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raw with love Nov 2015
(Yes, better than Harry Potter, get your pitchforks ready)

My first encounter with THG was approximately four years ago, when I had barely turned fourteen, did not consider myself bilingual and was romantically frustrated. Naturally, I made several mistakes at the time. First off, I read the series in translation, since I'm not a native English speaker, and missed out a huge chunk of the significance of the story. Then, as I said, I was romantically frustrated and thus paid such a monstrous amount of attention to the romance aspect of the story that I want to bitchslap myself. Finally, at fourteen, I was still ignorant and uneducated about so many things that I read the series, got hyped for perhaps six months or so, then forgot all about it, save for the occasional rewatch of the movies. In retrospect, this is probably one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. Now, at the ripe old age of eighteen, a significantly better-read person, waaay more woke, as well as socially aware, I decided to finally read the series in the original and am finally able to put my thoughts together in a coherent, educated review of the series.

The Hunger Games has continuously been compared to a number of other books and series, occasionally put down as inferior and forgettable. In those past few years I managed to read a great part of the newly established young adult dystopian genre and am able to argue that A. The Hunger Games is undoubtedly universal and unrestricted to young adult audiences and that B. it is, without the slightest shade of uncertainty, the best series written in our generation.

While many people draw parallels between The Hunger Games and, say, Battle Royale, the similarities end with the first book, which, while spectacular in execution, seems unoriginal in its very idea. As the series unrolls, however, it is hardly possible to compare it to anything, save for, perhaps, Orwell's 1984. The social depiction and the severe criticism laid down in the very basis of the story are so brutally honest that it fails my understanding how the series was ever allowed to become this popular. What starts out as a story about a nightmarish post-Apocalyptic world works up to be revealed as a cleverly veiled portrayal of our own morally degraded and dilapidated society (if you're looking for proof, seek no further: as the series was turned into several blockbuster movies, public interest was primarily concerned with the supposed love triangle rather than the bitter truths concealed in the narrative). Class segregation, media manipulation, dysfunctional governments are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the realities that The Hunger Games so adroitly mimics. If I were to dissect, chapter by chapter, all three books, I'd probably find myself stiff with terror at the accuracy of the societal portrait drawn by Collins. I strongly advise those of you who haven't read the series between the lines to immediately do so because no matter how many attempts I make to point it out to you, you simply have to read the series with an alert sense of social justice to realize that it doesn't simply ring true, it shakes the ground with rock concert amplifiers true.

Other than the plot that unfolds into a civil war by the third book (the series deals so amazingly with trauma survival and with depicting the atrocities of war that I am still haunted by certain images), the characters of the story are what makes it all the more realistic. Though Hollywood has done a stunningly good job in masking the shocking reality of the fact that these are children - aged twelve through eighteen, innocent casualties paying for the adults' mistakes; children forced into prostitution, fake relationships, children forced into maneuvering through a world of corruption, media brain-washing and propaganda.

Consider Katniss. She is a person of color (olive-skinned, black-haired, gray -eyed, fight me if you will but she is not a white person), disabled (partially deaf, PTSD-sufferer, malnourished), falling somewhere in the gray spectrum both sexually and romantically. As far as representation goes, Katniss is one of the most diverse characters in literature, period. Consider Peeta, his prosthetic leg (which, together with Katniss's deafness, has been conveniently left out of the movies) and his mental trauma in the third book. Consider Annie's mental disability. Consider Beetie in his wheelchair. Consider all the people of color, as well as the fact that people in the Capitol seem to have neglected all sorts of gender stereotypes (e.g. all the men are wearing makeup). There is absolutely no doubt that the series is the most diverse piece of literature out there. Consider this: the typical roles are reversed and Peeta is the damsel in distress whereas Katniss does all the saving.

Furthermore, the alarming lack of religion (in a brutal society reliant on the slaughter of children God serves no purpose), as well as several other factors, such as the undisputed position of authority of President Snow, is suspiciously reminiscent of the already familiar model of a totalitarian society.

The Hunger Games, in other words, is revolutionary in its message, in its diversity, in the execution of its idea, in its universality. I mentioned Harry Potter in the subtitle. While this other series has played a vital role in the shaping of my character, it has gradually receded to the back line for several reasons, one of which is how problematic it actually is. This, though, is a problem for another day. (The Hunger Games is virtually unproblematic and while it may be argued that the LGBTQ society is underrepresented, a momentary counterargument is that *** has a role too insignificant in the general picture of the story to be necessary to be delved into this supposed problem). Where I was going with this is that, at the end of the day, Harry Potter, while largely enjoyed by adults and children alike, is a children's book and contains a moral code for children, it was devised to serve as a moral compass for the generation it was to bring up. The Hunger Games, on the other hand, requires you to already have a moral compass installed in order to understand its message. It is, as I already said, a straightforward critique of a dysfunctional society, aimed at those aware and intelligent enough to pick on it.

As for its aesthetic qualities, the series is written, ominously, in the present tense, tersely and concisely, yet at the same time in a particularly detailed and eloquent manner. It lacks the pretentious prose to which I am usually drawn, yet captivates precisely with the simplicity of its wording, which I believe is a deliberate choice, made so as to anchor the story to the mundane reality of the actual world that surrounds us.

That being said, I would like to sum up that The Hunger Games is, to my mind, perhaps the most successful portrayal of the world nowadays, a book series that should be read with an open mind and a keen sense of social awareness.
Dear Rosie

I wonder, what kind of black woman are  you?
Because as we discussed various -isms, you refuted your womanism, you refuted racism, you refuted sexism. You are "Rosie"

Dear Rosie
I want to know where you come from. Who taught you to tear down women that look like you, that came from a black woman's womb just as you did. Where did you learn to silence us in that confused mind of yours where you said our opinions irritate you and are worthless to your education?

Dearest Rosie
Tell me how the oppressed became the oppressor. Because as I look at your dark chocolate skin I am curious what you see when you look in the mirror. A reflection of privileged whiteness? You say oppression does not matter. You asks for facts. Well, statistics show us that people that look like you are dying whether you acknowledge your blackness or not. Women like you are being silenced and underrepresented in the public sphere regardless if you take it for face value. Women like us have lost sons to officers, husbands to cells, brothers to jails.

Dear Rosie
Wake the **** up. Each time you slice our tongues from the black reality that black women may not matter as much as they do in this safe space, each time you preach of your humanist kumbaya resolution that separates us from race gender and sexuality, each time you say our opinions do not matter, they win. The system wins. Because they'll use some token like you to represent our mass majority and say "She agrees with us so all black people do too." I refuse to be represented by a peer that denounces my womanism, my feminism, my black nationalism because it's not white enough for her (black) skin.
Not inclusive enough to a white population that has excluded people like me for centuries. It is not my duty to make some ******* feel comfortable with my blackness ,to relieve them of guilt when they've perpetuated guilt on me because of my blackness.

Dear Rosie.
Don't let them win.
Kayla Nieto Dec 2015
Tick Tock
The mouse ran up the clock
The fish swam up the dock
Tickety tickety tock
I don't know how to talk
The only things I say
Are thoughts that someone gave
Me, I don't speak for my thoughts
They riot
Underrepresented
They riot
They're turning on me
I'm not doing them justice
They scream on me
They shout
"Let us go"
"We want you to speak us"
But I don't know how to talk
"I can't, I can't"
I tell them
They ignore me like I ignore them
Tick tock
Back and forth I rock
Sanity is a casualty of freedom
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
a bit like walking to a shop
for a bottle of whiskey,
while simultaneously paying
attention to the undertakers
and their coffin limousines
and a hapless old man
  peering into the notion of a selfie
strapped into a car seat
with a wish for a crash-mannequin
helmet...
  thinking: ****! the ***** that's
death has finally found me!
       i've realised that losing
the plot means so much more than
acquiring one,
given that the essential plot
is a Houdini act of mortality...
i like toying with the unrest
of eternity, i joke with it rather than
allow it to comfort me...
   and how was god disproved?
not by words alone,
20 dead bodies in mass shooting...
******* can say ****.
       there's always subtle tier of
drinking hiding beneath a layer
of chill and: something or other...
the best comedy, i've learned,
is derived from agitating apathy,
english (of course) -
ridicule!
                only the english have
attained the sort of numbness that
respect cordiality of the formality
beyond ****** relations -
            the sort of exemplified
"rationalisation" of individualism as
a continuum worth: jack ****!
blah blah bl'eh bl'eh blow
up the 100th ******* balloon!
   i can go on for days,
i'm that good at playing the ridiculous
englishman sensing...
  ****, the 60s and the 70s
nibbling onto the 80s have just ended,
minding the 19th conundrum of
what i'd rather call:
ever get dry ****** by a perverted dog?
   that protruding elongation
of the tender pink of a dog's phallus?
little ****** could make a great elf,
considering the fact that he
wrapped his paws around my leg so
tight that i started thinking about tripod
abominations...
          i'd ******* that crucifix
any day of the week...
mind you, he's the only jew i'm allowed
to hate...
                      if the jews hated him...
what's the logical conclusive remark?
  kneel and **** him off?
     muslims are already doing ****,
while the jews are left headbanging by
the al-buraq... burak?
  burak is slavic for beetroot...
    well, slam your forehead that many
times against a brick wall and you're bound
to get a visible tattoo of an expanded
bindi...
           or that thing called a: hárū -
see? diacritical markers ease up the fluidity
of syllable incisions.
     i still think a mere thought
would suffice to pay homage,
  than this **** of acceptable gesticulation...
religion, nothing short of sleepwalking
or an attempt at reading braille,
  drunk beyond hope,
                  maybe it's a magic trick
they're trying to pull off...
             hocus pocus andromeda focus...
got to give it to them,
   the logic of woman is the logic
of a god, hence theology -
which is never a love of,
                    no wonder philosophy
is underrepresented by women...
giving the culminating plateau-zenith
that's feminism...
                           women best
adhere to a god for they already possess
the circus of: being within being -
        pregnancy...
                  man, that barren creature,
can only hope for an imitation comparative,
when infested by a, tapeworm.
oh yeah, and that added: oops.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
i've just changed my tyre and my inner tube
on my... very cheap viking road bicycle...
i've also had to cough up 10 quid from a stash
of 100 quid i was willing to pay a *******
for some love...
how i will spend the rest of the 90 quid
leftovers... i'm cutting back on...
glorifying the night
with mannequin drunk antics...
              and smoking cigarettes... so... it's pretty
much a flip of the coin...
i'm starting to abhor
the coverage of the Olympics these days...
they're only showcasing women in sport...
yawn...
ooh! wait... there's that new medal up
for grabs... the Nigerian mixed gender team
tried something new...
let's call man (Y) and woman (X)...
the orthodox tactic stated:
YXXY...
the Nigerians tried to pull off a Jessy Smollett...
they did an... ha ha...
YXYX...
it looked great at first...
the Nigerian man gained about 10 metres
on all the women...
but then... the Nigerian woman lost
the lap with slowest man...
that was fun to watch...

look... i've tried to do an ode to Bukowski:
seeking out small poetry magazines...
"building-up" an audience...
a lot has changed since the typewriter became
defunct...
i've looked into several "magazines"...
rejected by a few...
i looked into this one... rising phoeni(c) review...
i'm still looking into it...

i was like: wow! the message!
fresh perspective... angelhead hipsters...
i have a beard and a viking haircut...
but i'm not a hipster...
   i looked and looked...
of the voices represented by the so-called
review... truly underrepresented voices
in democracy...
obviously they have to be women...
no one is ever so truly "under-represented"
in society... not since that episode
in Bewitched... where... the wife's mouth
spends the husband's dollar...
or the sugar-baby spends his... mah'jesty's
premature he'jaculation...

this is the last time i trust the editorial process...
no... clearly... *******... in original print...
in the original stake on:
burning a forest to get your ******* *** of
a fist a full arithmetic of knuckles off your chest...
not here... not... now...
the classical route...
i can smell.... it...
it would have to first bypass the tastes
(criteria of the editors) to later reach
a larger audience...

but not now... we can bypass the whole
charade of the editorial process...
if youtube.com was what it was
in circa 2016... having fun with
A.I. algorithms... we had fun...
i mean: i stopped using last.fm... didn't i?
a computer acted pristine like:
what the **** happened to both
the ****** megastore / 'his master's voice'
on oxford street?
i was waiting for someone interested
in music to... do the **** people don't do
in a museum: curate to my tastes!
no?

i'm done in appealing to these editors...
i was thinking about posting something for
the rising phoeni(c) review... as a joke...
oh they will read my stuff...
but... they'll only accept a ******...
or a 'lack un' to compensate for the ratio
of men to women...
dare! believe! a plumber... a roofer...
might have a degree in chemistry! OCH!
gosch!
mein gott!

hellopoetry and allpoetery... eh...
i too was thinking... "recognised" pedigree...
am i something less for...
if i were here first... you being second:
you think that term / status of platform...
translated into journalism is equivalent
to... tabloid-press?
who's pressing what? i'm pushing in 26+ digits....
the plus enforces the use of punctuation marks...
the odd sequence with Hangul or Katakana... etc.

no one waited for the advent for bypassing
the editorial process as much as i have:
i've become the butcher to the raw thoughts
in my 'ed...
why... not press harder...
if the status of platform is to be deemed less...
than the status of publisher...
hellopoetry / allpoetry is...
it's not a social platform... it's a reading platform...
it's way ahead of... ha...
that's ha: never used goodreads...
or twitter... or instagram...

for that loved up tactic of: in defence of democracy...
the classical approach to publishing
is a pyre...
i'll **** on it some gasoline if it might just
burn a fluorescent fire of blue...
too slow... 1 to 3 months waiting for a hopeful
reply: it's a bit like waiting for access to
a nightclub where only the colts of
the rich few are allowed access for
a staging of Solomon's harem...
while there's: Solomon has left the building...
with the queen of Shebah...

insomnia libido coupled with insomnia "printing":
i can't wait: not that i "can't"
i'm already geared up for the cascade...
platform ≠ tabloid...
publisher still equates itself as publisher...
that... ******* lackey of "good tastes"...
forlorn in keeping to the sensibilities of:
catered to women...
no fun... if their thumbs' up is all i were
ever after...

look... the "mission statement" reads:
all inclusive all this all this other...
i'm an aging schizophrenic...
an aging quadratic-bi... lingual...
i'm hardly keeping up with either anchor
or ship... the sails?! the wind... oh...
i'm all up for that...
i don't even know whether i'm truly schizophrenic...
i treat it at a metaphor...
like William Burroughs might have...

but as a platform... pushing my doughy-eyed
geriatric gazelles "aside"...
here's me making a tide:
the old-school editorial process of...
"envisioning" print: no ******* print...
forget about it... as publishers you will see
as much eyes-glued to the emptying of
eye-sockets with your editorial fancies
as much as i will see: zombies
slurping up cones of: less cream...
more of that vivid juice shared by all...
in the form of 'strawberry opposite of icecream'...
the A.I. result is clueless...
you know... no cream...
i forget the word... just the proper sugar...
and water...  frozen...
not sherbert...
                       strawberry ice cream vs. the other type of ice...
still no results... ah...
strawberry... what if i type in...
watermelon... ah ha ha: SORBET!
and i thought i was **** as
crossword puzzles...
genuine: herr Franklisch...
herr... Merovingian...

   but at least i'm something of an Iraq:
i's: raw... whenever the western
democratic export might be minded...
introspect...

eh?
me too... #bewildered... feels like
a bee has just stung me...
no... i wouldn't feel safeguarded by
the obstructive publishing practices of
a "new-age" internet...
i.e. via the editors... later: the public...
oh no... first the public...
the editors can ******* by then...
curate "what"? by "then":
the ******* mortals teaming up with
XAOS... to overthrow the immortal
gods of Olympus...
just like the Olympian gods
overthrew the Titans?!

it's a platitude: most certainly...
i can't wait for editorial scrutiny to...
publish... eh? you're implying:
"publish"? i can publish on a whim...
if i can gravitate to a higher realm
of exfoliation... why should i be...
curtailed... stopped...
why in this body of a weaker gorilla-take
i'm still the anaemic tadpole...
why would i want to guise myself
in the concern for editors...
they'll reject all i'll ever write:
let's listen to the sinew...
to the wrath... the broken bone...
the lubricated extension of tendons...

if this is somehow lesser than
what might be... editorially approved...
the legality of...
i'm not here for the money...
look at me... i'm throwing those
30 silver coins in the air...
get rich young...
tire yourself... dying... old...
i've seen what dying old amounts to...
no much...
you earn: my gob's worth...
i'll add a bonus of my own phlegm
and a serpent of a tongue to quiz you...

but i will not reserve myself for
making myself "evident" by choosing
the "classical" publishing "en-route"... ha!
who has the monopoly on paper thereby...
ink?
i.e. what "paper"... what ******* "ink"!
high-brow ivory-tower guards of...
what?!

limited readership!
throw your words like grains of wheat
against the "deaf ears": subsequently
watch them turn into pearls!
platform ≠ tabloid journalism...
after all... tabloid journalism is still...
editorialised... isn't it?

it's neu.... it's mutated: Darwinism allows
mutation to take place:
i don't see how it can't...
it's the 21sst century! didn't you hear?!
em... do i have to look for inspiration
for scribbling... because it's merely / simply
out of ha-ha-h'america?
oops... lobs... aside...

i'm pretty sure the concept of platform:
is curated by the public...
long live platforms! long live the streets!
to hell with publishers and
speaking hush-hush coerced speech
in tenements owned by disgruntled Jews...
who... thank you: thank you:
for the Egyptian Moses...
sharing his insight into...
the eye of Horus... sure... ha-shem lettering
came later...

like i'm a ****** having lived all of my life
in ING-LAND!
by way of editorial "integrity":
who would publish any of it?
ha! noo... oone...
        watch me: **** on the necromancy of
pyramid... subsequently into the Nile...
because i'm immortal and i have enough
"time" to... "sort of"...  "wait"...
hit the iron while it's hot...
i'm not waiting for the restrictions
to restrict my freedom of expression:
too much of the beach has been tamed...
by those who didn't scribble...
instead deciding to make videos...

to yawn like the seas...
eh... to grow intact like they are to be towed...
but to bypass the editorial scrutiny:
this... envisioned:
"surprise" of a "concept" of "summer"
via England... there's no "summer"
in England...
September = an Indian Summer...
which is beyond metaphor and misnomer...
it's... weirdly placed for an islander "typos"
to.. stay... well addressed in a workaholic
trajectory of: FUNCTION... BASIS...
CUE!

publisher vs. platform...
                 there's no real "vs."... is there...
it's not an immediacy contra:
the highest quality when
the "highest" quality is only arrived at by...
WAHMOON!
**** it... let's leave it to the coliseum

the bread: the butter... the bread: the butter...
just "another": cheap-ink-dosage of...
"IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR!"
well of course it isn't...
you do X... i'll do Y...
if we're not doing some
"middle-fiddle" in between
for a compensating status quo:
then... what the **** are we living
for... some Muslim niqab: the Taliban has
come! welcome the Taliban... the ****?!

democracy: platform... allows this...
editorial scrutiny passes this back...
back years... alongside...
a Mongolian horde invasion: tease;
but i write in a zunge zeer
people have no "question"
or... thereby... knowledge of... off.

oh i'm supposed to feel worse than the
better of... off the worst?
pull me in... gravity... time's: a plenty!
Nahal Aug 2020
My eyes were closed shut
As I awoke
I smoked a metaphorical ****
of a Spike Lee Joint

I interpreted the depths of meaning
Scary reality
The errors of humanity
In the form of a feature film

Portrayal after portrayal
Non-minstrel, realistic black lives
Race-relation vibes
A voice for the underrepresented

Lee makes you want to use your voice
For the betterment of the world
Development of how we want our history to unfurl
Black lives matter still
Lately I've been becoming more and more obsessed with the works of screenwriter and director Spike Lee. His movies are a true portrayal of black lives in the US and the daily issues that are faced by this misrepresented community. His movies started out in the eighties but are relevant today regarding the discourses on the blacklivesmatter movement. It has a daily relevance. I love Lee for his ability to render meaning into his work but give us a taste of daily reality and simultaneously question one's role and responsibility in race relations in all societies.
how do i approach this....
there's so much ego is also useful for
when i use it
to no cognitive narrative fudge
but instead restrain it:
then put my idle hands to work:
my devilish hands
of idle measure:

i feel so organic having mentioned
eating raw pork
to ingest a tapeworm
and become the Overlord or Zenir of Dune
without sandworms:
with earthworms:
peering into the earth
to find more than serpents:
i've become of serpents
i don't need serpents anymore
to play Loki:
i need Chopin and Boris Brejcha
at Nimes...

Tour de France: we'll get to that in a minute:
i'm clarifying time:

i own a viking bicycle:
how much?
£125
works like a woman
very impressive
a thing can be a woman
my viking road bicycle
green green greed green
envy comes: later...
she's like a woman
and i'm riding her into the distance:

autobiography:
someone set off fireworks in my neighborhood
last night and it spread like wildfire
into the night on social media blah blah

rubric necessary:
if drinking a mixer
smoke some in the garden, wait for stars
to keep their constellations
and without a telescope or a microscope:
catch an insect in your eye
while cycling
Tour de Havering:
from Rise Park
to hmm... Raphael's Park
vicinity
Gidea Park...

            the joy of having watched
the tour de france on t.v.: i
didn't watch it... beside stage 21
while playing Solitaire and reading
newspapers:
but the sports commentary:
imagine what football is: zombie religion...
a place
where people drink and make fantasies of
Nation-States in the globalized world:
globalized = atomized...
the globalized non-states
with their atomized non-individuals...

blink of an eye is equivalent to
0.001 sec?
and the chances of a symbiosis gone wrong
an insect...
lower status creature:
i want to summon the TAPEWORMS
and the *****
into my digestive stomach:
time, for, the, serpent, to, become, the, tree!

Y tongue ADAM and EVE
DEVIL WEDS THEM BEFORE GOD
with tongue of Y and a tree to:
ah! jeez bliss: blitzkrieg bliss!
famous athletes around me:

ATHLETICS is the MOTHER
of all SPORTS...
what is philosophy if not a sport in the dead
humanities... CIRCUS MAXIMUS ABSTRACT'
that T' is a hidden acute above an I which makes it
an E...

a blink of the eye takes
0.001 seconds:
long before i compound the vowels with consonant:
in Japanese that's:
unique: ONE
them: feminine in Polish one: them(f)
them: masculine in Polish oni: them(m)
and how much the predicament of an insect
flying into my eye:
i have such AIRWORMS that found peace
in my body happy as long as the eyes can see
the liver the brain
is of no importance:
the eyes remain:
there are only eyes:
a body without eyes is no body:
a blind man has eyes
ergo a blind man isn't blind
but ALTER-SEEING...
coordinator:
one thing you learn from Crowd Control
being invested in theoretical chemistry
way beyond youth:
is:
that:
you:
can:
claim:
that:
people are like all the elements and none at
the same time:
collectively people are water and earth
individually people are like air and fire:
airy fairy words, promises: ancient Satanic:
which is: i'm the new child..
promises like lies
what are truths and beliefs
within the contention that beliefs are lying-truths...

my father knew i would be up to something
creative
and he did all the chores around the house
while i planted these two replacements for
roses:
the names of flowers always alludes me:
i need a woman
because i need to have noun gratification:
i basically need a woman for nouns
since i am a verb
a woman is a noun
while a man is a verb:
a woman is a vowel
a man is a consonant...

       will "we": still talk about pronoun
"confusion"?
too much pie?!
assassination attempt post-survivalist "face"
emoji:

                  ?           !
                      
ah ****: forgot the nostrils and spacing....
for the leftover ear:
so perfectly so i should have bet on Fortune
Chance:
the gods meet humans in the Arena of Chance:
not somehow Sport
impossible for the Gods to play Gamble
in Athletics:
but gods try these anti-gods
anti-demigods
riches in housing illegal migrants...
in hotels in Clacton-on-Sewage...

one blink of an eye: 0.002 seconds
chance an insect flying into your eyes:
0.0019:
but there are parasites already
residing in my eye: s:
i can see them... they are microscopic:
i needed a telescope:
i received the ROAMING STARS
the Catholics told me ugly truths:
i once said:
i cannot hear silence:
that's demonic now i'm half-paralysis
in perfect mode
having a twirl
a buzz and buzz fresh off the frenzy of BIG
BANGS...
i'm hearing the bangs with the LITTLE SOUNDS
well... concerning the list of other
BIG BANGS: like children talking
something they need a GOD to adhere to having
been so "dead" for so long...
i think i'm not Nietzsche:

big bang: the alphabet?
the sports are: underrepresented:
that's why football is the deep state state: "state"...
don't know:
a sport is a sport is a sport
when it retains the CLASS of literacy
being sponsored:
sharing of wealth:
the rich spend on the sporty:
not the intellectual: i guess...
this is not ACADEMIC... classed as:

so much of my ego like
an angry 13 year old girl about me not about me:
i can't believe the inherent
ontological disability of men
simply because that disability is god:
whether god or gods:
how we feel all organic
but feed of all things inorganic:
how we summoned eternity with
the grit of stone and how we paid
due currency of constipated espionage:
caressing the stone with:
philosopher's envy:
if water is time
then for man to retain his eternal
presence
set forth clinging to stones:
sinking in the water of time
making himself eternal:

physicist! if you truly want to learn:
learn!
become hyper-space indulgent
and detached become
Vibration rather than Music...
Music is Music:
Intellect is a Vibration...
          Reason is the Vibrating...

Intellect is a Vibration
while Reason is the Vibrating...

crowd control: West Ham... post-athletics
Hugo is missing
Hugo is missing...
CONTROL is not informed:
but Romeo Beta is
by Romeo 5...

    create a meaning of:
the River is to a Sea...
not an ocean: just a sea:
a sea of people:
not an ocean of people...
just a sea of people..
there are: gradations of category:
the imperative being:
beyond good and evil:
that's what Neitzsche alluded to:
the categorical imperative
does not quest to reason good above
evil and the knowledge
encompassed in telling
the difference:
in that:
evil = good =evil
good = evil = good

how does man's discovery of rigid dues
of gravity and the *******
project of quantum ***** and giggles:
but in the court...
when man passes laws and forgets
to update them:
maybe A.I> should update our *******
laziness!

the only reason why i gave Leopold the Lydon
Scousser:the bottle of whiskey:
i didn't have to thank him:
NVQ level 3 i was **** fudge packaging
my ego into the
lost beyond lost child
sort of REGRESS... analogy...
but the subject matter was so intellectually dry
i thought about:
hanging, prostitutes: tapeworms:
Amsterdam: Paris: woods nearby: magic
mushrooms:
tapeworms: air-worms in the eyes:
light-worms: something symbiotic
after... after... ha ha!
i've lived through TWO ASSASSINATION attempts...
once when i was a toddler
and almost suffocated
on being fed too fast...
another when i was 21...
but i can also remember two others...
yes... being drawn into a well:
in the middle of nowhere...
being pushed into it by the mother of my
childhood friend: Herbert: i think:
i need a woman for nouns
a woman is a banknote for nouns
while the man is the coinage for verbs...

feminism will,
not govern,
the male, intellect:
within:
her:
as a study: of:
under-achievements:
of: still:
giving: good: head!
but feminism!
will!
not! become!
         Platonism!
will not become!
Aristotelian!
will not become
the Romantic!
will not become SAURON'S Ring!
one thought movement
to quell them all:
feminism = platonism = chriatianity = islam...

blah ha ha!
woman! woman!
get a, *******: wheelchair!
slow down!
ride horses! break a neck:
slow down!
slow! slow! slow! sleeeeeeeuuuuth!

don't get me wrong:
sport:
under representation: as talked by a ******:
asbestos: non non...
then music become a deterioration:
decay: distraction:
you want to escape without the fatigue:
after all: mood changes
but most writers can't keep a hard-on
for ego+ through to ego-
which is somewhere between ego=
and ego_
                      
then the silence and no loss procrastinating:
allowance: wink winks:
the representative perfect:
Turkish barbers and Synthia:
you forgot the macarroni
maccaroni
macarroni
                ah: third time oucky: some add L
to replace the O:
well you know: wonders of counter-reality
profit-idiot-nouns...

           but sport is seriously under-represented:
sport as sport:
a recreation to counter the pathological necrosis
of procreation:
which is also adamantly slow to
be discovered as a covert topic point...

   athletics... the mother of all sports:
like mathematics is the mother of knowledge...
1 + 2 = 3
simple life = mother + can be:
can be: any woman can replace
a man's mother:
if: she can: progress to the provisions of
detachment sensibilities...
a relationship of growth
is brought about by:
the impeding stress of: detachment...
from? well if
i'm contemplating tapeworms and Dune
and magic mushrooms and field trips into the spirit
world...
then i write that and then reality replies:
random cycling new streets mostly haven
suburbia...
detour 1, 2, 4, 5, 3...
hey, mind wandering:
i might be cycling in the tour de frace
but i still love cycling... at least my bicycle
won't be stolen
but then again those expensive bicycles
were stolen from people who had no interest
in cycling:
they just wanted to pretend
to look like:
i love cycling: i hate cycling...
i used to spend £30 a week on cigarettes...
i'm bulging: i wanted to weigh 99kg
i'm bulging up to 105kg
almost unconsciously...
different high viz jacket
and i'm just gaining weight: need to manage
crowd: some ****... another shirt...
can't flex my manly **** like some
don't know whether i can stomach
an actual physical: let's get to know each
other a little bit better, hmm?
   i will hate that circumcised *******
resurrecting mummified bodies sort of ***...

until i restore the high
but the music would have been all:
ill...

Wimbledon, the Euro finals...
concerts in between:
and to think i'm thinking the what IF
and the IF dimension of
even she said:
but i live on a island (Kauai:
origins volcano mythology)
that has roughly 60,--0-:
60,-
60,000 people:
you are part of a team that manages:
venues: with 90000 people...

            and i'm such a good cook and cleaning
lady and me holy TARMAC seriously
that is how the sexes identify when the world
changes and the sexes have to evolve
to compete for complimenting each other?
i feel we reached the highest
escapade:
the sexes compliment
rather than compete:
i work a ****** job: but an engaging:
conflicting: i get to compliment my writings escapades
but at the time confiscate the weirdos
from the whirlpool of body: of man...

Tadek: Tadeusz: Pogačar...
the mythology of the sport that is the Tour
is unlike the insomnia patterned
seasonal:
i wasn't really watching:
i was merely listening!
sure from time to i watch the drone swoon
in like a hawk:
but this is a different sport
a pristine sport
sport without politics:
since ARENA sports
beside the athletic is a humanity's coping
mechanism for discussing in
short-hand the concepts
of RELIGION and of POLITICS...
it's discussed in the most democratic of fashions...
democracy is absolute in the Coliseum...
the church needs to be abandoned...
in all, and every:
country: of this world...

the Coliseum speaks: the Parliament: Listens!
the King and the Lords
are thereof: Absolved of their Dutiful Stature:
and Status:
the Courts and the Laws will be absolved
in their Former Formality of Authority: Recognized:
and the Rule of Man will be: PROMPTLY:
INSTIGATED:
a man will know that association of
ill will was his own gravity:
and will not blame others: for gravitating toward good:
the Rule of Man will
govern both the Rule of Law and
the Godly Dietary Neurotic Propaganda...
the PIG will be venerated in the same psy
pogrom of wind-farming bias...
the pig will be the new ram
the pig will turn into a:
the French were once the BOARS
now they're the cockerels..

       the French were once the BOARS...
now they're the cockerels...
you can tell: sniff it:
the scent of sweetened ******* with
the friction counter literature:

i do see parasites in my vision:
not my eyes:

but how could it possibly be:
that certain sports have empowered people
to supplement themselves
with the REALITY of being involved
whereas church and parliament are
just: majestic, impartial:
status de facto quo
IMPOTENT
Bureucratic (dyslexia, perhaps,
sounds different to the spelling, too many vowels)
bue:row-cratic...
                       the Coliseum: the Parliament:
the Church... and how does Russia operate?
the Church: the Monarch: War...

                                       at least he know how
to contain war: with the gift of Vespasian...
Vespasian's gift:

ah!
now: more clearly:
however i write it, it will be "chiral":

the Gift of Vespasian : Vespasian's Gift...

definite article, noun, preposition, noun
noun: possessive-no-plural article (of noun), noun...
yes: other replicas...
but the original: and grandiose in / of intent:
unlike the Pyramids:
this like for what the Koreans worship
the birth of letters in one man
the abnormal X- have you another waver?
i.e. Sejong: the one man "**** show"...

            but Vespasian: mm hmm! to transcended
time!
what an ingenious structure:
should: church and state and parliament fail!
there's also this stalling process of
appeasing the crowd!
and that's when you see in the sea:
of people...
the intelligent ones: that are also the most
illogical:
the intelligent people are the most illogical
in large: crowd: environments:
whether your weekly football match
(a singled out event)
or **** Germany or the Weimer Rep...

              intelligent people are the most illogical
in a crowd...
they will conjure up all types of fakery
thinking their intelligence is somehow a virus
of proper genetic stashing of:
getting the best out of life:
which: by now: kinda looks like
a family of mother and ***** donor cwy...
            
          i should have remained a roofer with
my father and got a mortgage and a car
instead of working in security
and having the vantage point
of willing to write poetic without hope
for a Pulitzer prize...
instead... Glasgow: 2007... 2008:
first discovering Bukowski...
that crow poem and madmen...
i already knew Dostoyevsky but picked up
Kharamazov Bros as a side...

the drudgery of work?
  if i were a postman! mail'e'me'mail'e'me'mail'e'me!
mail'me'e'e! if i were a Yeshua!

— The End —