Flora and Fauna, the sisters of Season
Of Spring and of Summer
Allow now our drummer
To drum out the beat
For the feet of the sisters
To glide and to creep
Like the encroaching sleep
Which may perch on your shoulder if we cannot keep you awake
And on the edge of your seat, sir.

Now the former, sweet Flora, will finger the flute
While the other continues to glide and to slide
Like a sequined Venetian harlequin bride;
And now Fauna will mimic the movements of bird and of beast
As she graces the work of our landscape artiste
And all is completely unfeasible
Completely lacks reason
We guarantee.

Presently
In the eye of the beholder
Sweet Flora seemingly draws from the aether a lyre
And with flourishing fingers she plucks from the heavens
A song of the seasons, a pagan ode to Pan!


Behold! No aid of hoops, no strings
The vestal-******-harlot sisters sing
Of beautiful Persephone
And with unseen damselfly wings
Ascend from mediocrity
All melody forgotten
All the drums create cacophony
And you will find serenity in chaotic monotony
Now let this climaxing crescendo banish all your sorrowing!

No more that light; no more that sacred realm
Life’s door was dappled gloam; now all is black.
A man of wax with saintly, hollow eyes
Devoid of sin, devoid of love and light
That golden room is lost – you can’t turn back.
Now love has lost its lustre - lust lost joy
And coy eyes turn to watch the empty man
Struck by eternal beauty, and condemned
To haunt the broken world of mortal men;
And shrilling wind caresses empty hand.

Ignorance is bliss,
really,
more like Stupidity.
an aspect,
benefiting a person,
like cold sore,
irritating,
an annoyance,
peevish to your life.

Face it, honey,
you’re as fake,
as your personality.
You’re plastic,
I could melt you,
if I truly desired,
setting a lighted match,
to your artificial body.

Please, take some advice,
lay off the make-up,
you look like a clown,
maybe a *******.
Tanning is acceptable,
but looking dark orange,
is outrageous.
There is no need to look,
like you just rolled in bag of Doritos,
that’s Snooki’s Job.

There is more to life,
besides appearances,
waking up like P. Diddy,
sweet heart, don’t like be Kesha,
it’s ******.
Partying is enjoyable,
but not necessary every night,
consisting of drinking,
frat boys, jocks, pretty boys,
saying “oh my god”,
or “I broke a nail”,
and precarious ***.

I know you were raised with Barbies,
but you don’t have to be one.
Barbie is a piece of plastic,
containing no originality,
with an unfeasible body,
and isn’t real,
much like yourself.
Stop with the act,
no one wants to be,
around a person,
who is often intoxicated,
narcissistic,
and a ditzy *****.

You can be a girly girl,
but be genuine,
stop being a follower,
if everyone jumps off a bridge,
then you’ll be splattered,
upon the ground with them,
no use to anyone.

My words are probably useless,
going right through the holes,
of yours ears,
attached to the plastic head of yours.

Anyways, I tried,
as excruciating as it was,
to reach out to you,
who are living this life,
of alleged greatness,
more like a travesty,
in my eyes.

Hopefully, you’ll change,
wake up from this social stupor,
become yourself,
regain your individuality,
and cease to be,
a Barbie doll.

The struggle to overcome the differences        
        Between the impossible and the possible
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The struggle to overcome the differences        
        Between the impossible and the possible
Hope being the word that springs to mind.            
        To link these two opposites to attract.
Eternally wandering Cyber space side by side,    
         Hooking into every adjective or verb.

Seeking impossible causes and take away
    Excuses and make them once more possible
To overcome the bigotry and blind self-centred
     Mind sets of the Atheist Un-Believers
Reaching cornerstones of minds that Muslim          
   or        Christian Faiths never thought existed.
Unless you have all spent your life on earth
       In a Butterfly cocoon , not in real time.
GOD has chosen you to teach the differences
    Poetically between the Impossible n possible
Given that that if you don’t succeed first time
    You will eventually get it right next time.
Love for all your Fellow Men and Women
     May seem important,trust me it’s the way.
Every possibility, has been, at sometime within
     It’s long life, seemingly most impossible.

Take the clever fabrication of a silk purse
      Out of a muddy sow’s ear , if you will ?
Or the finding of a needle in a hay -stack.
       Or the abolition of third world hunger?

Or the creation of the Love of Nations unto
  Nations .The end all Wars n Ethnic cleansing
Very nearly every problem has a solution
    Indeed many solutions do often exist.
Electricity? How unbelievable to most thought      
    So impossible once upon a time.
Radio waves converted into the sweet sounds
     Ever to be heard by mortal Man.
Communication n instant chat across a globe
      In real time, one to one, No ? Impossible.
Of loving commitment betwixt different creeds
      And cultures ,without ever meeting possible
Mighty soon God will look down on the Earth
       And see two wonderful words rolled to one
Entreating the impossible always possible
        And the possible never impossible.

The struggle to overcome the differences
    Between the the impossible and the possible
Holy ,holy,holy ! Eureka , glory be .We are
     We are getting there , I really do believe.
Eternally where two poets or more can meet
    And compose , recite and critique as one

Differences are diffused between the
    Impossible and the possible, reduced to nil.
In practical terms every metaphor or rhetoric
    Noun verb or adjective can be polished.
From the most impossible dream into reality
     Of the finest poetry ever written.
From the dullest of dyslectic muttering
      To the most floral of sweetest love songs
Endlessly tripping from the lips of strangers
       Meeting strangers ,wisest verse ever ?
Reactivating opposites attracting impossibly
      With the possibility of judging for yourself.
Enactment with that poet that composed this
      Lengthy missive...you never wished to meet
Never in a thousand years of co-habitation
     Meeting this poet maybe possibly possible
Catch the impossible chance on the
     Boundaries of your mind to make it work
Every chance that catch can win the game
   Turning an impossible result into success
Success is the fuel to drive the possibility
   Beyond the full limits of the impossible

By making then the impossible possible
  You’ve changed in one action your whole life.
Every possible thought can be dismissed
    From your mind , possible for ever.
The sun to leave the sky ,rivers all run dry ?
    Babies not to cry ? No that’s impossible.
We have that song within our minds
   Which possibly keeps our feet on the ground
Every now and then to accept that all things
   Are possibly impossible
Even mighty magicians from time to time
   Cannot turn, however hard they try by day n
Night to raise experiments turning base metals
     Into gold. For no good reason save reward.

The gold that they are seeking is currency
     But to the poet it is the currency of rhyme
Heroic epic verses ,Odes,Rhyming verse
    And translations left right and centre.

Ethereal gifts making sense of the hopeless
    Antiquated jumble of English words n idioms

Impossible smilies as impractical unfeasible
     Unworkable, unattainable,inconceivable.
Measured against the conceivable by remove
     Of the whole reason for failure or excuses
Possible solutions are always potentially
     Available to the ever open mind of a poet
Obtain if you will the very unattainable for if
    You believe in God you most probably will.
Subjected to the most absurd verbal abuse
     Of an unromantic Philistine or carping critic
Stand upon your highest tip toe . Tall as you
  can be, yell and yell , making yourself heard
In so doing even an ugly Giant , fearsome
   Fire breathing Ogre will be confused awhile.
Blinded by the impossible beauty of the prose
   You write and the melodious songs you sing
Like the charming of a deadly Cobra,
  Mesmerised into loving every living thing
Every time you may have a smudge of doubt
  Creeping into your positive life with negativity.

Awake in that moment and assume that
   Nothing is nothing like as impossible as it is
Nothing was ever impossible to God .
   The one true creator, HE passes on his skills
Don’t be lead to believe by others that your life
   Is at all ludicrous, if that life works for you.

The struggle to overcome the differences
   Between the impossible and the possible
Herculean . If you stop to think about it ?
    Best have the courage of faith ,you’ll resolve
Each and everything you ever put your mind to
As unacceptably,positively out o’the question.

Practicable solutions and compromise dilutes
    The acid contamination of the perfection.
Oh, I have seen this in my life so many times
     Before ,sadly only to expect to see it again
So take away any excuse for failure .Find !!
   the tools to make the unthinkable thinkable
Substitute the negatives for a positive frame
  Of your mind the unreasonable to reasonable
Illogical thoughts and actions you convert
   By your process of logical practical analysis
Before long , my goodness it’s before your very
   Eyes. The simple solution to the problem
Like a magic wand covered in Fairy dust
Making every impossible task possible in time
Earth took its creator only six days to design
  and several million years for us to get it as is
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
November 14th 2018.

The struggle to overcome the differences        
        Between the impossible and the possible
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The struggle to overcome the differences        
        Between the impossible and the possible
Hope being the word that springs to mind.            
        To link these two opposites to attract.
Eternally wandering Cyber space side by side,    
         Hooking into every adjective or verb.

Seeking impossible causes and take away
    Excuses and make them once more possible
To overcome the bigotry and blind self-centred
     Mind sets of the Atheist Un-Believers
Reaching cornerstones of minds that Muslim          
   or        Christian Faiths never thought existed.
Unless you have all spent your life on earth
       In a Butterfly cocoon , not in real time.
GOD has chosen you to teach the differences
    Poetically between the Impossible n possible
Given that that if you don’t succeed first time
    You will eventually get it right next time.
Love for all your Fellow Men and Women
     May seem important,trust me it’s the way.
Every possibility, has been, at sometime within
     It’s long life, seemingly most impossible.

Take the clever fabrication of a silk purse
      Out of a muddy sow’s ear , if you will ?
Or the finding of a needle in a hay -stack.
       Or the abolition of third world hunger?

Or the creation of the Love of Nations unto
  Nations .The end all Wars n Ethnic cleansing
Very nearly every problem has a solution
    Indeed many solutions do often exist.
Electricity? How unbelievable to most thought      
    So impossible once upon a time.
Radio waves converted into the sweet sounds
     Ever to be heard by mortal Man.
Communication n instant chat across a globe
      In real time, one to one, No ? Impossible.
Of loving commitment betwixt different creeds
      And cultures ,without ever meeting possible
Mighty soon God will look down on the Earth
       And see two wonderful words rolled to one
Entreating the impossible always possible
        And the possible never impossible.

The struggle to overcome the differences
    Between the the impossible and the possible
Holy ,holy,holy ! Eureka , glory be .We are
     We are getting there , I really do believe.
Eternally where two poets or more can meet
    And compose , recite and critique as one

Differences are diffused between the
    Impossible and the possible, reduced to nil.
In practical terms every metaphor or rhetoric
    Noun verb or adjective can be polished.
From the most impossible dream into reality
     Of the finest poetry ever written.
From the dullest of dyslectic muttering
      To the most floral of sweetest love songs
Endlessly tripping from the lips of strangers
       Meeting strangers ,wisest verse ever ?
Reactivating opposites attracting impossibly
      With the possibility of judging for yourself.
Enactment with that poet that composed this
      Lengthy missive...you never wished to meet
Never in a thousand years of co-habitation
     Meeting this poet maybe possibly possible
Catch the impossible chance on the
     Boundaries of your mind to make it work
Every chance that catch can win the game
   Turning an impossible result into success
Success is the fuel to drive the possibility
   Beyond the full limits of the impossible

By making then the impossible possible
  You’ve changed in one action your whole life.
Every possible thought can be dismissed
    From your mind , possible for ever.
The sun to leave the sky ,rivers all run dry ?
    Babies not to cry ? No that’s impossible.
We have that song within our minds
   Which possibly keeps our feet on the ground
Every now and then to accept that all things
   Are possibly impossible
Even mighty magicians from time to time
   Cannot turn, however hard they try by day n
Night to raise experiments turning base metals
     Into gold. For no good reason save reward.

The gold that they are seeking is currency
     But to the poet it is the currency of rhyme
Heroic epic verses ,Odes,Rhyming verse
    And translations left right and centre.

Ethereal gifts making sense of the hopeless
    Antiquated jumble of English words n idioms

Impossible smilies as impractical unfeasible
     Unworkable, unattainable,inconceivable.
Measured against the conceivable by remove
     Of the whole reason for failure or excuses
Possible solutions are always potentially
     Available to the ever open mind of a poet
Obtain if you will the very unattainable for if
    You believe in God you most probably will.
Subjected to the most absurd verbal abuse
     Of an unromantic Philistine or carping critic
Stand upon your highest tip toe . Tall as you
  can be, yell and yell , making yourself heard
In so doing even an ugly Giant , fearsome
   Fire breathing Ogre will be confused awhile.
Blinded by the impossible beauty of the prose
   You write and the melodious songs you sing
Like the charming of a deadly Cobra,
  Mesmerised into loving every living thing
Every time you may have a smudge of doubt
  Creeping into your positive life with negativity.

Awake in that moment and assume that
   Nothing is nothing like as impossible as it is
Nothing was ever impossible to God .
   The one true creator, HE passes on his skills
Don’t be lead to believe by others that your life
   Is at all ludicrous, if that life works for you.

The struggle to overcome the differences
   Between the impossible and the possible
Herculean . If you stop to think about it ?
    Best have the courage of faith ,you’ll resolve
Each and everything you ever put your mind to
As unacceptably,positively out o’the question.

Practicable solutions and compromise dilutes
    The acid contamination of the perfection.
Oh, I have seen this in my life so many times
     Before ,sadly only to expect to see it again
So take away any excuse for failure .Find !!
   the tools to make the unthinkable thinkable
Substitute the negatives for a positive frame
  Of your mind the unreasonable to reasonable
Illogical thoughts and actions you convert
   By your process of logical practical analysis
Before long , my goodness it’s before your very
   Eyes. The simple solution to the problem
Like a magic wand covered in Fairy dust
Making every impossible task possible in time
Earth took its creator only six days to design
  and several million years for us to get it as is
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
November 14th 2018.

Colors shift and light dampens
I sit and watch the sun go down
the snow is aerated all around
I see pinks and oranges and yellows
the sunset here is unfeasible to describe
and yet here I am trying to explain
the colors that infuse together so well
almost dreamy in a fantasy kind of way
once it is gone it will never be the same
so I watch in awe as nature's beauty is revealed.

You strive diggin’ up my attention,
Is it a bona fide or just wanna dupe around?
Til’ when you’ll bring that to a halt?

‘Turned out to be so awkward,
Spotting you somewhere,
Then have that guts and valor callin’ out my name.

You beamed at me as if others were indiscernible,
Then drop some line,
A sort of your usual approach.

A superhero branded to own self,
W/out your costume, said your zilch
‘And avowed to brawl those imminent risks.

Only just, uttered those words;
Yet ‘found out your soft spot
With that another lass.

‘Said you’re not like other typical chaps,
But own words were gobbled
So, I think it’ll be the last.

It’s unworkable as you are,
Conked out glass, so what now?
----------------------------------

(12/25/11 @xirlleelang)

“The Demon’s Daughter”

Words of malice reverberate inside me,
Paralyzed by fear manifesting within,
My soul for twenty years,
Of anguish,
Inevitable tears depleting,
All remnants of bliss,
From my life.

My Fingers grip onto the edge,
Of the steep mountain,
That has become my existence,
Leaving me with the decision,
To climb up the cliff to face,
The demon of my past,
Or to let go,
Falling into the unknown.

Memories reveal the demon,
I was born to as his child,
Exposing an unfeasible escape,
When the skeleton hiding,
Within the closet is the man,
I am forced to call my father.

Fear returns to my mind,
Begging for me to stay,
With my fingers clinging,
To the mountain-side,
Where I am allegedly safe.
I refuse to fall back into,
The claws of the demon,
Yet afraid of falling,
Into the black hole of uncertainty,
Letting go of all I have ever known.

Fear is the rope,
Dangling around my neck;
I can release my grip upon the rope,
Or allow it to stifle my breath.
Instead I use the rope to find,
A way inside my soul,
To retrieve the courage,
That could not be unleashed,
Without the nemesis of fear.

Courage told me to fall;
Remaining upon the cliff,
Or returning to the demon,
Shall only result in my destruction.
If I could not fall,
Death was my alternative,
Whether or not this path,
Is the one I wish to choose.
Without the ability to let go,
Of the demon’s grasp on my body,
I shall never be reprieved,
Of his controlling restraints.

I glance up at Daddy standing,
On the mountain top smiling,
As my body lets gravity,
Take its course as I allow,
My eyes to close.
Any fate is better than,
Remaining on the edge,
Or returning to living Hell,
Where the demon,
My father,
Kept my battered spirit,
Deep inside his locked vault.


My eyelids flutter open,
Viewing a mirror directly in front of me,
As I behold the image,
Discovering the hues of yellow,
And purple coloring the upper part,
Of my right cheek bone,
Created by the impact,
Of my father’s wicked hand,
Striking my face.

The memories flash over me,
As I experience blows to the chest,
And back as I’m pinned,
Against the wall,
Confining me to his rage,
Claws thrashing upon,
My fragile body.

I cringe in horror,
Bracing myself for the next blow,
Until the Angel provides me,
With respite as her wings shield me,
From her infuriated husband.  

To my left is a path less traveled,
Leading me to a silver fountain,
Elegantly embellished with the skills,
Of a brilliant Sculptor,
Enticing the artist in me,
A trait in me that Daddy,
Often deems as useless.

The reality is my birth,
Engenders me to be,
Of his blood,
Yet in his eyes,
He witnesses the Pitiful excuse,
For a son,
Nothing but a disgrace to his legacy,
Not a daughter of the demon.

Finally I behold the cloak of clarity,
Adorning myself in the garment,
Realizing I have the right,
To neglect this bloodline,
Drinking of the water,
Sparkling in the fountain behind me.

I make my own choice,
The only one I have to bestow me,
With content I desperately need,
The relief of a shattered mirror,
No longer viewing the illusion,
The demon desired me to be!

A cupped palm delivers holy water,
From the silver fountain,
To my open lips,
Drifting down my throat,
Cleansing my blood of impurities,
From the demon.
My Journey was now my own,
Free of the reigns,
The demon desires to keep upon me,
In attempt to fill his own void.

I may be the daughter of a demon,
Yet this new freedom gives me,
The strength to not allow,
That fact to define me,
Producing my own definition,
My identity and hopes,
For the tiara of thorns,
Heavily draped upon my head.

In a little muddled cloud, a bubble, a thought
Ideas float away unfettered of wings.
Catching them proves to be unfeasible
By any means possible it appears…

Careful when you pull from
My stack of Jenga dreams
Taken from what sustains and place on my crown
Begin tumbling, falling, scattering…game over.

Hold in your hands an image of love
Heavy, it seems, to the amateur captor
Light as air, supple, shaped…radiant
In the hands of the ancient, practiced devotee.

Halls and mirrors seek hazy confusion
Follow the seam and you’ll find the egress
Where Hope patiently waits, distant calliope, poised
To hold you and keep you, the spectacle of desire.

“Come home” breathes the slender sprite
Into ears unacquainted with compassion.
Lullaby swing, tree limb unbroken, come sing
The song in my dreams to make sweet.

Dear Body;
I know it is stupid to see photoshopped girls and want to be like them. I know it is not possible to have flawless skin and a waist that tiny. I know I am supposed to be the one that preaches "love yourself" but honestly, it is unfeasible to not want to be perfect.  It's not just the models or the celebrities who are fed a carrot a day and pumped with botox, but my friends are pretty, too. I wish you were skinnier, smoother, rounder, taller, clearer, more radiant and just generally less disgusting.
I wish I could wear clothes like everyone else and feel comfortable. I wish you didn't make me feel so crap all the time. I wish I was not so ungrateful. I wish I didn't have to feel guilty every time I eat bacon. I wish chocolate was good for you. I wish you would not become damaged in elements. If you could just, I don't know, change?

Sincerely, your  disappointed owner.

We lay on a field of yellow stubble
Our legs swinging in soft water
Meeting occasionally
Butterflies in lower belly
Oh! The wonders of human touch.

Birds fluttering in the infinite blue
Erratic buzzing of bugs
Calming silence of autumn wind
Suddenly broken by his
"If i could pause time for an eternity
I'd do it right here with you in this moment."

I looked at him
His innocent eyes staring into the wide sky
Perhaps sending out unfeasible wishes
And then he held my gaze
And i realized how futile words were.

A bee whistles past his ear
He feels the sound . . he doesn’t care
Averts his eyes in case there’s others
Raises his hands to fix his hair

Divorced from reality somewhat: from feeling.
Or at least extremes of:
Never exceeding amounts unfeasible:
Pertaining to the limits thereof:
Plateaued at governable levels in present:
Exempt from enth
Kept in check
His whistle wet & he’s well fed

Real words strewn along the ground
Discarded leaves fallen
Left decaying: mostly forgotten

His pants look to him pantaloons
For the good they do representing him
the man chases an end necessary; resenting
not waning, he feigns stoicism
then his creeping cynicism clouds his eyes

‘u know what buddy, u can honestly get ******’ he says ‘the 1st world cries the loudest; but is softest.  Thinks it is toughest; it is weakest, smoothest, creamiest.’
‘u know what buddy u are honestly right’ he says to himself not wanting to admit to himself that he agrees with himself,
but despite this all, his gaze’s focus still lowers
the edges become softer
& he does what he does

he wraps up in his blanky
with his bottle; safe under cover
among some big ******* to feel warm
but the swarm of bees they circle
twitching fever; rippling waves

hope to god that they don’t sting you
as u hide & feel their sway
lapping closer swooping hawk like
collective wind; they rearrange

and then

they push left !swoop! they raise u up,
( a cloud of black and brown and yellow arches and hums, hums like a razor on steroids, seeping potent purpose, pushing, coming: close your eyes for impending hell)
leaving bumps that swell and burn, they grab, they encase, they consume, they drive, they raise and they push
and they deliver u
and u obey them
and u relinquish; u fold enslaved
they push u forward  !the buzz! it wakes
it makes u groan,
u can’t ignore it
u know u need it
u’ve got to do it
u need to go


toil on & reap the spoils
another set with the walking beige

go here go there: be happy
u have no reason to not this day
just keep on going, mate my mate
lulling deep into the beige

corporal beauty is impractical and
unfeasible: though it attracts, it
also repels and subtracts: it’s the
trap to the trapper.

it spins and swings our slacking
slant of self, echoing the strapping
sounds of our ego: when we see
beauty, we see self (i.e. the
craving for self)

ultimately, it serves solely
one master: the spell and stretch
of time: visibly, beauty sags
sooner than time itself.

stand or stride on beauty and you
shall shake and wobble,
eventually.

No.

Simple as that,

It’s not happening, I refuse.

You can’t deny me as long as I pretend,

Deep down, I know that this has come to an end.

There’s no fooling me anymore.

It’s crystal clear, beyond my fears.

I wonder if there will ever be a day,

When my mind will go back to normal,

And every time I close my eyes,

I won’t see your stupid lovely face,

And I won’t think about the things,

That I know you love and hate,

These now useless facts,

Are cluttered in my brain.

They occupy too much space,

And drive me close to insane.

On the brink of desperation,

These feelings transform into hate,

But this amount of rage,

Is unheard of and strange,

Completely misdirected.

I wonder who, and if, and what,

Or if I was neglected and dejected.

All of these futile things.

But really, I’ll do anything…

To deaf ears my promises plead please.

It was worth a try, I guess.

I know I need to quit.

My heart cries in vain,

Because it’s a stubborn *******.

The sadness comes so naturally,

I’m drowning in it,

Drained lifeless from the melancholy.

It spreads like cancer,

Ravaging my body.

The worst disease is memory.

Why can’t you just be normal?

Just another person on the street.

I’ll give it up, I’ll try,

Even though it’s still a part of me.

Each day I’ll think, and laugh, and grieve,

Until the point where it’s not unfeasible to dream,

Of complete and total inner peace, acceptance finally.

Submerged in a lake
Floating to the surface
But it won't break
This last breath is unfeasible
And like the sun peers through
He appears like a mirage
With her in his arms
Sinking
Deeper and deeper 
Caressing the rocky bottom
It's dark now
Eyes closed or open
The answer is not there
And as quickly as I sunk
They disappeared 
The heart is heavy
Broken
Death is knocking
And I opened the door
The curtains closed
My soul burned to ash
My spirit lost without you

Gets blocked samsung.measuredvideo.com Several manifestations had been place within the Three or more Stooges.you can do it.listening to the Sam.only sons can guarantee for the care of the Parents in old age,It was almost certainly the variety of tests I did that manufactured the connection get seen and was possibly a great work it was discovered so speedily or I may well not have discovered it for some time,surgical procedures such as the Brazilian.

**** Lift can give you fast results but at a high cost.With the exception Of Twitter which is a microblogging site,that the magic really starts to fly,For more. Information about organic food and wellbeing check out the Total Wellness Site Buying and reselling bulk video games can be quite a profitable business if you know what you are doing,succeeded by Akhund Shafi d,

He will do everything just so he can spend some time with you,One way to encourage young children to express themselves is to ensure they Are given opportunities to be social with other children their age,She avoids sentiments Samsung galaxy s5 32GB.Proactol is hard to find.electric kits.Liebeck.stupid.positive feelings,he also needs food Samsung galaxy s5.Also,we may feel that it is easier to forgive other people than it is to forgive ourselves,the fact of the. Matter is that this practice may be unfeasible to keep up,You can use this supplement for an extended period of time as well.before consolidating for most of 2004.B.he leaves you to fend for yourself.Give up,He admired the insect pluck,Besides dating,the best technique is to go on their website and fill out the small form so as to get an immediate quote,if you Are trying to have a son,Step 2 You should live a kind of happy life.Plus,Of course.Hidimba gave birth to a son Samsung galaxy s6 64GB,Isn that the case most of the time Children always receive Undeserved mercy from their parents.once you understand.
Relate Articles:
granadacoworking.com

It’s the longest thing you’ll do,
Living without regrets is impossible,
Living without fear is unfeasible,
One thing I hate, living without you.

Live your fears to overcome them,
Love isn’t always invincible,
Slow your heart as much as possible,
Thought is but a defence mechanism.

Give the world one last peak,
Make your opinion audible,
Your notions accessible,
Be not afraid to speak.

"Memories are stored in our body and tissues"
If this is true, then
Your scent clings like tar in my lungs,
Your touch is the goosebumps on my arms,
Your hugs, the aching in my ribs,
And your kisses, the scratches on my lips,
Imagined, unreal, unfeasible

But my longing for you has overtaken my body
Everything hurts, I swear
My knees pop,
My spine compresses,
And my head grows heavy,
My eyes falling shut, almost sewn

My battered corpse yearns for you
But soon I'll be gone with the wind

me.gs

Perseverance is fleeting; there are times when
failure overwhelms all senses
and seeps into your thoughts like
black ink upon fibrous paper.

It taints your perspective on the world
and targets your weakest points
to fuel the negativity and self-doubt, leaving
nothing but hatred toward your own mind.

We all experience this at some point in our lives,
but some people must face this beast
time and time again, always expected
to recover for the sake of others' reassurance.

Escaping the sorrow may seem unfeasible;
broken wills may seem irreparable;
the prospect of recovery may seem preposterous
and hope might feel lost.

When you believe that life's purpose is sinister
and that continuing on is a punishment to be feared,
just remember that perseverance is fleeting;
but you've made it this far.

Today is the day to do something
And waiting will wait for another time
For now is the moment for seizing
And prolonging is not as satisfying

Go out there and live your dreams
Cliche, romantic, unreasonable
For people are not so easily convinced
That their beliefs are utterly unfeasible

A lovely sky on which to gaze
Has clouds that form our whims
Like a puffy dragon, a goofy shark
Or a bug with twenty limbs

And the trees will wave in greetings
When you come outside at last
And the sun will shine a spotlight
Onto your green carpet made of grass

The birds will cheer for you
And the crickets give you applause
For going outside and starting on
A journey that gives you a cause

Pessimism is gloomy
And optimism is unrealistic
Nothing really matters
But thinking so is nihilistic

So go out there and find something
Because waiting is our biggest lie
Dreams cannot move like humans can
And your heart will never say "goodbye"

, I thought the pain wasn't so bad,
if it came wrapped and entangled
with an unfeasible longing and
remnants of sweet memories
which prolonged my desire
to be with him.
Memories
which were a curse in all their nature
and served to hurt me more
in the long run
but which I clung to
with every fiber of my being
because he was a god to me
and I had captivated him
if just for a moment.

I knew the outside world
from stories: there are forests
and foreigners, mean people too
But always someone comes
to help, and I learned

you can be a hero
It's about the outcome
(the blessed life only starts
  with the happy end)

That's how I grew up
and the world grew along with me
so that my outside world got further
and further away, and I learned

daily life is boring and
it is unfeasible to be a hero
But my little son wants
me to tell something exciting

So I get brews
from the wizards of stories
I stir and boil them up
I let him feast

eager
to be soon grown-up enough
to go into the wide world himself
travelling to the happy end

and I keep silent how far it is
and that it is shifting away
every day, to the future
in which we won't be

If there's any kind of normal anymore,
then it's you -- just you,
standing with a dish rag long after everyone else (your father)
has gone to bed, some point between 7:30 and 9:00 at night.

Things are better now,
(things are worse now)
your mother has been out of country for a week
(or 6 months and 5 days, excluding the handful of week long visits)
and you and your father are ready to leave, now,
crossed the last few items off your bucket list
(everything is the same as it was 6 months ago:
your mother is not sleeping,
your father is not sleeping,
you are both your parent's favorite confidant
for complaints against the other,
sole companion when drunk,
your mother hates her job (still),
your father is drowning in the wake
of your mother's misery (still),
and you are still (trying) failing
to hold the pieces together -
yours and theirs.)

It's March/April, so there are cherry blossoms (Sakura),
and your father says, they're beautiful
and your mother (from the video screen of your father's phone) says,
that's a lot of white (they're pink)
and you think, I guess this is the last time I will ever see this.

Your mother's been miserable for the past two and a half years, so you and your father were only half right when you figured giving her your blessing to get out of this
(god forsaken -- to your father)
(sexist, and karoshi-inducing -- to your mother)
(home, yet unaccepting and soul-crushing -- to you) country would help.
(And it did, but not enough and not for long.)

Your mother's world is work, new country, new culture, new language, new apartment, and talking to the two of you. (It's also sans furniture for the first three months, newly insulated heating, and living off takeout and on a futon.)

Your father's world is work, the English side of packing up and moving, you, figuring out his replacement, meeting friends for bike rides or dinner and drinks to say goodbye, and talking to your mother. (It's also figuring out how you'll all survive if this doesn't work out, making arrangements for everything his wife forgot in her hurry to leave, ensuring he and you make it until June.)

Your world is school, your father, the Japanese side of packing up and moving, your friends, stepping down and teaching others to replace you, and doing your part to keep your mother sane. (It's also hiding your own decent into misery, making friends just in time to lose them, and looking up the extra Japanese jargon that your father forgets he'll need.)

Your father has been wary of this country since the day he moved here - 14 years, 2 months, and 17 days ago; has hated it since the day after the final date of your expected stay, 12 years, 11 months, and 2 days past. The summer you are twelve it comes to a culmination, and your parents inhibit separate apartments for the next half-decade.

The conversation you overhear four years after the fact (a summer night when your bedroom window has been left open, near midnight, your parents talking on the balcony  it connects to) goes like this:
  You said you hated me. (Your mother.) You told me it was my fault we were stuck here.
  I have never hated you. (Your father.)
  You said I ruined your life. (Your mother, again. Voice raw, broken.)
  You didn't ruin my life, (Your father. Voice tired, like this is a recurring discussion.) you... (You can imagine your mother crying, your father wrapping his arms around her shoulders. The candle on the patio table flickering with surrounding city light, reflecting your mother's tears, the hint of silver in your father's ring.) I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I never should have said it, but you already know that. You didn't ruin my life.
  (Silence. Then your mother, again.) You said you hated me.
The conversation lasts well past 2:00 in the morning,
your parents none the wiser to your reluctant presence.
(It's not a conversation you ever wanted to hear.)

After the go-ahead for the move comes in very late August, everything ignites, speeds up to a ridiculous pace. You and your father box up the majority of your mother's apartment, and then it falls to the two of you to get rid of everything left when she leaves after another month. (It's that same month that she traverses three countries in two weeks, gets stuck in the midst of a hurricane warning- drives 10 hours across state borders to escape it, and spends her first week living in Germany forgetting most everything.)

Deciding to move and finding a school comes in October and November. You and your father miss a day of school to fly to Amsterdam and back, realize certain things are unfeasible, look at more schools, and begin to send letters. You miss a whole week by yourself in Germany, causing your mother to sleep, for once, and then catching only 2 hours yourself for a week straight (added onto panic attacks and dizzy spells) once you get back to Japan. (It’s mid-October when a school in Frankfurt indirectly says they’ll accept you, your father hands in his resignation the following week, then turns to you and asks are you sure you want to move your senior year? - and you think bit late to be asking now.)

Your mother calls everyday, and you make yourself present for it once or twice every week. (It’s mid-November before you realize that your father may miss her desperately, but you don’t. At all.) Sunday becomes packing day, and you and your father slowly pile up boxes while avoiding paperwork, accumulating trash runs to the apartment complex across the street. By March, there is a plan for getting rid of furniture in place, and most save bare essentials are packed.

I counted. Your mother starts, first to speak once the connection goes through. 80 days. So you have 80 days to go around the world and come see me.
Well, nowadays, it only takes 2 days to travel across, you quip, as your father pulls out his calendar.
Looks like you won’t have to wait that long he says, pointing at your mother’s proposed date of contact - 6/13 - in contrast to his last day of work, a week behind your final day of school, your daughter might even make it at 70, he adds (and you silently say goodbye to spending any of the summer with your friends.)
Well, your deadline is 80. (She’s not sure she’ll make it if it’s any longer.) I miss you.
Miss you too.
Love you.
Love you.
Love you too.

Come evening, you will still be the last one standing, alone except for the cold water running across your fingers and the plates that will be labeled ******* within 2 months, the wind if it decides to howl, the motor of a car if one chooses to pass your deserted street, your father if (when) he begins to shift and turn and give up on sleep. And this you can still say, is normalcy.

Trying to define the meaning of life
The way to happiness
Or what love is...
Is like chasing the wind
Touching the light
Or seeing someone's thoughts.

You may think you can do it.
And maybe you can..all is possible
It s all perfection
No right, no wrong.

Though convincing the self..
Of how solid wind can be
How light feels at touch
What thoughts resemble
..what an unfeasible burden..

Unless..

Through own eyes the world is seen.
Through own filters of the mind.
Perception transforms
...as another may see
An absolutely different world
From that what you see..

Identical subject.
But at the core of it..

At its core...
The individual essence
Defining the outcome.
Outlining differences.
Creating diversion.

What is it dear?, You look drained. Its you who hold us up all the time. Whats gonna happen if your sibs saw you like this.

Im okay Maa…You do know right ? .You do know that Im not okay, dont you ?.

You do share your happiness with us. Never heard you share your pain. Others may not notice that. I am your mother, son. We do understands our bloods, Better than anyone else.

I know that you know. It’s not like before. I can’t hold it Maa. I feel like Im not the old me anymore. Something is missing💔. I loss what truly Iam. It’s too far to catch up.

You made our unfeasible possible, you made your younger ones think that they need to do better, you showed your father what  family means, you made our pain vanish. Its all you and your traits that hold us,  son. Traits are quite fikle. Retrieve from where you dropped it. It’s Never too far son, Never too far….….

I dance on the streets
Where i lost you.
It’s pouring.
On the Tiptoes
I am moving singing, murmuring.
There are tress around me
Tall, rigid.
It’s winter but I am holding a flower in my hand.
Barefooted
I walk into the trees.
The wind is blowing but my soul is still warm.
Maybe it’s the fire that you have gave
Suddenly I started making a map.
I picked up flowers which are shed from the tree.
And made my own bouquet.
I went too far with the rubber band around my waist.
I found ray of light in all those dark places
I was about to hold it.
But then
you pulled me back,
like a bullet fired from a gun, coming back is unfeasible.
But, I was coming back.
My eyes were closed I am trying to hold on to something.
And as I am going through the pile of flowers they are busting but not holding me back.
But this time I didn’t get hurt
Because there was a big cushion made by trees In between us.

To those of you who know about my seven fingers. (It’s just a whim that makes me write this, hoping that t’s good poetry, that’s all.)


     What I Cannot Do: To Date…

Zip up zippers; hold a glass;
Unscrew caps sealed, fused or plastic.
I’m begun to keep a list
To check what’s missing, missed and lost.
There must be hundreds I will run across -
Beyond the bounds of possibility,
Unfeasible and unattainable.

Climbing into shower or tub is easy,
Getting into places ‘squeezy’
Can be handled (but not ‘hand’-led).
I find other means uncovered.
I’ve discovered mouth and tongue,
The art of ways to stretch and hang
My clothes on hangers;
Knots and bows and ways to share
Each strand of hair
So that each hair is neat and pretty.

I can tweeze my brows,
Clip all small toenails wobbly held.
There is a problem with the cold;
Day/night, room/room -
Temperatures not temperate.
Dust and stuff too disparate.

Vacuuming is hard to deal with,
That’s the time to steel myself,
No matter how it feels.;
Knife and fork can be a hinder.
Clumsy, tender, the best boon
Can often be a bowl and spoon.
(not in public where chagrin
Would soon persuade me to constrain;
(Which shows a vanity devoid of training).

Anyway, and without straining
I grow stronger,
Lists grow longer.
Things I cannot do to date
Will train my patience while I wait for
Only goodness knows, for what!

What I Cannot Do: To Date 5.7.2021 Circling Round More Experience II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Departure from a dream shook my body
And as my brain forced re-entry, I raged
After months of senseless self debate
And with certain truths uncovered
After much undue confusion
Recently, I reasonably concluded
That love is one unfeasible delusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abu... IBN...            abu yb'n

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

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

this letter:                                    Å
                                                   ° °

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this edition first published in 2010 by
Routledge

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

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

9781138980617

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHEN ISLAM BECOMES A RELIGION
OF TWO TONGUES...

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

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

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

Request ID: 887d1b1d6dda951d-LHR
UTC time: 2024-05-22T13:20:50+00:00
Browser: Mozilla/5.0 (X11; CrOS x86_64 10575.58.0)
AppleWebKit/537.36 (KHTML, like Gecko)
Chrome/67.0.3396.99 Safari/537.36

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

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

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

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

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