I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in
full on conjugation

raken and taken, me,
her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held
in my maledom abeyance,
a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing,
de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications,
excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation,
ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down

she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest,
in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking,
“user of words mine, all mine”

gathered up my innards of loose words,
speculative notes & titles yet to be,
born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files,
now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create,
a homeless mute citizen, possession-less,
helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent,
without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet

she celebratory cackled and clawed,
professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors,
zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly,
with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing,
warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands,
daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship,
warning of a new, forced caining inscription,
a tattooing of  “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ******,
“plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm

I, predator,
she, victim,
of my now self-professed, admitted confess,
she, my single victim,
of a decade long serializing criminal coverup

her parting poem a threatening,
herein issued in this very verse,
damning all who would falsely credit themselves,
to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse,
this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments

parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures,
with warning bitings,
she knew all my
my numerous noms de guerre,
no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day,
and if ever marked as copyrighted,
’twas no tunneling escape,
the exposed truth to be over-stamped
upon all, upon each, in every language,

”copied right from the tongue of a woman!”


and she would be wright...

They told me I was humble
Showing a modest or low estimate of my own importance
Having a tendency to decrease my dignity under others
They were telling the truth
My stature of one not as a boulder but a pebble
I am smaller to others, crushed underneath
They tell me it is a good thing
To place others above myself so I do not conquer them
Pushing them up even if I am falling
Unprivileged behind those who need love more than I do
It is selfish to not be humble
They tell me that I am
I wonder if that means I am weak
Or if that means I am strong

i find this mentioned success found and expressed in the parameters of life,
nothing more than a philistine’s interpretation
of why la traviata resonates more profoundly than madam butterfly
when a girl does not use rhetoric to see the latter opera
but bows to the former in a sort of cognitive neglige,
so why do i find this mention of existential “success” so unprivileged
as to require a deviation from it and complete the individual?
think of the existential “success” as nothing more than:
a zoological phenomenon, the one chance to zoo-keep the dodo not executed,
most people will live in this safeguard,
they will forever remain the one example of continuity undisputed,
they will be safeguarded by the fact that countless examples have & will follow
them, and they will be petrified into ranks in a soldierly fashion
without moaning, for they are indeed the ones who reaped
the safeguard in the first place, the continuity must persist,
individuation must known nothing of what individuation is -
that process of self-depreciation as a worth in the worth of isolation -
they do exist in this safeguard not for any amusing qualities,
it’s the quantity of the escapade that’s amusing, amusement
based upon its success!
there's mr. and mrs. with 2.4 children,
and there's mr. barney and mrs. barney née barnacle
with an only child and a ticket to jerusalem.
so i digress now on the whim - if i were a sufferer of a medical condition,
a psychiatric one at that... would i have great or no insight?
i find it hard to concentrate on the theoretical side of things
without giving a chemical idle wave of the hand giving full
trust to the chemical cure... rather than a theoretical cure...
if i were truly a sufferer of a condition... would i theorise?
i guess i’d button up do my trouser zip up and take the chemical answer
as the “cure,” instead i decided to “cure” myself theorising,
which can’t make me a sufferer for all reasons stated by
an abstinence from the hippocratic trust... which isn’t really there...
hence the need to translate all this as: a hippopotamus oath,
the nearest noun next to dinosaurs... hip oh oh...
for why would anyone being a sufferer of a diagnosed condition
suddenly decide to theorise the symptom as a cure
rather than accept the cures given?
no sufferer of a condition accepts theory as a cure...
most just take the force-fed mechanisation of excessive use of
chemistry as if it was a choice of a beauty product...
yellows olanzapine and blues some other anti psi psi...
in summary... if i truly suffered i’d suffer without theoretical escapades, i'd take the cure and not bother theorising:
but since i don’t suffer from a false diagnosis i theorise...
sober enough to do so... even though drunk enough to enjoy the silence
and the holy lack of conversation...
i guess in depth, the migrant's ambition in me to be content with
arbeit macht frei... translated from doing construction work
with my father, or my specialisation in chemistry into
industrious writing patterns... a poem a day... let's
you throw an apple at a psychiatrist every other day.

The unprivileged complete our democracy

It was the sanctified halls of the fleshless ones, for those of purity
were only of inner form. No eyes did ever gaze upon anything of consequence, embrace was for the weak. As all was grasped with
white palms feeling nothing between hollow digits.

But in this abomination of existence, flesh was thesin of being unclean, un-pure in its form. Others did wonder at its true trepidation of why
it was looked on in such revulsion.It was in many shades but the few lingered on its true purpose of existence in this world of bone.

Flesh was like silk gloves as one tried its fit upon the cold form,
and as it weaved upon them in moist closeness they for a moment felt the coldness of there existence in this enticing form,
but to touch upon sin is to be consumed by it as it started to cohere
to more of this cold form till all was submerged in the flesh.

hands baring all those yesterday's, black the tie dye skulls without a bone to cross delicate impositions undressed to bleed into a
maple syrup disguised by the very tears of a corpses dream.

With thoughts that forgot to function for a thousand years, the rain would pour and clouds would be pedestals for lightening to shed
their load while  I'm stood in another boundary interrogating my
heart of stone.

unprivileged destined to absorb a nightmare envious because it never lived, it's breaths didn't even step past the word go how can I ever forgive a mist created especially by him

A demon in a fur coat resembling that one sheep on that abandoned Field, how can I push down those barriers when rivers guide me to a dead end an existence where life meets death and war is nothing compared to this.

a poisonous piece of ******* placed in one corner of my head just to tease, sending my words haywire swinging through the trees in a deep dark wood where answers are painted with the insides of an insects eyes and I

I am tied down to a patch of haystacks where witches gave up to
the insane frogs, where tires met tracks hiding my footprints in the acidic rain.

And the world never spun around on its axis again before my
form fell like weaker contemplations on a acidic wording that
feed upon my flesh. New born now devoured in diluted form.

Words where jittered from a form unknown to all, and we
descended upon each like a swarm of locusts. flesh the delicacy
of what our eyes now saw between these flesh suits falling.

We were the forest of white oak, strong in our joined reflections
now indifferent solitary only thinking of a singular moment
not of that which grew in pale comparison before.

We spent our emotions on tears of crimson as others not heading
to this inevitable reality of what had encompassed all. We were
wicker men burning from the inside, ash in form of absent reflection.

with wooden erections piercing right through where it matters ,blood clots defining our footprints ,our tattered feelings implanted upon a bespoke dress created for that very monster wanting to impress.

Wanting to conquer one and all within a form that was not wanting,
but now encompasses every fibre that now bleeds. For each dies on
this twilight reborn once again it to a hollow unfeeling form.

"mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all"

i see my reflection

is it broken
i'm not pretty
my eyes are too narrow
my legs are too long
my stomach is too big from dinner
how could i possibly be fair

"mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all"
i repeat it
over and over
but the image remains
angry
i swing my fists
and along with the shattered pieces
my reflection falls to the floor

i slump to the ground
"why won't you work"
i cry
then i look at the mirrored fragments
my reflection no longer there

on a slim piece near my hand
there's a reflection of a young girl
she's moving but her eyes are closed
she travels using only four senses
she has lost the fifth
the young girl stumbles
and flails her arms
she cannot see
for she is blind

she would be grateful for a set of working eyes no matter how narrow

on a long piece near my knee
there's a reflection of a young man
he's in a moving wheelchair
when it stops
the young man lifts himself out
using only his hands
the young man has no legs
for he had just come home from war

he would be grateful for two legs no matter how long

on a wide piece near my hip
there's a child
a child whose skin is tight around his bones
no meat to keep him warm
for he hasn't eaten in days
weeks
maybe months

that boy would **** to have his stomach big from dinner

unprivileged persons litter on the shattered pieces
blindness
starvation
deafness
illness
disorders
it's there
it's real

i piece back the mirror and seal the cracks with glue
'mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of the all"
i ask again
when i see myself
i nod

for i am privileged
i am grateful
i am fair

As far as I know, the scope of humankind's problems doesn't decrease, overall (somewhere this or that situation improves, while somewhere it becomes worse). There's a galore of sociopolitical problems, also there are environmental ones. While the world human population is already somewhat above 8 billion (8 **** billion) & keeps growing (due to the majority of the most sentient species' members mindlessly reproducing, regardless of their financial situation, genome, & 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘 other 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗦 that 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗕𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗕𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦... 𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗗-𝗨𝗣 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗; but who the hell gives a ****, right?). 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗢𝗖𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗬 & 𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗭𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗘 are 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗘 (𝗥 𝗜 𝗦 𝗘). As it was mentioned by me in a note to one of my recent rhyme pieces, 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗𝗪𝗜𝗗𝗘 𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗭𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗟𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗟 𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝟰.𝟴𝟳 𝗜𝗡 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟭 𝗧𝗢 𝟱.𝟬𝟯 𝗜𝗡 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 (according to data published on ocindex.net). It's now 2025 approaching. You think the situation has improved? 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗥 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗗𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗧 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗢𝗜𝗥𝗦 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗗𝗥𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗨𝗣. For 72 countries with the total human population of more than 2.3 billion, last June-August period became the hottest since at least 1970 (according to info published here: climatecentral.org/report/people-exposed-to-climate-change-june-august-2024). This 𝗚𝗟𝗢𝗕𝗔𝗟 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗚 is, as it's known, 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗔𝗡-𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗗. 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘 of it is, as it's known, carbon dioxide (CO2) entering the atmosphere from emissions caused by the burning of 𝗙𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗟 𝗙𝗨𝗘𝗟𝗦.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗕𝗢𝗧𝗛 𝗦𝗢𝗖𝗜𝗢𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗠𝗦 & 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗟𝗢𝗕𝗔𝗟 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗚 are those of high & ruling social classes. In other words, 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬. It's the wealthy that form & control a sociopolitical course the most. Most mobsters belong to the wealthy. It's the wealthy that consume more than the rest & cause the most CO2-containing fossil fuel emissions. All of the wealthy are corrupt to different degrees. Now, there's a good question to ask yourself: being the main causers of & contributors to all those problems, 𝗪𝗛𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗜𝗦 𝗜𝗧 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗨𝗣𝗧 𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗔𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗧?! A wicked good question keeping in mind that it's mostly unprivileged & way less corrupt people who are affected by both sociopolitical problems & the global warming caused by the corrupt wealthy. That's unacceptable, it's wrong to accept that. There's an option on how to decrease/slow down sociopolitical problems & the global warming. It's simple as rhyme schemes of most writers of pop & trap lyrics, but not in terms of how to reach the proposed. I don't see a better option of fixing the status quo than to get rid of as much of the corrupt wealthy as possible by both legal means &, if legal ones are blocked or ineffective due to governmental corruption, forcible ones. I don't mean everyone of the wealthy should be targetted, only ones that contribute to injustice more than do something good to society or its individual members. The groups of 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗨𝗣𝗧 𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬 𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗗 (in my view): 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗔𝗡 𝗥𝗨𝗟𝗘𝗥𝗦 & 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗥 𝗟𝗢𝗬𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗦, 𝗠𝗢𝗕𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦, 𝗙𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗟 𝗙𝗨𝗘𝗟 𝗟𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗬𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗦.

I know what humanists & pacifists may say. Something like: "Yes, they're corrupt, but they are still humans, they have human rights. It's wrong to get rid of or put pressure on anyone by forcible means. Blah-blah-blah". On which, some would retort that it's justifiable to get rid of or put pressure on them by forcible means. (I'm not sure about some types of agents of authoritarian regimes & fossil fuel lobbyists, but) the majority of the former & mobsters deserve to be dealt with by forcible means, for they contribute to injustice, including by means of force, not being forced by their social situation to do so. There are justifiable wrongdoings (necessary/lesser evil) & unjustifiable ones. A food theft committed by a person dying from starvation, or a ****** of a murderer committed by a person in retribution for their significant other murdered by the very murderer are examples of justifiable wrongdoings. There's nothing like that when it comes to the afore-mentioned groups of the corrupt wealthy. The best justification of their contribution to injustice they have is that they do it to maintain & preserve their wealth & to survive physically under a corrupt system they're parts of. That's a wicked lame justification. They should never have become a part of a corrupt system in the first place. Contributors to injustice must face consequences of their actions. In other words, «𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗕𝗘 𝗣𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗗».

If whatever legal means to punish the afore-mentioned corrupt wealthy are blocked or ineffective due to governmental corruption, all anti-authoritarian-minded adult people in fine fettle should 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗔 𝗖𝗨𝗘 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗡 𝗔𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗗'𝗦 blood-shedding 𝗥𝗘𝗚𝗜𝗠𝗘 recently or, as it was more than once mentioned by me, 𝗩𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗦 being expert assassins, 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗧 𝗠𝗖𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟, 𝗝𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡 "𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗗" 𝗧𝗢𝗗𝗗, 𝗙𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗜𝗦 "𝗣𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗥" 𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗟𝗘, 𝗩. All those problems can't be fixed under this **** liberal-capitalistic system, for it's flawed in ways making it able for corrupt creatures, such as the afore-mentioned wealthy, to exploit it. Think about it.

«𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗡𝗘𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗔𝗥𝗬 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗨𝗠𝗣𝗛 𝗢𝗙 𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟 𝗜𝗦 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗠𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗢 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚»
«𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗪, 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗦 𝗗𝗨𝗧𝗬»

On the grounds of this, it’ll endlessly summon
Some worn out knees, forcefully bent to bloom
Brutally folded, to spring out crisp and sharp
Yes, yesterdays did think they killed a body
Yet, yesterdays just crushed it into tiny pretty things
No limb will truly collapse til she gets lucky
A worked out unprivileged, with her lovelier stories

On the grounds of this, it’ll endlessly summon
Some worn out knees, forcefully bent to bloom
Brutally folded, to spring out crisp and sharp
Yes, yesterdays did think they killed a body
Yet, yesterdays just crushed it into tiny pretty things
No limb will truly collapse til she gets lucky
A worked out unprivileged, with her lovelier stories

What does bee colony and human society have in common.

Ninety nine percent unprivileged class
work tirelessly to sustain one percent
privileged class, and feel nothing wrong about it.