In a quiet inn
         in an aching world
there was a boy with mind
body and strength
he had the talent
the unyielding bent
to wield his power
to unrelent
he was sometimes cruel
he was often sweet
he was sometimes gentle
his word carried heat
people loved him so
his poise and candor
his mind was a joy
his work was pure splendor

he was asked
         from time to time
if you could lead us
with your mind sublime
what would you do
where would we go?
         beyond, he'd say,
to the stars and depths
to the moons and mountains
to the planets and systems
how long,
         they'd say,
would you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore."

his rise was swift
his patience deep
to the destitute, favor
to the broken, weep
his gifts were vast
his counsel practical
his word was bond
and ever magical
he trounced the greedy
imprisoned the malicious
righted all the wrongs
seldom vicious
and before long
his rule was secured
a man of justice and principle
tenets of cure
how long,
         they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore!"
we wish it so!


trouble gradually
like bubbles passively
breaking the surface
of his grand design
officials profited
underclass maligned
body for profit
"all are mine"
there was danger in the air
ripples in the well
poison in the minds
infirmity with no care
and sickness took hold
people lost their hope
they questioned Great Lord Marra,
how long,
          they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
          "A thousand years and a thousand more
          don't ask me again
          or there will be
          more..."

Chaos in the streets
desenters rounded
deserters uprooted
populace cowered
education
to the masses
knowledge of rights and potential
traded for respect of rule and power
hour by hour
day by day
toil was spilt
for the grand design
the work of tyranny
is cruel and violent
so was Grand Lord Marra
never certain
never quiet
         he would ask of his subjects,
         how long shall I rule?
they'd say,
         "A thousand years! A thousand years!"
"Never forget it!"
         we shant, our lord

Whispers arose
of a new power rising
someone true
someone firm
someone compassionate
someone alight
he roused the dreams in the soul
he broke the chains in the heart
he walked the roads that were barred
he climbed the mountain forbade
and slowly people turned to him
away from Grand Lord Marra
and that tyrannical father felt it
he felt the waning of his power

Like a dragon in the bowels
of our precious, sacred, love
Marra tightened around that
which the people ever adored
the grand design of toil
the great work of tyranny
the state paid for with blood
that whose edifice was a crypt for the innocent
and that someone who was hero
stepped up to that edifice
with chisel, hammer, pen, and passion,
he carved away that
which held the malice within
he let out all
of the death and destruction
that Grand Lord Marra
had caged in the people
the world played with their shadows
that had been nailed to the edifice and its steeple
and in time they shook free
of Grand Lord Marra's tyranny
for when they learned their freedom once more
the old lord looked old and feeble
not a thousand years
       nor a thousand years more
               nor a thousand years hence
                        and nevermore
just 66 years
it took to break free
of Grand Lord Marra
and his projected
infirmities

The illness left them all
         breaths of relief swept the nation
and the hero who had come
         was crowned the king of freedom
and he taught all who followed
how to wield the power he knew
how to be free as well
and every dragon of delusion slew
        peace would not reign forever
        new chaos would come
stronger than the last
        strong as the world and its evolving sun
but in this age, there was peace
        joy like never before
                 and our hero's name was remembered
evermore
evermore
        he did not live a thousand years
but his stories certainly lived longer
in the hearts of the people
in the hearts that were won

Yet a strange thing occurred
       sure as night conquers day
Grand Marra's visions of the future
       did not decay
                 they became the bedrock
of future design
        for light rests on darkness
the grand design
        two sides of the coin
yours
and mine

darkness for foundation
        light for revealing its depth
pathway into the future
        left and right steps...

Drop kick your wit
Into something more fitting
Something forgetting, lace up your ego
And step outdoors, **** that ***** down the street wit his hood up?
Nah he’s too good wit his hood up
Doin nothin but good and good alone
Until one day, evil has shown
Up on the front porch, with heavy hearts and pitch forks
Pork slow roastin on the back of the grill
****
You hear that
Another one bites the rust of the rimless curb of this never ending, but slightly always pending circle of ****, of life
Christ, why do bad things happen to good people
While evil still is a struggle that’s real
Feels, those feels bro, you got me on my feels, rocking on my heels
Avoiding all eyes and prying little flys on the wall
Waiting for that slip up, that stick up, that trick up the sleeve on the eve of your last wish.
Wishes, I have three, one, to never be loved by a shadow of a figure who never knew how to love or figure if love isn’t real, then what’s the waste in time
Time is número dos, time so far in the spectrum of speed and yet, almost comatose. Let me have this time on this rock, pose as a breathing, living, forgiving and seething with life type human, or three will never be for me, humanity. Wish number three, the salvation of man
Because god can, can’t,
Maybe wont, but left in his hands it isn’t, it’s up to the working man, who’s hands are capable with cans, do’s, wills, and preservation
Perspiration, perspire the desire to salvage this green and blue vessel, scavenge this land, back to the roots of our roots in our mother earth. Who’s ground is fertile from the plow and hearth. Seed it with love, time, and the offer of human empathy,
The human experience, fierce with pent up fenced up aliens, feeding off each others brothers, every boy and mothers negativity
That negativity creates negative energy, ******* up the synergy that is the human race for lust, passion, and the same story from times of the dust
Bowl, whole again, manifest density was only applicable in a time where destiny still had the sparkle of a child’s sparkler on Fourth of July.
Lights burst upward, celebrating ever changing forward motion, downward, backwards never ending commotion, two steps forward, three steps back, this roller coaster of insufferable emotion continues onward, forward 3 times now, how rendering change and pain and all that came along with the letters,
F
R
E
E
D
O
M
F for four score and so many years, tears were shed and blood ran fuller than the old miss
R, river, the ever lasting forgiver of time, flowing endlessly and uncaring of the work its sharing, while its purity waxes and wanes, secrets come with battered shame, carried downwards into the open famed arms of the abyss.
E, endless energy and growing conservation of mass media and concentration of governing persuasion and invasion
E, excavation of the once great nation, under all those layers of of white hair and high airs, layers peeled back, revealed the
D, dominating, pervading, intimate lives of the common man, as the not so common wig takes big sips of the white collar melting ***, hands deep in the pockets of the rotting underclass, tee tottering on the edge of what seems like a never ending, case of innovating but not so innovative backwards progression,
O, omit the hand that feeds, heed this, and feed yourselves, provide a nurturing seed for those in dire need, if you give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day, if you teach a man to fish, he’ll wish it wasn’t so hard to discard the simple facts and facets of true personal reward. Teach a different man to fish, he’ll wish no one else heard word of this gift, there’s
M, money to had in this type of ish. Money made and the lesser fade out into sea to dwell with the rest, never sinking , but barely afloat while the fish scoff at the ironic twist of fate.
Dears, peers, the ones with fears of hate, hear this, wait, your time will come, theres a fine line between the past and the present and that line is today. This day, Sunday, Monday, fill in the blank day, 24 hours per day, waste whats left of life away or take initiative, begin to wish, are you among men, or among fish, will you be seving the one whos eating, or will you be on the silver lined dish, garnished with yesterdays didnts and “maybe tomorrow’s” real pain, sorrows, will follow you into the future of all tomorrows, but you can create, levitate in mid air, hold it there, an image of what you could/couldnt stand to bear, to manage, not take, make, create what’s yours is yours, not mine, hook, line, and sinker.

Head pain and ugly,
World movement too,
The insatiable slug thee,
Manifests between two.

Lounge lay and eat,
The extent of the life,
Scrounge play and bleat,
You're not the only one,
So revel in this life,
A resplendent underclass,
Make bankers and beauracrats,
Pay it through the
Glass ?

Is one proud of this half life one lives ?
Radiation dwindling in 30 to 10,
To be in rain with freedom to squat,
Looking in strangers for compassion,
When all you deserve,
Is a sound good lashing.

Hide away from your responsibility,
No entry on response,
Forgotten all ability,
Ability all lost,
Based on  acidity.

Face all edited,
The preservation of youth did not preserve your face,
The resignation of you,
Did not delay fate

Give me the obscene
Not the clean
But the filthy ****
The pink ****
The thrusting ****
If that’s what you want
Then that’s what I got

Give me the obscene
Let me clear the scene
Of what we have seen
What you call unclean
Cause in the past
The obscene was the underclass
The undercurrent
Miscegeny, rock music
Civil liberties for minorities
Hippies and other counterculture
Freedom and treasonous language

Give me your obscene
Cause that’s where the future lies
Not were perverts spy
On ***** secrets
But where the freedom of language
Leads us closer to being
Better human beings

So I’ll take the obscene
Instead of the mind numbing
Thought controlling clean

I am a refugee from the City upon a Hill.

My homeland once a resounding light to the nations; has become a convulsing black hole, threatening to devour any semblance of civility.

My City, once a radiant promontory of enlightenment, its illumination of liberty’s searing torch revered, it’s practical striving for democratic wisdom shaping the long arc of the moral universe emulated by people of good will across the globe; now lies in state as a mordant corpse, serenaded by a funereal chorus of laughing griffins, a dead patriarch surrounded by the ruins of a once opulent now sacked city, a bygone home to the scattered disassemblage of a once noble people.

I recoil from the rancor of extreme partisanship, the gerrymandered apportionment of citizenship rights, the buoyant vindictiveness celebrated by small minded ignorance.

The blind allegiance to jingoistic nationalism, the adulation of Blueline authoritarianism, the fealty to imperial militarism and the dangerous trajectory of it’s awful consequence yet to come, enthralls me with dread.

Compelled patriotism enforced by threats of faux patriots, amoral ammosexuals, their small hands stroking quick triggers of long guns, genuflecting in mastabutory glee to the preeminence of 2nd Amendment atrocities, angling crosshairs of resentments to firmly fix a promise of ghoulish body counts, a rationalized apocalypse a captive people must suffer to underwrite profiteering gunrunners who blindly defile the constitutional tenets of life, liberty and happiness, the blood splattered keystones of our true exceptionalism.

Xenophobia and racialism, are stoked and celebrated by the City’s chief executive, his impish smile mouths Blood and Soil sloganeering, he solemnly salutes the Confederate flag while cheering torchlight processions of enraged White Nationalists marching to the drum of the Grand Republic’s midnight dirge along the once hallowed trail of Jeffersonian Democracy and a sacred place of secular enlightenment and higher learning. His gleeful decrees tweet the destruction of families and his police agents mouth holy scriptures to justify the imprisonment of children.  These vandals rhapsodically paint images of phantasmagoric nightmares trampling and mocking democratic ideals, resurrecting long settled conflicts, terrible tests a once great City rose to extinguish, now swelling numbers of craven citizens ardently embrace Klansmen, insurrectionists and ****’s as righteous brethren.

The madness of chauvinism and racial supremacy has fully metastasized within the body politic, polluting the mind, infecting the bloodline with a virulent strain of a white blood cell disease coursing through the veins of republican citizenship.

A City stolen from the Native inhabitants, ethnically cleansed and its former inhabitants remanded to the prisons of reservations, a City constructed on the backs of chattel slaves, erected on the graves of exploited wage laborers, provisioned by the ruthless denigration of the earth’s bounty, law and order mandated by criminalizing the marginalized, repressing the civil liberties of outliers and subjecting women to a perpetual status as the second *** underclass; has failed to repent and steadfastly refuses to make reparations for its sinful past has made the City uninhabitable.

The embrace of tolerance and diversity is the balm, the curate that can salve the oozing sores crippling the City. Nativist prejudice is a long protracted path that City citizen’s find impossible to exit. The malevolence that consumes the mind and moves the soul of a desperately spiteful people, who take delight and find it necessary to dehumanize and imprison alien races and creeds to maintain vapid notions of superiority, profane the ideals of a republican calling. They ruefully ignore the beacon of light warning of the dangerous shoals that lay ahead. The ideals of the great democratic experiment on course to be dashed on the jagged rocks of ignorance, fear, and anger. The doomed City has set a course that endangers its embargoed citizens. Travelling in steerage, a captive body, believing they are on a course for the rebirth of the City’s greatness are emboldened and chained by the delusions of their self destructive steadfast resentments.

My home City has become unknown to me.  I have become a stranger in this strange land. What was once beloved has become insufferable. What was once treasured has become burdensome. The familiar has become fully alien. A terrible avenging apparition haunts and mocks people of good will. My heart is disheveled. My spirit bruised. My body literally aches from the wounds exacted from the deconstruction of my beloved metropolis.

I stand stranded at the border of incivility. Bewildered I peer through a protective wall of concertina wire, eyeing the imprisoned haughty souls of fully enfranchised citizens, bellowing self righteous psalms, singing interminable lamentations of terminal ignorance.

Condemned by their belief in the salvation of violence and recrimination, secure in their faith that their moat of self righteousness shelters them from the gulags of perdition they eagerly proclaim for others, feeling recused from the bane of sinfulness by meager tithes, tumidity and scriptural specificity and the sweet delusional conviction they are the chosen tribe of God’s favor; their aspirations viscerally dashed in blizzards of metaphysical illusion strewn like meaningless confetti onto a passing parade of barbarians who have taken the City as its grandest prize.

Sadly I must withdraw from my beloved City. I retreat to a refuge where the barbarians dare not enter. Their ignorance and stasis weds them to a place far from my sanctuary of choice. May my sanctuary restoreth my soul!

I find refuge in the temples of jazz. I sing arias of lucent improvisation. The freedom of unbridled expression reinvigorates the mind, alighting the emanation of our better angels. The music calibrates my soul with the syncopated beat of an irrepressible life force, the humanity of my welling heart swells on the sonorous oxygen of a lyrical free spirit.

I take refuge in our vanishing mountain wilderness. The natural world offers a solace of solitude, a unrequited impression of scale and a transcendent communion immune from the trampling cacophony of gleeful vandals running rampant through the streets of the City. In winter the summits are capped in crowns of viginal snow, spring awakens a dormant flora, autumn leaves shout the chorus of a seasons glory and summer flowers bloom in multitudes of brilliant colors marking a startling contrast to the fifty shades of gray tattooed onto the City’s restive souls by the purveyors of power.

I find respite on the friendly banks of rivers and breeze swept ocean shores. The perfume wafting along a rivers streaming eddies or a briney snort gulped from the foam of a cresting wave invigorates the lungs, strengthens the heart and clears the mind. The flow of living water heals lifes wounded spirit. It quenches a thirst for justice and nourishes the hope of freedom for all incarcerated souls. The ceaseless roll of the ocean waves prove the enduring power and inevitability of liberty.

I find a good refuge in books. Here I discover a fleeting glimpse of our forgotten love of knowledge and pursuit of truth and rational thought. Enlightenment is the plot of every storyline.

I take refuge in art. I escape into the multiple dimensions of aesthetic beauty trouncing the twittering banality of fad, pornographic affectations and consumer fethishism. Glimpsing beauty while beauty is there to behold and the diligent practice of its creation is an answer to a higher calling.

I take refuge in my dog. Unconditional love and trusted friendship are values at peril in a transactional world; virtues nobily demonstrated and freely given by our canine and feline friends.

I take refuge in late night comedy. Working the midnight shift, whistling past the graveyard with a hearty laugh helps to while away the desperate hours. The rancid fruits of our labor leave a bitter taste in our mouths, humor is the bread of life that clears the palate and makes the terrible sufferable.

My lasting sanctuary is the stronghold of faith, forbearance and tolerance. I trust the long arc of justice will bend toward the righteous and offer a pathway of redemption for all desecrated souls.

I take refuge in the Blues. Let my lamentations turn to songs of joy and deliverance.

I take refuge in prayer. May my places of exile restore and heal my denigration. May God deliver us to a good destination. May our generational wanderings in the desert of desolation end in the discovery of a good place of habitation.

In the solitude of prayer may I experience catharsis, may my petitions find an open ear, may I achieve clarification, may my pious supplication be genuine , my conviction firm, a direction found, a decision made, a call to action clear.  May I become a healer of the breach.

May Your grace be sufficient for me.

I declare my exile over. I will return to my City. I will attempt to rekindle the extinguished flame of liberty to dispel the darkness enveloping my City.

Selah.

Mark Almond: The City

Puyallup
6/30/18
jbm

They died two millennia ago
and now their skeletons are on show.
In York they excavate the graves
of fit young men albeit slaves.

There's evidence of cruel wounds
from many ****** afternoons.
Some headless, some killed by hammer blow
while bloodlust crowds shout and bellow.

Their bones bear marks of contest
from lion's bite to coup de grace.
Buried with funeral feast.
Once doomed now exhumed underclass.

How should we react today
with intrigue and concern to learn?
Where does our bloodlust find its prey?
Drop it! Dig out the day return.

The battering ram of the underclass cruelty had left pocket marks in his dark skin as the quarrelling customers threw down cash just to ****** it back up as though they were bartering against each other for due time and money owed. He did nothing, save sit there and blink. I thought to myself it almost looked as though he was counting each second in the brief flutter of his eyelids. Open and closed they went, up and down, on and on. The two men were still bickering, each insisting the other owed more than he. My orange juice had begun to sweat in my hand, and I was anxious to eat my late night snack. I considered quietly persuading the two boisterous fellows to conclude their business and exit, but I feared what form their anger might take when reassigned to my annoying interjection. Saying nothing, I waited, testing my own patience and hoping fiercely they could move along. Some fifteen minutes later when all insults and insinuations were spilled out into the open air like oil into the ocean, the duo finally exited and I made my purchases, thankful to be rid of their company, and as I left I saw him sitting, stoic, still blinking rhythmically, not a word nor breath escaping his lips.

there is a very infamous instance of bez-osobowość
when you cross the Polish border at the airport
and get searched...
the celniks (guards) - provided you know the zunge:
will address you in a without-person(ality)
language / syntax...

how / i.e.? verb laden, verb exclusively,
averting pronoun usage...
i guess this is a counter to what....

oh i love Jordan Peterson aging and in full
schematic rearrangement of
post-modernistic mode "word salad"
buzzing... i'm buzzing too:

two nuggets of verbal beauty: a shine
on a sheen...
sheen being the already available glit of
a metal... shine being if a metal is exposed
to light and almost, "almost" reacts like
water or mirror...

- negotiating identity into adulthood...
- "terrible war in our culture"

     what war? what culture: to be exact...
cf. kołakowski's: culture and fetishes...
really? is there a culture "war" or simply...
this is not a war "war": this is a civilian fetishazation
of combat... this is passive-aggressiveness
of atomized-***-drive-derivatives
a cis-mutation parody regarding
a concept of: species...
this is one massive a-hole (forgot the bomb)
of an anti-Darwinism...
one might stretch it to the extent of calling
it liberal Darwinism...
or: on the basis of a humanistic whim
we can't harness the power of a lightning strike
nor can we harness the winds of a tornado...
but we'll sure as ****: make pretty boa-constrictive
grammar out of how we forget about trading,
capital...

identity "politics"?

- ideas of identity are narrow, hedonistic,
unsophisticated, self-serving...
- identity groups: whim-based, ****** identities,
race, ethnic...
- predicated on the notion of the immediacy
of...
- you're not a *** machine...
- anxiety hopelessness misery...
- subsidiary solution
- integrated self...

   hmm... so not the differentiating self of self?
to integrate a self "off" a self: toward the self?

consumer model?
integrating integers or integrating the collapse
of fractions?

a poem written while listening to a podcast
rather than music, which would be echo chamber
solipsism...

- play with someone else...
- invite someone else...
- there's you and now there's you that's a husband...
- responsibilities and opportunities...
- not gratifying your short term whims...

fair enough... go on herr doktor...

- immaturity vs. non-negotiation...
- learn to love someone...
- 20 years ago: self-consciousness and negative emotion
on par...
- flesh yourself out...           stretch...

huh? community? what community?
i have lived across from my neighbours for over 20
years and the closest i got to them
was when she and her daughters paraded
naked in the bedroom and later
moved on to getting another hubby...
married or "married"...
cohabitation... moved across the street
two doors down and still no ******* conversation
about: oh the weather is dreary and oh:
the garbage men forgot to take my garbage
or: oh the traffic is bad blah blah...

- definition definition definition:

the defining of the finite
the indefinitable infinite...
time is a flexibility of not counting / not measuring...

in out in out

- no action without the good...
ah... nugget! finally!

- consumerist capitalism
- idiocies of a degenerate protestant liberalism
driven by postmodernism...

well, given that when Moses spoke to unsaid X
said: ehyeh asher ehyeh...

i.e. i am: that         ↓
                        → i am ←
                                ↑

and not... i am what i am... since...
there's a clear distinction between the pronoun
'that' and 'what'...
conclusively...
by 'that' i'm implying vectors...
by 'what' i'm implying: questions...

what? well what?!

i am what:                 !
                             ?  i am  ?
                                     !

but Moses wasn't interrogated in a what whom
fashion, no: i am what i am spoke to him:
who spoke to Moses?
i am: that, i am...

  that... precisely that, i am that: who?
would god ask who of / off who of / off himself?

i still find it preposterous that this commandment
is so vague on the Islamic mind
as to not cherish the name Allah
but shout it while killing innocents:
and in his greatness the jinn swarm
to take the metaphysical procrastinators to
the hell of the 72 "virgins"...

la ilaha illa allah -

    mind you: the Maltese word for god is
borrowed from the Saracens
and is also blahllah... no: allah...
all? ah!
a relief it would seem...
how easily you could censor that word out
of a person's vocabulary and not take it in vain...
it's a Hebrew game i very much like playing
since i make-oaths of ****'s ******* ****
like a cobbler...

i still can't figure out whether to think of
culture wars as civilian fetishes of warfare or not..
culture war is a fetishised term...
war is a fetish term for poets who
are living out a rigor mortis of intellect...

now for the gates...

א                                                      ­               ע
    
i might be behind the literature,
what i know is: kametz (a)
     tzeré (e)
                  chirek (i)
cholem (o)
                       shurek (u) - pentagram...

hmm... Greek Satanism... which is not very much like
WASP Satanism that mingled neo-******
with a sour-**** vibrancy of proto-*** chimps
of the North American "sentiment"...

the revised niqqud from the niqqud
i learnt outside the realms of the internet is as above
(cf. aryeh kaplan meditation and kabbalah
samuel weiser inc. box 612
york beach, maine 03910
isbn 0-87728-616-?)

chirek became hiriq (בִ - i.e. BI - ב, bet hiriq) - i
kametz became patach kamatz gadol (בַ בָ - b'ah) - a
tzeré became segol zeire (בֶ בֵ - i.e. b'eh) - e
cholem became holam (בֹ - b'oh) - o
and...
shurek became kubutz shuruk (בֻ וּ - BAV) - u

a story of the gate:
א                                                          ­           ע
(ayin)                                                     (alef)

through which: הה Heh and Heh walked through
to find the husbands י (yod)
  and ו (vav)... oh sure: bot sisters...
Heh and Heh walked through these gate(s)...
and so became coupled into a name best associated
with "jehowa": i.e. he who hides them (vowels)
like the niqqud and the niqab...
some sort of conspiracy theory against
a society built upon monogamy...

so i met this pretty little 5ft2 36D Puerto Rican
all the way in Hawaii, or to be more specific: Kauai...
on the internet...
and since any mention of formality and inception
i'm on the phone to her every Sunday
(and i'll probably call her today:
Monday's and Tuesday's are her days off)
and we talk for an hour and i feel: ****...
only 10 minutes have passed...

but i'm still engaged with the current trend of anti-cinema...
culture war my ***...
a bit like revising that vision of St. John's...
believe you me when i say:
four horsemen... and one donkey-rider...
so that's 5 riders... the donkey rider
being obviously slower than death
since he'd be the one riding last giggling his ***
off... maybe him and the donkey would
be laughing... maybe even a talking donkey...
the vision is grotesque:
hyper-parody of Islam stealing the "saviour"...

now i know why i didn't drop any acid or ingest
any magic mushrooms...
this one time in Amsterdam me and this
Egyptian were mesmerised or rather fearful
having drank some ***** and smoked some marijuana
watching these two roomates of ours in a hostel
ingest magic mushrooms and waste the experience
on watching American Dad on t.v. in a darkened room...
Germans: so go figure... p.t.s.d. of history
or whatever you want to call it...
you'd think that ingesting psychadelics
you'd want to be in the sunshine in a forest
for some transcendental speech impediment onset...
not some dingy hostel room watching t.v., right?

case? the opposite, ingest some alcohol, fast,
then think about the hebrew alphabet...

yes, the great advent of anti-cinema...
a cultural shift...
when actors became producers...
notably? true detective... starring matthew mcconaughey
and woody harrelson...
when actors became executive producers...
perfect hell-storm to **** of cinema franchises
for the children...
from the days of: parents go out for a date
and employ a babysitter to...
kids go out and shoot up laughing gas
and eat fast food and fast **** in an alley
while the parents sit indoors and watch decent content...
maybe because actors have more time
therefore more freedom to feel into their roles
maybe because to write something good
you need to waffle for more than the space
of ~3h or like a pop song becomes prog-rock
after the 3min mark?!

in a way modern Polish "behaves", or rather:
is structured like ancient Latin
in the pronouns can be omitted to give meaning
to sentences:

ja myśle (i think) can simply be expressed
as myśle (pronoun-verb) compound of (i) think:
thinking... myśl (thought) myślenie (thinking)...

i.e. cogito ergo sum is a summary of
current Polish...
since there's no need for:
ego cogito ergo ego sum...
there's no need for i think therefore i am:
there's an anti-pronoun imperative
in sentence structure...
this without-personhood dynamic
perfectly compliments...
the anglo-protestant queer fetish for
exemplifying the plurality of it
via they...

       also...
borrowing from Greek Satanism the pan-Slavic
distinctiveness of
the following:

     щ: šč          ?: ść

deszcz: dešč: H hiding, or how the hebrew god
lingers in European psyche...
funny... that the **** Germans thought
themselves as Aryans...
given that the Polacks from the 15th century
onward compassed the arrival of an Iranian
tribe of... no... not Samaritans...
but the Sarmatians...

deszcz: rain
    dość: enough...

szczerość: ščerość: truthfulness...

i never thought the fetishes would spill out
and over into my reaching out with my tentacles
and start to... squeeze... out all the fetishes
into apple pulp sort of goo of glue sort
of averting the nasal thrill...

for a people who made ***-identity into politics
like Darwin and the lesbian faction of
existence running its course: cul de sac
existentialism of ******-identity politics
"politics": these days you have to say
"red" red... "blue" blue...
"train" train...

  mein englischleash: nein nein: niet ein leine!

what culture war?
perhaps a cultural lethargy, a cultural exhaustion?
i can see it as that... but a war?
for what? a quibble?
a ******* carrot on a stick?
a war for a donkey?
no one spotted the unearthing of the Nag Hammadi
library coinciding with the Dead Sea Scrolls,
how Isaiah died (being mutilated
at the torso, cut in half)
and how "suddenly" Christianity quivered its
last to estrange the European ontology
from the European will borrowing
from the nurture of winter in the Hyperborean
realm of melancholic rejuvenation of intellect...

the Slavs would sooner wage war against
themselves than allow
the Germanic self-flagellation of importing
cheap labour from former colonies...
these "good Christian" vessels of soullessness:
vacated by the riches from Arabia
eat ******* camel jockey types and typos
in H'arabic...

there is no culture war... there's only a cultural vacuum:
a lethargy: a great stink about this whole
myopic miasma...
with the established state of Israel and what
remains of the jewry in Europe
the fascinating dynamic of the arrival of a muslim
cohort of: sensibly minded idle citizens
that uber uber uber uber...
kamikazee delivery drivers from the mouths
of Bengal... hey presto: cheap as chips analogies...

so there's no problem with calling they it not i?
after all: it is a pronoun...
it's coming, they are?
          hmm... fetishes to the fore...
*** first: but the worst kind of ***:
non-procreative ***...
that's the worst kind of ***...
me and my old lady... i sort of told her:
it's an ancient practice borrowing from Roman times...
surrogacy of males...
i don't mind that you have a daughter
and she's not biologically mine...
guess what? that means i'll be less hung-up
if she "fails" morally...

     i clearly don't mind leaving a fractional imprint
of mine, hereditary on a passing fleece of a feeling
with an offspring...
i'm here to play a game of her throwing
three pebbles into a pool and both of us diving into
it to find them... mystique harry potter esque
the philosopher and the two women in his life:
life rediscovered... lazily tripping up over
sunlight and the predictability of daylight hours
on the tropic of cancer...

the rest of me is unpredictable like the weather
in northern europe: esp. England...

but these fetishists could have chosen a different
angle than latching onto grammar...
by the looks of it i'll gnash at bone
and grit by iron teeth (eisenzähne) with a "debilitating"
glee of: welcome, welcome, all are welcome
to the knochenernteausgraben (bone harvest
unearthing)...

even in sub-culture pops... hormones?
am i that bothered about testosterone levels in
males (like i might have some control over it)
when it comes to how stubble i can deal with
like i might sniff ******* or who's not living with grandma
like this woman is fertile, no, this woman is not fertile:
she's renting her womb to two homosexuals
vying for a proto-baby
    and this ***-first dynamic is going to go on forever
before Russia joins forces with China and India
and leaves the atomised man in
shrapnel still clinging to the crucifix-*****?
as if 2000 years of the rabbis warning us against
the advent of the self-sacrificial saviour were not
a lesson in diabolical narcissism...
it's plain as day to date...

          even with the structures intact...
christianity is unlike hinduism...
this makeshift monotheism with
polytheistic tendencies for schisms
is unlike any original European polytheism...
there's a U.B.D. / B.B.D. (use by date,
best before date) attached to it... like food...
given... well... christianity is food if you think twice
about the metaphor of the bread and the wine...
**** me... phoo! the wine has become a rancid
balsamic vinegar and the bread is mouldy!

islam on the other hand is only bound to the strength
of the dino juice... black gold...
it's strength is only temporary given
no longer needing to burn wood and instead
using gas and the mechanisms of oil propellers...
temporary ibn Saud paradise...

hardly a critique of capitalism: which is a force for
good... should the capitalist be the one
building railroads and autobahns...
giving wages, providing stable work,
pensions...
but the current capitalist is a capitalist in name alone:
chances of an honest wage for honest labour?
chances of a pension?
gig economy, the underclass of workers i'm in
already dictate the failsafe dynamic of
"contract" with: an "optional opt out"
regarding a pension scheme...
there is none...

                            some daydream akin to the ****
project circa 1950s with a home a stability
without the frenzy of hustling...
one generation old one generation bound...
some eugenics variation
and oh how the women love to call out
the men who didn't reproduce
but seeing some of the women that have
i do wonder what sort of pristine genetics are
being pressed and passed on
since i'm in an intellectual-zombie-land
from time to time... or pretty much all the time...
so i drink: to numb the pain...
so i drink: to numb the pain...
hmm... maybe that's why i drink:
to numb the intellectual dead-weight i have
surrounding me...

it's a good excuse... there is no other...
jeez... coming back to that without-persona language
the Polish border guards sometimes you:
the verb-exclusive pronoun-de-clusive
pronoun-non-inclusive of:

zdjąć - take off.. achtung achtung!
i.e. not
            zdejmij - czy czy: could you?
czy mógłbyś zdjąć twoje buty?
could you take off your shoes?

               so much for some vagary of an upheaval
in the queers for grammar in English...
it's almost very funny: but it's only just slightly
funny coming from a people not used
to how depersonalisation happens in language
when spoken off: rather than of or to...

like that saying from true detective...
am i a good person?
no... i'm not a good person...
i'm a bad bad man...
the sort of bad man that keeps the other bad men
away from knocking on your door...
i'm that sort of bad man...
the sort of bad man that keeps your
idiosyncratic selves in check
before they are no more than a statistic
in a serial killer's tally 正

                but even i have rules and sensibilities
that question when experiencing questionalibities
of: basic structures, like in language:
grammar...
       that sort of **** just makes me hit the monster
button within me...
and my ego becomes less a unit
of identity... and more akin to...
      a mouth that chews, grunts, burps...
bites... my ego is currently in the form of:

mundnichts... mouth-nothing....
        pupilleessenauge...
pupil eating eye...
                   in mich: ein legion von
alle der schrecklich gedanken!
         ha ha! wie ein teuflisch zirkus!

The tallest poppy sprout refined and majestic in rarefied inner peace

In wisdom, knowledge and truth he embraces his charismatic rays

Self-assured, confident, stoic and compassionate, sincere in truthful pleas

That duly in the service of others, our world would be a better place

Where each and all finds in true hope, their deserving nirvana undismayed

And with honest toil and gainful endeavour, bright smiles will grace every face



Alas, the land is filled with psychopaths, deviants, louts, charlatans and knaves

Mindless simpletons, arrogant buffoons, deluded malcontents, shepples and fleas

Racists, liars, Lilly-liver ed cowards, inadequate bullies and stained underclass with knives

Hedonists, drunkards, pedophiles, lying hypocritical vicars and inglorious common thieves

Fathers and mothers with no control over off-springs and hapless aged locked away in fear

Whilst the shameless cowardly reprobates, uncouth, unwashed declares, we rule the hives

And as the wont of sad degenerate mediocrities,  mesmerises a gang of fools in similar dire



Some say they are the barbarians of Europe, uncultured, arrogant, mindless, jingoistic ***** dusts

Basking at once, then denigrating a proud history made by the elites, who now patronise them

And indoors, sip iced Bollinger, nibble on caviar, and shake their saloon ed heads in disgust

The educated professionals indulge them and offer liberal platitudes, the problem is at the stem

And the pitiful ingrates, dosed on *******, hyped on beer and moonshine from a Polish den

Stagger and pounce about pathetically, and hiss through yellow uneven teeth, power to the people

"This is Democracy", they pontificate, we can terrorize the likes of the Tallest Poppy, that silly Zen



So how does one explain what 'piffling contempt' means to deranged, deluded, inadequate psychos, then

How do indulgent semi-illiterates class, limited by a benevolent nanny State see they project their angst onto better men

And vent their spleen and the frustrations of their limitations and insignificance on to others who they fear and envy.

The pain and miseries of their unfulfilled, mundane and superficial, empty lives, means others should suffer too

So again, So how does one explain what 'piffling contempt' means to deranged, deluded, inadequate psychos

How do you catch a *****, extricate the coward bully, and revive a dead brain, capable of aspirations and higher ideals

With torches and angry words they riot in our streets. They set fire to buildings and call our public servants Nazis! They cry about equality all the while the preach anarchy! They say they can fix it but they never do. They want you to be angry and hate where you live. If we were only more like other countries, just how great it would be. Their plans have been tried in cities and states in our land. The remnants of burnt out buildings and failed ideals litter the landscape of these places. A so called underclass frustrated and angry rage against the honest and hard working people. They think they can destroy what has been built and remake it in their own warped image. Despite the best efforts from without and within, America the idea still lives! So let the hate mongers rage and destroy where they live. You cannot burn down an idea, it has been tried again and again.

Mother thought the world of you
When you were in the womb
You were the charcoal blur that rocked the world
Pride of place on the refrigerator
Seemingly indifferent but people saw different
They looked at you and drew the moon
And from the grey extracted something peach and empty
In the days when it was okay for you to be empty
Before the weight of the world drained the colour from your face
The milky glisten that shrivelled
Diminished
Turned you invisible
Now show them all that you’re not afraid to **** at the sun
Once the door is closed
Let that ultraviolet umbilical cord to the underclass make you golden
Make you glow once more

Such elegance and opulence
Beneath this highway overpass,
Where rocks provide the sustenance,
As winter culls the underclass;
Gimcrackery of transients,
Guitars and spoons and mattresses.
Police come charged with striking tents.
You can't live here, the city says.
One level up, on 2nd Street,
Old cars and vans make living space
For down-and-outs who still compete,
And teach their kids to ask God's grace.
This kingdom come, of what's been done--
Earth daughter, mother, father, son.

disenfranchise underclass

write disenfranchise words

with disenfranchise sensibilities

only relevant to disenfranchise angsts

and without the privilege of introspection

they march down and down in ignorance bliss

one man apart Public Enemy - Don't Believe The Hype

It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back - hahhahhah

here writes: 𐰋‎ᛟ𐰉‎

          in Runic (at the middle)
and Orkhon either side

    just as my suspicions
concerning Gothic, script:
are not advantageous
for any foreseeable reason

other than:

   𐰢‎𐰀‎𐰦‎      (mant, like mann)

        to imply: man wrote this
ergo: by man: mant...

        i distrust the remains of Gothic
because of interaction
(perhaps) with the Romans
and the Greeks

   and i see some "unnecessary"
incisions
to make distinctions...

to say that Jacob Grimm envisioned
a gothic text as precursor
to the Greek text:

oh what's the use!
these words are only a passing by
not a conversation to be
had not words
to be engraved onto stone
the time of paper and stone
is passed
and there are foundations
to ensure everyone is comfortable
with an atom bomb's worth
of technology in their pocket
to somehow: not abuse it?

3 years divided up between
6 weeks on Kauai
with her 3 weeks in London
i was supposed to be somewhere
today:
Wembley... for the Capital FM
summertime festivity
oh god seeing this number of people
congregate
for music events all euphoric
but for sporting events so too euphoric
but measured
like there's a reason

woke up at 4am with a burden of cramps
in the abdomen...
i could blame a bad batch of sandwiches
as sold by certain supermarkerts
that might have spiced them with E. Coli
but then again i was dumb enough
to ignore my lactose intolerance
and drank some cow *****
in the night
with some Danish all butter biscuits

woke a second time ready for work
at 6am but cramps again:
crawled on all fours into my mother's
and father's bedroom and implored
mother to send a text to my wager:
these 0 hour contracts are a nuisance
how can you plan being sick
or not being sick
ahead of a shift
at least this was my first: blow-out
in 3 years...
i blew-out for the shift i didn't give
enough time for implementing changes
but i'm sure there are enough BODS
to fill an empty space
this industry is not rewarding
mind you not even this industry
so it's less about work itself and work in-itself
and the precursor to work:
that's life
i'm no machine and sometimes
the odd cramp of the abdomen
to give birth to nothing but an existential
dis-pain:
which is a negation of pain
if the physical realism subsides or is
enjoyed
but the mental: no scabs on the ego
no burning of the ego no cutting and bleeding
of the ego
just a disorganized luxury of what
would otherwise be a whoop'tee doo'dah
of narrative: lost...

     only this shrapnel i'm recovering...

then that other job description got to me:
i could be out of events industry
with one smooth application:
2 days per week
8 hour days
working as a security guard and receptionist
at the Royal College of Musicians
or whatever...
works around to £26,000 a year
so i could still do gigs on the side
but the application detail
stressed: EMPLOYING FROM
BLACK, ASIAN and LGBTQ+ LDTV
ULTRA VOX "minority"...
well... positive discrimination:
thankfully i had no former fathers
who were colonial masters, right?
WRONG!

i can tell apart a Nigerian from a Somali
and still understand that that's black on black
but when it comes to white
and -ness
and it's all ha ha from here:
because, weirdly enough:
i'm also the Holocaust maker
or perhaps my reading of history is so
pish poor that hey presto!

it's actually painful to think that
jobs are being currently advertised on
the basis of skin color and sexuality
then again i could pretend to be gay
i could be one of those covert
homosexuals
you don't actually realize are homosexuals
could have a William Burroughs
book in my pocket
but it would seem the stratification
of jobs
the menial ones go to the blacks the asians
and the gays
while plumbing and farming goes
to: inherited whiteness folk...

i knew i would be dragged into
race baiting and ****** politics of people
from elsewhere:
i still feel down about cutting the umbilical
chord with Edie
but in her own words:
we played house...
mother will never allow you to stay here
for holiday...
reality checker...
so why burden myself with having
invested 3 years and two encounters

oh but it became clear and not so
travelling on the train with:
i suppose 3 teachers on a night out
two blondes...
one trying to rub against me
and all the talk was comparative
literature to the Auschwitz trains
and it (the train) being: sardine packaging
and how there was a whiff of Indian
air
and yes i can understand that
over-saturation with the use of spices
but what got me down
was that tongue twister of:
drunk people in public
trying to savor the remnants of euphoria
and how the words:

little people little lives dampened
my mood
at the stadium at Tottenham
working with a Jamaican Muhammad
drunk white women
and this outright
scold: oh the ****** can come
but you're not tool enough...
that's like wow the jungle really has
a prized asset and now i don't wonder
why so much of this human interaction
cannot be genuine euphoria
or can be if it is hidden
and sometimes passed down in script
but for a day of supposedly being elsewhere:
if i was well enough
i would still be working for half an hour
more and getting the night buses home
but assured: i need to visit the hospital
mother to see my alter-ego
of media jargon superstitions
about some... "Norman Bates":
underclass of economics even this Swiss
whizz kid only understood poetry
in terms of WINNING or LOSING...

i think it comes with the population size
there's no need to write truths
and bottle them and gorge and digest
them there's no need to write
beautifully either...
coherently yes, but not so much
when this time round everyone is literate
and simply spoiled for choice
as to what is freely available
and....

         SRBIJA... old Serbia new Serbia
it really doesn't matter:
the southern Slavs were so much
different to the northern portion of the ethnicity
and you tend to forget that
former associations of Germanic
have long been lost
that last attempted to unite the Germanic
people under the *****
lasted 5 years but didn't
and even now the European Union
is not even equivalent to how long:
how did Marx influence the Slavic people
and made them into a Pan- contending force
to then export all: that's made to chi-cha-chu
land ahoy! Sinbad came
to Lu Hi and thought: but no Muhammad
so am i right to not be Muslim?

what was funny came around Whitechapel
this ginger Englishman
praying fervently concerning
enrichment
the policy of social health
allowing people off the train first
but ahead of him two Pakistani UNCLES
decided: that's now the case:
so in they clamored onto the train
making it more difficult for people to
get off: just so they could get their seats
and i think that's kinda of funny
given i'm an immigrant myself
but then again most Poles
didn't feel welcome in England
after joining the European Union
so they ****** off
and became replaced by a more
befitting Asian-Afro cocktail...
who? the Romanians!
oddly enough you'd be sightseeing
hummingbirds wanting to spot Bulgarians
in this London Dry Mix...

but i'm supposed to be in love with
humanity: no?
i just agree and nod and whatever
like: all's good Frankie: let's make a Stein!

i somehow feel for the native around
here but then i don't:
she, Edie... she knew i drank and smoked
marijuana
in the newspaper from yesterday
the German Politzei wanted
the English fans to smoke cannabis
rather than drink alcohol and who knows
maybe that was a marriage made in heaven
when both fans started booing each
other's anthems
clearly the air was tense
as a result Serbia 0, England 1...

you get to see Plato's Cave as a showcase
alternative to cinema and the t.v.
but it's good to watch a t.v. and think
of Plato's cave without really thinking
about the curtains of t.v. and the producers
and the staff that gets the show
going: no... simply you watching
something as grand as a sporting event...

no amount of whiskey or smoking
will alleviate my melancholic mood
my mood of wanting to erase memory
but in the pits
of melody of a singing crowd
and: oh those isolated instances
of humanity seeking benevolence from
fellow man:
i had the sinking heart of misdirecting
people
to dead ends...
not out of spite out of sheer
tiredness...

                and nothing but tiredness has
produced these words...
i will know soon enough if
i grappled with a purpose for this life
to be beyond any reasonable measure
of invested in it an ambition
a sanity
a want of specie societal differentiation
to grit down 70 years down
to a Mercedes Benz:
but somehow scuff at a Heinz can of beans
because: says so the caviar to me...
with an interlude looking
at a documentary concerning the
52 Hz whale...
  the loneliest ****** out there because his
frequency is not being communicated
to the neurotypical whales
and he's not getting honey...
of **** of jiggly **** and blubber...

                     and i'm finally concluding my own
failures...
last night...
walked past a few nightmare houses...
one of them spoke to me:
you will never live in a house
with a bedroom
where the woman has placed
a dressing table with a mirror in front
of the window...
just like i would never be a woman
who'd live in a house
with a man who parks his work
van in the front of the house
blocking all sunlight coming into
the living room...

    but hey! people do! people do!
which makes me in no way
special: i forgot about needing to feel
special or in high command of
individuation as: the western purpose for life's
fulfillment:
now i navigate using the compass:
the less people i hurt the better i will ****...
the less people are in my life
the better i will digest beef...
the more and others are passerby to each
other the more significant this glue of time
will be to dilute our each effort
to ensure we don't: cling to them with
a drowning man's resolve to grasp at
a blade's edge and bleed out
and become a feeding frenzy for:

dogs with gills... no... not sharks...
sharks have shark teeth
we need a blunt tearing off of flesh
via aqua canines
not sharks... verily not sharks.

If there is such a thing as a homosexual community [a community united to extol and rationalize masturbatory (physiologically unproductive) *******], then its members represent the nation's largest ***-criminal, deviant underclass. The homosexual community encompasses ALL pederasts and the majority of rapists as homosexual **** is the most prevalent, and the most under-reported, of *** crimes. A normal man may be ***** thousands of times by imprisoned homosexuals.