity and realised
with the fresh air hitting me...

yesterday this manager approached me
and gave me a bundle of A3 pages
crowd control schematics
which is a dynamic schematic
of colored dots
on construction schematics
and we're talking dynamics
given i was only in charge
of 3 guys to cordon bag restriction measures
and we weren't even drawn onto the schematic
there were the soft ticket checkers and their
two supervisors, roughly 30 of them
and there were the two response teams
and their supervisors but
there was no... SSE? that's code for EES
we weren't on the schematic
but i was given the schematic drawings
it's a dynamic affair
exposing the left hemisphere to such drawings
so with my right hemisphere
i turned the drawing into a dynamic
could call it spurring on a hallucination
or rather
i just heard of this theory of the brain
and its asymmetry only today
getting the blues from a day off
lying in bed
no i will not listen to the audible book

in the end father picked me up
and we sped to the shop
to flash cash
but instead got turned down
because only used bicycle can be ridden out
of shop not display bicycles
i truly felt like a ******
or perhaps this time is precious
and i shouldn't feel embarrassed to have
family perhaps there's this familial stigma
burn in the air of modern society
that you sometimes experience
the CRAB BUCKET...

         KRABBEIMER
    MISTEIMER...

              i was handed down a holy grail
no, of no importance
my neighbor came round and they chit chat
with mother
no the day is still not spent
but just refreshing the memory:
kept the memory it jolted me in the fresh air
should have kept the schematic memorandum

in the end i was supervising  four supervisors
an ego-trip now
when written
but an ego-destruction in live time
yesterday
negotiating with Leeds fans
and i managed to persuade people to throw
away their rucksacks
unprecedented when on gate 3
working with the quadrant manager
Marc "zee Frenchie"
i.e. i was tested for quadrant stature
on the east stand with the two staircases
if i were to be given both staircases
and Altantik Way
but just saying the fact that i was given
the schematics
it almost felt like i advanced
away from construction
but construction made alive
by people using venues post-construction
and these are no houses
we're talking about
but the two arguments that make my life
easier when dealing with rowdy customers
(of experience)
is that: you don't walk with a drunken
hard-on to argue and fight in a supermarket
so please excuse our staff from
dampening your little euphoric excursion
to watch a concert or a football match
never mind
i always thought that supposedly appreciating
any sport while intoxicated
is the ultimate debauchery
of spirit and of heart and the **** of fog of mind
because when it comes to utilizing
alcohol and **** i need
music and the capacity of literacy
a literate agency
a stress of not being a surgeon
an architect a werewolf or pirate
in the sexed-up mixocology of feminine hormones
of studying attractiveness levels
ugh that 1 - 10 scaling
like it's so ******* vague but so vogue
so distraught am i
ugh...

         12h standing the commute sit-down
doesn't help
i need to kneel to relax the shins
i need to kneel and write
idle hand's ******* jesus
or satan
last time i heard the devil appreciated
more the idle pleasure of typing
typo itchy fingertips
or if no itchy fingertips then
people biting their fingernails
last time i heard
keratin does not taste of carrot
and there is not carrot taste to be found
in biting nails
or ******* hair
although i must agree that i love
a little bit of hair just above the ****
maybe i'm old fashioned
but that's my sexuality
and i have had Ilona aged 20
when she was all happily shaved
but then i think about:

puff pastry, candyfloss
and the burrowing of the nose
in both hair then oyster of the *****
and then i remind myself of, only recently,
scratching myself till i bled on
the stubble that appeared with chin
after a 10 year tenure of Robinson Crusoe
although i must say
with some Turkish tailoring in the barber
category of aesthetics
but i do like some fluff just above
the **** i'm about to eat
and if Jesus was a Woman
i would have given an oyster to eat
instead of bread

    and Eidie this is a religious experience
to counter your "chirst":
cosmopolitan joke
choke i swear to god the apycryp...

nassfotze!                nassfotze!

i'm done with spelling this one word got away
i will keep it live
and abrupt
seriously there is no need to oblige the editorial
process this is not getting printed
but then printing was cheap
back around 900ad in Baghadad
i don't understand the European fascination
with firsts
that printing press was hardly revolutionary
but made so by the second christians
of Alexandria i.e. the Mongols in Baghdad
set us back over 1000 years
what a trip
thank you: so many people in Pakistan
have the surname Khan
like that was the Mongolian ***** deposit
that precipitated with the surname
that was once a title

Genghis probably Great Magnitude of Charlie
Can do what the **** i can
not-transliterated as Khan with the surd H
to give an almost diacritical emphasis
given its inclusion but overall silence...
the eyes see what the tongue is ought not speak
the eyes see what the tongue ought not speak
                     the eyes see what the tongue is not to speak...
wow wow wow what a strange word
this ought...

             oh jeez and Louise and i'm getting
all tremor enamored
all tremor enamored
30 messages no reply
finally i replied after three days of 12h hour
shin breaking shin straining
like torture
before kneeling and writing into the night
high puff no ****! and somehow i'm gone
like there was no magic act

oh how i'd wish for this earth to swallow me
how i've grown
and maybe understand women
through that little tickle
and then downing myself with *******
today i managed to **** a *****
from a ****
honestly i just tweaked my fingers
on a semi limp ****
and i ******* lazily into my underwear
and the stuff of life soon clotted
and all fluid glue associations shrunk
and it felt like the botanical world
of talking trees didn't realise
anything about the existence of mushrooms
and that fungus is not exactly
a botanical leech
parasite i mean a turnip is not a fungus
is not a mistletoe
is what i missed when towing mist and le
and ole
and it just needs to feel like a conversation
of consolations
and it can't just be a babe screetching
on the other end of the telephone
and me trying to compliment and reward her
face because that's what she's primarily
concerned with: her face
as i was somewhat too
because of my double chin
or whatever
and me using a beard as a contortion feature
not a tool
since the face uses it and not the hands
it can't be called a tool
but a feature
since the face like hands does many things
and it's the work of hefty
crowd management techniques
that disparage me from the service provided
at retail shops
where things are sold
yet but this is premeditated
i'm going to have a good time mentality
of spending money in advance
this industry concerns itself with
CREDITORS
and not DEBTORS
we entertain creditors -
not by how they spent the money
but how they spent the money in advance
to be there:
dasein - which is so far removed from what
Heidegger might have implied
in the airs of the Black Forest in complete
dissociation from throngs
and the bellows of Behemoth
o the pangs of the hundebeiarbeiten -
the talk of police dogs you have to see it
the talk of police horses you have to see it
up close and personal
and you have to **** the ego and experience
of the body of id in all its glory
constipated, tired, hungry, wet, cold,
hot, angry, stupid, angry, stupid
you have to shut off all narrative
and so many people in this Wembley-Mecca
this trance like mantra of a h'um dl'um
ah'um dl'um -
indeed that apostrophe could be indeed judged
as the letter Y'od
             Yyod                  why-yod of the wide ought
and then hide the letters GH
and instead OH'T...
         like you write the letters but hide their sounds
in Gloucester
asked me this guy Andrews
who works with the Nigerian Sunday
(his name, Monday Monday,
literary scene had a Friday)
Andrews is Ghanaian
and he's fresh
i mean he's not what one could call
descended from slaves
honestly you get to pick up
the African original the african original
pride and love for life
not this stench of post-colonial dread
of: jeez still living with these former slave owners
and ooh come on why didn't
we go back to Africa
and why are the old Africans coming to Europe
to tease us or whatever
spiraling with stadium concerts calling for
Africa Unite blah blah semi Black ******
also comes with Black Jesus...
don't ask me how but honestly Black Jesus
comes with Black ******...

Abu Dribble i feel like escaping into naked
lunch rather not fascination with Arab historiology
from the 10th century
or a German thinker...
although i must know that if dog in german is hund
pies in ******
then horse in english a koń in polish
means horse in german is...herseh?
           no... the diacritical mark doesn't help
no room for transliteration like
in semitic languages
between 'rab and                                        Heb'

what is horse in german? d'uh!

pferdbeiarbeiten...

            not the sort of horses i swear are we the last
people to work as humans with animals
are we the last stronghold
we are not Bukowski genius to drink and read
sparingly the postman
i mean we are not farmers because farmers
no longer use animals
to work
instead
i mean: are we the last professions on this planet
to work with animals
i love working with animals
so much so that i'm petting one on the side
if i were to take a cat into the life cycle
of a dog or a horse
we breed these animals for a purpose

have you ever worked with horses
and dogs
in a crowd management environment
it's like double the high
of being high at a concert
when you come back from work and unwind
and have the side project to write
down everything bubbling to the boil in your
head your ego-death
and then the ego-resurrection
with a concentrated focus on narrative
that requires it to be written down
rather than aired / thought

and then release like a sling with no shot
just the snap of the sling
against the skin to wake up

KREISEL

  kreisel...

          spinning top is not even a word...
it's a worded ideogram...
without an actual ideogram
SPNNNGTP   looks better...
best to have that printed and framed
and advertised...

       Bączek...  well then... my neighbour
brought me one of those in a 50p
bag of goodies...
there was that and there was blowing
bubble machinery
i don't know does she think me *******
or happy or did i come to the fore
of children at large events and
i was authority and i was benevolence
and i'm still thinking of the jobs
that make humans interact with animals
and i know it's not in farming
as such especially when pig farming
i mean farming with plow and not plough
or maybe the two are not that far apart
because this is not the sort of euphoria
experienced at an event
this is a private euphoria
and not simply of just being there...
i.e. the opposite of Dasein
the opposite of Dasein is Seinda -
being there i.e. a place an event a polity
a necropolis is by far the best strain
flex and then thrown into this disarray
   of fates and omens and ills of people since now
even these people venture out
in the full abode of sky... wheelchairs and scissors
and schizoids...

i said i need to write this is not a novel
if anything this is also not Zukofsky's A
because by god that looks good
on paper but not in that voice
              since i'm thinking that's the last masquerade
but still the impetus to write
and why not record with Charlie but then
Charlie etc was also in the same circumstance
as me or then
sober does it: great parody of the formal
                    in whatever order of magnitude -
yes those wax eyes wore
off and then night came and i toked some more
and not to excess in drinking i obeyed
t.v. rules for half an hour
but then the show was so disastrous
that the only thing i was looking at was
laila rouass
   and thinking of my woman and yes he's 48
and she's 52
and i'm pretty sure Edie wants to make
it adamantly so
that there's that tease of *******
in that she's 55 and i'm 38 and she's still not sure
what
in what the hell would that mean
when the ages shrink
and then there's also the age disparity
between the other forbidden love of necrophilia
and that's not really as prominent
in society as *******
                                         well who knows
the statistics show...

                             but at least now: silence...
i have not given excuses but
pointers as to what i also do: alias no alias
persona non grata
                                should i fly above the aqua politik -
sieve through
this spectacular advent of man
this spectacular celebration
because honest to god and winter months apart
there is this air of celebration in man
with the obvious hags and anchors
and drags from the past but still the perserverence
is there to mindlessly go forward
without any static of but one universe
instead so many others to come
should this only be one experience
i doubt there might be more
with brain-deaths and heartaches
                          
                                      brain-labyrinths
and loud-libraries
                          or those pirates -
the pigeons at Baker Street...
some travel as far as Amersham
and Chesham on the Metropolitan Line
for their holidays from the city
you can see them on the trains anchored
coming into the carriages looking for
pecking orders...
and then as the train speeds on tracks
they fly about less
like bothersome flies
but as frightened animals: that they are...

                  and we are not?
i have abandoned the joys of music, truly:
disgusted by it;
only in the late 19th century
Nietzsche would have surmounted to posit
an argument along the line(s) of:
without music, life would be unbearable

or...

music makes life bearable...

how tedious now, music,
how obliterating the senses -
without eyes yet still talk of sight
without ears yet still talk of hearing
perhaps even with eyes
those two vital organs
like kidneys
how strange that they are so exposed
and so important
yet so exposed
unlike kidneys hidden in body
these protruding vital organs
since eyes are organs
equipped to deal this parody
not of bone covered by flesh and sinew
and muscle and fat
but these two flimsy pieces of skin
that light can penetrate
and give a man who toiled through night
and tried to find solace in
sleep come day
an insomnia that would require more
than eyelids with the added pressure
from a folded arm like a blindfold...

music has, become, unbearable,
a tedium for the senses
a shortening of some sort: a variation of otherwise
perfectly adjusted adjectives
to call a mountain big
a sea grand
and an insect philosophical: Solomon's ant...

music is no music with visual aids
unlike...
unlike: i spent this morning eating breakfast
of: never mind...
watching Schindler's List
in that moment when the Krakow ghetto
was being emptied
and that SS man was caught off guard
from all the chaos happening
and he tried to remedy the pre-horrors
of the finalized plans
frenzied at the piano
while two other SS men inquired
as to what (he) was playing...

Bach? no no... Mozart...

“was ist das, ist das Bach?”
“nein, das ist Mozart.”

English Suite No. 2 in A minor, BWV 807: III

yes, the latter... obviously...
the genesis of polyphony,
the signature is all there, intact with Bach
unlike anything Mozart could
have conjured...
in that if there is talk of "genius"
then there is also talk of methodology
a blindness of exacting
a profoundness of unhearing
and then not hearing
while at the same time being to play: a hearing
of the music...

i try to think that writing this would
be eased by listening to some music
but then with whiskey my mind unwinds
and three days have passed since
i slouched in my bed

today i realized the fundamental cruelty of
pleasures
or rather: the joy of reading
(fiction) unlike some philosophical demand
of reading then application
because i can't think of how reading
philosophy makes you apply it
like reading a manual with all the schematics
of say: putting up a DIY object
bought from the Swedes
packaged in cardboard
because by then you're no less LEGO
and Danish
and no carpenter in sight...

old Libra: write less than you read or just
about...
after all it feels less like smiling when one
is frowning
but more so when one is squirming
(but not ******* on a lemon)
       or some general distaste for humanity
whereby i'm just as much part of it
as much as a distance from it
a step behind or perhaps more a step aside...

so much of philosophy concerns itself
with: what is... philosophy...
in terms of a genre, a literary genre...

which brings me toward what emerged from
a pleasure of reading:
antithesis of music is equivalent to
the comfort of listening to a cat sleeping,
snoring...
or listening to a woman during *******
i don't think i can compensate that
with music...
i can: compensate music with music...
but i can't compensate the sound
of the elements: wind, earth, water with music...
music doesn't compensate the natural
order of things
and i can verily, now, understand:
the Taliban aversion to music...
before even the beauty of music can come
there is already an aversion to it
and just, justly so...

  music has becomes less elevating and more
grounding like a doubling on realism
that breeds contempt for transcendental
escapism of merely human talk...
i've had a roller coaster of the past two
days and i can attest
that a transcendental escapism based
upon merely human interaction of talk
exists...

on Saturday i changed shifts...
unable to do a Wembley shift (as a ******
supervisor, static,
with a cordon of stewards and security
officers
ensuring that no bags bigger than A4
reached the premises of the stadium
just tickled at the footprint of
the outer perimeter)...
instead was "demoted" to an security
officer role at the London Stadium for the MLB
event (Phillies vs. the Mets...
is that the equivalent of the Championship
vs the Premier League
given that the Yankees are a tier above
the Mets? anyways)

i had so much fun, pleasure, joy, life
being part of the team... searching bags
giving all the right lip service
and smiles and all the humanly adequate
body language of people feeling threatened
by any persuasion of authority:
to ensure their safety blah blah...
but it wasn't that...

on our break...
there were 4 of us...
basically me, Nur (Nur),
Richard, ..., ...,
it was me and 4 blacks guys
and however you want to disguise
or not the descriptive posits
of how each one of us looked...
no... i will not be a writer:
impatient man
this whiskey isn't helping
i can't write something transcendenal
although it was
i've already started unwinding with
the whiskey

the next day a spectacle of an argument
a waste of me writing this...
there should be restrictions on what
you can write...

no science fiction writer could have
predicted the smartphone...
outer-reaches of technological potentiality...
best keep Erasmus of Rotterdam
and Philip K. ****
and Stephen King and Alexander Dumas
out of it...
writing this will only give a % traction
of my availability to the letters
and there will still be the juggernaut of
ØX         ØX   XØ
         XØ      ØX ØX
ØX           XØ           ØX

****** keyboard... misjudged placing...
but summer is here
and my silent disco shift at Portsmouth
has been cancelled so
i don't have to worry about
getting enough sleep...

misguided though...
giving Paul Arteides all but one title...
Mehdi,
Kwisatz Haderach,
Muad'Dib... yes, yes... yes...

but not... Lisan al-Gaib...
that title should have been reserved for
his unborn sister!
the "outer world" is not the world of
Caladan "vs" Arrakis...
the "outer world" of: yet to be born...
or: unborn... regardless...

emotions created from insufferable
confrontation
with a Swiss entrepreneur...
allocating argument:
but we're going to the moon...
i say:
but you already scanned your ticket...
there's no reentry...
think about you buying a ticket
for a train at 12:10...
you think you can use the same
ticket for a 13:10 train
even though you stepped on the 12:10
train then decided to hop off
but the moon was boiling in
his mind
his logic his self-entitlement
of paying £200 for a ticket
gave him the authority to
call ask who i was...
who i was...
so much for what money doesn't
buy: integrity and character...
and integrity of character...

     bounced about the word
LOSER
when i finally replied to his: who are you?
POET...
oh... so that's a LOSER then...
well...
i should have played a joke on him
like:

Odysseus tells Polyphemus
that his name is Οὖτις:
    no one...

but how can i see this Americanized
version of life as
winning and losing
in life as transient when
he clearly only sees riding high
without seeing riding low
and in the end
the inevitable loss for everyone
via death and i'm sure
the minute he dies
memory of him will die too...

which brings me onto a new fascination
with... what became of

KUL TIGIN
then later the Runes
(i am so suspicious of the Gothic script
though... really ******* shady)

𒅗
'tooth' [zu], 'mouth'
[ka] and 'voice' [gu]

ズカグ          (respectively) = not mouth

but Kao (

顔                                            )

but you can see the complications
"transliterated" from
Assyrian Cuneiform to Chinese
and then somehow simplified
and untangled into Katakana...

ideograms are shortenings of
what Europeans could call
colors: in traffic code...
green is for go
amber is shortened to take caution
for getting ready or slowing down
while red is stop
because emoticons are not:
the same equivalence to the automatic
recognizable info
universal but more idiosyncratic
covert messaging...

        ******* Swiss *****...
well LOSER didn't really affect me
because i was just about to say...
so... you spent £200 to watch a game of baseball...
**** me...
it now just dawned on me...
but... i used to spend £130 on an hour
with a *******...
regardless of whether i ******* or not...
last time i remember i spent that same
amount of money on an inexperienced
20 year old who didn't know that
an uncircumcised **** needed temporary
peeling
to expose the hammer-head
and in the end she massaged me
a little then i massaged her entire
body
finding out she starred in some shady
**** flick in some dungeon
given that when i massaged her
*** and back of the legs
they were bruised from all the extra
***** and no ***** of ****...

so... this argument of the moon
and being "successful" just because
spending £200 on a baseball match...
******, please... i spend £130 on an hour
with a *******...
at least you're getting your money's worth...
yesterday i started my shift at 6am
finished at 6pm...
the game started at... **** know's
3pm? lasted for about 4 hours...
in that time i became a fan of cricket
and ushered in the sentiment of:
well: if anything...
Americans really know ******* of watching
sport...
in a fluid fashion...
from minute 0 to minute 90
with interludes for over-refereeing
with too much technology use...
it's still not going to beat a tennis match
with two players and a football team
of referees + the ball boys etc

— The End —