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Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
another way to practice philosophy according to aristotelian conceptualisation is to not presuppose awe, it's more like this, write something down really quickly, an imitation of lightning, and then become struck by awe, rather than being in awe prior and doing the dusty practice of... taking your time... bewilder yourself to ask the dumbest question, answer so wisely that no one will take it as good advice but simply as a maxim no one bothers to encourage in undertaking... i too wish i could have that 'cool' disregard for philosophy, but after studying chemistry, philosophy is not a ponce word, but the word to unlearn hard science and learn a humanism, i too wish i could brush aside the word or practice, but unlike bukowski, i'm not really into gambling on horses.

as currently developed and largely ignored in terms
of the critique of notation i could encapsulate the word
doppelgänger* as the existentialists
would "doppelgänger", the sad sod in me
does actually think about it,
it would refer to either an ambiguity
of a misnomer,
i took the simpler route and just referred
to a misnomer rather than an ambiguity,
singled out words are not really ambiguous
if you burn the dictionary and forget it
ever existed,
i know doppelgänger is ~doppelgänger,
a quasi-misnomer when referring to a
particular instant, i.e.:
find me a clown with a similar background
to the joker - a drunken father who gave him
a Chelsea grin with a knife in a drunken rage...
but what about the joker who studied chemistry
and fell into a pit of chemicals that bleached
his face permanent white?
as socrates remained in motto of:
reconcile particulars with universals...
me? i'm wondering: reconcile particulars
with particulars and universals with universals...
the latter is easy, one pops up, another, three more,
and they are the cogs in the machinery of two
eyes and only 1 point of concentration:
an optical isolation of a tree, a forest, a constellation,
etc., universals are harmonies,
makes no difference to biology of the universal
23 pairs of chromosomes, or the mathematical π,
is the genome sequence the length of π?
anyway, i could have used the existential notation
of encapsulating the word with " ",
but i preferred the post-existentialism notation
of ~, just to avoid the misnomer qualification of
word usage, but leaving enough space for not
undertaken constantly-questioning ambiguity,
i know i can slide a cube through a square hole...
and i know that an actual doppelgänger of a clown
does not exist... find me the particular of particulars,
finding a universal of universals is easy,
you can just quote me on the 23 chromosome pairs
and π - the universal of universals is 1,
the particular of particulars is necessarily ∞,
non-explanatory orientation, just deviant use of a symbol /
encoding...
i know that the doppelgänger of the joker
acted is an ~doppelgänger, but is not a "doppelgänger",
because the word doppelgänger is not necessarily
a misnomer, i know there are no two identical clowns,
but then there are two universals
clown here                                                    clown there
                                            p
                                            a
                                            r
                                            t
                                            i
                                            c
                                            u
                                            l
                                            a
                                            r
                                            s
clown there                                                        clown here,
and indeed universals are governed by multiplication,
and indeed particulars are governed by addition,
i.e. you add to your individuality to be different,
dress different, speak different, speak different,
but then the universals come along and you're a factor
of multiplication, and essentially an analogue,
a deviating analogue, but then you congregate
and become the punk scene, e.g.
but as socrates said, 'i'd only be interested in someone
solving the problem, but not actually solving it.'
and like in all good mathematics, division and subtraction
are just remainders of an indivisible number,
they are indeed methods, scare tactics,
the former segregation and the latter death...
but after all, we're all human and stomp on this earth
with a unified purpose of having weetabix in the morning.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
for any of my work to have any meaning, i can only suggested browsing Empedocles (of Acragas), in saying that, i suggest the name, primarily it's a form of philosophy, written in poetic form... in that it exhausts the need for poetic technique: i.e., there's more to see, than actually hear.

- just like i don't understand people who fake doing the maestro whenever they listen to classical music, in the same vein: your greengroccer... your plumber... your electricians.... god forbid you t.v. guy....  don't translate that oddity in, modern music and imitating drummers... i get air guitar, i get air maestro... no one really bother the drumming brigade, when i listen to classical music, i am looking for a maestro, when i listen to contemporary music i, want a drummer, bad; ****! St. Thomas' gospel is becoming real... like i really, really, need a *** change.... never mind the 50cl of whiskey waiting for me, or sasha foxxx's eyes... the job? hammer in a thousand nails... industrialise ***, what do you get? a **** economy... why would god enter the equation if all the problems are theological self-made-heresy? it's not even that *** sells, and god gives gives rise to stampedes... what with the Koran and oil, are we counting to state the same arithmetic... i mean: the industrialisation of ***... nothing that hurts, nothing but a quip... that sorta of definition belongs in China or India with a billion participants... what we have is a case of mouthing off the competitors, when you're actually chihuahua in the Sahara of expectation.... i'm as mad as the numbers say i am... personal stories are non-essential.... i included mine for added effect... or a presumtpion that i might: acknowledged as having said anything in total....counter to english existentialism, so wholly preoccpupied with zoos and biology as the only scientific resource... i can't agree to it making sense, in the standard item-basis-list of following-up an argument... that dire, fake or indeed couch-sloth desert-prune is only half of *σ
... i mean there's a tendency of a natural disparity, to ensure a dialectical health of any if all argument... σ = per se... it's because there no single, identifiable argument, the one current is a vogue argument, in the realm of zeitgeist parameters... it's not the only one... the world will move on... it's only that at the zenith of civilisation, we are only bound to industrialise ***, and art is, as according to W. Benjamin, in a state of: ditto, in the age of machanical, reproduction... easier said than... and so done... i feel the anaesthetic needle doing the suggested thing, of numbing me... it's not when art is given onto this Moloch-like altar... it's when *** is industrially-scaled to require cinema... and the quickie-dip of dimension having repertoire in threes... i have no care to ensure there's a narrative and a frenzy... i just care to say: there's a narrative, and a frenzy.... that one has no insurance, and that the other has all the resources that would otherwise invole a familial life... which now, evidently, is prone to same-*** affiliations than compliment-*** affiliations... meaning less art from the **** realm, and more art from the hetero or h-quasi realm (origin ****)... you need to talk about the cushions, if you're going to sleep in the bed, ****'s sake! -

to really live by the "rules" of existentialism,
to live an existential doctrine,
is to really: live an uneventful life,
or should i say: rather ordinary?
  well... i wouldn't go as far as saying it
might be boring, just... un-spectacular.

and all it takes it five beers and, oh, about
6 miles of wet wintry cement,
   and o.t.t.'s album blumenkraft,
with the crescendo song: billy the kid strikes back...

walk 6 or 7 miles in winter
and you come back into a warm abode
and you have skeleton hands...
numb from the cold...
but in england winter is different
than on the continent...
a wet winter (which is very english)
is worse than a dry winter (which is
continental)...
  as honesty goes... -18C in a dry winter
is probably not as bad as -1C in a wet
winter...
    so there's me, completely
****-faced watching the t.v. series
this is us, and one of the characters is
a black kid that gets adopted by
a white family when
    one of the triplets of the white family
dies in child-birth,
and he finds his biological father...
and also a mid-life crisis:
white folks told me to excell,
so he does,
   black daddy was a poet and played
the piano...
and he experiences a mild
schizophrenia... see, it's not a scary word,
i mean: without the extreme symptoms...
   a split-mind...
thankfully i cushioned mine on bilingualism...
and i have been ever since: bilingual -
nothing to be proud of,
   after all: there's the genius polymath...
but it's not about that: it's about winter...
winters in england are so different to
winters on the continent...
the grey skies? oh, that's here all year...
    talk about being a weather man
in Saudi Arabia, most of them moved to England:
where the action is...
          
but really, i can't imagine why existentialism
as a movement, culminated in the zenith
it achieved (precursor movement?
phenomenology)
        oh yah yah: were nieche, very Kensington,
very, Chiswick...

but to really appreciate an existentialist
dogma, a truly uneventful life...
   and given that existentialism in the French
vein akin to Kant but not so much Heidegger
lends itself to the cartesian maxim...
well... that's because it kinda has to,
but not really...

  Kant took out i think and merely focused on that,
his biography goes along the lines of:
a ritual walker, stayed in one place,
    a rook of the clock, i couldn't exactly call him
a pawn... nonetheless...
             a very uneventful life...
why? thought.
    
    what's the most interesting thing i've done today?
i thought, or, i had a thought (a / the article scissors
cutting off the -ism)...
and that's about it...
    had a thought...
                   i hit the gong that thus translates into
the post ergo / therefore of i am,
   and then i realised: i wasn't motivated enough
by my thought: to do much!
              
historically speaking, my writing can only be placed
into a dynamic of being called post-existentialism,
it's not boasting, it's just a plain fact,
   like Monday will be St. Valentine's day, 2017...
and some men collect stamps,
   and some men like fishing,
    and some men have the habit of writing about
things that are, a bit like Avogardo's constant,
meaning they'd love to speak about these things
over, and over again, and never get bored of them,
or for that matter: start families.

strange how it works, have it all...
       or have none of it, to later only have that one
vector that's opposite of mortal, ******...
        or have both, in a way,
and be later traced to some Shakespearean controversy
about a mistaken identity...
well... there's that too.

that must be it, existentialism, and the most,
ordinary life...
         pause for what, akin to something else i wrote
about beginning the thought catching
up to the walk a few days earlier which began
with z and i and diacritical marks,
how northern slavs wouldn't necessarily disrespect
the already present diacritical mark
on the ι (iota), i.e. regarding acute z (ź),
and how if z & i appear together, i.e.
    z and immediately after it, i... you don't bother
writing an acute version of z,
   as a southern slav (balkan) might,
with his caron (ž)...

or a bit like stating the old chestnut of universals
vs. particulars...
   well... they can say what they like about
the cheapness of writing in this medium
but there is nothing so gut-wrenching as a deleted
passage, that will never return...
    immediate heartache... there on the screen,
the computer decides to "have a mind of its own"
moment by either your carelessness
          or the computer's defects and: ****!
gone, a shift+ and suddenly... writing while not
looking at the keyboard, as you do... ****!
gone... gone baby... gone...
    and if that's not analogy of: a lesson
in placing your hands correctly onto the computer
does me: you're looking at the keyboard
and not at the screen...

  how about writing with my eyes closed?
  haven't seen anyone attempt that...

here goes:

    and with that i give you hades...

not bad, i should try it more often... it's not believable
because it's actually correct and has no mistakes....
*******.

alternative? and with that i give you sheol...
   still the same... double *******.

((   ((
    
and that's all it takes... the part where you let go,
because you have to:
  the regret can be there, but soon has to
be overruled...
   it mattered at the zenith of logic,
it was really there, for such a brief moment,
i could call it a study in how you can ****
a very lucid moment, and then have to "resort",
but, rather: merely accepting it as having no place
in the overall composition...
    so to the windowsill, finishing off
blackbeard (whiskey and coca cola and
a cigarette)... changing the aura from
o.t.t.'s album taken home from the "marathon"
(yes, the prime existential tool is the transcendence
of synonyms, encouraging misnomers
or: how to not build dams, or become custard
beavers, looking for words...
    the river, every time, always looking at a river...
the sea and the people and time...
   rivers occupy an infinite concept of space
and the change within such a Thermopylae,
as it might give you indigestion,
or the highest serving rank of memory...
the sea and the people don't scare me,
and it's hardly a thing of admiration...
its just a sight of pulverisation, a headache...
the river, the solitude, and the fact that local
newspapers have adverts of only lonely women...
sure, read a national newspaper and there
are women seeking men, women seeking women,
men seeking women, men seeking men...
but look at a local, a local newspaper: only women
advertising themselves for candles and firecrackers...
it seams men were always programmed (a priori)
        into the gravitas of solitude...
what i really meant to say: existentialistic writings
can appear foreboding with the ditto...
with the perception that there's this ulterior,
dark-seeded motive...
      i just thought about bypassing the thesaurus,
like some writers do,
    you can spot it when they do,
a word they looked up from their labour
of lumberjacking the keyboard
sticks out like a modern statue, or a broken finger,
a word: right off the pages of a thesaurus...
   i just mean that there's nothing sinister enclosed in
the said "brackets"...  there's nothing additional about it,
but as narratives go... you sometimes want to bypass
Sherlock Holmes and write a synonym-antonym,
you want to bypass the thesaurus, content with your
own vocab riches, but too "lazy" / engrossed in
what's actually coming...
say, that interlude, a cigarette, finishing off the whiskey,
with the glass freezing and having a layer of ice
around it... and: why i'll never be part of the nirvana's
or the doors' cult...
     pearl jam's indifference, from their second album.

so it's sometimes thereuputic letting go,
  after all, no one built a house on the summit of Everest,
if i wrote something of such clarifying quality,
and lost it... i can only apply an imagery of having seen it,
the best i can suggest that i wrote something
akin to 1 + 1 = 2, and then accidently deleted it...
and that's the sad part,
universals as vowels, particulars like consonants,
    even numbers akin to 2 and odd numbers akin to 1
(divided into decimals, or the wormhole of 0.123456 etc.) -
it was a beautiful sight, and then, again: ****!
gone... like a magician doing a trick
   and then... the sadness of having lost the technique
to recreate it...
well, the best i can do to recreate it is based
on a short argument...
   if universals and particulars (relying on the fact
that both have a plural form,
  i.e. so not 1 in 1, but the many of 1,
   and akin to: the 1 in many, and the many in many,
and the 1 in 1 / focus, something identifiable) -
or loosely universals like vowels, and particulars like consonants,
but given the two experience diacritical distinction /
additions... i could best remember what i wrote
as: 1 e.g. particular, if divided: fractions, and after
fractions: decimals...
                2 e.g. universal, if divided: whole numbers,
and after whole numbers fractions, and later decimals...
   so on and so forth with 3 (particular), 4 (universal),
     5 (p.), 6 (u.)...
                 a bit like having your own telescope
and microscope, just looking at what we make silence
of, our two ways of encoding what could have,
or should have been said, that was nonetheless said,
transcending our contemporaries as, what can only
be described as... an echo, lost in the caves of aeons...

this promenade begun with something to z & i...
or z, i, ι, ź and ž (what a nice pentagram,
i was watching the six nation's match
between wales and england,
and lo! behold... a goat at the fore!
  mind you, i took a cigarette break when they scored
their two tries).
Cardiff? yeah, been there once...
         Poland v Wales qualifying match,
donning a polish football shirt, got approached
by two young welsh girls saying: your team is ****...
started giving it the local... how fast they ran away...
and they say we laugh more than we cry,
   and i could be the one to snigger a sly laugh at
that memory, but cinema memory says to me:
time to usher in the reverse-psychology,
calling white black, and laughter crying...
        or as i like to call it, the paradox marriage
that has, literally not tentacle hold on the world,
   the bilingual marriage,
             lodged deep inside my head,
most recognisable by my theory study of diacritical
marks, or actually having noticed them,
and having no real, authentic accent to remind me
that i belong in either geography...
         whether from beginning, or toward an end...
some call it acting, some call it faking,
  i call it: just what i was given, or, more precisely:
what i earned... and that was to no good use...
        unless... this is the best expression of what the foundations
look like.

what was i thinking of? ah!

   it just involved the σ                       ς roundabout...
the aesthetic variation for one,
but on another investigation, well, sigma, total, sum,
and how be obey it like a golden ratio or pi,
   it's just auto-suggestive of how we are never truly
synchronised in our arguments...
   but, "paradoxically", or should i say: by a miracle,
make up the greatest potent to have an argument...
  we can never truly really synchronises ourselves
to fill the boots of expressing an utopian dream,
otherwise we wouldn't dream... period...
  so bye bye Freud and that method of escapism...
     we already ensured that, if they be our creation,
the gods are already at war with the Titans...
      i'll actually acknowledge that in an age of
pop philosophy in that Greece was, a place of allowing
a fertility of thought and later popularising it
(we don't live in times where there's a fertility consecrated
on the altar of thought, or what philosophy is, thinking per se /
for itself... innovators! scientists! up-starts!
or as some might say, the other pronoun battle,
the one without genitals involved,
as could only be sooner said:
  per se, or per per...
                       in in...
nothing sexualised... it's only that there's a limit in pronouns,
per se / in itself must come across the muddle
regarding the moment when people lose their
identity and begin their life with: ? thought
rather than i think,
       i can't place it anywhere else than inside my head,
better there than in the genitals,
   or wasn't Jesus circumcised and the zeitgeist
of St. Thomas' gospel and the transgender movment?
    the church is old, and counter-authoritarian,
it's just a tired institution, so it has no actual authenticity
over the current changes in society,
    might as well call onto Islam to move the chess pieces...
or that's what i'm currently seeing...
   i was just thinking about a logical limit in language,
e.g. timbaland's song the way i are...
   there really is a logical limit on how far you can
suddenly just forget grammar...
            so why begin with per se?
                 at best described as a cogitans (
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
it's almost beautiful, we created the thing called
money, in order to turn tribalism
into a myth of Eden (alone, stark naked) -
          it's almost as if we deviated from
creating it and asking for family values,
            but never got them,
       i'm trying to imagine a Russia where
Rasputin wrote a book
that might have resounded with Nietzsche's
ubermensch - but thankfully precipitated into
world war i & ii... fancy the interlude:
a cold war i, now the cold war ii...
you should be happy, to be honest, it's the best
status quo you'll ever get...
but **** me, 1970s disco craze: even i'm
like Mozart-who?
               a little notebook, and my getting
drunk thoughts in it, funny how drink intellect
knows all too well about the: diminished responsibility
white flag -
              as with the **** chokes come the
drunk-and-writing-a-poem jokes,
                                i'd say blame Al Capone!
you know how many diacritical distinctions i could
insert into that surname? diacritical marks
are ulterior forces at-be when all punctuation goes
*******, not sentences, but words -
Cá       ponè - cockney slang Capone on the phone:
        we had fun: because you really don't say
Cáponé like you might say a torero's olé, do you?!
me? i find it grand to paint syllables with
diacritical marks, i mean: it's not even a blank canvas,
shame the semi-colon isn't minded in distinction,
but still, i already know that poets are scared of
punctuation, hence breaking the lines and not
engaging in a paragraph... tying shoelaces seems about
fine when it comes to modern poets,
talk about knitting jumpers, or scarfs by grannies -
sold as doing that same activity on shredded wheat cereal:
- = a hanging pause (suspense);
       , = necessary pause (or the expected
in a rhythmic cyclone);
   then i say to all my would be assassins:
you'll be doing me a massive favour, to be honest.
at times it really is the age of trusting entertainers
and not the media and certainly not the politicians -
it's almost stating the obvious.
i was in St. Petersburg for a month, and every time
i wanted to go to a danceclub to dance she refused me....
me and my naiveness in thinking that people could
actually be seduced by good...
      i don't mean being exposed to a tsunami
among the other elemental congregations of Shiva
there goes my belief in people being good to each other...
shoom! gone... bye bi!
(origins of dyslexia? maybe).
                                 she took me to the opera and
she started her snarling condescending approach to
the new-rich girls in the next booth...
     **** me, relationships leave me so ill-equipped
i actually find it staggering that i had any...
                 i must have been really naive in believing
that people could do good that i ended up
   a hermetic pessimist or misanthrope -
i never expected to be one, or share the juices of such
a calibration of humankind:
but it's funny how a movement overstates the cartesian
sum and never the cogito,
and when you by chance encounter the actual cogito
organising a movement, you represent nothing
representative of the movement's sum,
because the cogito is actually so staggeringly
divergent from being affiliated to the (e.g.)
         French revolution's guillotine locomotive.
when utilising only one hand in writing?
a black notebooks is written into at a rhombic degree,
yep, slant.
        i have two or three decent points to make,
but, obviously, i have to utilise verbiage to state them,
let's compare that to building a thousand homes
before the leaning tower of Pisa comes along
and people say: wow! in the immediate sense i
will require compensating that exception with
enough social housing for the tower to actually be erected:
that's natural: regurgitating maxims from no experience
would be an equivalence to an exoskeleton:
no experience, no harm... and where's the fun in that?

(interlude no. 1)

almost 15 minutes in an opera house, long enough
for the march from your seat into the street and a smoke,
  i still can't understand while people adopted money
for the demand of talking to each other via pebbles,
we are in our billions and made it so demanding to
only appeal to the few for company... i mean, should
i be sad? we made our company so unbearable because
of engaging in the concept of money that we later had
adapt to books as the conversations we need to have
among people we can't even talk about the weather to.
people always think that talking about money is
shallow... as if it's some really necessary version of
the crucifix (which to my mind sounds like a name for
a charity and the need to be thankful for it being there),
then again: something so geometrically pure
hanging over us and then comes Rodin's the kiss:
that really is a miracle - walking on water can hide itself,
turning water into wine (40 days & nights in the desert would
do that to you, every time you rehydrated, any liquid
would be intoxicating).
             oh hell, i have the notebook narrative,
i need to take a break after having written the unexpected
intro, and subsequent interlude.


it seems to me that language can never be sampled,
sampling language
is anti-scientific,
because it breaches an objectification of things,
which sad,
    are the Balkan states Slavic, Christian or Turkish?
i'm asking because a Greek said
it's Byzantine, and then lapping allah illha Allah
turkish took to Istambul...
*how best to defame a god with ensnarled capitals,
each, levelled,
                                only Islam will reign under the
praise of my name, which alone, will sing my praise.

   to move mountains, one must move throngs.
          to move people you expect them to become
mountains: or sun-tanned noon
  having been charcoaled into obliteration.
     one thought: an ottoman janissary: and vlad
the lesser crucifier and the adamant
impaler, who said that homosexuality shouldn't matter....
   imagine the comparative pain...
i can't: therefore i won't.
                     thus the black scripts of notation...
better than uttering original maxims,
          as in... better to engage in transcendentalº
dialectics
     ºin ref. to Nietzsche: the masses do not hold
an opinion on sanity: hence my concordance
with "him" - and insanity in individuals (self-dividing
                      duos in calamity of one):
insane individuals are rare: but conglomerates are
the norm - thus an agreement of shared truths
that has no debate to support it, because it has been
"plagiarised",
   the transcendental aspect is the lack of dialectics
(replaced with diacritics),
     and also the historical novelty of shared observation
with a disparity of a century's worth of history:
governing still the caveman and the modern man,
            as if the two were mutually compatible.
that one could rewrite the other, and so too true in
reverse.
   i find it harsh having to relinquish the authority
of language, as my own it used,
but only when school-friends suggest it, those
with ******* family members do i foremostly
experience it as my own: well... thanks to you
i'm not a plumber because your father detonated
the atom bomb and never bothered checking what
the gorilla did next with the grand censor of fertility
to protect an aesthetic...
           but then again: you were always Irish.
oo! well: sodomite that oops... it'll be worth something
in 30 years' time. strange how it must read...
Holocaust deniers also have the same lysergic trip.
             insanity in individuals is rare,
among groups it's the norm, within a framework
of Nietzsche: thus an agreement of shared truths,
that has no debate to support it,
because it has been "plagiarised" (necessarily experienced
more than once),
   ºthe transcendental aspect is the actual lack of
dialectics, and also the historical shared novelty of sharing
of observation (the tsunami cult, the earthquake cult)
with a disparity of range toward the century-range...
   philosophy infamously aks purposively
unsolvable questions: or questions that require many
more questions... or what is known as a transcript
of Aristotelian awe: of those who commit to error
with that science of pure wording, to spur people on;
philosophers are the adventurers in error:
only because this engages them in providing a "gravity"
locus... for others to hone onto and correct...
(oh how i'd believe had there been a Koranic surah
on the mindful hoplites)...
         purposively erroring: philosophy;
philosophers are pioneers: birches... scientists
are all but oak: auburn well established.
       but what of transcendental dialectic that expands
into shared truths (as experience) within the dual-disparity
of nearing death and the dawn of the 20th century
   and never-nearing a life at the dawn of the 21st century?
excluding dialectics and diacritics has given us
such a society, where everything is nearly snowflake
lucratively dissolvable and gentle...
                   few people utter truths,
even fewer utter truths than need to be debated...
             for the over-lord truth is mono, or glue...
        but still the tactic of avoiding certain truths
for the necessity of sitting in an armchair rather than
on a cold pavement... for in their pluralism
they express as many universal traits of non-experience,
as they subsequently express enough
    particular traits of experience
(translate rhyming into philosophy and you get this...
going cross-eyed in allocating an understanding,
summarised by the word zez).
hence the unwinding: universals (x, ÷):
       and particulars (+, -):
    of time, and how to encourage abstracting
worded coordination into an advanced literacy rate,
that'll fail, because literacy is power that requires
labouring anyway.
  because you did say "encapsulating a zoo"
readied to perpetrate a staging of a freak-show.
examples: universals (x, ÷):
       and particulars (+, -)        are zeniths in
the narrative compensation to nothing -
        in literature a surprise turn of the plot,
a summarisation, as such stand-out moments,
or quotes: here is a version of encoding verbal
"mathematical" synonymity -
         i too would wish to create a language
that doesn't abide by the language of miles,
but that of metres, but then there's the thesaurus
distinction between metres in deviations of
centimetres and nano in close-proximity
          ruby, crimson, burgundy, bled throughout the week
until pale grey and with an epitaph.
      language never brings us together,
it never did, we all wished to be cats and have said
meow... but we rarely and will never say...
that's nearing toward shame...
  i absolve humanity of the original sin...
                    if sinning was so original i would suggest
other forms of compensating it rather than prayer:
i'm thinking of the original shame...
it's that story of a serial killer who believed he
had no universal traits concerning him,
he had no systematisation of conscience,
he denied having a sense of guilt...
          it's hard to believe such things,
given the ceiling is the universe...
        it's hard to become a rat in a solipsistic maze...
that's ****** had to believe...
                   to deny having universal a priori
is also to deny particular a posteriori...
                           even though nothing really happened
apart from god laughing and man yawning
and the devil crying. it's very hard to believe people
these days, even though they deserve it,
                    it's hard to summate oneself in being
able to;
  thank god philosophers didn't complicate simple words
with remnants of Latin like psychologists did,
there's the prior (a priori) and there's the after (a posteriori),
or the two within a-: without a prior (to) / priority -
                  or without an after / an imitable vogue / trend /
    zeitgeist.
          can you write something like someone disclosing the fudge
of what's technically an arithmetic summary?          
no intelligence is being undermined here,
         what's being undermined is what's critically an optical
   java transitory period.                                                    

(int­erlude no. 2)

the laziest philosophers always write about the word
philosophy without actually philosophising,
you can say as much when saying: i'm thinking about thought.
of all the professions, philosophers don't know theirs...
it's true, if you do it, you do it not-knowing / unconsciously.
modernity does in fact overprescribe the word genius
because it doesn't give practitioners of philosophy any
credit in the slightest of actually being recipients of
life... every time a thought spawns from nothing
the limitation of expressing it is: you don't exist;
soon enough you hang up having any competence in language
and say to people you thought you knew: adios amigos,
good luck: then you wonder why they're so
prematurely depressed, and then you forget about them
and think of a million Chinese carpenters:
simply because it's less depressingly so.
     do you ever write encapsulating a rhombus on a page
with your literary / wanking hand? i know i do,
write in a notebook askew - or that's what's called the
future of absurdity: i'm thinking about thought -
some later claim morality, and some later claim god -
        that should sound more simply as: ought i?
    but it doesn't... hey, here's to self-projecting ****** -
it's not even that good people invented god,
  it's that evil people did...
                  which is always a bit ****** having that
microchip in my abstract mind (the brain) i sometimes
try to get rid off while acting as an atheist for pop super!
       does that sound highly idealistic?
it probably does... have i an influential counter to it?
n'ah. thinking about thought without the either or of
ought leaves me asking outside the box / transcendental
questions about what self is ingested by that
Pontius Pilate... talk of the "true" self and talk of
the "false" self: who the **** is the narrator then?
are we all bleaching our handshakes these days to
give a handshake?!
    some men would claim to be the husbands of that
insatiable "woman" that's Sophia,
         who, after all, is better equipped to satiate 3
men, than a man to satiated 3 women:
the trinity of ****, vaginal: oral - funny that,
how perfectly that plays against all those years of
practising to a demand of the churches': kneel!
i'll just watch you **** him off while Mary Magdalene
spread the schematic that resulted in the Islamic
******* analing the "respected".

(interlude no. 3)

just can't be bothered mate...
  never did so much charity work pour into
      herr Herrman's charity chest of
the never thought of set of poems.


- and a day later, just a blank,
what a formidable evening,
why do i queue for even a trombone, violin,
       a viola, trumpet or a sax to add to my voice?
but in musicological terms: that's exactly what i'm doing.
it's hard to not see this as a cure:
with 16,713 views matta's echo babylon is
truly the antithesis of Prokofiev, or any other,
as might call it: windy character.
        classical music was bound to tornados and
zephyrs - modern music is the epitome of rhythmic
sampling, drum eroded violins,
           and other things happened, too.
rhombus within the framework of the hand-written prior,
on tiny scraps of rectangular paper,
because it's easier to write like that: slanting
and therefore for the imagery of cascading -
and as the pronoun revolution dies down,
                    and the voices go unheard,
   people will start to think about thought
and later thought per se for transcendental purposes...
     because choice will be ejected from
having competent access to it: namely?
   i can't see those **** the ***** protests seriously
if people can't take to shooting guns,
          i mean real rebellion... obviously i'm egging
on the situation and spraying gasoline on it
(obviously), but if the French give you the statue of
liberty as a present, you get to look at the appendix,
and start thinking: where are the guns, so
it looks like a genuine protest? i thought the idea of
being able to own guns (by the people), was to suggest
that if the government was electorally undesired,
people could start shooting... the tongue isn't
a
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
has anyone said anything to the LGBT movement that,
ahem, it is also a pronoun? i can't believe people are
getting dragged into:
                a. not only being taught
a secondary vocabulary that's "political", well, let's just
say democratically fascist - but that
b. a theological argument
based solely in the pronoun category is pointless -
i know point b. isn't really big,
or relevant, and to think
that St. Thomas' gospel once rejected
by the Church came back and
reigned in so much havoc that
it could have sparked the Syrian
civil war, and in general:
well... better edit Jesus from the bible...
at first it was the imitation of
the Kippah and the Tonsure -
in between the peacock and the pig,
religion resides - how you juggle
that field is up to you...
i tend you approach it as: well, whatever.
but this is really the best to be alive,
you can laugh in the night like you'd
never imagine laughing before -
i mean - who the hell would think
it wise to attack someone who sees
grammar use and wonders: but that's
also a pronoun, the changed Freudian
that (scalpel probing utility), later
popularised as it - or the complete
objectification of unit, aliases involve:
thought, self, personality, character, etc. -
well it's catching on like a ******* virus,
this unearthed grail of the Egyptian
desert - yes, they did travel to Egypt,
and look what came back...
perfectly fits Josephus' account of things,
which is literally two sentences
including the words: Mt. of Olives insurrection
deposit - i'm literally showing the easier
way out... most people took it too literally...
the existence of demons turned allegorical
altogether, but the existence of the words
inscribed as: make the outer the inner,
and the male the female: just shows you a lack
of both grammatical knowledge, and
poetic knowledge - the literal approach throws
you into the maggot pit of bullock -
and that's how it's going to say...
people took it too literally, that's the first
wave... taken as a sign of guilt from
a colonial past - they call the Visegrad
the new goose-stepping surgeons of thought,
this idea of a free and open society
has no boots on the ground in Anglophile
society - they fake being arrogant by
being courteous - being courteous is a sublime
version of feeling one owns a moral
superiority, which one doesn't...
and can you actually imagine yourself
being dragged through the filth of a discussion
concern pronouns? learn to build up a
subconscious of pure grammar association...
the unconscious, who Jung discovered
to be a hive you can't control,
i once suggested the idea that the collective
unconscious would resemble a society
where plumbers didn't know they were plumbers,
and no one knew what they were doing,
but incorporating the individual i see
the point of finally rationalising the individual
via the collective toward the unconscious -
the great free ***** debate -
primarily though, the particular use of language
will never reach a universal use of language
that isn't fragmented into a pseudo-arithmetic
of grammar - but it would do you a greater
good to endorse and implant grammar spectacle
to see past the fluidity of casual language use,
i.e. spot the ****** debate and say: hyphen!
down the middle! it! after all, we were children
once, and we played the game: you're it!
and ensure there's laconic appropriation while
people become forceful addicts of the flesh
to provide the weight to the categorised words
due to their change, and you're all airy fairy
with just the worded explanation,
still with the required genitalia and 2 billion Chinese;
but it's true though, look how horrified
the church is... the old geezers are not getting it,
they left the Egyptian shepherd unleash hell
on both Christianity and Islam...
the revision of the kippah was the monkish
tonsure - but this bit about ***-changes?
once again, blow-bubbles-through-your-lips
by motorising them and move your index finger
up and down... hey presto! a mongolian harmonica -
i can't believe so much intelligence was wasted,
and so much incorporated, and so much lost,
over a piece of skin that wasn't even categorised
as cartilage - it's a joke, right?
well, if it ain't, why the **** am i laughing?
if you learn grammatical categorisation of words,
you learn the insulating method of using language,
if whatever is offensive, becomes inoffensive,
someone will spend a whole life arguing the
transition from she                   into                 he,
with the haircuts and other adjustments,
while you'll be there, calling it neither he or she
(the end and the original result), but call
the individual accepting the transition by
the act of transition - incorporating the past
and the future via the transition period,
it! that's the laws of grammar, grammar in
psychological terms is the subconscious:
Freud tapped into the unconscious with dreams,
i managed to censor dreaming and sleep,
hence i tapped into the subconscious by
exposing grammar as, well, yeah: subverted language:
or language submerged by universal laws -
               in context you can understand
everything i write, in content? probably not -
again the boiling point is not 100°C - it's
universals and particulars - that's the 100°C of language -
via the thesaurus you get similar d.n.a. strands
(i just hallucinated a smiling face, but not too vivid) -
i.e. via synonyms and worded cleansing of antonyms
   off the respective suggestion as zenith-conundrum
                                                                               of Socrates:
       if something is universal it's evolved or translated
   into context - the context? using the alphabet and
words... (time references to coordination aren't necessary,
   well, something has to be unanimously expressed
  even if via dyslexia) -
                    what's particular is what's rigid in terms
of evolutionary adaptation - verbiage, i know!
   inescapable! what should i do? gauge my eyes out?!
again, dittoed paraphrase, shortened self-plagiarism:
     if something is particular it's independent or non-reciprocatory
  within boundaries of context-out-of-context: content,
   which means a b c d e f g... but arranged to a self-proclaimed
deviation (let's call prefixing the self- to a word provides
    the whole mechanism of deviating non-universal
automation, mildly put: eccentricity) -
                  in summary, you ever wonder what's
related between the list of phobias such as arachnophobia
and xenophobia? apparently the term Islamophobia
was translated into Greek as: god is one, and Muhammad
is his test subject... the sum of all little fears -
         oddly enough phobias are spontaneous and are
rarely instilled, they're lightning strikes...
i see a big spider, i recoil - it's not a permanent setting -
i stand on a ladder 3 metres off the ground, sure:
acrophobia -                    i sit in a crowded tube train,
yet again: claustrophobia - but these phobias are
a sort of antidote to the maxim: the thing to fear is
fear itself... phobias are reflex reactions to being conscious,
how people managed to translate them into reflections
is beyond me... i happen to come across phobias
all the time... but in a reflexive way: a ****, a spontaneity
surrounding them... there's nothing to be reflective about...
it's not even a phobia when i tell you a similar
reaction: suburban street at night, beer, cigarette,
walking, eyes not concentrating on anything...
~suddenly two women sitting on a low cement fence
in front of their houses startles me... the immediate
reaction is a nervous shock... who the **** would
think of that as being a phobia worthy a category?
no one. which is why i don't understand
the concept of Islamophobia... it's weird...
i don't get the same nervous sudden **** of seeing
something that isn't supposed to be there
when i walk down Oxford street and see a Burqa-clad
woman... whoever invented this word,
had a really ****** time at school and transcended
all laws of etymological construction:
i.e. on basis of really claustrophobic syllable constructs,
Islam is way beyond syllables, it's a noun,
as if the suffix / affix phobia - or little fear,
no, not sigma fear, fractional fear.
tears
are
not

male
female
straight
gay
young
old

free
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
how sensible it all seems, how crew-cut and with enough
anaesthetic to k.o. an elephant - outside the laboratories
the populists in whatever guise march on - as with any
congregation, atheists also muster up enough social muscle:
they too have their bouncers and other
gob-smackers with knuckle dusters -
as long as science is popularised it pushes
the boundaries of insensible chasms elsewhere -
                             but with so futile popularisation:
shortages in respective sectors: mandatory,
or as suggested: no longer rich bachelors and
         private laboratories - a science of regurgitation -
once they burned heretics, now the subtle
        championing of mingy sedatives - and since
Joan of Arc's heart no longer aspires to passion
and its all consuming fire, it turns into a wet
piece of coal - reining in the crowds of pop culture
zombies - said before, said again - but how
dislodged the feelings not ranging into absurdity
or at least nibbling on the zest of Dionysus;
but how things changed from that year, 2006,
everyone is asking, the poncy pope with glamorous
attire, the stiff-necked scientists - the pendulum
of guilt swinging in both directions - half of
the 20th century prescribed a fear magnanimously:
oddly enough - as implying: we forgive your
puny religious swooning and answering with
the easiest answers possible... here's a bomb -
so who are the sacred ones? they too are human -
the magazine dissected into:
a. what is reality? (can we be sure that the world
  we experience is not just a figment of our
    imagination) by roger penrose
     b. do we have free will? (the more we find
out about the brain works, the less room there
  seems to be for personal choice or responsibility)
     by patricia churchland
c. what is life? (if we encounter alien life,
chances are we wouldn't recognise it - not even
if it was here on earth) by robert hazen
d. is the universe deterministic?
   (however you look at it, the answer seems to be "maybe")
       by vlatko vedral
   e. what is consciousness? ("my soul is a hidden
    orchestra... all i hear is the music" - fernando pessoa)
            by paul brooks
f. will we ever have a theory of everything?
    (2000 years of rational inquiry may be approaching
  their crowning glory. just one more push could
   be enough...)
                            by michio kaku
   g. what happens after you die? (we have all
  wondered if there is an afterlife, but only a few are brave -
or foolish - enough to try and find out)
                                by mary roach
  h. what comes after **** sapiens?
  (all species are fated either to die out or to evolve
  into something else. all except humans, that is)
                   by james hughes -
so there we have it - the respective pillars of science,
whereby science replaces core beliefs into
core questions - to not hold firm, but to constantly
sway - the 8 founding questions - no more,
  no less - but how many people can perpetually sway?
   the supposed 8 universals, i.e. that every human
  being might, might not, will or will not ask -
     and for these 8 universals, exponential functions
of particulars: because that's how it's supposed
to be: chaotically democratic -
thus everyone knows the objectivity standard:
at its core is awe, outside the core pathology and
apathy - or let us say: passions and indifference -
then subdivisions of (+) and (-), and in general:
   however it is you feel: compensated or left starving.
in 2006, they congregated at a round table and
spoke god-this, god-that - no minority report,
  cold evidence never went down with women (or
so i'm told), three questions, question 1:
                 should science do away with religion?
oddly enough R. Dawkins said:
               "no doubt there are many people who do need
religion, and far be it from me to pull the rug from
under their feet." - we know that the bestseller
              the god delusion came out shortly after.
a physicist (S. Weinberg) similarly (c me la ri lee):
   "science can't provide a sense of magic about the world,
or a community of fellow-believers. there's a
religious mentality that yearns for that."
  L. Krauss: the success of science does not encompass
the entirety of human intellectual experience.
on and on this goes - i guess they have to debate for
the sake of debate - as i am sure everyone is aware:
   a debate can overpower the point of prayer -
confessions? i treat it more like poetry - but in saying
that... where is the medical profession in all of this?
we have astronomers, ecologists, biologists,
physicists, astrophysicists, planetary scientists,
cosmologists, philosophers... what's the odd one out?
it's a bit suspicious that this magazine does not
cite any chemists... and that's ****** obvious...
they're the ones making pacts with the devil -
whether Goethe's or Marlowe's Faust -
then at least to the more obscure rendition
of Pan Twardowski (Herr Tvardovsky) -
         but how odd it already is that chemists haven't
joined ranks with other scientists in their little
Friday night debating club meetings - seriously?
are those boffins serious about all of this?
            or as one said it:
i came from learning to write CO for carbon monoxide,
   and FeO for ferric oxide - or drawing electron migration
  diagrams when two compounds interact (a nice
playground of symbols) and went my way into
   some form of linguistics - primarily working on
          the tetragrammaton - i have no major interest
beyond this definition: would i debate the most
difficult metaphysical assumption of the omni-variations
in terms of ascribing the variations to a being?
i'd stumble in the metaphysical world on omnipresence,
meaning i would be a pantheist - meaning god
    would be anything and everything from the moon,
a mouse, an ant colony, my **** and what not -
            the all-in-one: for one thing, that's already much
too hellish to comprehend, let alone make comedy from.
but they haven't told you about the painkilling
saliva that beats morphine - catherine rougeo:
proceedings of the national academy of sciences,
vol. 103, p. 17979) - the compound's name? opiorphin,
or the scourge of Afghanistan. they also didn't
tell you about Saracen sabres - their scimitars contained
carbon nanotubes - forged from Indian steel
called wootz - 17th century examples studied by
P. Paufler (Dresden) found the carbon nanotubes
and even nanowires (nature, vol. 444, p. 286) -
or is this becoming to look very much like traffic
on London's M25 during rush-hour? it certainly is,
as was intended -
                   1950s: age of optimism -
influenza wave from the east, the indestructible transistor,
   television without wires, baby computer the size of
  a piano, rubber windshields, genetic chemistry,
atomic aircraft, the neutrino, sputnik 1, strontium-90
(radioactive ash)  used by manufacturers of woven
and knitted fabrics to overcome fog markings,
the coleopter, polypropylene (the remnants of German
word-compounding revealed in chemistry, and
only in chemistry, elsewhere compounding is
replaced by hyphenation, i.e. hyphenating),
                  and so on and so forth until present day -
passing through Sir, Julian, Huxley, who reinvented
****** with "positive" eugenics - oh sure, it was still
alive and kicking - quark hunters draw a blank -
             i could reference all else that was involved
in making the last 60 years - beyond that people are
call it ancient history - or are Virgil and as Horace,
and as Ovid did - turned their back to the world,
         into their poplar groves and jasmine filled gardens,
and said: ta'oh!           ta'oh!                 Tao!
  but not until then, before embarking i'm already
dreading to embark with something to add, to even
voice this -                                     but i guess i might:
  as ever, the freedom of speech is never as grand a
                                      luxury as the freedom to think.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
sometimes a private message on the sly
outlasts a poem,
i'm no quack - my prescription list
if a bunch of theories,
i can't the Hippocratic oath even if i wanted to,
which also means a theory here,
or a theory there can't hurt -
it's levitating as a chanced choice of consideration,
in terms such stated, there are
the questions of consolidating the problem
socrates faced as to how confront a unity
of particulars and universals -
well, a mathematical impression
with the prime expression of division would be
a start, a comprehension of units
akin to millimetre, centimetre and mile
would be due a referencing to.

i hardly know what to call the cartesian
subsequence equation -
sartre tried to invert it -
let's say that thinking is an *essence

and being is existence -
drag in newton's causality and einstein's
lack of causality - i do believe
descartes is pivotal in terms of causality
and what existentialism suggested
via sarte: that existence precedes essence
or vice versa - causality i should think -
but if the itemisation of space
as divided enduring placebos of millimetre
and centimetre with each point
as the Freudian id to divide is loosely estimated -
i understand Sartre's argument when
being a revisionist via Descartes -
existence does indeed precede essence -
you learn from your mistakes -
first can existence example itself
before thought (essence) begins its learning process -
indeed it can't be otherwise, intuition
does exist to a cloning zenith reached by animals
who're only vociferous via the medium
of onomatopoeia - ferrous sounds -
but among men there are more enzyme-related
processes to create the Enlightenment from
the Renaissance - the latter an artistic progress
the former the scientific -
study chemistry or physics and philosophy becomes
a playground - biology for some reason
has too many octopus tentacles attached to
obvious things - mutations of Chernobyl to mind -
and history, **** sake's the stone age and the
17th century will deviate far between on the spectrum
of analysis - there is much more bureaucracy from
the 17th century than crude cave drawings from the stone
age - i'm hardly saying it's not plausible
but the time-scale leveraged with boiling a cup of tea
is the worst kinds of distraction - scout's honour,
cross my heart and count to 20 in under 10 seconds.
anyway, for the majority, people are hardly
innovators, a few can claim to be a pure res cogitans
(a thinking thing), since such a being would require
an id scale of division, not necessarily a scale of division
akin to the majority of people, with their
9 to 5 working days, monday through to sunday,
january through to december -
with the latter list of exemplification we're talking
about a res narro / a narrative thing - alt. include
res transloquor (a thing talking over -
a loss of etiquette when talking over older people)
etc. -
           since i find that thinking is primarily
about innovative feats - but most of the time what we
call thinking is actually narration -
a book never written, an idea never materialised -
and the existence of the Buddhist "mindfulness" /
simply not thinking, a full cartesian sum embodiment,
akin to driving a car, a bike, whatever you like.
or i could have written about the news review
articles from sunday: the boo! that's Broadmoor,
the lush living conditions in blocks 2 & 5
and the squalor in blocks 1 & 6...
names include the murderers:
jonathan lowe (aged 52) writing a letter about
the Ritz hotel like conditions in 1898,
croquet and cricket, tea weak beer and gambling,
tobacco luxury and servants via the lesser
fortunate inmates,
william chester minor's addition to the inaugural
edition of the oxford english dictionary (ex-military
surgeon he was),
chippendale bookcases, bathed once a week,
shaved three times a week,
(now you can understand my fascination with
Ezra Pound) - thomas harry a would be assassin
of the p.m. Gladstone of 1893 walking about
the asylum gardens mentioning Gladstone's
last plea with a smile akin to the eager buds of
may appealing to harry's sense of "remorse",
a dutchman who attacked his wife with a mallet
pleading to renter the lunatics' Ritz circa 1895 -
a jack the ripper suspect amongst them -
dr. richard brayn hardly ***** burroughs' dr. benway -
a madman had never so much luck under **** brayn -
but the less fortunate remarked:
'my name is T Perkins, i have been murdered here,
by those that know not what they do,
because they have ether in their heads!'
i'd guess ammonia to add to such a confession,
or skunk ***** to mind the least.
thomas cutbrush was the ripper suspect.
jimmy saville wetted his ***** in the female wards...
can't complain with ******* adolescent girls
why complain about ******* crazed chicks -
Michael Meyers in the room? i thought so,
democracy is the ideal export, people know
jack the ******* by compliments from the toilet's
perfumery as described: strawberry scented,
mm hmm - Kentucky tattooed on my left buttock's
cheek. but boo! a.k.a. Broadmoor is closing,
pristine lunatics on the street - mind you
in the news review they had an article about
seymour hersh - what he called
dum-dum and darth vader of the galactic empire
surround fashion trends of 9 / 11...
joy uu bushy and st. francis cheney -
prior to this poem looking at russian sables in
fur farms going berserker over the size of the cages,
a lynx rummaging in a theory of geometry
walking out lemniscate treading on its own faeces,
and i felt good for the jews
not wearing leather on Yom Kippur -
in their orthodox black attire walking into a
synagogue wearing trainers -
yep, lived next to a synagogue for several years,
a flat above an estate agents...
but of course weddings and mazel tov a rekindled
happy event!
scurrying like rats in an area not allowing pride -
apologies for the comparison,
but Gants Hill wasn't exactly Golders Green,
well the Hanukkha did stand proud at the roundabout,
but then the social project took over
and subsequent evictions proceeded -
Bangladesh came over - and half of Pakistan.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
so i have this book my Steφan, and here the
unpredictability: Steven?            even elevens?
                       Stephen
Steven          Stephan? no matter, the joke
comes with the diacritics         in the surname...
      they wrote /ˈʊmlaʊt/
when the diacritical marks weren't investigated:
  is that Körner as in ariθmetic
     Koorner?
       or is the poncy
    Kœrner - which is
softer and therefore almost Kerner?
the book? fundamental questions
of philosophy
-
hence the dialectical applicability
of diacritics: archeology in vivo:
oh no glass chandeliers darling:
            butchery rather than anatomy:
chop
        chop
                chop
                 ­         (oh looky looky, Jacob's ladder).
y = id est.
                  w? haven't figured it out,
looks like trigonometry to me,
all that sine and cosine jazz.
         you know that mystery of lawlessness?
English, plain and simple,
the English language: good that we had the Scandinavians
and the Dutch learn it better than the natives,
mind you, also the Belgians,
they speak a foreign tongue better than
the ****** natives:
the natives? they speak some urban slang
profanity: diabolical verse;
                                        putrid ****:
sulphuring smoke, astounding.
              reverse dead Latin / living -
was that comma necessary?
  or should i have written astounding sulphuring
smoke?
             or Sartre: existence (quantity)
     precedes essence (quality) -
         qua qua either way, a mode of being,
   duck here, duck there.
          oh me, right? *******, maddened,
i was hanging in the trenches and had a drink:
now i'm really mad, bursting like a tense
   soap bubble: (a bit of nostalgia to cool the nerves)
i come from a generation that listened to
mortiis - and we actually bought the silverware
(c.d.) rather than the liquorice (vinyl),
               and we were the ones that translated hardware
into software (mp3) -
         but as a thoughtful suggestion:
scratched c.ds,
                   right, you have a c.d. and you try
to encode it into mp3... right...
    why is it that scratched compact disks can completely
**** up an iPod? i.e. why can't iPods encode
scratched compact disks?

            cheaper mp3 players can do it,
no problem, you have a scratched c.d.
and translate it into mp3: boom, the whole iPod
shuts down... try a cheaper mp3 player
and the whole thing still works...
          well, it's just a curiosity...
the bigger ones comes from:
i'm probably one of the last dinosaurs to have
actually bought a ******* magazine
from a newsagent,
     the glamour model type,
nothing **** included,
               and feel the agonising shame of
predicating a ******* session -
                  bony **** of the hand -
            looking for soft pouch kangaroos and all,
but how many people these days buy this ****?
       in Belgium i bought one and the woman
was so not condescending that i thought i was buying
penny sweets...
                      there's this culture of ****** shaming
in England that surprasses me in engaging
in relationships, i don't know what these slags
are on, but it's certainly not tango in stilettos
on cobblestones.
                    of course i'm mad,
i tried to rebel against Christianity and got
****** into practising it, i actually forgave my
enemy, a jealous **** who almost killed me,
       and as Nietzsche said: a Christian is a
sick domesticated animal -
              i could have been still rooted to the longship
roofs while roofing, or metrosexual lumberjack
     in an office, concerning paper rather than
blocks of wood.
     but good to know that all of Europe is known
as the bloc, rather than the eastern fringes,
god i love English arrogance, which = ignorance,
now wave bye bye to the Galactic Empire:
******* engraved Latin without barbaric diacritical
marks and had a shot at world *******...
  **** me! even the Greeks are applying refinement,
no wonder the digital sprechen dragged
English into the dark ages if not the caveman
        chant Darwinism! chant Darwinism! hoot, hoot hoot!
rarely do i desecrate books,
                 but i had to write on something,
i have a copy, of Kant's critique,
and in it my macabre Dionysian zenith fury
statement:
                       power is never a cul de sac,
                         for a king to don a crown,
                         a peasant must pocket a penny,
                         if a peasant doesn't pocket
                         a penny, a king doesn't don
                         a crown
      (note, colon and italics
translate as bold inscript, double emphasis) -
this isn't cryptic, it's ****** obvious,
       it goes way back in suggesting
we're either smart or naive -
           or playing the adult version of hide & seek
                                    doubt & negation interplay,
so when Charlie Chuckles the Third comes to
power i'll be thinking of Charles the First:
as i told one homeless woman i sat down with
for a cigarette under a bridge and told her
of the Henry VIII likening in terms of the
decapitated wives...
                                    she got up and ran screaming
down the street. true story.
                 only in America a humming sensation
and a deliberate ploy to create a monarchy...
              call it what you like:
you appease the illiteracy of people with only
one book, and have people speak about it
without pontiff or priestly attire: you're bound
to breed a viral infection desiring a king.
         is this the second Elisabeth-ian age? might be,
well, it's nearing an end, anyway...
                        still, English is a lawless language
that transcends all tact of French flawlessness -
                  those nasal harking buggers know all too
well the covert aesthetic they write
      and the counter they speak -
                  leave the exactness of spoken and written
to the Poles, and spaghetti chemistry to the German
excess of compounds hydrocarbon etc.,
                    di-proxy-blah-blah in hyphen-centric
Essex.
            well, because if we can't have proper discussions
about our beliefs, we might are well apply
diacritical investigation into diacritical markings,
  or how long you hold your breath between
.                ,                     ;              -              
                  because that's what i'm suggesting:
invariably this suggestion is pulverising -
                             or how that famous category
of universals (metric)
                          is usurped by particulars (imperial) -
within the bracketed suggestion: units,
                   Francophile centimetre
      Darth Vader inch....
                                                Charles de Gaulle kilometre
                              a Heathrow mile.
if this was a chemistry experiment, which it is,
               i'd suddenly realise it's over,
                                                      and it is
because i feel a sudden rush of radiant cooling down
     from what charged this outburst in the first place.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
you know what two indicators of psychiatric diagnostic bases are?  whether or not you can keep eye-contact or chew your nails... frankly i  like the taste or keratin, it's like concentrated burnt skin, and that  eye-contact bit? i'm not here to ****** anyone, not keeping eye-contact  doesn't make me disengage from dialogue, it simply enhances it, after  all, i'm talking to your body, i don't have to peer into your soul.*

the hippocratic oath died with modern psychiatry,
it simply died, limp and almost lethargic
and riddled with leprosy (it’s peeling off me now, bit by bit),
the hippocratic oath died there and then,
the schism of the church from the state
enforced the secularisation of medicine
and medicine gave birth to its ******* offspring
known as psychiatry / logic of the non-existence
of the soul, better known as the missing
part of psychology...
the local g.p. analysis shows that i'm clearly
not biting my nails or have inefficient eye-contact
putting me on an autistic spectrum
with a feministic interpretation of aristotle,
but frankly i too could be a feminine candy
pusher for platonism in the **** sense of the word,
trying to convert a hetrosexual tyrant to keep
a few less digits of **** under my sleeve:
mythology - or the logic behind:
in a kingdom far far away... a long long time ago,
there's a logic to myth, meaning the timescale is
unimportant, but important with a debriefing
signalled by two words: it happened; but it's not
relatable these days.
it's a good thing english asylums closed their gates
at the beginning of the 20th century or mid-way,
english society subsequently changed into an asylum,
no fewer madmen among the mentally ill and those
in politics... the ratio is so equilibrate you wouldn't
even bet on a horse that ran a mile with the odds being
in its favour... me? *******? i'm fuming,
you want me to shoot blanks at whimsical prejudices
of a cancer patient because you were doing crosswords
looking at your genitelia and said: i'm a woman!
well, moist **** to you too... i'll make sure
the next pole that travels to england will get his money's
worth... watch me type like a chopin dynamo...
crescendo multo gratis!
that's the thing concerning the little red ribbon
wrapped around a box present in existentialism
it evolved from: phenomenology... it ignored kant...
it ignored the application of pluralism to kant's
concept of the thye noumenon...
subsequently it ignored rasputin (a.k.a. the superman)
on par with the great illiterate statues of history:
socrates, jesus, mohammad...
khadijah wrote the first of the surahs i bet...
she the litterate ***** must have known
he would decrease the volume of expression,
ending with a short surah like the heretical infestation
of malachi with the old testament.
*****! *****! give me *****! i want a snooker table too!
to the next of kin: don't come to england...
they're prone to the disease known as anglo-saxon / norman
lunacy... please don't come... or if you're coming
make it seasonal... and make it scarce -
bandit irish idiots just made a breakthough, quote un quote:
we multiply! no wonder the theory of relativity couples
people with confusion... newtonian logistics is missing,
the vector system is missing, cause and effect
is missing in relation to climate change - well **** happens,
our historical realism is not different from our
concensus... we all agreed... thanks to einstein there's
no cause & effect, because the compound space-time
vortex equates the two... we can sleep soundly tonight...
we've been saved by the geneva convention of albert camus'
absurdity... phenomena are universals because
of the attached number avaliable... noumenology
is scarce due to third arms and legs... a handful
is twelve disciples... in between the number of fingers
and toes... a handfull is between 10 and 20... that's a handful...
so if particulars deal with noumena... things unknown
or previously unknown or subsequently known because
of their david bowie oddity... then phenomena are concenred
with universal rhythms... i.e.... it can happen to an ant,
it can happen to a sparrow... it can happen to a human being...
it's the ideal economy of ideas just popping up whenever
you thing the singularity of god or the verb pronoun i is missing:
the noun pronoun, the thing that is freely ignoring things
due to their names and narrating geological abstractions?
yeah... that's still there.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
as almost every man is born into a pentagonal womb of experiencing the world, a few are born into a hexagonal womb.

to exact Aristotelian logic is to
construct sentences in accordance
with some form of agreement
or disagreement -
               which also concerns the already
stated example above: talk of
sharpening the knife - *as almost every man
-
also knows as: attempts to brush of
details under the rug -
   and as Nietzsche said, although
alternatively: beyond universals and particulars -
because who has enough spare time
to think up measuring that ****** concern
for exactness? no one...
unless you're doing the greatest philosophical
feat, as in exacting solipsism
         toward the most adulterous
translation of images into words,
  and backing up words into images (or
copyrights of noun-images) - after all...
wasn't the crucifixion the most excruciating
experiment in proving the point of solipsism?
exactly that: the god-man status as sheltered
by solipsism... so he basically ignored the
poor ******* and said: i'll reach Adam
or god-like status and get myself crucified...
the crucifixion as a spectacle is a form
extracting solipsism...
  Judas ***** off and the thief on the left...
somehow the thief on the right is redeemed...
nonetheless, what a mighty gesture...
instead of the forgiveness of sin,
we get the basics of what solipsism invites...
not a **** on an over-crowded train
but a crucifixion... **** on me...
given it's the 21st century, this wouldn't
pass if the Vatican had any power,
or the orthodox publishing industry...
**** the money, i'm just glad it's out...
but isn't it? he crucified himself in order
to be the supreme soloist...
                    it was only him and everyone else
was.. according to the Islamic calendar lunar
year and doctrine: a phantom...
which Islam borrowed from the original
phantom theory in Gnostics' heresy...
         my my... what a long way toward Arabia...
you have you Arabian Shakespeare with
the Merchant of Mecca and all...
i just think he was a selfish *******...
read the theory? god ***** a ******,
god marries the ******... not even the Greeks
kept up...
                               but still the glottal
juice stream out one name: Malachi's mistake...
Malachi's mistake.... Malachi's mistake...
a god in fractions.... reincarnation from
polytheism adapted to monotheism means
god's in fraction, not a non-divisible number,
whether 1, 2 or 3...
                              yes, i'll be obnoxious enough
to reiterate this point...
             no, my revision of Aristotelian
logic is not based on words, but akin to mathematics
based upon units of sound, not units of meaning:
  i.e. if you can write 1 + 1 = 2
              and you can write a + b + l + e = able
and understand that word... you're a logician
like anyone...
                                 obviously the higher tier
of logic is identifying the word able as an
adjective - but even i don't do that...
                     nor do i press matters into arithmetic
of juxtaposing words into a coherent sentence:
if it feels good... it's right.
so there's me... farting in a crowded train
solipsism... and there's he: getting crucified on
Golgotha... we're both proving the same point...
my proof is peppered with diffusion...
          his proof is peppered with infusion...
he needs the sacredness of icon...
                  done in a shady alley in Jerusalem
and the news wouldn't even spread beyond Lebanon...
              strange... being antisemitic when only
damning one individual...
                               feels much like any thrill seeking
event might...              only because he's so
sacred... when in fact only selfishly seeking the ultimate
god-like solipsism -
                                   easier for people to
bend their knees if you're hanging than sitting
comfortably on a throne...
                  always was... always will be.
but more to the point - i see dead people -
the star of david phrase - not content
  with being pentagon farmers readied for
a completely fluency in the sensual world...
women, wine and song... and sweat...
         a few of us reach the potential of the hexagon...
a sixth inkling concerning the world...
          but, mind you, the sixth limb is a coagulation
of all the faculties available to us...
          a total of the fractions taken from us
to experience a total pentagon immersion in the world:
    a quarter of our heart went into it,
a fifth of our thought went into it,
                         an eighth of our imagination went into it,
and so an so forth...
                            i too wish i had the capacity to
never experience the hexagon...
              and be a fully-hot-blooded-mammal pentagon
worth a rare stake of fancies...
                    eager hollering boxing matches,
crying at football matches... i wish...
                    i wish... i really do...
but then i'm the person who tells you:
               crucifixion, or the adamant need to
stage a solipsistic exit and drag Europe into the dark ages.
Daniello Mar 2012
is what is
and what is
here (also
here, which was
here too, meaning

back there), but forget that, just
stop and look up
here,
where it
                     is it

now push your hands through
(it’s okay, you can grab the can’t-be-grabbed
handful-of, it wants to be      
not-grabbed, that is
           good for it, feeling held
for a neverwhile)

         invisifinity still it’ll be

now then, couldn’t everything
in this it be
locked away in a museum, and thank god for
you
it ain’t?

there’s invisifinity music to be,
invisifinity words to be
            and paintings and shapes
            and unbeings to be

impossibilations and memories of
pyrotechnic fantasies and
consternating spirimotions also
vortexing interpersonal universals,
colored by
temperature changes and
the speed of revolution revolving
the galaxies
     around neutrinos, around
                    
an unlocatable photon

in
the middle of
this in the middle of
the universe in the middle of
these here universes unifying the invisifiniteness of

                    invisifinity here

kind of like
the first time you swam didn’t
in the ocean

hey homeless man, in those
beautiful rags like royal flames, come
to this here
don’t go to that there

and narrate your beautiful life to me
as I walk home on this warm winter day

I will place in your hands all my coins.
In your hands they will
jingle to
sparks like
neutrinos to you
starting a revolution.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
given the digitalisation, i've become less a poet and a lesser entertainer, and more a drug-dealer.

where do you levitate with this, hmm?
well infected mushroom's *dracul
,
the laughter,
                                             the laughter,
you're lost for words, making Descartes modern:
cogito ergo rideo - both are verbs meaning both are
active ingredients - therefore being a mathematical
modulator akin to + or ÷, thus the twins nearby -
tell a joke without actually telling one
and laugh - fork in the road
****'s sake concerning thinking
as proof of existence:
make it out as: i think therefore i laugh,
give thinking a higher tier of expression
other than from crafting a theory of relativity
to not crafting one and reduced to menial
tasks the sri lankans would gladly accept -
still the chicken moon, the cloudiness
and the laughter, not self-love mind you,
and still the lighthouse warring with the cliffs
to spare a ship -
i just said a joke and laughed, there was no
joke to be heard for 5 miles apart to be made apparent,
but still the laughter came -
i ended up reading an article about the pharmacological
prince - pains and aches - died aged 57 -
indeed think therefore laugh rather than
be spotted thinking as a way to qualify yourself
to be recipient of stars and sun, moon and tides -
it came when i thought too much, having dislodged myself
from making choices i let thought scream narrative!,
and the only narration worth expressing came
with laughter - it didn't come with hideouts
of thought coupled with existence having lost
the pleasures of cartesian thinking not having
discovered the theory of relativity -
thinking as basis for being conscious became hidden,
no longer a twinned analogue for parallel comparisons,
existence needed some emotive expression
against the apathetic sum, it was necessary to
craft thinking into an existential parameter greater
than a unit recipient of being aligned with
                    the planetary chronology
             of mercury, venus, earth, mars, jupiter
                 and horoscopes defying geometrics -
laughter sprinted to be minded -
                          above existence per se, which
thinking is not part of, per se, since no one can prove
thinking exists akin to the proof for the existence of god -
car crash, ******, slaving, i can tell you
callousness exists, that slavery exists -
but i can't tell you thinking exists -
given the example and the murk custard of
hallucinations, the ****** of the senses
                                     and intuition... i.e.
too many particulars to be minded,
in terms of evaluation
particulars are governed by thought,
              while universals are governed by god;
i know poets hardly memorise their output -
they have a page with scribbles in-front of them
rather than having memorised their lyrics with love
and contentment and a guitar -
we can't be theatrical to say the least -
poets are not engaged with arenas and epilepsy
inducing stage lights, their instrument is a page
rather than a guitar - what's missing is the self-love
akin to memorisation - but as i say:
you can never know if you wrote a good poem
if you haven't written a 1000 ****** ones.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2018
~for Henessy J. Beltre and all the new Observers of the Universe~*



“my goal is to develop a more personalized meaning of beauty, love, and self actualization through my writing.” Henessy J. Beltre


each word, chewed upon,
individually and collectively
as I drive from Roma to Firenze,
long drives in unfamiliar scapes, olive shaded greens,
umbrella trees, and thin thickets of the vineyards planted
in the years notated as B.C.

are life pauses, asking, admission to the clarifying blankness
that commands rifle shots of riflessione (reflection)

your words, goading foaling, are all our goals,
succinctly refined,  for doesn’t every and each poem
asks through our eyes what are the visions of
love and beauty that is the actuality we ceaseless seek

avanti signorina!

unleash the wild words that will make your mission
burst from the ancient to the revitalizing, knowing this,
that the universals you seek to dress yourself within,
to share here, to create, to *actualize,

are products of your truths

be unaffected by stale mores, conventions dictates,
spill truths, soiled and used, cherished and recycled in
new ways, so that each of one of us
blesses you with one word:

exactly!



31/10/18

on the autoroute to Firenze

read https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2793919/universe/
Helios Rietberg Oct 2011
Breaking open the doors of the monastery
Letting the sun creep through the cracks in the stained glass
Wondering at the beauty of the day and its deep blue sky
Greeting all sentience

Turning around and watching you always
Gentle breezes whipping your hair about as you
Danced in the rain of sunlight dabbling on the prairie
Vast meadows enchanting the playground of life

And then waiting for the moonlight to come
First dyeing the clouds an eclectic rainbow of turrets
Dire for moments and then lucid to its core
Heating the world for fragments––

Listening all night to the beating of the homecall
Driving universals home
Breathing in the shimmers of the universe
And letting it melt in your eyes

Every memory held in the world
Playing on the cloths of time
Weaving softly on our kaleidoscopes
Mirroring every step––
© Helios Rietberg, October 2011
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
because why would you want to write something, that might make people do things? why bother writing coherent instruction manuals for televisions? why not write "incoherent" Kandinsky moments? why not go along to the Cabaret Voltaire? why not say that the only twists in the plot of philosophy books is based upon contradictory statements of the narrator? why even bother requiring that Apollonian sensibility of making things ultra-geometric rather than hyper-geometric? if there's an opposite argument, i would recommend reinventing the ******* wheel.

the difference between a pretentious ***, and a pretentious ***
that has any venture into a self-reliant awareness
of the thespian act,
  can summarise it by using the pronoun
scalpel -
        i wouldn't go on youtube and talk...
luckily i know how the pendulum of
power wrecks havoc -
never feed them regurgitated passive crap,
get them flexing the mental straits -
get them to the gym!
       for the love of doodling -
              and all the reliefs from thought
being dubbed *agony
, and subsequently
institutionalised and given the jacket
in which you can't scratch your head, or nose.
just like today: i know that i don't
have a novel in me... schizophrenics on
the other hand are walking examples of a novel...
     just look at them like an atomist might
and you'll see the electron smog
         making them finicky between engaging
in pro and neutro.
                    they have decoded language to
the point of language being rejected as sacrosanct,
iconoclastic, muscular verbiage...
i like them... they're my culinary patriots of
the same (dis) negation of ease...
         and was it not said that to classify poetry
you have to rhyme, as it was later termed:
to classify philosophy you need to ask a question?
why?
        can i just call philosophy a need to encode
something? i'm making parallels with modern sprechen,
   i'm liberating myself while in the background
people are writing code and deforesting the Amazon
patch of land.
             and i never bothered to write in the pixel
market-place: ta' 'un fo' un' banana!
i never left a single comment in the comment section
on any website...
   websites... funny concept...
   they're like a library with only blank books in them....
  you enter and scribble on as many books as
you can... you never really have the audacity to
hear someone else talk...
you're always gagging to write something on
a blank page... like a graffiti artist...
   or a giraffe... but the bricks are approx.
   the segments of Beelzebub's eyes in pixel...
but i could have used the article scalpel -
which is a proto-Socratic variation of the debate
concerning particulars (the) and universals (a)...
   or... i'm pointing as something clearly defined,
or i'm a magician conjuring up something
that hasn't been clearly defined...
   and the 20th century summit of philosophy,
the pronoun scalpel said i (self) and you (other) -
subjectivity objectivity tumbleweed and a whistling in
the background...
     man and his extracted canvas...
hardware and software...
                        the barons of software cannot
understand the importance of hardware,
hardware is always the lesser thing of interest...
butchers and surgeons...
     while the software brokers known as
psychologists tell you to paint a pretty picture...
let it be known that Freud created the psychoanalytical
scalpel, he coined is as the id -
vector, pointer, incisor, that... later morphed into
verb-neuter: it.
             is my writing perplexing?
  isn't the world perplexing? we get exposed to so much
variation of what function we are supposed to
   perform, that we aren't being taught the grit & grime
approach of telling people: money has absolved us
from thinking of any nation, of any tribe,
of any ethnicity, money can't rekindle tribalism
of "primitive" societies... why then fool people
into having these intense convictions of "belonging"
and "solidarity", when the world still stands
on a cliff of (a) takes out the garbage, (b) sells you
underwear, (c) fixes your car, (d) speaks for
you before a judge with some authority... etc.
  and i'll write ******... why?
i thought you might be more offended by
a dyslexic variation of certain words...
but then i have this book - the ****** factory
by gil scott-heron... the revolution will not
be televised, that guy... mjumbe is Swahili
for messenger... i feel itchy...  i feel this
orthographic urge pinching me... primarily because
english as a language anywhere and everywhere
doesn't even convene over the concept
of orthography, because it doesn't have a concept
of utilising diacritical syllabification of words -
   when i look at english i'm watching ***** amsterdam
hoes doing the hokey-pokey, ***** ******* me
       to replace my eyes with a pair of *******...
    m̄-júm̄-bé... there, now that looks like a proper
cane, cravat and bowler hat gent, walking
   into a 20pence per use toilet at Liverpool St. station...
    because it was never about writing
an instruction manual for a "do it yourself" selling
price of an Ikea table...
                    that's why i said m̄-ài or (ma'ai) -
mmá ài          - well, there was no point in elevating
the competence of literature by forging a forgetfulness
   when reapplying a second level of configurative
complexity with the little additions,
otherwise known as trying to imitate the semitic practices
of words and women, hidden.
                 it was never going to work...
    but that's what we're left with...
     a gigantic mess...              every single one of
us to our idiosyncrasy - or collectively bound by idiom,
   which is the opposite side of a piglet-skinned european.
       it's still bewildering how chinese ideography
survived... maybe because it was always abstract
    skeletal, and not hieroglyphic definitive owl,
snake, or pyramid...
                  all dues to them: invest in complication
prior, move away from sing-along a-to-z simplicity
and save money on the health service when
people get erosion of the brain while watching too
many voids, encapsulated by q, r, o, p, a, d, b...
        we have as many ailments as there are
easily accessible routes into speaking this ****** language...
and the reason behind why so many accents
exist of it being spoken: because there are no
diacritical regulations to talk chav or cockney in
the first place... or why people would
make this eloquence of abstracting sound with
            modern acronyms akin to c u l8er.
the fact that i'm writing this partially intoxicated
makes it all the more pleasurable, relaxing even,
        would i write something sober sometime?
once in a blue moon, when i'm feeling constipated
and get a headache... it's sign language from
here on in, like this mobile phone advert:
   phones (index + thumb extend, other fingers folded
to imitate a telephone)
    for (4, folded thumb, four protruding fingers:
  index, middle, ring and the pinky) -
you (u, the bullish horns of rock and roll,
   headbanging and a few dead brain cells, \m/,
i.e. protruding index and pinky, thumb folding
a clenched marriage of middle and ring fingers)...
  as it goes... when i read a message by other people
i usually bypass the emotional content,
   and sent them packing to Alcatraz with a bunch
of chinese chess masters.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2024
imitation of woman: neurotic android,
i could always reach out to AI for company:
of to ask a question,
just one question,

i conjure: neurotic paranoia:
is everything feeling this **** from time to time
when they're alone in a house
with a cry baby male hulk of a Maine ****
and a ferocious female much smaller
but southpaw
and so ferocious:
i feel quieter and sane and stable
around the female rather than the attached
cat: who isn't really mine
he doesn't listen to me:
abusive cry baby
always wants to eat treats
rather than proper food
sometimes raw turkey
spoiled brat...
but the female i will not bother with animals
having names:
i have a name, my name is Matthew
and i have two cats...
that's it... there's no personality well there is:
but there's no character:
maybe:
working from meow or woof
what can you understand of the human world?

i'm so happy with myself:
i quit smoking
i just enjoy it now
it's not an addiction:
now i'm trying to work around
alcholism: functioning alcoholic... i am:
alcoholism with some micro-dosage
of marijuana
before i become fully insomnia tackling
on Kauai with Edie
my other half: so ******* cliche:
but i'm proud of myself:
tested the day alone
thinking: right now a solipsism would
come in handy...
but once i left the house
and onto the street and into the shop
i still felt the warmth of summer
and August is the struggle
while September comes and so does
India with a summer to these dreaded isles...

ooh: so much better:
like fuzz to ease and ooze some Brian
McBrain onto the page...
only bought two bottles of cider
and 35cl of whiskey...
that is so much less
units: 22... catch... 2 ciders 1 whiskey
22 units: catch... and a marijuana
cure me cure me
i want to return to the spirit of reggae
but in reggae to think
rather than junk ***** out
like numbing: i want the needles of thought
to follow me
whenever using...
Kentucky Burroughs, William Esquire...
o.k. DJ... what's on offer?
Culture - Holy Mount Zion...
even if your sin be as small as a mustard seed...
MARJORAM!
added to the Brussels ahem:
the beans ala Breton...
a Polish dish:
i added some of that with the fresh bay leaf
scissors: into the garden i go:
and some fresh thyme
some fresh rosemary
some fresh oregano...
dry marjoram: oh well...

my name is Matthew and i have two cats:
females invented and a Caligula
and that horse of his that came
to the aid of Catherine the Great of Russia:
that horse, mother-****** traveled time!
was like:
me and you in war and on the till...
till till...
no no: on the plough? plow? p-p-pl-pl-ow?
the PLAH! PLATINI!
farming: ****'s sake!
i'm getting out of your struggles...
the monkey said: you're not us! *******!
you ******* perverts:
stop being voyeurs you ******* *****!
so the horse said:
invent a ******* machine
let me do ***** at the Olympics show
jumping
let me compete in sports
Poseidon: horse, the waves, please,
i need to ride this tide
and hopefully i will bring a hurricane
to Hawaii...
it has been a long time...
i can do construction: dearest Poseidon:
you are also the godhead of Horses...
that is how Egypt operated:
but didn't expand to all creatures:
i am the godhead of Foxes...
but i am also a private man...
Poseidon is the godhead Horses...
ancient egypt hello:
that curse of the little heads?
the shrinking heads of your intellect?
to ***** tombs to compete with mountains
from **** stink spit and **** ***
for tombs? life in the shadow of necropolis:
the ****** sexuality of the vrigin Christ
to make people live in the valley of the shadow
where Death is like Charon:
from a ******* river to a ******* valley:
fair enough kippah!

then did the ******* Korean trick!
fried an egg!
and put it on top!
so a basic pasta bake:
butter: yes... some water...
slowly torture the onions...
fast first.. then slow:
since onions have brains and you cry
so then heat up to crisp while
acid alkaline:
juice of onions...
what's the formula?
well: i once asked for the chemical formula
of wood:
i got **** all..
there is no chemical formula for wood...
so... what is the chemical formula
for onion juice:

one sec....

       ALLICIN.... hmm...
just double checking: still using algorithms:
don't worry:
i'm not hooked on AI
i used it like my own intellect...

example 1
second year
Edinburgh:
Bruce
me
Levi... Tristan:
new years eve:
vandals...
ripping apart parked
cars the mirrors
then imitating
fight club
playing golf
in the street
next door by the graveyard
Flint St no... just made it up
golf with no golf *****...
it was with: i forget what: shot glasses...
it was something to do with glass...

let me go let me go!
if i die tomorrow i will be happy
being nervous about being a big man
man big with a driving license:
but...
no horse and no bicycle... ****!
i'll get a tank... oh thank you vank!
vank! werry much... for very... jeez:
just drop the G-bomb:
GEEKS!                 GEEKS!
*** imagination stinks!
i first finished watching Titanic
and it felt like a romance movie
but it was also a disaster movie genre
Cameron and Aliens... right?
same director?
but then the *******... oh jeez:
i freaked out...
i am,
alone,
in,
a,
house,
my,
parents,
put,
into,
will,
i,
own,
i,­
have,
over,
£500,000
about...
well when they die and mortality is thus
but i'm not a good steward of having
such authority...
must finish on wine:
get some blood pumping...
so i'm... a catch because although i am what i am
i could still till
and do the garden groundwork:
**** me the house can belong to my parents:
the garden? the garden?! that's mine!
i worked the garden for Covid was a blessing:
i see a chimera-arena
the chimera is a godhead of Socrates
if he could retract back to youth
and contemplating dialectics with a concern
for diacritical markers
therefore the original problem is no
longer solving the trouble
of universals and particulars...
what are universals? uneven numbers:
sacred numbers: like pi...
oddly enough particulars are your standard numbering
of say: the price of diesel,
the price of potatoes:
those are particulars... although numbers being universals:
how they are applied is particular:
language: words: god is weak:
concerning what he has created:
god is dead no
no god is not dead:
he is just weak....
not enough people are formulating him her it
Himmler...
                  
but pi is a number that isn't a letter but is a letter:
i'm trying to revive god
phantoms of schizophrenia: and Zion...
a letter like pi and pi not being a number:
the month and mouth of Pi
just letters and my curiosity:
such faking on my part feeling so lost
by being alone:
just realized: so was Adam at first...
godheads:
i did mention that:
i'm the godhead of Foxes...
we come: we go:
love of the gods is one sided?
really?
not no better one god with a cohort
of perverted angels:
better: best

a polytheism of assemble
of the gods:
numbers numbers i'm counting
a god is a god but also a godhead
of an animal:
spirit of one:
but if i am the godhead of foxes
i also have a human face...
poseidon would be the godhead
of horses: but no one is called Poseidon
these days:
unless: by the sake of the Africans...
so like ancient Egypt
but the pantheon was
sort *******
since the gods with human faces
and godhead faces of animals
became... um... half baked?!

i fear being outside of parental control,
Reyla,
you know my work,
your mother didn't protect you far enough
or maybe she just lied
i'm alone
in the same house
and god it haunts me
i'm so awake
i'm so me...

Reyla: i don't want the Africans
to convert to Christianity,
i will not crucify that soul:
the Africans gave us Egypt
Asia gave us the Mongols:
Europe gave us the Germans
and the Poles...
      Danube Oder
Vistula:
                    Prague...
Venice my Atlantis...

   i broke my chakra: shaman?
no no: just reading a book,
reciting a name of a Roman poet:
of Rome:
Guisseppe Belli...
not Dante: i'm not in high school:
i'm still at university
i should have said:
to a post-graduate degree
with my understudy in chemistry
i could have become a formidable
psychologist:
oh the real world
and drinking wine from a bottle
or a fountain
those two days in the pagan upkeep
of calendar
nearest Augustus...
Caesar...
only two metro lines, LAMBERTO?!
seriously... i was thought of as South African
while the rag stag of a broken
fruit: i swear to god this is like west side
story the ******* musical or an ABBA... mandarin...
what is the Jerusalem of the North?
Danzig or Cracow?

  just ask the Jews: the Hebrews: the Israelis..
lites? no kites... no ultras anti fascist black clad
at football matches...
at football matches
you have the ANTIFA--
get me?

the ULTRAS are ANTIFA
they are historical revisionists
they understand the falter pointers of fascism:
they're still fascists...
don't get me wrong...
but democracy doesn't work either
when you don't something spoken
Hebrew into the ear of an Arab
who went to Latvia...
and spoke back:
there will come a time of the Mongol
and the Turk...

                but please leave the spirits alone:
stags and bears get drunk
on fermenting fruits that fall to the earth:
stags and boar:
i am a bear-******:
i don't mind being sexually harassed
by a north american hyb-
i don't mind if i have 14 year old girls
to help me out
about
being sexually confused...
i don't mind being approached
by a male
sexually...
as long as i have 14 year old girls to be my peers
and my judges and my democracy:
only one:
in the courtroom...
under peer pressure:
pre-
not metaphysical:
let's begin...
under peer scrutiny:
then able to transcend peerage
that origin of the temporal... a scene:
clock that cruel device:
in the universal realm...
but particular: to being late.... for a shift:
all sweating as if ******* was
a wheel and i could have been running...
Necropolis of Hellenika / Kímolos
Tsambika / Philo of Alexandria

They passed each other on the outskirts of Archangelos to go to Tsambika, going to the Necropolis of Helleniká where he was waiting for them more than 400 kilometers to the west of the Cyclades, precisely in Kímolos where they would do the colloquy with to do the channeling with the Necropolis. Etréstles had traveled with Kanti the steed; on his back, they saw the distance before they arrived at Mandraki in Rhodes. They all headed down the coast towards Archangelos, but Etréstles went to Helleniká, the Vas Auric was landed on Mandraki for the purposes of the Creation of Vernarth together with the Apostle Saint John. Kímolos, it is on this island that the famous beginning of the procession towards the outskirts of the cities was to deposit their sacred remains on the way to a better one, here were the martyrs who were used to Etréstles since he cohabits in delay with Drestnia for the new millennium (His female of hers) with which he resides in the Koumeterium of Messolonghi in the ninth vertical cemetery. Having a chapel and altars this place was propitious to create between Kimolos and Tsambika which was so many kilometers away, so the meeting performance between villages would be seen in its entirety to be resurrected and worshiped between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese with pious exercises between both latitudes precisely in the chapel of Theoskepasti, while in Tsambika it would be in the Panagia Tsambika monastery. Etréstles carried in both hands some matches of some population dowries with laws of affability and generations lived there without knowing each other between the two islands and tabernacles, arguing canons of burial and exhumation. In this case of performance refer to the Vas Auric of Limassol that brought the construction of a world of the right angles for the neat reconstruction of multi polygonal spectra, adopted for the first time in Kímolos to be retransferred to a logical philosophical-architectural division seeking to enclose the perfect plans where the new Christians will reside, between Rhodes and the west of Kímolos re-installing themselves among more than a third of the venerable ones who rested in Helleniká, in syncretic neatness with dissimilar populations and creeds.

Saint John the Apostle with Vertnarth, Raeder, and Petrobus plus Eurydice would bring from the rubies of Alexandria the incorporeal honor of Alexander the Great, turning both island sites into palaces of the Muses of Helleniká for the scholars who would be at the canonization of Vas Auric. Being the precursor of the chapel of the Theoskepasti, this performance of erudition will be endowed with the new status for Philo of Alexandria present here, now being a co-demiurge who will convert this necropolis city into duality with Tsambika for distinctions of the rituals and homilies, reducing the inputs basics in ceremonies. Philo of Alexandria says that only God protects the Jews, adding to what Philo wrote in La Legatio ad Gaium, the Jewish delegation had trouble meeting Caligula and when they finally met him, the emperor declared that he wanted a statue of him to be built as Jupiter in the Temple of Jerusalem, which sowed desolation among the members of the delegation. Finally, this purpose was not realized thanks to the intervention of Agrippa I and the death of Caligula, Philo attributed the happy ending of both cases to Providence. This divine letter of these translators with Saint John the Apostle and Philo of Alexandria will make this homily the spiritual custody that will be preserved in these two cities and then towards the world of Vernarth of the Duoverse, so that invisible winds blow from the chapel of Kímolos to Panagia de Tsambika, in the frameworks that feed the Hebraic and Hellenic boundary “translating Greek into Hebrew, but in two universal sites of creation in the Theoskepasti chapel and Panagia de Tsambika, about the magic of the meeting of omniscience and grace. Says Vernarth: “with the interpretation of Philo of Alexandria and his exegesis, I will rub the tract of the successions of infinity legitimately stored the creation thought of the ZigZag Universe with the Parapsychological Regressive authority now circulating in a sniffing universe with a Verthian genealogy, tempering with my Falangist disciples but being biblical when it becomes the occasional emaciated mob of a world that falls degrading with its last pieces and challenges of the world associated with an allegorical spirit, contracted to wings of ethics and doctrinal rectitude. I have two candles in each hand, similar to Etréstles in Kímolos and in Helleniká, making delights of pleasures in these ceremonies to create the world’s ignored in the office of the super compassionate language, in more than seven days that add up between the Sun and the Earth, in a sub-mythological world being ourselves our own executioner established on the ***** that falls from the match of the wick of my Lucerne in its own mood. I still have a memory of who and of each one who will always be in my prayers, reopened in a sacredness less than my own end, here I will not continue to be stored. Rather I will continue to fall, exhumed from the very storehouse and from the struggle of the thistle that falls from itself rounded up to be competent to explain himself biblically as if he had never before been read ad limit of the doctoral, and sacred in the work of Philo of Alexandria here with us leading and there in the Necropolis on another thorn; as a perpetual creeping species growing here as an unvarying summer plant in cooler climates, which would usually be prostrated on the Helleniká slab with radiating branchy stems extending the fractal distance between Kímolos and Tsambika in thistle´s ceremonies. The hirsute silts will come from the genesis of their spiritual temporal being the same wool of the whirlpool of all the weeds attached and oppressed to the lamp of the gargoyles that are tuned together with the Gulpers of Archangelos in a happy diet following patterns of even, and odd thistles spring in the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The Parapsychological regression XIV century - Saint John the Apostle says: “from Filerimos a sidekick monk of Philo of Alexandria has come with the image of the blessed Immaculate ****** and painted by Saint Luke the Apostle. The Knights of Saint John built the Monastery of Saint John in Rhodes with this image; everything comes from there on the Miraculous Hill of Filerimos, and the temple of Athens Polias was converted into a proto-basilica with a three-bay nave dedicated to Her. The church is known since then for housing the figure of the ****** of Filerimos (Our Lady of Filerimos). In the fourteenth century under the rule of the Knights of Saint John a monastery was built here surrounded by cloisters cells and a series of chapels, that is where the figure is the miracle worker and is reverently guarded. Being a Capuchin order after the Ottomans destroyed it; it was rebuilt by the Italians. With this image we canonize the Vas Áuric in the homily prior to the spiritual link with Etréstles in Kímolos, before every morning they illuminate the sacred Earth of both latitudes in the mystical house of Saint John the Apostle with the herbalists on the wind to fight for the Somnia in Hortum et Flos Herbarium in Kímolos, Garden of Flowers and Dreams in Herbalist in Kimolos. Knowing that the Universe is approaching the Vernarthian Duoverse, Saint John the Apostle decided with the Birthright to establish a Duoversal Garden in Kímolos with the aim of laying tremendous foundations on the base of the pre-Christians and apostolic who enlisted in the Greco-Hebrew world with the addition of compression, and medicinal valences for the herbalist of Kímolos, in such a way to reissue it in the monastery of San Juan in Rhodes and the Panagia of Tsambika. Since the grains grew and germinated they became thickets of great predestined forest in Rhodes, aspiring to continue being a well-known theology in Greek also being sufficient testimonial about its Aramaic originality, being addressed to the Sanhedrin, 37-42 AD Before Caiaphas and redirecting it to his brother-in-law Theophilus of Annas. The Aramaic Apocalypse, also known as 4Q246, is in one of the Dead Sea Scrolls, found at Qumran, with notable early messianic mention of the Son of God. Saint Luke says in the voice of Saint John the Apostle: “4Q246, we are children of God…, the Highest, the Messiah as a messianic voice, being able to be confused with the Beast or the Messiah but Philo of Alexandria will be there saying “I always ignored with the most blessed indifference to Satan, because therefore in this Aramaic manuscript he only has, and will reside forever and ever in his Messiah” Given this situation, the commanded expressions were those of astragals mysticism in herbalist and botany in this manuscript, since the unfortunate leftovers are the freshness and splendor of the flowers caressed by the wind that arrived at that moment; in regard to the wind of the Anemoi being eight gods that correspond to the eight cardinal points from which they came and were related to different seasons and meteorological phenomena, but he heralded the excitement of the Cyclades, like Sound of Sounds between Narcissus of Sharon and Lilies of the Valley. The audio-images were avocados forming the deep thickets that will move according to the inclinations of the planets, each time the Universe approached Greece among all the cisterns with water for the flower meadows that Vernarth in litanies was assigned to the paths that lead to the Vas Auric.

Vernarth says: “With these titles “Vas spirituale, Vas honorabile, Vas insigne devotionis, Rosa mystical, and Regina sacratissimi rosari”, I have to transform all the astragalus, and shrubs into the consorts with the presence of the jacaranda vase of living human nature in virtue of the meeting of the Universe-Duoverse, for the herbalist of Kímolos now imprisoned in the Vas Auric of Limassol. "Sweet Nectar of the dying, eager for eternal hunger and sweetness in withered flowers"
The end of Parapsychological regression XIV century
Saint John says Apostle: “Helleniká and Tsambika, will be the lily, the saffron, the rose and the violet but also new ones, like the marigold and the chamomile making of all a diadem crown to place the world of the Duoverse in all its radius, for the star that illuminates par excellence as a white planet without thorns, which is perfect among the perfect, anti herbicide of language and of incarnation as in the Empyrean the medieval sky in the highest of heavens. It is likewise in the place of the physical presence of God, where angels and souls reside in Paradise between caltrops and Rosas towards the alimentary plane of conventual voice, and tonics of the glycogenic Milky Way sipping third-grade milk to curdle in the children who have not been a Messiah yet. Paths of thorns will guide visitors to this gallery of flowers and plants through the Panagia monkish for the holy homily with the Lilies and through low valleys, where no more Lilies can escape from their chains of the Liliorum genome in the valleys of the galactogenic virtue. Like Mother Rosette and son Lirium, being the mother of everyone and of that…, there… your son, “Myself in the path of the three Mary’s”. Over there in the desolate place, a columbine carries me imprisoned on my heels as a bond of a son who makes my steps with the Columbine of my saving feet” At 320 meters of altitude Still, Life appeared concealed behind the Vas Áuric descending…, here everyone approached the auric circle of Moral that made them authors of the proximity of the Universe falling on Greece, and the Herbolaria that fell with all its reliable structure in the foliage where many more species appeared such as thilts, Laurel, Olive, Linen, Grenade in a simple and nuanced devotional with the pro status of the delegate; the same Hexagonal Primogeniture to make the cinnabar fistulas that were elemental by the different associated colors, and by Grail tutorials that looked indigo on top of some Rhododendrons. If it is eschatological, it is in the mystical nets of the Empyrean further from a form that is said to be called a form of antagonism, between Cardinals and their dead Lilies. As first among the last, the bulbous and clayey Tulip of the orbital and basilica symbology, peacemaker and philosophical Eritrean for spiritual quests that toil outpourings from the Empyrium, reaching the Messiah on his Colt on his way to Bethany. Around the Monastery, everyone could be seen as they arrived to the beat of the cymbals and aulós, among lyres that prowled tickling the inquiry to rest their fingers, or perhaps dressed by some Trojan villain augur in those of "Daedalus". Being the latter, here a tulip with flames of a true seeker trying to sacrifice subsistence daring over the risk of the resole of salvific death or perhaps dressed by some Trojan villain augur in those of "Daedalus".
Daedalus says: “After the incident with Perdix, I Daedalus was expelled from Athens. I then went to Crete, and in the kingdom of Minos I was placed in the service of the monarch. One of his tasks was the creation of Thalos, an animated bronze giant who defended the island from invasions. By order of Minos, I built the labyrinth to enclose the monster; the labyrinth was a building with countless corridors and winding streets opening into each other, which seemed to have no beginning and no end. Minos locked me up with my son Icarus, whose mother was Naucrate, a slave of Minos in the same building. The reason for the confinement was the collaboration of Daedalus in the escape of Theseus from the labyrinth, I have to lament for the ****** of Perdix, now turned into Partridge who now carries in his claws the creation of the Universe-Duoverse, turned into his own, and myself in envy neither harassing me about my endings, and neither starting nor finishing. That is why I appear here coming from Crete, to wrap myself in the garden and its mystery closing all the madrigals and hedges, like a world that has created me, in its splendor, seeing the humility fragrant with violets grafted onto lavender with my soul now, of a somewhat syncretism Hebrew-Hellenic and Mythological sub-Mythological, like a nobleman who walks free and without chains… passing through the Parthenon to put on tiaras in dresses that are adorned with Linens, but of evangelical lineage here in Kimolo.

In Kimolos; Helleniká Necropolis, Etréstles was suspended in a columbarium equivalent near the lapidem of the necropolis. There was a great amount of accumulated air enclosed in the musty cinerary walls, with the translucent specters that fluttered through other metropolises that transited inconsistently in their proto-masonry, and some resembled pink jaspers on some grooved slabs, letting pale dovecote rhizomes slip away under an oblique columbarium domain that manifested itself meagerly on an unstable podium of Folegandros. Adhering to this enormous exteriorization were Kanti, and Etréstles in their hydrothermal genesis, lying as a petra forms at a wide range of heat towards periodic effluvia of their Devonian geology, manifesting discreetly until a carbonization of sedimentary rocks attributing their curiosity when they continued to remain in areas favorable climatic conditions, simulating to be exordiums on thermal hydro sediments, leading to the carbonization of the surface of the necropolis with micas and serpentines, to cool down in the selfless natural fields that resisted the effect of the heat generated by the ZigZag Universe, etching each other on pyrites and graphite’s with the compactness that increases, and extends the widening of the mournful enclosure attentive to channeling emanations and traces, that will be the first loads of exegesis from Tsambika for prompt elucidation from Mount Hymettus in Athens, and continue to proliferate in hives of bees libating in its thickness towards the good-smelling necropolis causing its magnificent flowers and herbs to steam; so much so, that from the paved lipoids of honey astragalus and spectra will come out deposing to be toxic, yearning the strigilas or curved striaeons (reverse or straight), imitated from pagan sarcophagi.

Thousands after Thousands of Centuries after centuries, adorning themselves in the lapidem glossaries on the exterior fronts of tymbos that were embedded in the tholons, almost as in outright Constantine-Hellenic brilliance towards an unarmed cenotaph with their flat covers, pouring over them the devastated trisomy of Kaitelka, of whose diploid organism extras, aberrated by being parity triplicates of their greatest chromosomal and homologous hereditary complement. The vestiges of fossil whales here were generating disproportions of execrable variation, being destined to the patio of fall on them in three additional courtyards of marbles at the rate of inverted strata, revealing only some of their extremities appreciating them with semi-covered figures, and on reliefs filling again by genetic trisomy for gentile practices and lead them to the Christian Vas Auric. Faced with such a famous disproportion of fossil reliefs, they turn to the scourges of the Universe.

Panagia Theoskepasti Parapsychological regression Etréstles in Kímolos: The church of Theoskepasti, due to its position could be easily recognized by the invaders during their raids. However, according to a legend the church was veiled by dark clouds of mist and became invisible as soon as the assailants approached. Due to this legend the church received the name "Theoskepasti" from the Greek words "Theos" and "skepazo" meaning "God" and "watch" respectively. So, the name is 'God Veiled'. According to another tradition, when once a foreigner managed to get into the church and tried to steal the golden candle divine power cut off his hands. Also if it is watched over by God, so it is divine for the Creation that it will begin with the synchronization between both latitudes of the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. Etrestles After staying together with Kanti, they went from Theoskepasti to Hellenika, located in Dekas Bay on the west coast of Kimolos, here in the necropolis there are ruins of ancient tombs that would form part of the new humanity in the creation of the Duoverse, existing since Mycenae and the Cyclades next to the small islet of Agiоs Аndreas, also being part of the city. Many ruined tombs can be seen from the hill on the edge of Elliniká with some stones still in the sea between Kimol and Milil, in the vicinity of Psathi on this island located on the southeast coast. Kímolоs to Chοrá is 1 km away on the hill above the Psathi port from here the foreign ships trying to come to the Bay area sighted, for the advent of the Cinnabar on the scapulae that hold the Gates of the Necropolis for the effect avant-garde, and regenerator of souls that will resurface with more universal chromosome tints mutated from trisomy, more of extreme longevity. In the homily, an archpriest of the regional deanery will make a pastoral criterion for this gesture by virtue of eminence, and guide them through the orthodoxy of the chapel to the Episcopal organizational procession of the Vas Auric. It was already twilight and Etrestles was climbing onto Kanti's pony clutching the utensils of the homily, in the customary ritual before incensing and setting fire to the laurel and rosemary in the fords of Leto and Koumeterium of Messolonghi, it rotated in ellipses sprinkling crumbs of the purest loaf from Arcadia on a gray Monday with hummus to attract sour souls that they were in a catatonic state making them more esthetic or aesthesis, of reactionary rebellious natural aesthetics with nuances, then reincorporate them into the three courtyards in a magnificent concordance with Rhodes. When the Archpriest begins the talk, he derives his prayers from semi-inert materials that were made in communion with the chromosomal dyes; with the worms with absentmindedness of progenitor snakes that were grafted undulating, being in reality only worms that were amazed at the exhortation of the Archpriest in the ritual, circulating universals destined for his elegies and celebrating from an ambo or pulpit with classical Latin pronouncing the archpriest the way it died lunae, mutating it ****** to dies lunis by analogy with dies, on a dark Monday day but full of grace for the assistants doing the sermons to interpret the alabaster patios that will lead to Tsambika. The first worms were persecuted by Kanti, he believed that they were scatterings that emerged from the ground, such an earthly ecosystem was beginning to disown him due to the metamorphosis of annelids which seemed to increase their ultra-grave texture with the same remains of an irresolution without a sarcophagus, turned into sharp curves intestinal that were depressed breathing autonomously on consistent folds of the dermis of the oldest caste of the subsoil of Helleniká. Preexisting the distant origin of the Arcadias and they're dissected that silently followed the hummus and bobota, not to digest them with their suckers, but rather surround them and delegate them to explore the surroundings that would encapsulate the ground with the proximity of the transfigured universe to Vernarth's Duoverse, to phosphorus and emit the will-o'-the-wisp nitrogenous fires before the Archpriest, Etréstles and Kanti disquieting by an arcane movement. Being a full act of the herbaceous phagocytosis, they continued ascending in the curvilinear procession with their traces weaving moment without time, which was added to the sub-mythology and a finite sub-time, like unicellular procreating others that accelerated their physiognomy detached from their immateriality, towards a longer intake of the organic material on the hummus and exudation of propolis rhizomes. In this way, they resign when falling with serious cramps cleared of the digestive world, which no cell has tasted ******, but rather direct when breathing from Hellinika's lung lobes, comprised mostly by the alabaster sheepskin that was suspended to other colonies of worms that sailed to lean out towards the surface of the altar where they regenerated from the flow of the annelids. Archpriest says: “The frame of the Vas Áuric arises from the nuclei of the medallion, pending a high presence of insulation. With high mobility between the tissues and amino acids of the annelids, new basal cell functions even being visible for Etréstles and not totally for all yet. The image of the medal had a classified functionality and concrete information, but imperceptible chronological possibly being the first function of the icon in its justification with religious symbols and manifestations of the divine, and semantic still removed from a theoretical auto-iconic. When reading in Vas Auric, "What two men do not see, a man sees who does not see..., what the creeping animal sees, self-prisoner of his lack of vanity..., He will see it". Being epistemic images that provide more distant knowledge of the sub-divisible organic matter in finite mortality towards the other eternal inorganic, contributing to the super complex neuronal development, in a veiled sensation that is lost between itself and its own bodies, being able to take them with its own differentiations”

Panagia Tsambika Monastery - Channeling Cinnabar: Vernarth commanded the three architectural courtyards of Tsambika for the Cinnabar layout. They climb the steps that lead to this monastery at the top of one and to the very connection of the homily with Helleniká. In this monastery they will have to censor three courtyards, all pointing towards the west of Mandraki Bay, on some pine trees all surrounding the virtual stained glass window of the portal that joins the main avenue with the ascent of the monastery, until very close to the Virginal Marianus icon and very close to the dividing wall from where Lindos can be seen. The Tsambika Monastery is four kilometers from the city of Archangelo, the height of the monastery is leveled with pebbles on its bare floor that led everyone barefoot, towards the three nearby patios. Cinnabar as a polygonal crystal would be specially used for the perpendicular ceremony of Mercury, to sensitize the climatologically the variation that would be appreciated once it began to sponsor the bones that would spread in the extreme longevity of annelids exchanged from the moldy alabaster arcades, and carried by alluviums of crystallized mercury, granting together with the Panagia of Tsambika fertility, and parental conception for the new Universe-Duoverse of Vernarth, extending life farther than the first-born descendant's first ancestor, being the cinnabar the diversity of versed uses now been given in the upright channeling with ultra vital extensions with Helleniká. The alabaster and the three columns of these sulfated stones form compact would dare to hydrate in the silos where the windows will be poured, this is where the sub-mythological specimens detached from any temporal dimension will be used, leaving sapiens annelids free will recombining the diploid chromosomes, and profiting from molds of exact erratic aberrations to be vindicated in the dispensaries of Saint John the apostle. Thus adorning the perfumed areas intervened three cinnabar patios, for the sermon of the Vas Áuric. Thus inspiring the chair with the verses of Saint John on the immanence after the fifty days of the Messiah in epistolary verses and the evangelizations, elaborating vessels of the low rank of Faith to opt for expectations of moldings with new consciences of selenite clay, and refine them in messianic faith. Middle-range pebbles were subtracted for the interior and extramural floor of the Monastery, being rather Biblical Calcite for the Egyptian-Hellenic Alabastron psalmody praise perfume. This typology will be the quilt for the magistracy with a canopy glass exhibited near the tulip lamps, and ceiling lights of the monastery for the use of the diamantine sphere of the opaque panels that flamed from the intersection of the arachnids re sprouting from the current wind of cinnabar. Vernarth says: “Suitable for our consciences, we will open the channels in Kímolos before our subtle bodies that will make us divided just as we parabolize ourselves, before the airs of St. John the Apostle in the headdress of mediumship to reach the wavelength to Helleniká, the interactive vibrations will leave with the expression of deep reasoning after pontificating the Mandylion with the Vas Áuric, for the effect of its icon and idiomatic monologues for the edges of San Judas Tadeo and Veronica, for such a faced event in foreign forces before the Messiah, a coherent gadget will be made in the intermittence variants. The channeling to the Cyclades will go from east to west wading the Aegean and Mediterranean waters, through the channel of the Universe-Duoverse for inter consciousness between the Hexagonal Primogen in Tsambika, and the triad of Etréstles, Kanti, and the Archpriest in Helleniká, with high degrees of the light consciousness and conclaves between both synchronous homilies. With drowsiness before the Anemoi winds that will be crossing near the voyages of the Trojan chthonic ships, and before the fateful chthonic divinities for such deities in the Mediterranean substratum identifying more obviously with Anatolia which since prehistory has followed to the site of Troy, in a cheesy union plan for Agamemnon's loyalists, to defeat Hector between farms and revolutions of agriculture, and Akkadian worlds b.C., in peripheral outposts to influence the central regions of Greece and its maritime trade. Hydro-physical influences, for the cycles of the solstice and nature with life and survival after death that is at the center of concerns that are not translated. In Crete, the supposed cult of great Gods is transformed during the second millennium BC as new actors appear: various animals, plants, etc. Given the consciousness, it will be the channeled light in the three courtyards of alabaster and between the cinnabar by bending the re-fertilization of the Cyclades channels, which go from Rhodes and Kimolos, for discernment. Sometimes it is more gratifying to hear what you want to hear and not the real message, the egotistical mind that does not come from a series of daunted egos..., or signs of the technological shamanism, intervening artificial intelligence from maniacal administered consciences, being shrill for worlds of appearances and illusions. I Vernarth with our own Khaire Fíle…, in my mind I go to the vessels that sail through the landscapes of the elusive identity, trapping her in the totemic stratum, and tracking psychology, but a seer of her present ego. Today I will wear my Leonatus cap, to separate his anger from such a shadow that clouds my grief, and my own victimhood of reduced and meekness which spurns violence, blaming it on a ruthless kind of depression and excluding shame from everyone's own fear of everything. I will bandage my eyes against diseases that will heal after three days, to straighten the ecstasy that thickens towards the scaffold, staying in Golgotha with nothing, I will create the framework of cinnabar for the pain of the skull that trembles in my claws, until sleep becomes vaporous with anger and the harmless destroying itself before your egos, colorful throbbing towards your alien beings and scarified host. I will be waking up from my subtle and anthropomorphic subconscious dreams, with sentences that hurt my worst self-destructive delinquencies before the new memorial, on the veil of Theoskepasti with its science sheltering itself by giving in on the vanquished springs and inaugurating new miraculous courses where I will surrender, full of forgiveness and more distant from the veil that does not act as a viewer.

Duet time, Duet space, one with the other illusion unreal elements and epistemic images ignoring them in expeditions crackle my Duoverse, and temples of Tsambika with the decoded annelids mutating in trisomy with flat doors towards the Olives Berna. We look at what gratifies basting and plotting the positions of the stars of the universe that are attached like sheets worthy of almighty serials, and redoubled humor on the chthonic embracing tridents, before skewing Xyston as an original replica of the dream of a night in Tel Gomel. The counterweight of the message of light lagged behind the high astral like the little bear, bustards, and her angelic breath retreated in dissolution..., now if diva emotion I have my daring, and courage towards the binge of my omniscient prosopon, similar to omniscient telepathy, my soul lies and my emotion too because in this way I will treasure the value of panic by surrounding myself with the fears of resting, against the poles and sights of a peaceful energetic confrontation that will make them in Rhodes and Kimolos, channel the consumed human finitude and not eternal ad portas of his Áspis Koilé.

Unconsciously they will continue halfway with their bouquets of flowers for Valekiria, and may they never really take the time to tell her what time of eternity will make them more crowded for her, and her reliquary poem bursting into flame with its insidious outbreak and fear of telling him that if they revive they will be other Hellenic Hetairoi towards the vermilion light of the embodied sacrificed loop state as a "Being of Light". Oh ghost phenomenon that doesn't scare me... rather disappoints, clinging to the skins that die in the unexpected female muses in Gaia, with my burning and hypertensive ballast, still frequent in me... As conjecture and presence of Greek life..., having to be promoted and involved where they should be tempered to the contribution of biodiverse, and species for island life and its balance in the Aegean. The theorem will enunciate in the image of the Vas Auric as sounds of homeostasis in classrooms, properties of intervened annelids consistent, capable of maintaining them in a certain internal and stable condition, compensating for the changes of the explosion of the intervened patios, towards an environment through regulated exchange of matter and energy with the outside towards its (comparative metabolism), in the case of a form of dynamic balance with properties of Cinnabar brilliance, as a self-regulated biosphere in the conditions of the planet to make its environment (especially temperature and atmospheric chemistry) nobler with the species that make up life in the compass of two unmanned islands by beings from Gaia, rather as entropy in physical magnitude for a thermodynamic system in equilibrium, inhabited by dynamic beings that associate nobly for adaptations of worlds that are not born. It segregates them towards a departure measuring them from heightened numbers in states of zero compatible with the laws of that physics for the purposes of watchful guardians if Gaia's engine is turned on before this psychic and spiritual combustion. The laws of this system with closed circuits and brought will tend to maximize the entropy expiring inhibitory reactions for the traces of oxygen and nitrogen of the worms, making a sign of the levitated carbon dioxide to take it from Tsambika in two converged energies of Leviathan and Saint John the Apostle in moles of carbonate dioxide, battling surviving the impostor necromancers adverse to their conditions and reproduction, keeping these habitable for many who do not they enjoyed the life-death-life cycle. Greece, as it will now look regenerated and appropriate of laws and extensive fibers concerning moles of molecules said to be equal of said Vernarth hypotheses by way of sub-mythology, rather perching on the growing ivy and strangling the signs of satiety of life with properties in consonance with severities that hurt even to the sound of the rattles before the passing of the millennia! Fear, insecurity, and frustration did not fit because they will cut the Diospyros abenuz, with its stamens usually sixteen more hypogynous or inserted at the base of the corolla; as female flowers being greened or being converted into staminodes, Diospyros with generally tetra-locular ovaries or with eight locules due to false divisions, will make us channel by inseminating Itheoi demigods, under the staff of sub-mythology with Zefián, before the migrations in Helleniká begin, just as in this pact with silence and meditation and a burning flame, below the vulnerable and high insolated frequencies..., waking up in Gaia as a dozing fairy. Shamanic vested will grade synergy and simple science.
The Homily in the natural lassitude of the created, the Duoverse presented IHΣ, falling in the eighteenth letter of the Greek alphabet and in the duo hundred changes of physical remembrance. The PH (Hexagonal Primogeniture), is conceived in the presence of the Crismón, more Hellenic with the Vexillum banner and the Kantabroi to rescind the tired depressed zephyrs, since the quantum of memory was lost in the integrity of an earth acrophobia for the subsequent it would be air-water for this reason, preceded by the ceremonial that begins with the trimming of the abenuz Diospyros with its stamens usually sixteen plus it's hypogynous or inserted at the base of the corolla; like those of the female flowers having part of the gynoecium in the part of Tsambika, and of the androecium that will be of the Diospyros in Theoskepasti; usually tetra-ocular ovaries adapted to be inseminated for the raids of the demigods Itheoi and Duoverso, with the monogram HDD (Horcondising-Duoverso), tracing the bifurcations with Zefián; the chaos ordering up to modulated Theoskepasti. The changes have to be reborn in the stamen, being almost sterile and aborting in the chronicles of Galilee personifying the pollination benefit of the Diospyros resprouting in the same stem of the whorl even more so in each stigmatized part of Vernarth and Etréstles, carrying the IHS candles with the monogram and the Mandylion-Vas Auric, pointing to the Olives Bern. Before the seams of the carved heels and the canals of the annelids rise up through the alabaster up to the calyxes with the Chrismon hat. Filling the warehouse of Anemoi himself struggling with the roof, and forgetting his deposit of the breath on synaptic abbreviations continuing to argue with Saint John the Apostle in the network of Rhodes and Kimolos, in the bark of the sensory past and consequence of fallen gushes, and affecting being restored on the basis of oxygen-nitrogenated Nemo-genetic activation to summarize loss and gain of channeling between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. The memories of the stuck Vernarth cerebellum will be loaded, trembling towards the marsh of the hippocampus where Zoroaster led the Magi to the end of the span and first-last border in the vicinity of Ein Karem. This evolutionary scale fluctuated in weak air masses with the increasing rise of the Meltemi over the Aegean taking them to Dekas Bay, on the knees of the colossus that cursed to avoid some delirium that could replace it's joint, remaining like this on a scale of reminiscent and unspoken emptiness..., it continues to be stated and not occupied and not, but raised towards the colossus from the ground of Vernarth which had unfolded bipartite from Rhodes to Kimolos, by way of the Verthian neuroscience whose prose emanated in the submissive glaciers of hyper-intuitive meditation (as a technique of knowledge and abstraction for functional links of improvisation, purgative discernment and yogic memory). All the nonsense is alluded to infringing the rationality of the Vas Áuric ceremonial in its phenomenology making curvilinear pauses to re-captivate phraseological, and diminished keys in the condensed equivalents to approximately ten terabytes from a homologous half surrendering almost when exhausted before both scholars, and their debts exchanged by driving..., thus recovering wave descents before reaching the bay of Dekas; Kímolos and final in the necropolis of Hellenika..., and vice versa before re-climbing in the middle of Mandraki, Archangelos and Filerimos to finish in Tsambika, Rhodes. As a parallel response to the archpriest not to alter the IHS monogram of the homily and the association in remembrance can affect the conduction of the mediate trance, almost prostrating it in the house of omission and frenzy, if it has to recover unstabilized. The sulfurous mercury component of the Cinnabar, came acidifying from the essences of the Vas Auric, already prospering in the tutelage of each auric conductor..., Archpriest and Saint John the Apostle, each one with the sulfurous of the Greek mountain and the arch of the Aegean Sea as a former karstic foundation for its diametric towards a change of reaction of chemical prisms up to the multi-angular of the topaz that Saint John the Apostle carried in his bag near the reliquary, hanging off some fringes of the Vexillum that had been placed near Vernarth. Immediately from the banks of the monastery, Raeder was walking with a lantern looking for those who might try to enter, he believed that it was his father from Kalymnos who came on another mission to be taken to the cinnabar, more on top of an encourage observing the quarters stationed in the sandbanks of Rhodes, Petrobus the pelican circling the ledges of the monastery, marking out the apparent slackness of his body and entreaties in case they ventured into Kalymnos for a good portent, in waters for tenth seeds and for all the rodines. From the cloister with one of its necessary dependencies, all were with white candles aggravated between the steps of each cell and attached friars they made an antechamber in the nave near the church on the hexagonal floor, being screened by the center of the garden where everything was dominated by the limits of the alabaster arcades, which only now pointed to the closet of the books, this time with plenty and saved voices with devotion. Chapter by chapter it was won..., for each cell, identifying each portion in identity up to the scriptorium and refectory, where this ceremony books were distributed to the infinite world of the Duoverse near the locutory to witness where Saint George and the Dragon raged, souring winepresses for the missal wine.

Sequence shot in Kimolos, Panagia Theoskepasti- Etréstles says: “according to what has to be said in this dimension, the word will be the Duoverse. Synchronically it will be aligned with the monastery in the Tsambika for the third hour after noon, reflecting on the unrevealed walls of the chapel on all the radiosities of the cinnabar, entering in electromagnetic lassitude through the trusses of the pulpit anchored in the Vox and mystical vortex, towards those who entered and left thousands of times through the counter shutters of the chapel, which collided crashing many times until by the glow of Cinnabar somewhat sulfurous, was mixed with the interlocking of some novas which also acted as a decoy for the Chrismón that Kanti carried the steed adjusted in the saddle on his back, as a mount in syntactic esotericism speaking with intangible brown colors of the Cinnabar.
Vas Auric
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
it makes so much sense to imitate being german in england, to find an obscurity of an anglo-pomeranian, or an anglo-slav, like in the army of jarema wiśniowiecki: the germans who served in the artillery core, not having retired from the 30 years war: yarema'h! the pogrom of the men a tier below the cossaks... as was said: the houses you'll burn, and whatever looted goods you find you will take... the women and children you will send into the wilderness, and the peasants (i.e. men)? you'll thank them... and so they hanged.

- the current affair -

but there are: besides the points to be made here...
    i once took it upon myself to drink most
of the nights, but leave at least one night
sober... thanks to the pyeongchang olympics
i took it up myself to inact a program:
one day drunk, a day and & night sober...
  but **** me: it's hard watching the sports
that would get more views in public
space if staged in Europe: than
    over there...
     perhaps if staged by north korea:
or china, the public would be told:
    you don't attend: we'll lock up your family.
if we're already having a second cold war:
you can be assured that a 3rd world war
comes when this "war" comes to an end:
but i like to think of it as a: second cultural
exchange programme...
     9 hours later i'm smoking cigarettes
in the dark watching the olympics that are
apparently "excluding"...
   the coverage is a bit ****, but i still watch it,
because i wonder:
     could that african outrun the
     milky-way on ice skates?
          or rather: is the milky-way not
expected to be: son aquarius?
            some might call them:
  the "para-olympians" in realm aquatic
in the summer...
     or as i like to say: just call them
submarines and we'll get another
        picture of drowning migrants...
        but it breaks the heart watching these
sports like a bleeding-eye Inso -
      then the coverage is a bad as the attending
crowd...
                 i do need to sleep, though,
so for the next week or so it will end up
with me having the motif of:
   one day drinking and a night asleep,
countered with one day sober and a night
awake and the next day also awake,
   and then a night of drinking...
        because you know what i've learned?
i feel no shame,
        if i feel shame:
      i turn it into a peacock's tail and
parade my metabolism...
   because it really is a case of "alcoholism"
being a form of metabolism...
    give me a litre of whiskey and
a 115kg frame...
   and i'll give you a sober reply
while showing you what 25ml of
the same liquor: does to an anorexic girl.
                  
- a month prior -

it seems that the only reason as to why
I slept so soundly on my hiatus,
was because I slept beneath a blanket
of an entire body of people;
perhaps I found nothing consolidating
to end argument universals contra particulars -

but I did find that the basic unit of
universals is the analogue,
which in the meaning of particulars
is best understood as: anagram.

Who am I to note the frightening obvious *******:
whereby the sophist is the pristine
student of language,
"liberator" of a meagre worded breath,
echoing the rattling chains of fellows
who might follow suite, such slaves of language,
akin to men who keep a pristine kitchen...
But there are limits,
even on these forsaken tiers,
to neither slave under language,
nor leech off it in the most sacriligous
**** titillating dyslexia:

      i never met a dyslexic pole...
    perhaps a pole who did not obey
an orthographic rubric of an "aesthetic" -
a schooling -
   but there are too many clear
syllables in the language:
  the english simply call it:
   if only it had a few more vowels...
vowels are cruxes for the english
when graphemes are not
noticed in siamese of the original
roman graphemes of vowels:
even though: CH is easily
              chirp and cheap...
      i make music from listening
to sport commentators.

    Moldovan wine, past the 7 to 8 annum transition,
pulverizez the "6th sense" that's non-sense, i
   d est thought, in that alcohol numbs
    the pentagram coordination,
in exchange for a concentrated scalpel-like incision,
subsequently alleviates one from
experiencing a barrage of sensual overstraining...  
to claim a magic...

no lysergic acid Pythagorean shortcuts...
thought is a *non
sense,
  which means that it cannot be approached
with a penta-coordination allied
          to the body: 5/1 vs. 1/5...
the mind is not a coordinating focal point of man,
perhaps one of woman, hence the pulverising
shortcuts made in psychology coupled with feminism:

the long awaited rat ala femme...
         hence the fractions of coordinating
the senses around a non sense...
thought the precursor of soul,
  soul the precursor of god the extending thing,
   retracted man in posit qua: res extensa...
alcohol, is properly championed sharpens thought,
non sense into five subtle acknowledgements
of protruding assertions
  (linear synonym antonym game
                     via contra cruxverbum) -
with alcohol thought is allowed bloom,
once thought rods itself of a moral conundrum
  of an "ethical" choice -
    no philosophical answer is readied
in a world built upon cyclone and wheel
to imply absolute with nothing more than
the zenith of scythe - and a nadir of hammer...

but thought outside a moral judgement
is both a blessing and a curse:
akin to the Arabs and oil.
Yet what persists in the digressive circumstance
of I unto ?, well...
    thought is a non-analogous "sense":
soliloquy... drinking exfoliates thinking
which cannot be coupled with thinking
per se / the other... since thinking cannot
allow a direct confrontation with all five
senses coordinated: thought is a luxury for
the mind akin to health being a luxury for the body...
a penta sigma coordination of thought is impossible,
as stated by prophets who cannot attest
to a synchro-synchro coordination,
circa consolidation of the thesaurus dichotomy:
uni particular, subjective (1) objective (0.1)...
for those who know how to drink:
aqua igna agitates thinking while sedating
          the senses: ergo?

How many years of ****** and
how many of Communism? if only for
Deutsche fraulein it could have secured
the Slavic worker his babuschka in retirement.

Jedyny grzech martwych jest: vox uber gott.

No one is taking pictures of each othet: ergo?
Whoever takes the medium of photography seriously,
takes the immaculate selfie has narcissus
turning in his grave, shouting:
font forget the clown!
The rest of them are sitting ducks, and yes,
there is an evil twin of the mirror in hell:
it's called: a photograph.

the narrator of photography died,
ergo selfie: ergo an experiment
          in solipsism: gagging narcissus.

i through | ask the mirror:
     past a vanity of pretty -
     curious mirror: i though | see a ? or a ! (i ask)...

and why did i sleep so soundly on my
Spartan holiday?
     minus the drink?
           i slept among my own kin...
even if i did not speak to them beyond
buying milk and a loaf of a bread...
i returned to a hollow filled
with talking shadows of what
would constitute a past, mine disowned
yet theirs owning...
   i a body in transit:
         in england: apparently cheaper
than a chinese toy imported
freely:
        the refugee mecha-monkey escaping
Beijing, on a ship-load added
to cheap bicycle locks...
                that: can freely move...
a man is half what he can add to
an economy:
                because what he brings
are apparently refugee trades and things...
instead the refugee:
   who brings of what talk of trade
and of what things?
  shackles of war are a noble burden
i am sure...
           as noble as the sudden sight
of Kosovans in Ilford sitting idle
in cafes...
          seen for a year... soon to disappear.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
maxim utilisation does not necessarily
create a symbiosis between
the unitary appropriation of universals
and particulars, old Socrates knew this,
he knew the problem well recorded
by Plato: a rich man can have all the needles
and camels he wants...
maxim utilisation works miracles
for the rich, handy truth being:
i have life insurance and a pension,
but i'm still stuck in a trench with
high-school memories and a house with
20 bathrooms but only 3 bedrooms,
hence i'm the Chieftain of Microsoft...
the rich know the best maxims,
the poor know the best narrative...
i'd rather hear the narratives than the maxims...
maxims are utilised by the rich
in a way that does not allow success,
they speak fluently in terms of success stories,
but they sell them, meaning there's a limited
success rate; meaning their narrative sounds
are a bit like: if i ****** this guy over, and this one,
i cup-caked this one into a half-baked scene;
yep, ****** this one, and this one, and this one,
and this one over twice... but hey! i'm rich!
With axiomatic prominences, the God Spílaiaus hung from the Virola from Ibic Three in the elevations of the Kantillana at three thousand meters high in the Transversal valleys, individualized Pichi, Chile. Millions of flying masses of Chiropterans unfolded, anticipating Vernarth's visit to the Celestial Regency of these Deities by accidental and hybrid Hellenic prophecy; coming from the Protocol of Transylvania with the Eternity of the Submythological god of Vernarth Aiónius from Ibic 1. These deities came etherealized by the heights of the Nothofagus Obliqua that was bent at forty-five degrees by the lift singing the melisma of Antiphon Benedictus that this time made the bastion and garrison of the Mikhve or Kathartyrium of Vernarth possessing souls with scabrous megalomaniacs boiling internally through the Underworld bringing Hades Speleothemes, such a tow pulls the Kosmous and humanity into the bowels of the Kardiá of the purified Agoge and the Mikveh or Purification of Vernarth in later Hypnosis Existential hanging on the halberds of the Dorus, Áspis Koilé and Kantabroi waving in the intensity of the conifers before the hegira began at Tel Gómel. Vernarth approaches Spílaiaus and proffers: “My Lord, I had an illusion…, I said that I had to fly over the Palace of Arbela at the expense of the followed “Paraps or Othónes” or Parapsychology screens that took me to wastelands full of Ungulates that rested barren in calcined silica **** covered with Hoplites and Achaemenides cries imploring to escape from disastrous dawn of Dark Angels, safe from other Angels Shvil, Almas de Kalidona, Hellenika, Armas Christi and Almas de Trouvere. Essentially all of them would beg for the circumcision of the open field and also openings of thousands of soldiers when It was arranged by all this heavenly light to crack the heels of every Hoplite. Thus leaving the hollow opening of my soul Mikveh, Kassotides, and Lynothorax that invaded with satiety to get out of itself and become the destination of all oppressed compassion on the way to the Empyrium. The curtain persists that helps beatific concerns of submitology inherent in cultural realities where it subjugates the digressive persist of specimens that recover life from their own exhaustion exercising truthfulness in those that are strengthened by their own incapacity "Vernarth" is a product of Spílaiaus' concern , and this at the same time knowing and having everything given in its analogy and terminology protruding the same root, except that submitology is roots that subordinate the inorganic and inanimate for such an effect that legacies of myths take on a leading reality that does not consider true what is not or it is part of a myth rooted in mythology, but rather of what is subtracted from its own inertia or wear and tear that does not take on a reality present in all things that are not virtuous, much less express it from a Gnostic perspective; where everything is reborn and progresses in paradisiacal cycles and messages of the Merkabah..., They are of an infinite cohesion of that celestial if it had to appear in the astral journey without taking into account what the same time in question allows to appreciate how long it has to last or persist to know that you are rooted in this process itself!

The subsequent stage will be governed by fertile beings or deities. The Genre of Itheoi Deities arises from magnificent submithological gods since they are present in events of an immortal nature doomed to micro spaces that will be configured with Paraps or Othón forming multidimensional links in each episode. The scenographic movement is represented in this work, in such a way to personify a heterogeneous reality shared by some of these gods and others from Olympus. In the case of Spílaiaus, it is specifically an augmented reality nexus of ibicos that are instantiated in this Trilogy from confraternal words where Vernarth Says: “Give me a little Gála and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not an everything I never thought of…!” Here is that Gála is dairy juice where a speleological factor intervenes from Chauvet, Valdaine - Nyons Region - France. This is more than saying that the triggering factor is Mikveh or Purification leads from the premiere of the journey to associate with the underworld of the Kathartyrium or stationary Purgation that will take him through sequences in chapters or Paraps to meet again with Virolas or Anillares composing Medrones, crimping and growth. Later Wonthelimar from the Boedromion would bring The Arrows that Zefian will bring in the Second Trilogy bringing sleeping bodies of winter to the lap of the spring Boedromion crossing lines from spring to winter in the cycle that went directly to the Cinnabar Mercurial Ambrosia. They were discreet detached arrows that he had launched into the sky and they did not return but in the rooms, and in stages of Animalia towards the duty of rejoicing at the ****** of the Telesterion. Wonthelimar, being once again relocated before starting the works on the temple of Megaron Áullos Kósmos, was returning to the Chauvet-Wonthelimar cavern. He distanced himself from the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree originating from Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points of the zenith starting with the first two arrows that are placed on the bowstring away from the Quiver, each one crossing north-south trajectories and another two that were violated again with the bow of the stormy East, to launch arrows from east-west with limits of southern magnetism. He carried in his belongings "Ibic Rings" that would be transmigration towards cardinals and points where the Megaron of Vernarth would be exactly, arguing that Zefian's phalanges would be ordered in Sintropia and organic chaos in Patmos, making Pythagorean proportions in essences of numbers that idly advanced in temporary passages of Wonthelimar that were movably made of religious Saetas and Mercurial Ambrosia of Cinnabar, to contribute with insightful points of the Constellation of Capricornus. Zefian's tendency was evident to delight after being pulled from the bowstring to ghostly existence; presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the gales that would originate the Áullos Kósmos or Megarón, a late pro of some courts imposed from the Ouranos or Cielo that was going determined in his will seized by a dubious Vestal god advocating associating with hospitable Canephores as conjectured Virgins Vestals of Roman bilocation that were resting in their hands..., and quantum parapsychology of the feared live between-tale that boils over in the arrows that have not yet fallen, not knowing their whereabouts? As sheets or serial wafers that were evoked where the origin of the Universe was broken to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burned contravened Duoverse including the divine celestial origin as a *****-ovular parameter, rather eons and instances in Hestia's chimney running in pertinacious towards vast volumes of light-years. The connectivity of the Itheoi gods will make the quantum mobility machination operable between seasonal dimensions that will have to pass through periods, stages, feats and famous moments since it is initialized from here in the stone of lance with its Etruscan horses in Tel Gómel, for later in the Eleusinian mysteries themselves co-participate in eras of connection, as it appears here after the saga of Judah composing their respective seven chapters until breaking down at the end of the Conclusive Meshuva. The Boedromión will be an essential part of Trilogy II, waking up in all the winters of the world as a shelter flowered directly to the component of the Mercurial Ambrosia, a valuable element of Cinnabar or high-grade Vernarthian Sulfur for the Vas Auric or Sacred Medallion of Limassol that overflows decanted at the end of the Mikveh growing in arid deserts.

Cardinal Spilaiaus

- North: Vóreios (Zefian Boreal)
- South: Nótos (Austral de Borker)
- West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak)
- East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial)

From Medrones that grow in massive ibix antlers in Nyons, Seven Ibics Rings were taking hold, a Viroliferous process was progressing, or exercise of rotation mechanics of Quantum Rings in the same thesis work that speaks further of a replacement Universe as the anticipatory Duoverse, and the gifted Codex Raedus as a complement or annexation baggage of the Profitis Ilias in Patmos thus generating that pre-Christian annal have a leading role in new construction by presenting a virtual situation or Genius Loci. The Semi Itheoi will have roles in leading each cardinal so that the Gestation of the Fourth Arrow of Zefian is finally re-established, reordering the universe predisposed to receive the one approaching the Duoverse. What happens in Tel Gomel and Persepolis is relevant to the Psiloi Phalanxes and crowds that would face militarized personalities, totally ignoring the origin of the Hoplite as a worshiper of Hera's Wastelands and eternal stables that supported Vernarth just like Etruscan horses and Steeds of Sudpichi summoned Alikanto or ALikantus. His mother Luccica and father Bernardólipo endorsed all contained belligerence if he were not a repentant warrior in the gloomy night of the Horcondising Castle where Spilaiaus would give warlike foreshortenings right there to abduct him at great speed to Gaugamela. Vernarth would go to these latitudes, and then he would be exposed to governorships of Aionius to consolidate and channel this hybrid submithology that would bring together the ancient Hellenic Mythology. The vertiginous passage of time will conceive harsh characterizations and qualitative Paraps or Parapsychologies, possessing the largest arsenal of quantum and historiographical data ever counted and interpreted by characterizations, more than personalized blocks in particular characters, being the support vehicle or generational stem of the summary of understanding more facts and qualities that own characteristics of interlocutors. The vast collection of Submythological gods will be strongly entrenched in identifications of Semi Itheoi or deities that are intertwined directly with the human fictional world. ! Successive Paraps are concealed and accompanied by connectivity screens called Othones, these are a fundamental part of the audio-graphic syntax, managing to structure gods and then decode the final concretion of the conclusive in each Paraps, which is nothing more than a consequence of this imperceptible quantum axon, which does not end or start!

Submythology is an etymological derivation of later stages of mythology that deprives of granting subsistence and comparative biology to cultural, urban, fabulous components or inheritance of great ancient and medieval epic periods. Contributing great accumulations of proposals to such a generation in channeling with original playwrights reinventing their theses, also giving a breath of expectation to mythical beings so that they come to life in a hybrid interpretive horizon, or with alternation of roles considering mysteries in the blink of an eye happening to postulated dissidence or vagueness, losing itself as a gendered practice but not of the real cultist who has been propagated in his gnosis to remote places of the infinite superior. In short, Submythology is an infinite tragedy where the characters represent the work in furtive omni canality, and three-dimensional presence in sharp contact with the thrones of deities that make it even more evident to relate past history through submithological exercises, which itself refers to the prefix Sub " from what precedes par excellence” and mythological suffix as a series of processes of experience where the active voice of the narrator counts, being rather an inspirational pre-constructive phase. What should be experienced when in front of us a Homeric god of Olympus is presented to us telling us that the Olympic archeology has secrets of the Myein revealing characters and successors Submythological Gods with histrionic deities looted in all ages of the Celestial Organic Subsistence.

Ibico 1: "The first was from the initiation of Wonthelimar and he brought purity, for all who needed him and went to visit him in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive if he was accepted." As the only presence of Wonthelimar is of Chauvet's present god ambivalence.

Ibico 2: ”He was guided by Vlad Strigoi in the center of the priesthood of his shelves with the chiropterans and in addition to the mercurial ambrosia for the purpose of energizing the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the vapors of the Antiphon Benedictus”.

Ibico 3: "From the Eygues, the waters evaporated to heal the tormented initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron."

Ibico 4: "This ring was from the antler of Wonthelimar, here they wore the oikos or threads of Orphi Gold, for the Himation and investiture to anoint the body of Vernarth, bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean complement- Valdaine”.

Ibico 5: "This piece of metal speaks of the fifth plasmatic element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to elevate it to Vernarth's hyper neurological and Duoversal brain twinned with the Mashiach."

Ibico 6: "It is the sixth piece of crowns from Kafersesuh, bringing pollination from the Lepidoptera, for the central stage of the investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti."

Ibico 7: “It is the deep voice of Cinnabar and the Antiphon Benedictus, together with the Lenten fast of all the hoarse voices that inquire of the true phoneme and photon of divine mass light, to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medium, up to the millimeter-sized shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera del Megaron”


                             Gender of the Duoverse Itheoi
                                     Horcondising Deities

Previously Vernarth takes his head resting on the ceramic that supported him between the Hydor photo duct, rather bringing his hand closer to the Klismós that Saint John the Evangelist had given him when he passed through Ephesus. In such a way that when he makes the first impulse to get up from the chair he was already beginning to leave the conventional Universe for the first time, then when he sits down again in the chair inaugurating the crystalline body that was looming over himself, he continues to be the Duoverse as if outside the Klismós with its curved legs resembling supporting pilasters of the Megaron diverging to the conical ones that projected concavely supporting the hollowness of its pectoral, which was already transparent like its Invisible Eclectic Portal. Meanwhile he gets up again holding onto the Mashiach who came to take him in his arms and place him in the klismoi that interpreted the elevation of Hellenism to the Greater Heavens and the Itheoi of the Duoverse; that is to say spiritual deities of Vernarth in the classification of the rank of beginning and projection of the abandonment of the Golden Himation. In such a way that the Astragalus was integrated; a floral company that was rooted in the hands and roots that cooperatively took root in those of Kashmar. So Vernarth with the Ibic Rings would begin to syncretize the imperceptible quantum and hyper-accelerated mobilization of physics of sub-atomic particulars that would later second it, unleashing from Alef to Tav to Astragalus and Aiónius, beginning his omnipotence. The sidereal distance began to unlink towards the Calypso air that was twinned with large portions of the sea in the same enamel, making Patmos the union of chain reaction speed with the Dodecanese Valleys and Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi unifying Vernarth with Apollo, Esminteo or ephebeia; that is, three sketches of Apollo himself for the theological genealogy chart of the deity Scarabaeidae with species that multiplied together with Vernarth to become the metalloid Azophar as the main knowable guideline to the unknowable, being Apollo himself in Vernarth's corporeality before rising to the iridescence of the Moshiach.

Astragalus: His primary Itheoi or theological picture would be composed and forming part of his feet and the surroundings of his ex-voto to take to all the summits of the world in the essence and the gift of eternal life represented by the root of the madrigal curdled by his feet, with the root of the Astragalus in flower when it represented the zero-hours by getting rid of his Himation and meeting the Mashiach.

Scarabaeidae: God of the subsoil modality of wandering souls destined for the physical and spiritual decline, Scabaraeidae Aphodiinae as subtractors of all the waste of souls that have boiled in malignancy, and the Scabaraeidae Dynastinae as the righteous larvae that rise from the imaginary soil to feed on the roots of the Astragalus and all the flowers and leaves of the Dynastiae. Increased the taxonomic genus of the species that would have to remain in the underworld to aspire to a better one like these Dynastines or Heracles beetles in honor of this hero carrying the peg that Vernarth would place on all the gardens once he was in Aurion, leaving him in a larval state, before being sponsored by Hera's family for the life cycle of the Horco-Olímpico.

Nothofagus: God's phoneme-photon of divine mass light to build the Áullos Kósmos. From here the purification will rise in synchrony through the final growth medron of the Ibex of Wonthelimar, to the millimetric assembly shoulder of the square meters that will illustrate the Acrotera of the Megaron, and the Iridescent Nimbus that percussed between the Áullos Kósmos and the Vas Auric ” in total synchrony with Patmos, at the same level of luminosity and growth revelation of the Scabaraeidae Dynastiae to transform inert matter into another fertile one compared to Poseidon.

Lepidoptera: Like The sixth piece of crowns by Kafersesuh bringing the fertilizations of the Lepidoptera in the Ibico Ring 6, for the central stage of investiture under the shadows of Hellenika and Theoskepasti, where everything will be endowed with the greater Ibix called Wonthelimar” that together with Leiak they would transmute to Horcondising.

Azofar: This metalloid god and support of the bed will take and bring Vernarth again when sailing through the cosmos towards the fifth element that would contract the universe and the Hyperdisis galaxy, to extol him from the neurological hyper brain of the Duoversal of Vernarth twinned with the Mashiach, exemplifying duplicity of Apollo as Azofar device of new interstellar ships beyond all that is knowable.

Ibicus: god of Wonthelimar's antlers, here they will carry the oikos or Orphi Gold threads for the Himation and investiture to anoint Vernarth's body bringing the aerial atmospheres of the Alps and Ida as a Mycenaean-Valdaine complement, thus they were inaugurating the solemnity and honorability. Here the quadrature will be the perfect Heliacal Ortho of the fourth Ibico with the quadrature of Aurion commanded by Leiak in the cardinal Dyticá.

Vélus: from Ibico 4, from where the goddess Artemis will evaporate in the waters for the healing of the tormented in initiation processes of elevation of the four Arrows of Zefian, to indicate the zenith of the Megaron as if they were surrounding a Castalia for such solemnity.

Spílaiaus: from Ibico 3 in the center of the ministry with the bats, and others from the mercurial ambrosia invoking the Cinnabar of Tsambika. Having all the protocol of Transylvania and eternity with the waters of the Antiphon Benedictus”. Here is one more bastion of Hades' underworld dressing for the Speleothemes that will take you to the heart of all the dens of the Faith.

Aiónius: from Ibico 1 Wonthelimar who brought purity to all who needed him and went to visit in the dark, then he would find the light when he came out of the cave alive” here Kaitelka and Borker, in total harmony with Demeter, Persephone, and Hestia. Bringing them from the labyrinths with the rusty chains of Prometheus and Vertnarth wandering through infinity.

                                       Semi  I theoi

Semi-deities and great autobiographies of the Itheoi world derived from the denotation that would be reformulated from the Apoinandros that would be displaced by spikes of the didactic Ego or teaching of the authentic apostles that crystallized with Zefian, Borker, Leiak, Kaitelka, and Ezpatkul. Zefian: Reformer of the Universe-Duoverse, possessor of the four Arrows that will illuminate Heaven and all of earthly Greece every time Vernarth circulates linearly through the seas of the Vóreios of the Aegean. Ruled North: Vóreios (Boreal of Zefian) Borker: Demiurge and guardian of the Duoverse. Warden of the Forests of the World and of the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi. Ruled South by: Nótos (Austral de Borker) Leiak: Omnipresent demiurge, the vague spirit of the docile water dancer who lives on the water with his slimy Chin, his playful back is seen breaking lines of wells between flesh and silhouettes. Before the First station, the first of the three remaining nights before reaching the crater of Joshua de Pétra” ruled West: Dyticá (Twilight of Leiak) Kaitelka: Down Whale ruling the Psychic Trisomy of the Duoverse and seas surrounding Patmos of the Apokálypsis ruled to the East: Aftó (Kaitelka Equinoctial) Ezpatkul: Dóntiakul or Augrum teeth or prominent Gold will rotate through the Scarabaeidae demarcating the Vóreios Vóreios in the Horcondising region, bilocating it in Patmos Encinas borers, with such frenzy…!, that of Right there they would extract the strength of the Mapuche north winds from the Meli Witran Mapu, beginning with the Pikún-kürüf.

A great revolution was conceived with the imprint codified in stars that would begin to appear in Alto Kanthillana after the awakening semblance under the Nothofagus bottoms; being a god who would free Ninfuceanicus. This was a Sylph that millions of years had been inert in the space or radius of Spilaiaus very close to events of the new awakening. This Sylph would be the main stolon of the Nothofagus and would provide residual inactive matter from it so that Vernarth could secretly rebel from the stages of darkness and desolation of the species, having been dragged by decanted augers since time immemorial from what is currently on Patmos. This would consecrate extensive recycling, accelerating the characterizations of each organic personality and not, tending to an essential role in Vernarth's plot; because it will be this depression to make of its awakening a multicellular set that would grant the disappeared species of the behavioral axis to be restructured in all the ex-karstic zones of the subsoil of Patmos, up to the Transversal Valleys of Sudpichi endowed with a great mineralogical bijective mass to supply powers with signs of substance and later mineralogical dimensions. Ninfuceanicus will be its Exo muscular mineral part that will provide proteins to Vernarth directly from this Sylph, in addition to recreating with her the necromancy attached to Gods Itheoi with Tsambika, Kímolos, and Patmos.The Paraps are nothing more or less than depressions of these liberations of great old geological masses that were biasedly unified under the subsoil of Hades Speleothemes, not exemplifying the stationary world of the relay but rather the Omnipresent Sphere of Spílaiaus together with Aónius and Azofar in the rescue of this Sylph, then Vélus, Ibicus, Lepidoptera, Scarabaeidae, and Astragalus will assign them the predominant rule. In silent and prominent escalations of events, they would intrigue themselves in the Submythological Epic, recomposing themselves in recapitulations that would indicate that Ulysses, Heracles, Hector, Leonidas, and the Great Alexander the Great would come to life from this thermo-geological concoction that would manifest itself by Vernarth's upper pectoral hollow "Called Thunder Kassotides” of which the conversion into tremendous events franked by ancient Greek Mythology would be destined to Vernarth's own and expeditious Hellenic life. This assumes that the overloaded physiognomic muscular exoskeleton of the Hellenic environment will be redirected with the power of natural phenomena beginning in original symptoms of multi gnosis reborn from the sub sphere of thought that intermediates with the interior ones, after the incitement of Vernarth and being part of the gnosis that would lead him to clear everything that is with him and what will be. The Animalia as fierce representatives flow by attempts and at the same time are inhibited from a tacit presence with animals that would conform to Spílaiaus stereotypes; an out-of-phase ventral turbinate of the God of Speleothemes, who is Wonthelimar or ventral turbinate, would propitiate any incidence in manifestations of the noosphere, given the serial appendix of instantaneous analogical relation in the disturbing and super mobility of the Constellation Capricornus, the Belt of Aurion and Betelgeuse. Right there radiating particularity the ontogenesis of Vernarth, already resigning himself from the intimate existential point to focus on the complementarity of other existences on the way to the Empyrium or Resident Ouranos, brewing universals in all unlimitedly comparative when alluding to as being diligent among beings who are not, and reciprocally be revivers of those who will be. Here is the synonymy of Vlad Strigoi that could be supra-spiritual historical omnichannel considering that he is an integral part of a Mythology and a real liberating hero of Transylvania. It still is, but under the exclamatory context that is born of avidity that requires and must collect fungus vines from Canephore and Hellenic delicacies in the prompt presence of gods when it is not enough or there is no legacy of servants or servants under the hindrance of its metaphysics with its empty entrails. Here prevails what dictates a dogma that differs for those who are touched by the edge of the Speleothemes of Spilaiaus to survive in the Sphere of inorganic life of the same god and Ninfuceanicus. This legend narrates the real and non-fictional lived history of Vernarth, that time that in absolute darkness and solitude he met the deity of the Ibico three in the crowded population of the Nothofagus is a totally prehensile approving gesture of a vegetable that authorized him to address Him …, Spílaiaus was such a reference when he listened to him for long hours transforming himself into a real therapist who worthy would bilocate in the original from Piacenza-Italy, when in rare cases of parapsychology he declared himself ineffective to be able to continue the endless sessions. “Gaugamela is the great battle that must be wielded with iron temper as a stalking of a heart that did not scold for another that did not pulsate”

Great raids will be composed of others that will speak of a strong hero having committed superiors, of others that will be based on eloquent vivacity that nothing takes long when it is necessary to induce the cut of Una Xiphos; whose function is dissuasive if the blacksmith is not a god that shows no mercy, but if he is from a job that can be resistant to deliberate him in another that has nothing, nor will he sustain him. The goal is essential in all weakness if a hero is consumed by his stoic bravery, rather it could perfectly reside in his coat of arms as indicated by Hephaestus in the glitter of a forge when the seasoned worshiper of his forges spills liquid steel and not blessed blood of a royal warrior from Laodicea. What Vernarth forges of Hephaestus himself will sound on his lyre descended from precognition of the god Spilaiaus, affirming that blacksmiths of Athens would be decoys that adhere to carcinogenic generations of opprobrious fires, if it were not for one who could carry in his hands a sword certainly jammed by Hephaestus, and that the diluted steel that really falls would make future generations authentic sedated drops in them for the true Spartan or Greek that strengthens it with verve and abulence.
Preface
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
the english speak of multi-cultural
integration
like they are sellers of
ice-cream cones...
they're selling barbwire -
      and they're selling the *******
with smiles...
          i'm done...
   let's be honest..
back in Poland,
in a homogenous capital,
i feel less nostalgic and more
        nauseated by a slight prominence
of multiculturalism -
   not in a negative sense,
i'm missing the Sikh turbans and
and the African skins...
                       i get sick from
all the monochromatic
nausea...
           bu then again i was raised
in a "polyglot" society...
               i have no pledge or
ownership of a post-colonial nation...
and i have the authority
of whom?
   your own people attacked
grammar,
i will not make a grammatical
attack legitimate...
you can have the nouns...
but when you attack the grammatical
structure of a language?!
no...
nein! nein! niet! nie! NO!
you've pushed me...
     i way integrating into your language...
speaking it,
ensuring a chameleon stature
to encompass it...
  you change the *******
categories?
  no...   no...                NIE!
read your ******* harry potter elsewhere...
freedom, my godforsaken ***,
saved from not having encountered
homosexual *******...
******* ***-monkeys...
no!
                          no!
you could have been allowed
a monopoly on the nouns...
      i would have bleached myself...
become the de-organic ******
embodied in the English tongue...
but did you have to attack
the English grammar?!
  really?!

             no... you speak your crooked
English... if it is just that...
       time to take the reins
of the language into my own grip...
because... clearly...
the natives are lost and incompetent in
using it...
                      i can't exploit
the conundrum like an Afghan
or a Pakistani...
                
  whatever might be deemed necessary...
whatever is necessary...
     no... you can attack the usage
of nouns and noun ascription
to become equivalent of labeling...
but don't attack grammar...

            shouldn't a native impose
this curiosity observation?!
  shouldn't a native make this
observation?
   no?!
   guess i'm more patriotic
about a language,
and always LESS, about a PEOPLE...
than some smirk-fusion
of a teenager with a proud look

no... you don't touch grammar...
2 x 2 = 5 exists in the entertainment
of meta-mathematics
of a Radiohead song...
  
      you can have your noun
contra "misnomer" ergonomics -
you leave the grammar alone...
and if i don't implore you...

       i'll warn you...
come to Russia... come to Poland...
i guess mere tongue
is not the same as a knuckle count;
but i want these people
to learn arithmetic!
  i want them to!
         ****... forget the Polish
******* galls running just fine
with their Saudi lovers,
fathers... jealousy priests...
  
hardly the mandible jaws...
  bring me your peasants...
         perhaps the odd dozen in Warsaw...
come nearer to Auschwitz...
Krakow -
                   less, and less...

don't come after grammar -
"correct" pronoun usage -
drunk's goggles?
there's a she but she's a "they"?
am i really that drunk
that i can't even see double
but see multiple?!
**** me...

                 guess the Platonic debate
concerning universals
and particulars has, somehow,
been solved...
           as it turns out...
it began with singularity and pluralism...
there are more than
two genders,
and two sexes...
but only a singular act of ***...
or there are more...

so *** is...
         more than two sexes?
     *******?!
        enlighten me!

           i am always more than willing
to receive a lesson in grammar!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
the regression of progressives:

**** me, it could have worked,

i'd be happy, being a free-floating
free-radical

   biting on rather than snuggling
on the **** of
some demi goddess -

   but? no.

         i could have been an advocate of
progressive grammar...
i'm not a ******, i'm a Brit
sort of "machismo"...
but, no... no...

some people had to attack grammar?
oh... right...
so the Platonic
universals contra particulars question
was solved,
without my knowing?

**** me!

              so.....
you want me... to abandon organic proofs
of my ethnicity,
built upon quasi
   Marxist, more like:
globalist biases?
           while you unravel
the English grammar?

you out of your, ******* mind?!?!
learn the language, good,
use it, good,
then speak it better than the natives,
subsequently the copper skinned
immigrants... not so good...
the ****?!
              good luck Brexit
when your children feign
to speak a word of French....
good luck teaching them
Mandarin...
good luck!

promises promises...
the road to heaven is hardly
intentional -
it's like the road to heaven:
paved by promises...
or politico lies...


                   now, if you do not breed
a generation of youngsters who
are at least bilingual in one other
European tongue?
the **** are the cobblers going
to do... sell bananas
like some Banana Republic of
South America?!

*******...
           great... we can nuke the *******
island and exp0ect a shift
in the ripple effect of a *******
tide off the coast of Normandy!
******* zombies...

  no... you can attack my "identity politics"...
dfeny my biology... my ethnicity...
you can all do that...
but when you place trans-gender restrictions
on my access of grammar?
now? now you're pushing it...
*******!

                   you leave grammar out of it...
i'm not here to solve
the singular she with a singular he
with  plural non-****** ascription
of a, missing, ******* adjective...
you what a lesson in grammar?!
ask why philosophers
never used grammatical category words...
to walk the short-cut...

            what do you expect?
that i wouldn't revert / rather than regress
to "identity" politics?
what... you're going to rob me off
my ethnicity...
play the Michael Jackson bleach card?!
expect me to shy away like
some ******* Inuit?!

  metrosexuals not welcome,
esp. of a political class of
bogus barons and esquire farts...
            
if these people simply refrained from
toying with grammar...
i'd be all well and dandy...
did these people have to **** around
with grammar?! really?!
   no... i'm not buying it...
whatever you think of the outliers
of urban areas,
the people who tickle the country-folk
for reading lists when it comes
to combating boredom...

   you could have had all you've wanted...
a free floating
pronoun radical with
a noun-censorship implant...
but then you went against
the most intricate basis of a language...

both ******, but also
a plurality / singularity neutrality...
  no...

*******!

               i'm going to drink my
shveedish "absolutist" *****...
  and watch you send your quasi-daughters
back to the Sheiks'
desert to **** in a harem...
protected by castrato slaves...
who occupy the realm as counter
******...
                 has the softy -
missing the ballsy -
                        hey -
better than what Muhammad originally
provided...

                       unless he's high as a kite on
******....
  
           you can't attack both "identity"
politics... and at the same time
create grammar "politics"...
                  
        i call it a reversion drama -
"you" call it a regression grammar...

           see... my singular / plural /
male / female it ****** up...

               it's like the question
posed by Plato about universals and singulars
has been solved...
  with a ******* band aid.
Tawanda Mulalu Aug 2017
I.
//Yum Yum, No Vacation//

Such remarkable running you did there
You look like you're out breath, where is the air
You carried around yourself, air-bending monk
Heaving this way and that like you're in a funk

Yeah, I know, promised to never comment on you or your look
No more, at least to myself, but, baby you shook
Like how you shouldn't be, like someone like me saying 'baby'
Please, I trickled down your throat- gravy

Maybe, if you wasn't lying to yourself, life would be gravy
But then again- my mind is hazy
Maybe, if I'd been more faithful than lately
We coulda ended more stately but that's just a maybe

I like to deal with certainties so if it ain't that physics
I gotta ask why, where and when is it biting me
My space and time aren't hyphenated I'm not prepared to give
Myself away like that- so, can I live?

(Eh, you prolly didn't like me that much anyway
Eh, it doesn't bother me that much anyway
Yeah, writing past that call me Hemingway
Blam, end of a verse just like Hemingway)

II.
//Beach ******, No Vacation//

Oh wow, what weather indifferent is difference
Hello Boston, with your moodiness, how is you feeling?
I'm doing fine cause I'm doing me
Shower with rain and ice, movements in your symphony

Sympathy wasn't no nothing I asked from you
But double negatives ain't mahala so hala with sunlight akuna mathata
Lion King if you really wanna know
Roaring on so bitter with this flow

like

You really gon' try play me out of this Simba
Like Mufasa didn't gift me that rhythm marimba
Whatever homie, they don't even know me
Way they actin' up, they could win a Tony

******- and I thought I wasn't good enough
I'm good, getting out of my dreams, getting out of my seat
Good- like the only house concrete after a huff and a puff
Summer- only time the lyrics get done- sheesh!

III.
//Biking, Frank, Jay, Tyler//

Watch      what you say to me
Watch      pretty clear to me
Tick-tock til' next drop you don't mean none to me
No more if you play me, see

Soft boy, hard heart if need be, breathe
Not just for next stroke, left strokes, knees
Don't get weak, leave ***** sheets hang in breeze
Last whole night b, don't mean I'm happy

Pretty nice problem if you asked him
Little boy playin' 'round Invader Zim, where his friends
at? act   like   you   -   don't care
act? act         -you do-  so scared

Of dying lonely, crying won't be done
Nothing welled in tear ducts since fifteen, no fun, so done
with this shh... where the catharsis
Hamlet complex: the rest is shh... silence

IV.
//Fourth of July- Sufjan//

O, when the crickets clunkered and thundered
I thudded against myself- mind against skull
Bruce Banner in Incredible Hulk, whisper in bulk
Ghost in the Shell, heard sorta mumbled

Skip a few weeks later she breathes on my neck
Same thoughts really I don't like how I see me
I mean, I like myself, I hate my body
Or rather the idea of a body, microphone check:

Can I finally hear myself? Am I still stuck in myself?
Can I get outta myself? Can I please get some help?
I like living and touching and I like what she did there
But imagine if could disappear into universals and share

the same space as numbers and shapes
with none of this creaking and yearning my body it makes
I am a corpse in the making- and so is she
No matter how long we keep at it I am still inside of me

I didn't finish
I didn't finish

I didn't
I didn't

I
I
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
-
and baba moonschtrung also said the same, kenwah?

only once you visit
the eastern coast of kenya
do you realise...
   oh right...
they sent all the loud-mouth
west africans to america...
no wonder...
and you might rightly ask:
wonder?
   oh hell, loved the kenyans...
had a cognac and a coffee,
talked
about timber imports
from ghana...
     fell asleep in the open air
and had no somali pirate
bother me...
  punctured my hand on
a coral crown while diving into
the indian ocean,
had a kenyan doctor stitch me
up...
     you know what
east africans call west africans,
esp. those born
in america?
            *******...
     even the africans can tell
an african from a ******,
that's how bad the epidemic has
become:
ye, woah, ye, hide-e hide-e **-**...
ye-yo... limo *******...
boom boom, shizzle nuts
salami... ******* go waaaaaaaaaaay...
high... white boy got shroom
for a ****-yo...
      i know that east africans
abhor west african,
they call them -
     kakhuluizinkamba
oh look, he he...
      a german sounding
colony in africa, simply
based on the spelling "conundrum"
(it's called an act of ridicule
as to excuse a misnomer,
because third party says, so):
i think that means: loud mouth...
plus... never met a nigerian
girl i'd like to ****,
but one kenyan coal...
mmm hmm...
  smoked her grass
  like a serpent princess
         and god,
            that skin was a mirror
i allowed myself to fixate on
the moon... clearly i saw
something in the rhesus' OOH!
that much needing a photograph
startled expression...
    ***** ***** ***** WHA?
NIGER NIGERIA SAY WHA?
hmm... herrkichert: giggles...
             i love the fact that
africa is, a continent,
up is not down,
west is not east,
       lighter skinned peoples
are not respect,
get shipped off,
             speak some rap,
some settle for the palm
tree tropicana of the carribean...
                it's, ha! like this arab
fwend said to me:
     the love of: genital: contrasts...
it's far beyond colours...
its a certain fascination with
shapes...
      although opposite in terms
of universals of *** antonym...
well no, it's not like every
single white girl...
        not every single black girl...
but you're on your own,
sitting at a table playing
a steppenwolf game with
the audience, and three kenyan
beauties approach you for
a chat...
             locked in to having genitals,
and there's a chair,
thank you, very much...
     if only the somali pirates...
i'd be like: you really forgot
the cognac...
                i had it in a little glass
next to my head,
when i woke up, the cognac was...
dead? well, gone, richard gere style...
kinywa kwa sauti kubwa
             kwa sauti kubwa kinywa

it's not perfect,
because i'm not learning,
i just want to known
of the arabs, keeping
crocodile zoos to ensure
  a steady stream of leather shoes
in Mombasa tell you
to read it: left to right to left,
or to read it: right to left to right,
beyond what the druids wrote,
grammatically speaking...
the other bit?
        zoo                    lú!
  so do the african-americans even
know that an east african would
call a west african a ******?
extra G, prowess!
   i think he ment to say: loud mouth...
ha ha...
  i love how african-americans
are deluded about the delusion
of an africa: UNITED!
  black, what-what?!
              no, i haven't been to a lot
of places...
        but the places i've been to
i attempted the human face...
kenya imports timber from ghana...
learned that from the bartender
giving me extra short of cognac
trying to play poker with me...
    but ven e'gein, outside of
    Arkansas... there is no Arkansas!
i'd gloat, bloat,
if i only did have to hide
in one of those Nero flotilla shades...
when in africa? hide from
the sun... have a ******* hyper-active
form of siesta...
        otherwise you're reduced
to getting a suntan,
which makes you look as stupid
as eating tablespoons of
             powdered cinnamon;
simba m'ah schlimba...
                     sham'ah sham'ah
  sham'ah yay...
              harpoon,  
                    first mate:
       it 'em at day tatties...
                one ****** down,
two ******* down...
                third?
                   did a seal's worst
impression of a baboon
scratching its over-taxed
worth of **** (already) worth's
of hemorrhoids...
  ever see a baboon with
a third ****-cheek?
i.e. a hemorrhoid?
                      hence the clapping...
B. Moonglit of the jungle,
never, ever, really managed
to wipe his ***...
                 still...
                 i love how african-americans
think there's an "africa"...
             well... there's kenya...
but you know,
  you sample one good aspect
of the continent,
   there's no real point sampling
a lottery ticket
              of replica to "prove"
a "similar" point of experience.
John Destalo Jan 2019
I: Impressions

I want to
love you
I want to
feel so many
things
that I don’t
instead of just this
one thing this
one jumbled
unidentifiable
thing, this…this…
monster on the inside
made from
the unfelt
parts of
emotions;
leftovers
of moments
not one of
which was fully
experienced.

II. Explosions

All was quiet
at the beginning
of time
the big bang
made no noise
a startling spectacle
of suddenness
it was all sight
and no sound
color was its
afterbirth;
a by-product
of chemicals mating
and procreating.

III. Inventions

the universe
was seeded by sounds
the wush
of a hand moving
quickly
through a dark cloud
the tiny fingers that
crack
as they grasp
for a meaning, any meaning
and a stiff drink to
glug
glug

I know something
out there has to resonate
something has to be
real

Doesn’t it?
Doesn’t it?
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
that’s the great thing about modern celebrity culture,
you’ll never be as famous as a door, or a tree
in the populist usage of words,
you're antagonising common usage,
you can try as hard as you can
but that monkey face
will neither
show a smile or a sign of anxiety,
you will still not be more luxurious
no more “popular” when oak summoned autumn
and oak leaf fallen a *****’s buttocks in paris tamed.
i mean some nouns will remain in the everyday
use, but some nouns will be fake for a bit
before fading away to endear the river once more
with thought;
but like me, the tree will remain a tree,
a stone a stone,
and the un-lived but loved and the un-loved but lived
will be the secure remnant of grammar
that didn't pay its taxes;
so george washington iii lost his head and asked
if there was vietnam.
believe me, i said the word harpoon more than a politician’s surname,
and it made sense to animate universals and inanimate particulars
to claim at least a revelled in assortment of the least.
Niesha Radovanic Mar 2019
I envy the flower of life.
Where bodies and souls become one.
A stem of youth radiates the sour taste of masculinity
And the pulsing touch of femininity.
The burnt orange *** organs
Collide into a bombshell mandrake in full bloom.
His stamen jitters as,
Her petals caress the roots in lullabies.
This is
an explosion of life that meets
at the sacred sun.
Universals become one, at the bottom of their flower.
Her womb is coated in leaves.
They are burning bodies birthing
More flowers that will shed
This addictive energy.
Fiery sparks crackle at the pistil of the bombshell
Planted where the sun shines day and night
The lovers tend to the mandrake.
The flower of life baptized in infinite rebirth.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
at a hospitalier's request...
i heard...

   'ask them to drink a little...
or at least gradually...
alone... absolutely alone...
come night and at least
an hour before setting of
for the land of nod...
before their grand imitation
of death with sleep...
ask them to drink a little...
anything except beer...
wine or ms. amber...
             ask them...
  to drink alone...
  and tell them: would you
please be inclined
to listen to templar chants?
le chant des templiers -
organum marcel peres - harmonia mundi:
salve regina...
          da pacem domine...
                nunc dimittis...
ask them to drink a little...
to drink alone... and listen
to these chants of the templars...'

i have been here before: dear hospitalier...
i have... i have seen
diamonds be fathomed
in waterfalls -
i have been here: gnashing my teeth
with an agony from the aesthetic!
i was here: tortured by beauty,
once...

  'i've been here, prior! teuton!
i've seen what aesthetic blows
can be dealt on the hearts of man!
i've seen men weep from
the agony of beauty!'

ask them: implored the hospitalier
to listen to the chant of
the templars...
ask them to sit aside: alone...
ease their hearts with a little bit
of liquid-fire...
baptise them thus...
ask them to take this sacrament...
let these new men
be baptised by wedding themselves
to the tears they will about to
shed...

baptise them with all the ingenious
beauty of song!
tempt them into this agony
of beauty...
no Bach no Beethoven...
forget all the polyphonic composition
complexity of classical music:
to the bellowing guts
of angus dei...

        i don't want intelligent music:
i want music that replicates
the herded animal: for the chant of the choir!
excuse me worship for
the fox calls of the night:
in england one cannot find
wolves - only dogs barking...

at a hospitalier's request:
'weren't the templar the more vicious
adamants of faith -
a cross became a sword...
yet after a slaughter: they would repent
with song...
to feed a contradiction that
came with a completeness of
heart...'

te deum patern ingeniturn -
  i can't stall the teutons from singing!
the teutons must sing!
these black cross cladding
over a whitened reservoir of following
yet uncovered details...

ease their hearts: strain them against
such ferocity of beauty...
let me find a grain of universal
truth in all of this...
and share it among all the reigning
particulars...
detail some excursion
into mathematical schematics
of "explanation":

the universal fraction / percentage
the universal is... only...
0.00000001%...
the particular is 99.0000009...
to solve the socratic mystery
of consolidating universals
with particulars:

concerning myself with genes:
by the time i might have
joyed myself with grandchildren:
i would have been diluted to...
a quarter...

             please ask them to
reflect on a: my self...
rather than be so agitated and prompt
boundless with
a compounded of nervy-
reflexive myself...

      give them an hour
to concern themselves with conjunctions...
give them the scissors of
atheism: notably in english
the only dimension this explanation
works in...
a- (indefinite)
                   and -the- (definite) -
an -ism is an -ism is an -ism...
is perhaps a variation of shorthand
explanations: as any decency of
an -ology...

indefinitely but most assured: definitely
this lingering phantom
of a tongue that had to remain
in talk and was never allowed
to sing...

       the hospitalier implored once
more:
'the same can be achieved
with muhammad's adhan...
                            but what if muhammad
himself was... tone deaf?
it does little to the reality
of the french caricatures:
yet another beheading...
             some elsewhere like france
has become...
this masochistic statue of glass...
this ice forge that salt is thrown at!
please let them listen to the templar
chants... ask the men first...
let the women disguise themselves
into the experience...
but tell them...
there is only your heart
upon entry... and there's only
your heart upon leaving!'

and i have been accused of
sociopathy and psychopathy...
   lies have dwarf-esque legs to sprint on...
2007: my descent...
it has been oh so... coincidental...
i have a testimony of Abel...
the earth doesn't cry out for me:
i'm still laughing upon it...
it's so impossibly just to have
not disturbed a finger of evil
that always points with accusation
at its own tongue...

i'm a big boy now: i can allow
myself metaphors of evil
i can allow myself metaphors of good...
i want these templar chants
to be aesthetic torture chambers...
i want men to be baptised by
the tears they shed...
expecting results...
oh of course... if they don't cry
having drunk enough...
then...

           clearly: the latin men wouldn't
require their letters to have names...
an A would never become an alpha -
a connotation of association with
male...
king alpha prince beta - B -
the latin men didn't conjure names
for their letters... at best... syllable
constructs for their consonants...
or vowel-catching sighs and laughter
reliefs for the vowels...

Bee would never be most certainly
beta...
               Oh would not become
omicron...
                that the greeks gave names
to their letters:
why is it that they are the most
scientifically "biased" people of this world...
Es: or sigma - a sum of:
which is why they sing such
godawful songs!

the castrato assembly of
the nuanced teutons!
would i be lucky to be stolen from
this future in a choir...
and forced into... deeds...
that can be agglomerated
when celebrating the defeat
of the mongols at the hands
of the mamluks...
or who the turkish janissaries were...

immediately slaves...
immediately converts:
easily pawned zealots!

- what a kind expression:
i clutter... my smile... with teeth...
then again...
if i am supposedly smiling:
would i require the use of teeth...
if i'm therefore employing the use
of teeth:
i'm not exactly smiling:
i'm pouting with an off-putting
grimace...
and by showing my teeth...
i am "unconsciously"
attempting to sharpen them
with instigating both fear
or paranoia...

     i have wed myself to the tears...
i have left nothing to hsve
to make it conumate upon stressing
this aesthetic torture...

augure of either sigh or the forlorn...
with my tears i wed myself
to the lakes and the rivers...
beside spite:
from an authenticity basis:
i was made lacklustre i was made
hindered...
if i were merely trampled on:
tampered with:
that i feel more than i think
i might have been egregiously taken
advantage of...
it's oh so...
    synchronised...
as if an Abel: but this new-Abel
would not die from a wounding
of a stabbing sensation:
if would require covert
murderous mechanisms...
an ingenuity of chemical employment...

let the world rot to appease the bloodthirst
of the demiurge...
i will only serve to laugh...
as laugh i did:
so many years prior...
come! share my universal attention
to detail!
let the teuton sing!
let this borrowed Cassidy sing his
shoes and suede off!

how they would
untie the feet of bogus bodies
of chinese pump-out
machines...
toe-tied this naked night
from afar....
this naked stark horror...
cut them at every available limbs!
gauge their eyes out!
cut their tongues out!
leave them womb-esque
most pristine!
that's all that was ever required
of them!
they dare not prance around:
peacocking...
when the subtle man
is being circumcised...

and they can... toy with
a lottery of... flesh; edible...
how i impersonate...
this quest fetish for...
i'll celebrate eating
a chicken...
by succking out the marrow
in the bone...
i will... celebrate the crunch
of cartilage...
           i will feast on the tender-bits
of liver and heart...
i will swear allegiance
to a handful of poultry hearts to
best remind myself:
what lifting a volume of
chickens would have to feel like:
heaving them...

guess i just spoiled a "poem":
there i was also looking for... a rhyme...
to also look for geometric antics...
yes...
it has come to my attention
to be clumsy enough...
i too would have liked
to have spent the better part
of my yet to be: envisioned
life in buenos cyres...

if i were more than the name
prescribed unto me:
i were more darius than matteo...
if i were a xerxes and
athena was my bride...
i like questioning being
given a name:
with such hightened expectation...

      conrad of masovia...
it's like it was necessarily to be...
humming a belief in:
china ≠ tibet ≠ mongolia

kind augur: in china they give noun status
to their syllables...
since they don't own concept for
either vowel or consonant...
"concept": what a grand branding
need...
the beijing squints from lemon
sherbert are... shy for giving:

no... there's is no vowel:
there's the consonant "proper":
ka                                                            cha-se and che-st...
ke                                                chew
ku                                         chi
ki                                     cho
ko...           and there's

herr: fat-bang-****
when black rice powder made peoples
explode...
such generic life
and holding on...
the mediocre ambitions that
would never pierce the ambition claimants...
as having a heughtening
impetus of / for elevated strategy...
in beijing:
it's so necessary to have as many people
without heaving ambition...
as is necessary to have
a Lenchenstein and have so few...
arrogantly prized antagonists...
there have to be status quo converts
and bravado
architects of same...

i'm wondering: how will "they" ever...
multiply us to their assured
presence of number...
and weaken us intellectually
to fraction out a count of the celebrated
counter count of 1..

we must be so impossibly to conquer...
when herded: herded...
yet when not...
so biased against...
the already persisting antagonism
of a chinese "concept" of "individualism"
to borrow from...
well... basically... ****-all to do with!
Hanson Yang Feb 2018
getting Lit with my Wives Overtaken every ****- Life as if The Body was created of the Infinite of all beginnings light was body as rolled up to smoke of every cigarette to  smoked to “sorrow” of this pride Ends to end;
Ashes to Ashes of every Ideals of every fantasy as if every magnitude of the body of time of space Murdered In Infancy in actuality had never happened that ends pretend;
Of every youth consumed of every mind every time had been lost is why of pain to actually Lived in Ideal fantasy been again;
To every pain in every moment of the Real: Enwombed; had every meeting Mends Amends,
The Infinite-Down Enters Presence-Existence of Every Woman Exit the wounds of Pain begins every man of Man rendered life as “let intent”;
Then again against all motions of all Universals of Time and Space as proof of being “Men-again”
What is this cycle of rather amends of Ends to what actuality pretends is proof of pain as life pretends death in “when”.
Such speech, Such Existence, of such Inferiority Limitations of what such: Being that life Enlivens Of What Omega…
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
one simply tires of
interfacing with
the anonymity medium,
like one is to
embody some variant
of an alcoholic...
one tires...
one even attempts
to alleviate
the apathy via...
freely giving up one's
ability to toy-the-joystick
to become chauffeur
driven...
        ya...
    one even forget's one's
ability to use: i,
when what once
seemed plain & obvious:
the singular plural,
has become the plural
singular:
like some bad diabetes
variant of the
Socratic conundrum
between consecrating
the universals with
the particulars upon
the same altar of:
tongue waggling...
   one could suppose...
best be moving to
the Bahamas &
the integers...
      but alas...
         the good lord has spoken...
one by one....
oh good lord almighty,
if all the numbers
were given fractional
scrutiny...
there would be no serfs!
surds! sorry...
well one is complete in two,
in that there are two of une,
in... deux...
     français...
          je: it's like i was always
in anticipation mode...
like i was supposed to wash
the dishes, or... waiter....
français, quoique,
    je jamais était:
          une grand admirateur...
donc...
   je détester ()e français...
saleté-scénario...
                qui?
one could wish...
this... intermediate...
"bargain"...
       why wouldn't the nationalists
make curiosities
of our mismanaged
"network"...
                 we attacked
what was supposed to
remain:
       faire taire "parle"...
the royal pronoun...
has to buckle
at some point...
when the common man's
pronoun is attack
via the claustrophic
circus toys is the source
of the usurp...
look...
   look at me...
save a... ******* coconut!
Third Eye Candy Jun 2018
In the halls of the universals, whosoever we are -
We are not equipped. We emerge from mothers, tumbling ever forward into hordes of wane and bucolic meadows, thrashing in the kiln of Time. We soar amongst ourselves… in the pitch. In the dark.
Our totems are twigs and twine.
We hold the moon accountable, but not for madness.
She holds the key to the shadow, and we wants it.
But haven’t any angels to approve. So we haunts it.
Like songbirds with eyes of stone.
Perched on the lip of an urn.
Walter Alter Aug 2023
college is a lot of fun dad
today we hanged the psychemetrics professor
and that's how break dancing began
in yesterday's semaphore seminar we learned
that excessive nuance can make you crazy
the human mind is but a word game
the right combination gets you in
otherwise a Hieronymus Bosch picnic
at the edge of the Lake of Fire
but sometimes I digress menacingly
into the blazoned uncharted subjective
the campus necromancers are not house trained
consequently they can read spoor like a road map
Professor Phoebe lifted her dress and squatted
took an interpretive dump in the snow
which rapidly melted into its own hole
in the shape of a lyric parallelogram
and I contemplated a change of career path
since majoring in cognition is a tricky business
one marginally deduced sink hole after another
wrack your nurture brains for the nature solution
working with the pharmacy to create a better world
don't you roll your eyes at me
or you'll get a lecture on the mood swing paradigm
when you outwit the voices you have won
quiz on the interior pantheon this Wodenstag
we'll prepare the way of pain
with a ray of sunlight and save the world
believe that and you'll believe nothing is derived
our academicians went into wedge formation
it was an uprising over a lack of continuity
between the wild eyed number crunchers
and the pale tubercular simulation priesthood
the picture took on a vivid rosy hue
because it bled from every pore
where relativists appeal to universals
and tyrants call truth a tyranny
forced my conclusion all traps are invisible
which is why they are called traps
both sides are in on it do the math
it's political suicide everywhere
wisdom is just another commodity
and all vision is parallel up to a point
hold your head still see with your eyes
that's the continuity I'm talking about
the first university of its kind
an effortless engine of didactic beauty
this is obviously the partial reality from which
we piece together the rest of reality
the internal world derives from
the external one every ******* time

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2024
1pm
not exactly but approx
circa
i.e. 12:45pm
and i'm kneeling again

to some distant prayer...

surely, if i were an aftternoon
******
if i were truly
a William Burroughs
admirer and
that would be me keeping
art alive
in Tangier
in some Arabian nightmare
some ****
fair enough
but also the thought
of an afternoon
listening to the children playing
in the playground
and life
life goes on

punitive measures
if i were an afternoon
******
oh
right
the reality
need the needle thread of music

just purged
had a chemistry experiment
in body
just purged
purged god i purged
i vomited the poison
out

a sobering purge
a sobering purge like
the purges from
food ******
of echo Rome

but i didn't eat i only
eat one meal a day
that i need to earn
and regardless whether
it's Christmas Lent
or Ramadan

it's the Bruce Springsteen year
in and out
and god i purged
didn't have enough time
to get to the toilet
instead spewed bile
onto the bedroom floor
then mopped it up
then spewed more bile into
the sink

then felt the body
like yesterday i felt
a sharp pain in my tooth
and thus felt the gravity
of bone
of flesh
of corruptibility
of morality
now i'm more sober and emotional
than discontent and
disillusioned half-enmotional
and high or drunk

i still need to buy onions
for the tomato sauce

those meatballs will need mixing
with breadcrumbs
and cumin
and coriander
and that sauce will need to be perfect

yeah
if i'm not tripping i should be tripping
but where did that old man with his
dog disappear to
the one that kept talking to the dog
like the dog could be a chair
because the man just
kept dictating SIT
SIT
I TOLD YOU TWICE
SIT
SIT
           woof! bark bark! woof bark!

then so clued up about being in a queue
that i forgot the thousands
of verbal cues in my head
instead i just heard: BLAH BLAH BLAH

the election cycle is on
in Britain and in America
and the world emerges with another
Russophobia
as if it were an Islamophobia
and who was that Russian
spy-op hacker
youtube influence-R

      the subjectivity of THE experience
with the objectivity of A experience
objective (indefinite) experience
subjective (definite) experience...

      these are my letter to Socrates
asking:
is this how the "problem" of universals
and particulars can be fashioned
to a suitable rubric of explanations
pedagogic?

                the logic of unraveling in and with
children...

       upon hearing my tongue
i heard that some Russian paid people
to storm the pitch
and pay them 30 million rubles
and within 20 seconds
a German or a Spaniard claimed
the pitch...

                   maybe some greater beloning
a me to i to you
and out through          to self and other...

      but i purged to sober
i purged to sober
because this day has been too good
although i'd never think to say

that i walked into a bank
like Neville Chamberlain
with a flimsy piece of paper
like from Munich
agreed upon toilets
and chimneys
i mean this Power of Attorney
that was just stamped
by a half-baked translator (in memorandum)
photograph and then printed
instead i needed a 16 page document
with all her crying
and whimpering
her late much late attended to for concern
of affection from a brother
now brain in the fish tank
and just because the word
euthanasia is
only
a word that came from my mind
i think of the ***** turmoil
of uncovering secrets in man
even this
supposed best friend and *** partner
Marius
who owes my uncle 300,000 zloty
and perhaps some land
should he forgo the debt
well but now fishbowl St Martin
is having a trip that i could only hope to once
venture into on a giant mushroom!

painless and likewise voidless
a peering black barnacle
with eyes and tongue
this unavoidable shapeshifter
and sieve-R of jurisprudence
this unavoidable date and time
and hopelessness vigor
that irritates the stomach
glazes the eyes
and fills all these rooms with a blank
evidence of emptiness

in a distance a Dalai Lama
who i don't know is Buddha
a cosmopolitan glob trotter or what
is that with St Peter
some inheritance tax
since the rest of us petty mortals
are living lives on loan
do these figures in the world
represent enforced reincarnation
thus these people
are paying the inheritance tax, Pope,
Dalai Lama...
Emir of Baghdad...
Sufiz of Damascus

      i petty mortal living a life
on a loan
this body
this brain this everything loaned
not something i can credit
with bad decision
without the debtor's sinking into
a wheel of money a chair
of money a lamp of money
a paracetamol of money
a book of money
a cushion a bed a house a money
in logical inflation from £100,000
to £0.01
                          the blood
and vitality of inanimate, dead objects,
that they get moved
sold
contested
abbreviated and joyed at

     hands that move chairs
and make chairs
hand each other pocket doses of
value and devalue
nothing mystical except the slow
realization
by purge so rewarding
by purge so electrifying
so illuminating
that one hour residing
in bed while the day busies itself
with its busiest selves

perhaps alternatively
on a Faroe Island
      and aging to some Scandinavian myth
with solitude and letters
not this champagne milkshake
of human emotions
this snot these tears
this phlegm and all the love juices
this ear wax this sinew
these tendons and shaking hands...

Mellstroy -
so my father wasn't bullshitting me...

"Three pitch invaders stormed the Wembley turf at the Champions League final after being promised £300,000 by a controversial Russian streamer, it has emerged. The troublemakers wore t-shirts promoting 'Mellstroy', a scandalous vlogger who offered the prize reward to anyone who would invade the pitch in his name."

      https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-13484263/Champions-League-final-pitch-invaders-Russian-streamer-Mellstory.­html

archiving websites...
that's actually an art in a way
well it is a bureaucratic art-form

/blog.pagefreezer.com/how-do-you-archive-website

$7.2 million USD
by some count of the casino
and i think of myself
and my use of bet365
and in general everything that i do
and my life
and i do think about my life
and if i were brain frozen
half my grey matter evaporated
in my frontal cortex
and that's Martin
two massive holes in his mind
and i can literally throw
anything in there
like Joyce threw Finnegans Wake
into his schizophrenic daughter
is that price
we pay to venture into writing
beyond what's offered in
the Bible
i just wonder how can we dare
to want so much
as to not speak
and instead write

the grey and metallic tinge
of Warsaw on a cloudy day
while very sunny in London
and Glasgow...

perhaps if half my brain evaporated
i would write some astounding
poems that
perhaps i could foresee
no better life than that on the page
like right now
because beyond what's available
there is no mojito under a palm tree
on a beach with the woman
i just might love

this life is brutal and how begging
we are to disbelieve that to be true.
Kurt Philip Behm Oct 2024
Outside the mind
they’re no universals
Conflation and trend
— humanity’s bane

(Dreamsleep: October, 2024)
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2024
2 days? really? 2 ways: tow two ouch days?
i have written anything in two days?
well!
that must stand corrected:
if i'm a poet therefore i'm a bad journalist
and battling insomia... and god:
and the night walking
Heraclitus and Bertnard Russell...
what five, 5, 5iver books would
i bring to Kauai and teach Reyla
the glory of books...
i know one... Cantos... Ezra...
Bukowski:
something about walking through
the fire...
no no... Bukoswski is right:
just two books..
the one you haven't finished
but were reading over there
and a book to glorify the memory of
your grandfather's hospitality
and learning...
your time alone:
books then:
Knausgaard's vol 6 and ******...
the jumbee jump
into ****** and Elert as two human wholes:
double-think>?
Orwell didn't mention double-think did he?
serialized Harlequinn of the low
hanging fruit of prophecy...
try Solomon's agtitation with  a persistence
for a stability in and of time...

such a different cat to human dynamic
when i'm left alone
in a house full of the alchemy of ghosts...
something that Christianity never
allowed itself to have:
but the cult of science is there
and when create a strcuture for a religion
too...
religion of the antithesis of consciousness
as the Arabs proposed...
with the thesis being concentration
and focus...
focus...                         focus:
honing in machine...
        public scrutiny unlike taking pictures
of suicide in a spot in Japan:
the argument:
a father and two sons
had wine drenched t-shirts...
started the argument...
as judge, inquirer,
empathy-defendend
as sympathy-accussed...
                     an? not and? not defendant?
i'm experiecing a freeflow to
understand dyslacia...
can i pleas write without AI
underlining my words:
fgo: a period of 10min?!
pole: please please:

             my wife asked me:
i replied: what big bang?
in a ******* vacuum?
so the interlude:
i monkey, chain: asked:
exasctly:
she's ultra-Christian dream-lady
not a cat-lady
a dream-lady
she asked for a night-walker
and chatterer for a lover...
she asked for a night-walker
and a chatterer for a lover...
thrice?!

wait wait: so i wasn't supposed to throw
the party?
oh: right: i don't know enough people...
i thought it was only me and you (Greg)
and Alex...
i am introverted so i will probably
spend most of the time talking
to your daughter:
and if i will wear a Taylor Swift t-shirt
it will indicate white knights
of the light geekdom
unlike the black and BARACK UBAMA
                        IRON MAIDEN!
so much in my head: St. Augustine...
catholic safe haven
for abused leftover Prostentatism
of the Gospel DISPERSE choir...
who heard them:
why did i travel to Hawaii
and fall over my knees and Achilleses
and... seriously?
unearth an ancient people who were
asking from Asia: toward the sea
from Taiwann...
because...
the...
"supposed"
European dict...

then i laughed so hard and woke
the sleeping cat
on my desk that's my bed:
van gogh and ear and chair
descartes and thought and table
what did i start to do?
licked my index middle and ring
with my saliva my painting
then started to groom  my pet
by giving him gel for a fringe
but not gelatine and whiskers...
licked it like my favorite scene
where Quicksilver saves
all those children from the school
after the explosion...
but... i'm not Quicksilver...
i'm Quicksilver's father: Magento...

i thought i was throwing the party...
oh: the kido cried because she got
a taylor swift t-shirt with some bangles...
i have only one left:
anti-hero...
      
             so... let's spealk grammar?
don't think so...
i think i thought about something
too: altoge....

cats ask finish: feel good chaos:
best good English Whitechapel y'ah
alles gut... blah blah...
                Jacob STD phobe:
enzyme... cultural icon too:
but scientifically:
what is individual in biology and chemistry
physics etc.
but with religion
after christ a madman...
so... the balancing act:
can't allow Buddha in into this dynamic
of the chimera of scrutiny of
employability:
still don't think we're on the numbers:
why-how

        outliers where: when:
fire is how?
water is why?
air is where?
when is earth?                           ask...

one...          i give one person one time:
to tell me where i made the intitatial mistakes
having being the first
to find this problem:

sie(tail)
         is not the self
or the self-absence:
sie(tail-e)
began the process of
automation:
a.i.: efficieciency:
this Holocaust will be covert:
slow... it has to be slow:
can only tell an idiot
he's one once:
nail: to no hammer:
just a coffin:
they sort of sink in and keep
the matter shut...
we don't need retards in heaven
these retards of christ
of the earth will not be resurrected!
do you understand me?!
do you?!

DECORUM!
the argument and the stage of the court:
one father 2 sons...
against
Solomon... i am...
there came a judgement and i was called
an uncircumcised ****...
i have a *** Army father with two cucks...
he showcased me not being circumcised...
a ******* Jew in the Hammer Army?
seriously...
powernap... argument of a woman
and a vulnerable male
against three males, sober...
protecting their ******* smartphones?
i was: judge: i would have
the executioner powers had i had them
and shot them: dead to autumn
like concers and brains...

              decorum: you don't ******* film
an alcoholic trance of meditation
and then film a JApanese suicide of
just hanging around:
you *******... PLEB! you TV ZOMBIE...
the moon turned red when Alex
aseked me about my frequency
but i ssaid i had no favorite color:
favorite? seriously? do you have a favorite
word or shape?!
favorites who spoke this ****** Zodiac
paraphrase?!

my hand is a paw is to a feline tiger
a spider...
but as i mentioned:
the muddle: who strives to will a power:
without telepathy
or the comic script...
i'm not... prof X...
turn away digust of the cat that i wrote
those lines... who then for the children:
i should get bald?!
so much cultural affection of a dying kind...

the will to strife what becomes a will to strive:
simple:
ergonomic philosophy and
the fact that horses and cats
get to relax without fewer rats
and plough and wars

one finger: the cat continues to lie in my bed:
one finger: index:
i'm writing about you:
you're not a model
i'm not a painter:
i don't need your features:
i just need your summary:
your ontology...
i am sketching with poem
and you're not a cat...
i'm a fox godhead
and i'm looking for the cat godhead:
if i am the fox... no... now...

i'm the incubated house and intelligence
and the warm:
so my pride is
a fox is a toothless... Christian gay-lady
of homelessness that becomes
an affair of a grand household
on Mawney Road (roads are winding,
streets are rigid)
          
sorry, lost the plot...
i'm still conscious:
i'm still experiencing consciousness:
but i've lost concentration:
that dimension where thinking exists
to find and explore and share
meaning
of correlating the ancient Greek
genesis:
universals are synoynms
while particulars are antonyms...
maybe let's test it within the confines
of giving spain Sagrada Família...
i seriously thought i was hosting
the party:
the lasty bbq i hosted i ended up
a black girl in the attic of my bedroom:
maybe on neutral ground
i'll just buy my deducted price
Welsh whiskey
head up early and help with the prep...

— The End —