. 'as for those poets, only the perverse follow them. do you not see that they go too far in every direction and say things, which they cannot do?' (ash-shu'ara / the poets 26:224-226).

call them what you like,
the Huguenots,
for all i care...

   you always side with
the "heretics"...
  
   given that, "said" heretics
retain some cultural value
relativism of other cultures,
namely in the form of
depiction -

    since why would, "the word"
be deemed holy,
    ****-naked,
                rather than donning
a bikini of "iconoclasm"...
         when words... are at
the meat-market of copyright -
what with © coca cola?

                 sunni islam would have
never allowed sufism...
  but Farsi does...
  and will continue...
since no Iranian will bow
before an Arab within the schematics
of history...

          Sunni Islam, it's Wahhabi sentimentality...
so why persist in signing
the Adhan?
   why not speak in a honing like
drone sentiment of plain speech?
i thought all music was banned?
the current Adhan is a form
of music... isn't it? BAN IT!

    you never side with these Sunni
muslims, exploiting Bangladeshi labor,
you side with the heretics of Iran...
these *******, i can at least respect...
  
      no fast cars, convenient ongoing
cultural insurrections -
   Sufism...
       Afghan women's poetry,
and all that much closer to Hindu mysticism...
    
yeah... "islamophobia":
but only against Sunni Islam...
   but Shia Islam?
   no problem...
   i could stomach these peoples
like i could stomach the in-between
of the Turkish variant -
no ideology - simply, pure, power throttle...

i could make a great Janissary -
with a Turkish barber...
         for a great trim of hair and beard...
i'd cast a shadow on some
obscure chocolatier of Brussels
who thinks himself a politician...

     but there are certain aspect of Islam
i am willing to tolerate...
   what happened to the son in law
of Muhammad, namely, Ali...
was raw ******* kicking...

               promises, promises...
no promises...
           Shia Islam, as an European,
i can tolerate, Turkish Islam, i can tolerate...
Turkey is incrementally shy
of being treated at the 2nd variant of Iran...
at least with Iran, we share a history
via the insurrection into the ancient
texts through Greece...

  come to think of it...
whenever i listen to
matta's song echo babylon...
i start feeding myself goosebumps,
reminding myself
of Cyrus... Nebuchadnezzar...
and the dim-wit that was
   Belshazzar...

always siding with the heretics...
if not on economic groundwork,
then at least motivating,
rather than monetizing an idea...

and the Shia muslims are...
    one way or another...
   unlike the gluttons of Dubai...
the barbie dolls of postage stamp
"proof" of progress,
in size, and worth...

   Sunni Islam would have
never allowed poetics to remain
a viable form of expression -
the Persian tradition that is,
far beyond the western concern
for a comment section...

         Shia Islam allows patronage
of the arts, notably poetry,
without concern for monetary
funding, it, at least, doesn't prohibit it...
given the pride of the Persians...
Sunnis and their continual quest
for finding water...
    sure... poetry is pointless within
such restrictions of
existential concerns...
    but... given the current, civilized
establishment?
   sky-scrapers in *******
sand dunes?

         the qu'ran should have
forbidden the architectural ambitions
equivalent to the tower of babel
being erected, in environments,
that could never sustain said projects...

    and who originally spewed the term
islamophobia?
Sunni Islam...
        i never liked this strand of belief...
i hate the Sunnis like
a Shia partisan...

p.s. it's called patriotism is America...
but nationalism in Europe...
    you sure that's not a synonym?
Europeans can't be patriotic,
and Americans are never nationalistic?

...

   well: how could i ever convert to islam,
i do enjoy the adhan from time to time,
"sorry", but i do...
  i can't help it:
if i'm a sucker for pop songs,
i'm also a sucker for the adhan...
   crusader songs, templar songs become
stuffy after a while...
and last time i checked:
     there were the northern crusades
against the baltic people:
notably prussians, lithuanians...
with that cushion of: mediating the
escalation of war by the polacks...
coming from the east:
  last time i checked the mongols
didn't reach leipzig...
               buffer zone people...
and what of the ottoman onsalught
of vienna 1529: the ****** winged hussars
won the charge...

so, coming back to heidegger... aphorism 26
ponderings IX... how am i to not be
the historical animal?
         perhaps in german, in germany
i might become a non-historical animal,
to begin: anew, but with a terrible
past to hide, to negate...
   i could do that: if i were a german,
speaking german, in germany...
but i'm in england:
            i might have some roots in
Silesia, but it's "hard" to not be a historical
animal, an "animal" with a sense of time,
i.e. a future a past a present...
esp. under the english conditions
of: the biological animal momentum narrative,
like a tsunami, like an earthquake...
ripples throughout...
              i can't move forward with
the english championing darwinism every
single ******* step of the way...
why can't they hide darwin like the polacks
hid copernicus...
given the motto: copernicus -
who moved the earth, and stopped the sun...
why wouldn't i escape into history
if the current biological reality is:
(a) a yawn... the cruel nature of per se?
   the courting of pigeons on a t.v. antenna...
pigeons get rejected all the time,
lesson learned, he bows and bows,
coos... expands his tail feathers upon
the bow then folds them... she flies away...
repeat...
    (b) i can't escape being a historical
animal in the way that what the current
facts are being repeated have encountered
a whiff of Chernobyll...
              history is inclided to answer reality...
biology? not so much... not from what i've
seen and heard...
             truly a schizophrenics disney dream:
to walk among the newly insane feeling
like the only sane among them...
beau-ti-ful!
                   well... given the current criteria
of being bilingual as being synonymous
with being a schizophrenic...
           magic!
                    
   now the crescendo...aphorism 24
ponderings X:

              the word designates, the word signifies,
the word says, the word is (heidegger)...

i found that you can only write
"philosophy" with a neat, fixed vocab. regime,
clarity of boundaries...
    quadratic events in vocab.:

i.e. the reflexive: yourself, himself, itself etc.
and the reflective: your, self....
                       his, self...
                                  it, and the self...
                    ergo? atheistic scissors,
  the two articles, indefinite and definite
                                 a / the "self"...

i'm not playing "identity politics",
when i say that only two peoples ever managed
to sack Moscau... the mongols and the polacks
with the help of lithuanians,
"identity politics" only happens in
post-colonial society, akin to the english,
i'll speak the english,
but i will not be a cucked indian of
the former raj: i will eat the fish & chips,
i will eat the sunday roast,
   i will eat the english breakfast with great
delight...
            but i will not do what these former
colonial masters expect of me:
integrate at the expense of making my
mutterzunge into hubris!
stubborness contra pride...
                hard to tell the difference...

and why do i like heidegger so much?
i'm not into the ad homine arguments...
my grandfather, was, a communist party member...
so?
       i like heidegger... because he appreciates
poetics, i like that poets can share the same
values as philosophers,
thanks to heidegger: we have been requested
back into the republic...
if plato and islam didn't like us, hanging around,
some offshoot german thinker / promenade
enthusiast like used enough to,
i suppose: ban the theatre puppeteers...

i am not playing identity politics...
biological reality is not enough...
but archeological reality?
       can you really advance to counter?
i was born near:
Krzemionki Opatowskie, a Neolithic and
early Bronze Age complex of flint mines
for the extraction of Upper Jurassic (Oxfordian)
banded flints...
  personally? i don't believe in
the African genesis conundrum...
i believe "my" people originated from
the Indian sub-continent,
as, associated with the complex:
Indo-European categorization of language;
i'm still to see an African phonetic
encoding system, beside the hieroglyphics...

i, was, born, there! i'm not a displaced
post-colonial debacle between former master
and former slave...
i have: roots... i'm not ******* up to the fish & chips
brigade with a friday night's worth of curry...
i cook my own curry,
and by god: it is the food of the gods...
i'll give the blue indians that counter...
but sure as **** not the worth of mead
or whiskey...

if they only tolerated themselves,
sure, learn the english language,
but know this much:
           english is the modern lingua franca...
it's the language of economics,
forget the natives, too ignorant to learn
either deutsche or française:
island-folk...
                what else, what other attitude?
even the russians are like:
that land of the weirdos? the idiosyncratics?
yes, we know that land...
the only "thing" that shelters the english
are the h'americans, the south africans,
the australians etc.,
  sure as **** the scots aren't sheltering them...
and, mind you?
   if the i.r.a. really wanted to plant
a bomb?
   a real bomb? they'd revert from speaking
any english to begin with... resorting
to revising their usage of gàidhlig:
ga-id-hlig... gaelic...
   like the welsh, stubborn people, proud people,
retaining their Çymraeg...
celt: said kelt...
the glaswegian football team?
       Çeltic... not: keltic...
  borrowed from the greek: sigma (ς: cedilla to ****)...
   wow! all the particulars in the english tongue!
guess it would take an ausländer to spot them!

U-21 european championships,
england versus romania:
                           a magnificent match...
the youngsters playing better football
than the oldies in their mid to late / early 30s...

i'm trying to tolerate Islam,
               it's not in my nature...
            hell... i enjoyed visiting a turkish barber
shop, i still have an unflinching opinion that,
the turks are the best barbers in the world...
but...

              this quote, is going to **** you:
same aphorism / pondering (24 / X) -


*** fight videos - count dankula...
you know what i'd love to do to these little
snarky *****?
the french revolution isn't enough...
n'ah, them hanging, is not enough....
ever heard of the butchers' hook?
                 it's also callled close-up fishing...
imitation hang-man...
   you insert a fishing hook...
and you let the sweeney todd ****** dangle...
on a hook, rather than a noose...
lords of salem come your way?
i'd rather the snarky teen hanging off
a fisherman's hook than dangle
like some lynched ******...
beside the suffocation,
i'd like them with a fisherman's hook entombed
in their hard palette...
         i don't want them hanging...
what am i? a sadist?
  i want them on the fisherman's hook!
when suffocating without a broken spine absorbed
by the neck isn't enough!
  fisherman's hook gallows is a
masterpiece... of suffering...
  most certain...
  when cheap comedy is being towed...
making fun of bums, or homeless people...
the current society is so welcome
to bypass all the "adventures" of Loki...
but akin to the lords of Salem...
burn!? such a limitated imagination!

ah... right... digressing...
        the reflexive / reflective quadratic...
language - only if speech  has acquired
the highest univocity of the word does it
become strong (enough) for the hidden
              play of its essential multivocity
(as withdrawn from all "logic"),
             of which poets and thinkers alone
are capable, in their own respective modes
and their own directions of sovreignty.

we do live in a time of a lost sense
of dialectic, since we do not live in a time
of etertaining dialogue,
perfectly sensible opinions,
that's all we have...

                       if one of these snarky *******
came up to me...
they'd get a chance to experience a rubric
of 4, knuckles...
what's 189 centimeters in empirical?
6ft2...      oh!
                   see where imagination takes you?
and here i was: thinking i was without it!
butcher's hangman...
oh, not so easy...
                  
                fame by no association to fame...
just the tears of parents who raised their children
to be nothing more than rugrats...
annoying gnat like bothersomes;
and nothing quiet special to be associated
with weimar berlin...
     just, these,
   h'american mall onlookers
with pwetty-guy-for-a-white-fly-mentality,
as borrowed from californian
1990s punk;

re-used ****** losers.

mad-hatter's fraction: 10/6....
      0.666...
      well: to the given extent:
1.666666(7)....
     1, 0, /6,
no number is divisible by 0,
every number, divisible by 1:
is the same number...
    mad hatter's 10/6...

   re-used ****** losers...
i like that phrase...
        7 for every 6, 7 for every 6...
until the 0. fraction comes
a 1.: exponential serf of 0...
0 being the multiplier...
          
         i really am growing a beard to less
don it, but rather to experience
a relief from patience...
war robots?
the first non n.p.c. game...
i like that, very much...
      and when i did:

you know my first experience of
love at first sight?
the younger sister of my then girlfriend...
****** up ****...

love at first sight is a terrible phenomenon...
i was nearing 18, she was barely 13...
i was dating her older sister...
but it was love at first sight,
the trouble with: love at first sight:
it doesn't lie...
it tries to lie...
          but it can't lie...

   paedophilia? a bit... untouched bodies
though... bodies of people who were
never supposed to touch...
i once said to a fwend:
well wouldn't it be ****** up if i touched
her?
   she's a muse, which doesn't translate
into vacating her as a busy body
worth of a touch, does it?
     if only my old friend samuel said
otherwise:
sylvester "contra" tweety:
my first girlfriend...
but her sister?
         i was nearing 18, she was about 13...
love at first sight...
untouched, cradled, unscathed...
and so she remained...
   until she did what every girl would
have done...thank god she remained
a figment of my imagination...
   rammstein: rosernrot...
    
           i have seen love at first...
such a load of ******* that it had to be
the younger sister of a girl i was dating...
and the **** that i had to be 18 and see
was just beginning her teenage transition...
the world unfair i grant
the most justifications... as being
the (just - unnecessary adjective) arbiter...

love at first sight becomes a forbidden love...
love at first sight was always a forbidden
love...
           and the sort of "love" that achieves
a perspctive of change that doesn't
translate into old age...
love at first sight is soon translated
into a love of affairs closely associated
with middle-age disenfranchised
state of affairs...
i.e. to love again...
            how else to feel relief from
having lost both one's inhibitions
               as well as one's ambitions?!
in the conundrum of the mortal
"question" of the continuum being
preserved?

I'm taking a vacation from you
at the start of June,
you who creates projections
and reacts
from emotions
I'll disprove,
I'm leaving for awhile because
I could never let go
when you wouldn't move,
I'm already on the plane
from your irrationality, get a grip,
This is a a “see you later” to
the trick I make for myself
as you burn them through,
it's ******* true that it hurts me too
and don't forget,
Reminiscing back to
when I ran away spiraling
or threw away cycling,
That's circling, old friend,
Hating deeply
and I still do,
quietly hating them
when
I actually hate you,
We've been here awhile
and it's a cruel place,
The sound of May closing
up her eyes
like a lonely fool
making everyone's rules,
nothing but
intolerance to use
so we'll soon pay the price,
We're lost until the first
so I'll see you in July.

Constitutional

Morning constitutional
What does it have to do
With the Supreme Court?

If it's been a few days
While siting reading the news
It's a great ruling coming down  

Vacating the lower courts ruling
And wiping the slate clean
Is a release to enjoy
I'll start my day
Flush with success  

Copyright 2016
Richard L Ratliff

for all i care to remember...
        looking into the mirror was more or less...
something akin to:
"squirting"... **** me! SQUINTING...
      well... the contortion of the eyes...
"worrying" about a double-chin...
and of course... enough stealth acne
to make me... the bride of beelzebub
how i'd joke to myself...
         beelzebub sat on my face and *******
a tonne of... dead maggots...

           i never knew i was athletic standing
before a mirror...
i probably know that i am less athletic now...
but... looking into mirror made
sense... once...
   this russian girl...
    in st. petersburg...
   we were in "love"...
       and there was this great aventurine bed...
and... a closet with two mirrors...
and... we'd be at it...
i was looking into the mirror...
and she was looking into the mirror...
it was like: the opposite of *** on l.s.d. -
because it was like...
beyond the missionary -
the "******" of the mirror...
   as in ***... it leaves you wanting
to ******* to the *******...
because... hell...
without a mirror...
could you capture the face moaning
contorting like an experiment out
of the gehenna harem?

     for all the *** toys sold...
all those exceses of... woman's lingerie...
outfits... nurses...
   blah blah... it really takes a mirror
to spice things up...
this dead-eyed mirror canvas...
the dire-dead-necessary...
    tooth-fairy: ref. the red dragon...
i needed to see that she needed to see
that i was ******* her... and that she...
was being ******...

           mirror mirror on the wall...
**** the fair and the fairest and the fairies...
i have come to understand that mirrors...
work best...
when... not stressed to exemplify...
a concern for beauty...
   or... something that is worn...
clothes look... terribly important in a mirror...
esp. by someone wearing them
when allowed to be digested / investigated
by a mirror...

but... a mirror during ***?
when you're not performing inverted missionary...
doggy... and she's lying with clenched ****-cheeks...
i was in love once...
which also implies:
i ****** like a race-champ pony!
the mirror always helps...
i wouldn't know: whether s&m leather
and straps would... and whips...
made much of a difference...
when... the mirror... the ghost ******...
the: satan you could get away with...
if you didn't utter a comprehensive word...
but ensure a strict rigidity to...
onomatopoeias and syllables...
and... exfoliating nouns...

        upon memory being summoned...
i'm getting a bigger hard-on thinking
about all the encounters i've had with the police...
there's always at least two memorable
encounters...
getting poisoned in a nightclub...
getting on the bus...
getting off the bus... dropping like a pancake
onto the cement...
     being roused... asked by the police officer
whether i was o.k.:
making a slurred and lengthy apology...
giving my address...
and being... taken in a police van... in a cage
for a sinner... like a taxi...
back home...

    losing my virginity to a pair of handcuffs...
for ******* in an alleyway...
getting screamed at...
one officer cuffed me...
the female officer had a pen and pad ready...
in an alleyway where it was discussed:
and who's alleyway is it?
i'm too drunk already...
if i walked into a pub on friday come
10pm i'd be asked to buy a pint
in order to use their toilet...

         it's one sort of luck... gambling...
betting on a horse...
but another... being hand-cuffed...
  and then... having the hand-cuffs...
taken away...
              as this dialogue happened in the...
"invisible" shadow of the alley...
i can't exactly imagine what the onlookers
saw...
           a teasing of authority...
drinking a beer on a bench outside
a pub on a friday night...
which is... basically... taking away
the revenue... of being sardine packed...
and pyramid schemed... for failure...
but my... what a glorious night...

so i asked: and where am i... permitted...
and blah blah...
that ******* mirror... and that aventurine bed...
the same thrill during ***...
like... the thrill of stepping into a brothel...
without a need to ***...
the 9 of them: all nazgul attired in scrutiny...
before "the pick"...

   *** toys... can i please get a mirror in here?!
it has to become a standard for a healthy
sexed up relationship...
    a mirror can overpower any...
frivolity of during-***: attire...
  the imitation ******...
a mirror is... just that...
                 *** with: in third person narrative...
but... smirk-giggle:
you catching her eyes getting ******...
and she catching your eyes: ******* her...

so tame tame... unlike reading...
  the tame blushes of marquis the sade...
never to mention... this philosophical adventure
of ******... which it really is...
impeccable... trouble with: thought put into
practice...
                yes... that horrid... Fritzl case...
but unlike the idealist scenario...
the mother was notably pushed away from
the grandiosity of the sin...
and it was done... in public... with...
a purview of... shaking established social norms!
it wasn't... a rabbit-hole of horror...

              which is why i'm glad i do not
have children of my own...
   i once spent an afternoon with...
my... grand-aunts son... my uncle...
don't ask...
         and i looked like him and thought...
well... i have most certainly had more
fun with cats and dogs...
i was a complete mute...
i didn't feel like cuddling this piece
of cubism... it looked human and even
contorted like one...
perhaps if it was mine...
i could have... somehow...
            "relegated my inhibitions"?
                 n'est ce pas?
         to have children and begin with...
that ******* of differentiating vowels from
consonants... and then... building consonants...
what... 5 vowels... 21 consonants...
5 x 21 = 105 variations...
       prefix: ab, ac, ad, af, ag...
                     eb, ec, ed, ef, eg...
                           IF only! oof!
                 the suffix - ba, ca, da, fa, go...
                                 bat cat dad fat god...
and then... the 21 x 21 consonant variables...
squared to the power of 5...
because... chinese is... frankly...
so simple...

   - it's summer and...
            since i would otherwise... require ink...
to write... and the paper would somehow
be always readily available...
no need for ink...
the summer months are terrible...
for no requirement of ink...
what is ink?  ink is...
                         i need october...
i need november... december... january...
february... half of march...
i need to borrow ink from the night!
i can't scribble in these arab / kenyan months...
these sun-seeker months
of idle by the dream-pool... load of...
overtly-talked... less thought...
therefore... no need to scribble...

    i need the night for my ink...
                           "punctuation marks are in
the constellations": oh yes... honey sweet...
what's it called? cliche? we've all been there...
i too would sacrifice Hector before the altar
of Achilles if i were Priam...
                   only because: he was called Hector...
and the other was Achilles...
and i was called Priam...
       in such times... what were...
the trully... common-place names...
of stunt-men and extras?
   i'd like to know the equivalent of a john smith
from ancient greece...
what would one call: him?
            
        perhaps: i tend to think about *** when
i... most probably had a dream...
jerking off is a bit like...
checking one's blood pressure...
or as a diabetic might... ***** his index
to check the sugar levels...
i write about "***" when i've had a dream...
the dream...

i was talking to a man about cars...
notably... cars from...
america and germany...
circa the years... 1920s through to...
                the 1970s...
          and... then... the talk of... a motorcycle...
a specific motorcycle...
   a triump street cup...
                 a BMW R18... but not quiet...
whatever it was...
                    for the love of a double-decker
bus and a pair of legs...
                which is not...
to have emotionally invested
in *** was something a much younger
version of me would have done...
i thank the prostitutes of curing me of this...
debilitating disease / dream...
              which, i, prescribed... myself...
so no... i hardly think...
there were any... mummy or daddy issues...
i would skip several scenarios:
as much as i love riding a double-decker
bus... i abhor... taking a taxi...
       even if it requires me to walk...
2 miles... i'd rather walk:
for the love of legs and... voodoo dolls hanging
like corks... bend the knee: they might say...
bullet to the knee-cap... if you ask me...
again...

     perhaps i wasn't born english...
but... after... 26 years among them...
                          it "sort of" grows on you...

- man can perform a thousand:
dodo project genocides in one sitting:
on the throne of thrones...
before jumping under a baptism:
fully attired in the ganjes pyjamas
in one sitting: on the throne of thrones...
to "squat" while *******...
*******... *******...
"scented candles" of taking a shower...

i write about *** every time i have a dream...
it's to succumb to the lesser...
escapade of me...
i can stomach subjectivity...
but having to stomach idealism...
is another matter: altogether...
i would like to worship the men who
have had their fill...
and settled for the swan blockade
of the widower romance...
the widow swan...
the black widow: a ******* spider...

none of it... i ****** good i ******
well... come the prime of the age 21...
she was a gamer side-kick bedded...
she prescribed me...
                        Bulgakov...
              reading a ****** to a prussian...
or reading a ****** to a RUŚ: example: ditto...
                  i have heard of how
love supposedly closed and opened borders...
we are so antithesis "different"...
we aren't... some western "communist"
zoo study:
the people who say and then...
lucky us paupers...
who have to "loot" the infrastructure
of the vacating ****-tunnels...
because... someone has to ****-off...
their tongue and... gerbil fidgety!

albino chimpanzee and...
boxer gorilla fed on...
the promise of bulk... with nothing
but... the promise of fruits of your
labour... and nothing relating
to protein... or fat... of complex sugars
known as bread... none of that!
still: that fudge-packing bulk of
gorilla bicep protein: amass!

   - as ever... the murk: before the deep-water...
the... inverted demigods
of h. p. lovecraft...
because... cthulhu is... "somehow"...
not the ******* son of Poseidon?

acid-quasi-monkey asks...
   placid-didgeridoo...
                a constipated: not funny...
attempts! at solving a crossword!
-frankenstein-myrhh:
                        ******* dangling...
                                    (-) - Fatima...
is this... "Syria" yet?
  concerning the second coming...
concerning...
Syrian civil war... something...
*******... miraculous...
has happened...
or was about to happen...
and that it didn't happen...
better that it did:
but since it... didn't...
best we cover it up...
                corpse bride:
               Khadija **** Khuwaylid...
if ever: Stephen Vizinczey...
was a (prophet) Muhammad...
in praise of older women...

    ...a Fatima... fleeing the Syrian
civil war... because... Ramses II
was... telling apart the 7 good years
from... the 7 ******* years...

tell you what... it's no fun...
when you've been given the need
to bend the knee before the altar
of phantom power...
if i were 16 and she was 14...
if i was 18 and she was 16...
if i was 60! and she was... 20!
would it matter?
               if i was jerking off aged 8...
you want to know...
what... the last prize is...
the last... difference between...
"consent" of two adult adult...
with their *******-riddle
of a theatre of ***?
     you want to know?
the thought of ******* someone...
under-age...
no! no barbie! no ken!
the theatre of thought...
of ******* someone... underage...
who is... displaying...
teasing ***... in that primodial seance
of grief to ward of mother from
the ******...
and father from the parentage of
school!

               you ever want to see...
what... a kick in the jaw looks like...
omnipresent onlooker...
of some... unpardonable crime...
that it has to be ***-related...
              i wish i performed some
unpardonable crime on a *******...
i guess a kiss is a kiss is an unpardonable
crime against a *******...
i need this heart to shelter itself
in stone! i need: a heart!
of hard-earned: rock!
               with each sentence:
i find it impossible to not....growl!
to howl! to spew a bickering of...
wolves... of hyenas...
a wake of crows!
            
              i want toi write an echo!
hye! anoooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
i want to hear...
the microscope itching
of a marrow...
of maggots working toward
a closure of expressing: scotch fudge!
i want! maggot marrow!
i want! the lost sounds of...
what the fox already minded...
in...                       χαoς! ρει(γ)νς!
yes... the gamma is a surd...
                 in this... english... equation...

last time i checked:
the cognitive theatre of the forbidden...
****** "lax"...
it's enough to tease the affair with
mere thought...
to have... people "bothered"
that one thinks... such "things"!
while the girl... prime... aged... 14...
teases you with...
exfoliations of...
                      script and... censure...
like a skirt...
but of course...
you're the dodo-project genocidal maniac
about to sport a new: cushioning
extreme...
of an ******* like...
you're minding teasing...
a high-blood pressure!

          can i allow myself a giggle?
a crown of: a dozen demons laughing
as relevant: to the 12 strong cohort of...
cognitive lapses of reason?
          
  ******* before a mirror is my...
my memory and my last concern for...
"adventure"...
a ****** ******* a russian girl so freely...
she fed off of us as...
     spinning a willow to confine itself to:
those rhubarbs in... "retro"...
no... i'm pretty sure... "they"...
the western communists would have minded
it coming across as...
  rhubarb... dreads... stiff 12" drizzle /
drool bits of a tight-knit white sporting ***!
my... oh... wait...
not exactly 16... so... no...

my... what?!
    this has to become one of those...
most... "unspectacularbly": "a least"
in what's to be digested... "fogiven"...
when... there's that teasing-**** of a per-se
readied for her rite of horror to be
met with ******* the...
upper... echelons...
to the queue! to the loiter!
to the...                cue: no dry martini equipped...
sort of... joke as... a variation
of... escapism: to excuse...
fixations... of social hierarchy...

    i am hardly a misogynist...
            it's almost... fake...
how feminists point out... death-pull...
the misogynists...
clinging to philanthropists... i suppose...
it's like...
"someone" forgot...
to... mention...
the benevolent in misanthrophy...
the happily allied to the ivory tower...
whether you're a man or a woman...
or a man pretending to be a woman...
or a woman pretending to be a man...

who is... the misanthrope?
            the solipsist...
the atheist: should you be god?
the altruist... the... fiddly-bit... extreme...
the... autist?
         who is... your... claim for...
******-****** ruleZ the world?
mother of all perfected children...
a bit like jerking off to...
those gravure beijing models...

ava lauren? she is... an aged looking
*******... closure: madame...
she earned it...
her skin is like leather...
you dare to: wear it...
   but... oops: the ubermensch...
these chinese "brides" are not...
photoshopped...
they're genetically edited...
it was apparent that china
didn't have a soul...
in its summa summarum...
or in its christ redeemer...
when... india has its rich
polytheism... pedagogy:
shiva the antithesis of vishnu:
the thesis...

    i can feel... at least!
i can feel abbreviated with the raj master...
sport...
sending a few "*******" to beijing!
let's hear a story...
no... i'm fuming mad:
i'm dying! to hear that coin-flip
of a tail: of bending the... fuckning knee:
capping... as one might!

there's a <100million of "me"...
there's... a >1billion of "them"...

   while:
            i ****** off to...
          genetically edited creatures...
the western world can hide
behind its setting sun: metaphor...
photo-editing... while...
the hot-**** beijing is...
gene-editing...
west-world 1972 bronze age:
"staging a coup"..

             yeah: gurran-gu-dag...
the arabs and their bangladeshi...
queen-bee sorted...
           elizabeth II...
royal ascot...
  i.e. lamborghinis raced on knightbridge...
because: arab playboys are to be...
minded...

write long... to ensure...
people read short... little chance
of censor-loved-up-pseudo-i.q.-heroes!
100 years later: you become a pseudo-Proust /
a Joyce... but... that also implies:
you're stiff up at the neck...
in death and sand... and worms...
in a grave! so? no turkish kebab:
no malmuk / no janissary resurrection!

carrying Kalashnikovs on their backs,
the rebel mules have panic in their eyes
and resting at the back?
fear filled pupils that dilate
with every corpse seen vacating itself
of tissue and blood,
smell the perfume of gun barrels
and those lonely enough to be culled,
picked off by a trained eye
and a government lie and
a man laid down in an apartment block out of sight up high.

civilian fathers laying spread on the back of a flatbed,
cinderblock walls that offer no protection but that of protecting the dead,
sharpen another knife for another internet viral video of another guy without a head
and finally, cat walk model rebels wearing beaded shrapnel necklaces, gorgeous and chrome red.

and they’ll try give them away around,
a daily sound of the everyday
so they can have a price that they can pay
for the ordinary,
for the sane,
for America’s definition of the lame.

some nights

I soothe restlessness
vacating the house
for a brisk walk

until steps get
few and slower
I may stargaze

or understand at once
those leaves shaking
in the dark torpor

I may turn to catch
the light patter of
my shadow born

under the moon

Things that go bump in the night like the roar of the raging lion deafening your arcadian silence
Like the face of a wolf chasing you in your dreams, claws out, jagged teeth already sharpened, salivating at the scent of your fear
And the sudden crash of the lamp on the ground because your clumsy thoughts blew it off the stand in a rush of puzzling ideas and jigsaw hearts overflowing your mind

The fishnets sloshing the seas through the holes, piecing together lost trails of a failed relationship, letting the salty essence linger behind, drifting to the saliva glands inside your mouth
And suddenly you're shot up with a narcotic, straight into the veins where he used to live, vacating the premise, making room for a sense of euphoria that consumed me as a whole

A treacherous path ending with a unceasing fall off a cliff where the rocks slipped too often, and lessons were never learned from the kids next door
Cracking floorboards circumference the room where they used to talk in circles, collecting feelings and saving them inside the pockets that somehow found holes in themselves

Then the wind emulates the whispers hiding behind the fading foliage of the trees that secured everyone's trust and captivated their souls deep within
Violent kisses used to tear my skin apart until a gun to the back of my head held more depth than I've ever experienced in my whole life

I searched the sand for the purpose I wished to hold in the palm of my hands but it sifts right through the solid foundation of my finger tips that rot with poison ivy
Ever since I felt the tree that infected me with  the venom in the form of sharp bristles and empty sap sacks

Whatever the blue sky may represent, I see dark clouds forever and a day, even when the sun returns my calls, and with a bitter tone and a touch of sizzling rain, offers me a chance to see the bright side they all dream of
When the opaque sky eats the sun I find solace in home, where the stars collect my secrets like coins and hold my wishes like the hand of a boy I thought I once loved

I morph into the worst version of myself when the screams encapsulate my emotions and my face is no longer skin and bone, but vicious fangs and yellow eyes
So what, if I differ from the rest of the pack
A lone wolf or a raging lion, I am not them
And I never will be

Until the rings awaken me as my eyes flicker back to their hazel nature
And the bags roll beneath my eyes, with a darkened presence treading under
And the sun returns for the day, a gift I cannot return
And I walk down the same road, leaving the covers rumpled and the sheets entangled with one another

The mess correlates to my dreams
And all of the hearty burdens I continue to bestow inside the treasure chest deep under the ground
I shall keep these somber ideas and thoughts at the top of the bookshelf, a place you'll never look, a place you'll never find
Just smile and fake it until you believe in it's proximity to the truth

Intrepidly neglected, of my lessened reasoning, I am dissected, of my insurrection, from the blessed beens of yesteryear's glints, dancing, parading, and burning, in layers, stages, and fazes, fading, and melting, the plastic faces into the smelting heap, that has come so far, just to inspire me.

Always.

Always you unto me, spiraling, indefinitely into the deep, where ceased is the times, with bloodied hands, and laugh lines, laughing one last time, while glancing toward my watch, under setting suns, and rising stars, smiling faces, and in tearful goodbyes, i realise

The sky's limitlessness

And in all the glory, and all the bliss, the eloquent stories, and the gentle drifts, my imagination uplifts, in wisps of gentleness, where i submit to reason.

Bless-ed be, the one who garners to my support, from a vortex of euphoric antidotes, of mindless quotes, and animated emotes, pulsed, from straight faces, and lost hope.

Ill tell the truth, you can go with nope, in whispered breaths of gun smoke, lathered in lith-dope.

Just trying to cope with the flow, until i crash upon the shores of nevermore, and, explore these holes in my soul intent, ascending from the contempt of bent perspectives, and twisted concepts, letting the blood of the peasant from my arms of harmony, trembling blankly to sleep.

To you a *****, to me tranquility, as i sink, into the world i knew, so that it may be seen, casing the well being, of all the things, and pixelated dreams, from a thieves keep.

Deep, down, below me, in obscurity, i seep, through the soil of my turmoil, until my hand reaches out, from beyond my doubts, and clambers from the shadows, outside of myself.

I am born, of mud, of muck, of the stuff, you're afraid of, and all i bare is love, love to shrug the shams astray, vacating the placation, and dichotomies, unifying light, into one me, shining in the rainy streets, of my deletion

Until my completion
Completely
Erases me.

I was never interested, I realized.

I ran, chased every tick of the clock afraid of not getting there on time, smiled at the person I just met, and answered the grammar exam like it was my quiz in Mathematics. I was even shaking during the typing exam. I was nervous during interview.

But I was never interested.

It feels weird though. The moment I heard about the company, all I thought was to get a resume and send it there. I never did a background check about the company, nor checking the possible salary I will be getting, and even the nationality of the students never came into my mind not until today.

After the HR congratulated me, I realized I don't want to have job nor the idea of getting this job or not.

And it hit me.

All the days I kept coming back in that building, running, smiling, hoping to give a shot, were all meant to be that way. I made those efforts because I should. But not because I wanted to work there.

It was because of the eagerness of emptying one's mind-- my mind. I was athirst of vacating all the thoughts inside my head, but the only way to null it is to fill it with thoughts I am not interested with.

Hopeless, as you see, unconsciously doing the things I never wanted to do just to forget the whole existence of this misery.

What do I expect? Sadness comes when you think you have almost escaped it. But fleeing is ephemeral. When sadness knocks your brain, you will always let it in, let it **** the hopes inside your head until there is only an ounce left for tomorrow. That is how it always goes.

Are you ready?

Smiling and trampling through the invisible wilderness I've come to frantically gather up a few precious memories that once again we can revisit, laying on the floor of existence we can look down upon the delicacy of elegance.

Now that I have your attention I'd also like to share with you another one of my paths, pleasing you and shuffling my way through this tunnel of chills I find myself wanting to offer you a few as well but as I brush my soul against your pleasurable posture I can see the blushing moment beginning to rise.

I can see the enjoyment surfacing, I knew you'd come to realize that this image before you possesses no evil, you slowly begin to encase yourself in my shelter, devising a plan has no further of my concern.

Mislead, that is a possibility but not this time, as we form into one.

Written By: Christopher M. Schultz

Someday when the world isn’t so cold
And smiles smother her tempered heart
She’ll open her eyes to a new life
Vacating the existence of suffering

Leaving her world of hand me downs

She runs from shattered love
Expecting the collapse to destroy her
Second guessing what could have been
And not believing in second chances

Because her love is a hand me down

Soon enough she will see
The bold writing on the walls
Screaming there is more to life
If she would only open her eyes

To a life without hand me downs

But for now she will blindly walk
Wearing clothes saturated with pain
Skeptical of the love she deserves
Because her life is no more than a hand me down

words fail me as rivers do this town,
the sound of everything breaking   with a sudden onset: bones crushed
   like twigs, the churchyard a mirror of this hollow

   the   resounding of   a bell a category of  prayer
filling a mouth   with    filament – the   inglorious  morning
tired    of   its     felicitation:  chorus   vacating  the  body

paying   homage   to  a  nearby grave:   sound  the  body   outlast   everything

      take        sweat    for   wine   turn    this   variable  into  a    satellite
    let     it    exult     without    a   name


and   I,   for  once,    without a  poem   even – let me,    this   death

     almost   a   blooming   someone    to   remember.

Set me on fire


Insanity is what ran through me
Intensity plunging into me
Breathing is not wheezing but coming easily
Tingling reawakening
Space vacating me
I’m a vortex of for ever waiting
Playing on words, hoping to be heard
Spinning on this earth that is worth…
Nothing? Something? Maybe
Say to me the words that send guilt
Through sensations I have yet to word
Liking is a fighting, loving is despising
Wanting to be curious, how could I not with the words of his
Blister me with sincerity
Sending burning regret through every vain
Every way, in each new light
I fight and twist new perspective
To yell at me, to say to me everything is all right
And believe its true.
That me and you collided for some kind of real
Reeling going wild
My heart beats with the laughter of a child
Happiness is your contagious energy
I take it in and let it live in me
Your sweet scenic imagery
Watercolor paintings reflecting back at me
Beauty is something new and founding
Whirl pool of commonalities
Blasphemies of morals and value
But I cant help how my happiness swells
How you a smile into me
Chilling water not nearly as refreshing
Retesting, rethinking my boundaries
Seeing new towers, higher mountains and walls
Longer tunnels and halls
To walk, climb and crawl
How far the journey to a wanting place
To a unsure space in any case I hope your happy
That my presence is half as enchanting
Because your words they leave me panting
How can I not, with no words forgot?
Blister me with guilt’s hot iron
Set me on fire.
Or should we not?
I forgot the binding power of
A forever real friend ship
Set my ship on fire
And drown all hopes and desires

the kindergarden down the road
                                         had a revolt
            and the children insisted on self directing story-time

   two thirds in
     the hero abandoned their quest,
   turned into a bubble
   and evaporated

       the adults insisted a story needs a proper conclusion
                                                but they knew better


walk by

    light in the distance
bares at me

is it moving?
...
no
      it's not.
ah-
  it's gone now
...
  no
    there it is again

there     gone
there     gone

a silence becoming
and a silent vacating

unnerving  comfort


    the skateboarders down the road
         chiseled all the letters out of the road signs
    till all the tourists were helplessly lost
          / excuse me,
          / sorry,
          / what way to the lookout?

              \ you're already at it
              \ just keep going


a wail
   oscillating
bares at me

a bird or a car siren?

too organic for a machine
too regular for life

…

never mind

head home


  the church groups down the road
                          formed an action committee,
                                                      ­      after the flood

                       even had some humanitarian in
                                                              ­ to give a slide show

     but the software was updating
                        so we ended up watching the loading bar instead

              while the kids played in the puddles outside


    the asphalt damp
is borne to me

figures keep passing through
unformed spaces
with unfathomable ease
  alacrity

fragments pop glitter
     valley sparks
         of disheveled winter

pass by

tumble down through
grassy banks
  to the vermillion ocean

caulk the lungs
and drift

among the people that i hold accountable to suggest
someone has lost touch with reality:
    well, apologies for not engaging in your
  cinnamon-laced *** life - i sought other spices:
as in chilli for the tongue, and salt for my eyes,
and pepper for my nose - because that's what's
being debated: when philosophers come back
from their adventure i'll let you know what reality
actually is - then the cathedrals will crumble,
   then the neo-Babylonian extracts from modern
architectural preferences will become less neo-Babylonian
English and more: Glaswegian dialects
surrounded by Croat diacritical markings -
    as if drawing hunting antelopes in caves
   giving us "more" clues about the one inhospitable earth:
or are we truly surrendering to Darwinism
rather than carpe diem? i'm i'll ******* chirpy
given a dinosaur bone, and the timescale -
             and given that we turned Cartesian duality into
a dichotomy, everyday seems challenging:
a blimmin' boxing match 'n' all...
                                    i can't remember how many times
i've been k.o'ed (knocked out) in my waking moments
(conscious or, rather mourning? don't know).
      i still find it staggering they (no paranoia collective:
simply scientists) came up with the fact that the sun
(or any star) is a reaction of helium and hydrogen:
do people really explode into chipmunk joviality when
   doing a b.b.q. of their bodies on a beach?
             (asking questions becomes a ****** syringe
after a while) - and yes, use the term joviality before it
becomes archaic, you never know when it might
unearth a wormhole of Hades and **** the fact out
and flush it into oblivion.
              and some don bowler hats and use folded
umbrellas as walking sticks, perhaps the monocle,
but definitely the bow-tie: and make rhetoric of language:
airs, courtesy (court-t'eh-c vs. curt-see): herr chirurg!
how do you insert the scalpel into the rhythmic expression
of dribbling that kauczuk? (rubber ball).
      (cow- -chook).
           i mean in Cockney: how do you juggle that word
properly while balancing an oyster on your tongue?
and yes, i'm starting to believe Polish (as a language)
borrows too much from German - of the few slavic languages
i also say Kaiser bun -          she's called a variant of
antoinette, i.e., a kajzerka, or Wilhelm (dressed as a little
girl, all hurly burly) akin to philippe duke of orléans;
someone say lace stockings?
      i could write out this ******* in chauvinistic bravado
aesthetic: or i could smoke a cigar...
     and sooner we realised that crows never prayed
but croaked -
        that pigs grunted and never prayed -
that pigeons cooed, and never prayed,
       that monkeys did the mambo knock-knock joke -
that woodpeckers were the original carpenters and
                invoked the existence of the machinegun
and the rattler.
so there are people (sophists) who wear
bowler-hats, smocking, monocles and disdain:
rather ardently -
                 and then there are those that spontaneously
explode, from out of nowhere,
and dress themselves in rags and never rags to riches
sort of attitude - because appearances are deceptive
and too can be gambled with and neglected and seeing
a decay of a royal house: is much fancier than seeing
autumn...     because aren't the Windsors
                                         vacating Buckingham?
as in: from rot -                 apple and pear sweetness.
(at this point the poem should end) -
       not always the case of: less is more...
speaking on behalf the man who read the karamazov
brothers and stuck a leaflet on the back
of the book that read: the hash marihuana & hemp
museum - oudezijds achterburgwal 130 amsterdam
                    (next to the 'sensi seed bank' grow shop
   www.hashmuseum.com).
i mean you have read something equivalent of a brick
these days, at least one brick within that distractive
paradise of poetry - either the already mentioned book,
or war and peace, or in search of lost time,
or bolwesław prus' the doll - and they said
that life's short... not with these books being read it is...
life becomes a snail-paced traffic jam -
            it's what mystics aim at, across all religions:
the carpe diem momentum.
            it's not even boring, it's just a tedium-ladden
misanthropy: that suggestion is mainly aimed at seeing
an afternoon sitcom about 0-hour contract jobs...
       which is applauded by the terminally ill who
might say: thank **** it's not me.
            so we're all agreed - what the collapse of
communism left behind was a chance of a pension,
        given that all the western countries sold their remnant
versions of tribalism to stealth upper-tier formulations
         of "we're in this together" as otherwise know: companies...
we're not accompanied -
                   cold and wet and ***** -
                            which is odd why we'd think it
necessary to cause upheaval in iRaq...
                           given that the origins of communism were
in England, tested in Mongolia and then ingrained elsewhere...
ah, but of course, the profit margin: it's hard to
automate people surrounded by machines
        it's like olympians competing with para-olympians
where's talk of golf and the handicap?
              not here...
                       but i'm wondering, how can i redeem myself
after having stretched the poem for too long?
     point being: i can't change the status quo, and don't
intend to - and is that hypocritical or simply being
honest? well: if i managed to fit the concept of the big bang
into my little head: i'd choose the bullet every single time -
   we've established a majority, we've become as deluded
in our hopes for individuality: as was once deemed worthy
of the idea of god; we simply have established a constant
supply & demand parameters;
or what Heidegger calls: the perpetuated "ineffectual"
(well, not really him, my wording) -
                  basically a state of panic and
how different does concern compare with anxiety?
   a woman would tell a man that crimson is very different
from burgundy, as man would use the crude sigma:
red, red. n'es pas?

*i wish i could write something within the framework
of universal appeal; something simple
   and easily digested: like baby pulp, or simple
pulp of any fruit, mashed up and regurgitated
as if a seagull feeding its chicks... alas! not to be.

Stranded in a white room, white light,
Strained with conversation so light

Holding my soul in a fish tank,
Half empty, and expressions so blank

Laughing along the chorus,
good-bye sweet, sweet seclusion of my pores

Songs that mean nothing,
Words that carry no weight

We're lonely despite another,
Ego's vacating with with summer

Nothing is to me, as it is to you
Grasp the concepts, that make nothing true

The snow's falling, on this summer day,
As men with convictions kneel to pray

In a room filled with vacuous smiles,
Even happy go lucky dreams of dying

Gift my Heart
Oh diminutive finch.

once you chortled
gleefully,
cutestuck
in my happy compliment sky.

Do I forgive your migration?
You flighty fuzzball!
vacating briskly, frigidly
the premeditated enclosure
perfectly designed for your every need.

your obdurate flight
left perfect circles of Hollow
(spaces eating my gaze,
like black holes
ravaging stars)

No,
I am too imbecilic.
You left breadcrumbs
trailing from the Candy House-
and I intend not to be eaten.

could not I come, however?

                                                                           [you are a soft word of extra cream and when I think upon
                                                                                                                              you I cannot keep pretending
                                                                                          that I would have you stay anymore than I would
                                                                                               trade your laugh for any other flecked miracle]

Thus I am resolved.
I shall be your migration.
The knife of your eagle glimpse
shall perceive nothing
without my invisible acquiescence.
your talons
shall clutch with the strength of my
most bashful beam

Oh my reddest-tailed raptor!
as you hunt and fish
the wildernesses I mustn’t trample,
I will draft your flight,

But only,
my mellow heron,
If you promise to leave me a feather,
with which to heavy my heart.

the issue with vacating your own body is deciding which bones to pack and which to leave behind

if I were born a different species I would wish to be hatched a bird from an egg in a nest devouring vomitus looking over the branches at the fall watching my mother leave watching her come back seeing my brother leave and not return watching my mother leave with my siblings watching my mother return with my siblings the big day the big leap of faith the rite of passage or descension a terrible pressure much gravitas the jump!     born into a new life once passive now released a terror upon the skies or at least the rodents of the field which briefly leave their burrows to bask in the sun of the dawn but also a member of a lethal hierarchy always watching for bigger predators with beaks the size of my neck and shadows to encompass me and blot out the sun above me and swooping down upon me and me wheeling and barreling and careening and them tightening and circling and diving in a battle of athleticism for which the trophy is life or death then more vacating of the space between I and them and endlessly the pulse-driving innervating rush of imminent death surges

but I am descendant of apes, cultured to sit in desks and combine numeric symbols for collectives concerned primarily with the collection of monetary symbols and should I want any of my own significant symbols which indeed I likely should I must push harder the boundaries of my capability to mix accurately these and other symbols past that of my fellows and restrict my wonderment to evenings in which I either live through the fantasies of the television program or novella or expressive form or imbibe the socially acceptable intoxicants in socially acceptable groupings of my peers which within are also imbibers of aforementioned substances in non-lethal but rather questionable binges on and evermore and on some more until I have children and I too teach them the ways of our rigorously well co-ordinated society which is very proper very proper indeed with its unspoken rules profiting you greatly to follow oh profit so greatly oh great profit jolly good great investments great show wonderfully valuable just barmy the bees knees the cats pyjamas the dogs bone oh dear merciful god does samantha really love me is my marriage based purely and hollowly on some ingrained self-deprecating pragmatist ritualism

I will die someday and I both fear for it and desire it with exactly half each of my whole being

Ocular cavities were vacant in slumbering,
for when the twilight of death exhales on
nightfall, they exhumed from there cages
of waking moments, eye lashes no longer
bars of there keeping. Now pliable in there
movements, optic nerves were there
renderings. Staring at the dismay of there
awaking, they ventured upon a world a static
silence and they hungered to visualize.

They looked upon each others vision,
heads of ocular circumference gazed as if in
headlights. Leaning so slightly distorted from
the others leaning opposites of others motions.
Inclinations were observed as a scurrying ventured
with there distance and they attained to have this
morsel as a pet. Each mimicking steps as if symbiotic
in motion, this new addition to what was perceived
and many that walk the halls in the censorship of volume.

The night wove upon there longing to visualise that
not seen in the slumber times. Many had gathered upon
there motions upon cold floor boards. But they became
restless in the motion and knew what must become of
those in there care. That which was there reason for
vacating there prison to feast upon others sight.
One after another each insect was now unfulfilled of
pools of view, now vacant tomes of emptiness.

Littering the floor some static others roaming in
abandoned motions, colliding upon another
they vented out. No guilt was seen in this pools
of blue as they watched until the last one became
as the others hollow of life for it had bled tears of
dismay upon the floor. But time is a ***** who peals
of in front of you never regaining what had parted.
Light was echoing its arrival through undisclosed
segments not hindered it shone abundantly.

Without thought, instinct took over as they ascended
upon the bed quilt. Moments were corroding in front of
them as light motioned towards an awakening.  
But they clambered in slight motions to not awaken the
exhaled slumbering's. As each opened the bars, so gently
so not to observe in hollow pockets there undoing.
They inserted themselves once again into this confinement,
knowing that they would have no motion only seeing
what they saw prisoners of reality.

As they awoke eyes feeing dry, drops descended into this
pools to awaken them, and in confusion a insect leg teared
outwards. Curious he motioned with silent expressions.
Unseen to him under the dresser was the killing spree of
the slumbering time. No glasses did they were 20/20 vision
they could see like a hawk. But unbeknown is the fact that
others pay for this precious gift of sight. For one must
consume others pools, your have skeletons deep within
yours. But you'll never know, for what happens at night
are vacant visions that see things differently you know.

Everything happens for a reason,
one of the important lesson I learnt with the change in season
and people.

Some moments hurt, scar and engrave
an important lesson.
Protecting you from future treason
Making you deal with it even better.
Some moments exhilarate happiness and positivity
Fueling you with love and treasuring the memories.

Some people come as blessings
Building homes in our hearts;
Helping us sail turbulent waves;
Acting as starlights in our dark sky.
While some leave us lessons
Vacating their homes in our hearts.

Twist is some, come back
and some only stay a flashback.
Some are are sent for exile
and some come back to reconcile.
People come and go.
Some drawing a smile on our face;
creating a beautiful and positive impact.
But leave for certain reasons,
To those people I am thankful,
to have had my paths cross with them.
And grateful to the ones who’s chaos and storms,
I survived and bloomed from.
Not forgetting about the ones who stayed
even when some left,
Appreciating them for still standing by my side till the very end.

She is a predator, that boldly strides through sunshine,
she left her post all day
...she lounged in the sky
Contented for an eternity,
in a world without time.

She's a passenger... nearly full and fertile.
never been hollow
forever a cascading chorus of birdsong
the tiny sacrifices delivered daily
...No longer sinking, moored in a glass still harbor
direct and vivacious.

She is flesh ...  blissfully encased
around a custom molded cylinder
...Terminated
...set free
a spirit of blood and skin
vacating this realm

She throws down coins of laughter
that fill my bowl like alms
Despair torn assunder
by satin palms
and smooth words
thank you for rejecting this
...they torment us
I will take with my touch
the poison be ******

We inhale this toxic smoke but it never seems to be enough
Animated embers
Breathing in clouds
Constantly failing to reach safe ground
Floating through this mist
We cannot be found
Our eden is in the air
Weeping
When you cannot reach me, I am nowhere
This is the cross I have to bare;
Scolding the flesh to avoid dispear
Floating constellations in the air vacating a present tense to find
nowhere

Snowflakes draped,
landscapes of paper
froze opaque.

Vacating
sacred spaces
forsaking each and every station
seeking safest places.

Alienation shaping faces
of white dunes elevated,
night soon erases
fading traces illuminated,
lighted by moon phases;
glacier's pace excruciating,
frostbitten, frigid
in an aching stasis.

But I awaken from sedation,
summer's warmth embraces;
June not even undertaken
so I await and ruminate
in patience.

I like the
way the city looks
in the rain
we're sure gods
sloshing through puddles
you're holding my hand
and letting go
to things
in the sky
I hope to god
we find our raincoats
underneath
our tolerance for
**** on the next street
over
and the way
our faces
grow older
with every black
death on the
television
but
this isn't living
this isn't living,
no.
I like you
grew up on tumblr
and a father
who drank
enough to love you
you're wounded
but isn't our whole
generation
acting out our
violences
on television.
If bad luck
could talk
she would drive
me out of the city
without saying
a word.
yes
I know
I'm a coward
when it comes
to keeping my word
but I would marry
her tomorrow
If I could.
vacating the tombs
of Montrose Avenue
and ghosts of the desert
Simon & Garfunkel
on the stereo
shop windows reflecting
an aching reckoning
I like the
way the city looks
in the rain.

It is a solid ache
Harder then
The chest tightening
Cardiac devastation

Hands shake
While I wait
For the world
To catch up to
My kind of love

Tears fall
Unless I distract myself
The cemetery
Holds more like minds
Than I ever find
In these times

I am alone in a sea
Of self-satisfied idiots
Who think the idiot is me

Muscles melt
Legs bend
Minds tend
Towards fantasies

Chants and prayers
Inaction in subservience
While they let the madness go on
But I am wrong

A child starves
They pray
A war goes on
They pray
Rug burns
And sore *****
Bent over
Waiting for an answer
That never comes
But I am the *******

The rose melts
Painted crimson
In fairytales
Of wonderland

The sun departs
Vacating its hydrogen heart
Leaving me with
Only its darker parts

Cascades of liquid
The coagulating kind
Float inside
My troubled mind

Thus, I wonder
While my fingers tap
Beat for heart
Equal to the first
As it will be the last
Will I ever live to see
Such madness pass

Both sides opened up the doors to their once-closed countrysides.
the intense light that shined into their once dark eyes
lit up their once grey skies
in result...
such color changes had changed their once heavy and drowning pride
once sinking into the despair of mistrustful quicksands
of each other
through long-range binoculars
The now once close-up and handshaking meeting
through the opening of these once closed doors
was nothing under "Spectacular."
******* from chains of Mind-Limited training from ancestors on how to lead their people
breaking into the freed world
for their wills to explore a freer
and ingenious means in which to advance a more obsolete and dying nation...
the voices of hunger and change had broken open the barrier of light
to those ideas vacating,
A fireworks level celebration.
As to arms leads to death
Hand in hand
Side by side alliance leads to strength and advancement of future
leads
our two  nations
to salvation
Ways to fuse the divided cuts of division like a medical suture.
Now, as we grow to know and to trust one another, both sides can learn
one another's bright cultures
while abandoning other notions
that was ill-founded by ideology and myth
and empower us with much more.
growth and change
prosperity
and even
Unity
New people ruled by a leader that saw the real world through his bare eyes
rather than through the machine
now can equal with us the means
in which to live a united life
Happy and to others in conflict
A better  a way to live
as brothers in the world
Large, happy, and clean.

i remember this one quote from "somewhere"...
that...
    the world is divided between men who have
slept with two women at the same time...
and men who have dreamed about sleeping with
two women at the same time...

i hate *******...
         can i brag about having a *******?
it's so ****** unusual...
    i was sort of winging it coming back
from a shift at the London Stadium...
    i didn't want to pay any extra fair to travel
from zone 2/3 of Stratford
  got off at zone 4 Goodmayes...
rather than zone 6 Romford...  

sorry... i'm just still a little disorientated...
i'm sort of... eh?!
that just happened?!
  what's that smell? oh... right...
after she took a shower and then after
i took a shower before she wiped
the ***** off my chest... after...
she sprayed me with her perfumes...

what the **** just happened?!
   no... i really want to know...
it's like my body became split into two...
part of me merman
part of my: doodle-eyed-fish-head...
octopus savvy: h. p. lovecraft monstrosities...

purely telegraphic technique from here -

i walk, two are available,
i don't know why i want to mar this experience
by writing about it: i should bask in it...

i paid £10 entry fee... i was walking around the block
drinking a brandy i just bought...
shadows, night, shadows, night: the full moon...
hmm...
so i enter and immediately ask: can i use the toilet?
i need to take a **** prompt..
so i do...

these two jump on the idea:
no... it's not good enough that i pick between them...
both of the girls want me at the same time...
giggling...
   we go into the room and they bargain me
for £200... for an hour... turns out it was only
half an hour...
i don't know why... i was bothered about
under performing... just finished my shift
i was supposed to go home and drink...
instead?

well... if Khedra texted me back i would
have other ideas:
but it's always a bad idea to make a *******
into a girlfriend... i had to alleviate my
predicament with "better": ulterior options...

i stretched the mark...
eh... now that i have had a taste of it...
it's sort of impossible to go back...
on a "promise"...
i passed a glistening penny of the queen's
nose lying copper naked on the pavement...
picked it up...
breathed into it...
flicked it... if it lands on heads
i ought to be in luck...
it landed on heads...
passed one bewildered cat...

walked back into the brothel with the excess
the two girls were asking for...
1 hour became 30 minutes for the pair of them...
so weird...
it's unlike *******...
i hate *******...

i did encounter mister limp ****: i even told them:
i'm talking to myself... i'm tired...
but they let me smoke a cigarette...
and... hey presto! i was up and running...
enough lubrication and...
a hand-job never felt as good as:
whenever i teased against it...
but it's so different...
when one girl is massaging your testicles
while another is jerking you off..

or... one is ******* you off
while you're... strapped to her... bountiful *****...
keeping a hard-on imagining:
hard... to keep the Oedipal Complex functioning...
when... you're cuddling to one girl
doing the hand-job... the other girl massaging your
testicles... *******...
******* on the *******...
trying to **** yourself into a hard-on
thinking you're ******* at your mother's *******...

oh, but the implosion of voyeurism...
one woman is pleasuring you while the other women
watches on... i really didn't need any lesbian antics...

my first ******* and it has become
apparently complicated...
a bunch of Pakistanis were playing supermarket
cricket in a parking-lot
in the middle of the night...
me? i was taking out extra cash to have
a *******...

    i went limp... smoke a cigarette... a new hard-on...
excess lubrication...
hand-job... no... even i understood what they
said: he likes the simulation...
i did... i do...
       for me... while one of the girls
was jerking me off... squeezing her face into mine...
while i was watching the second girl
teasing my testicles...
   it's this... three-party interaction...

wow...        whatever i write is not going
to be enough...
i've just crossed the threshold of being a man
who might dream about sleeping with two women
simultaneously to a man...
who actually has...
she implored: and i suppose you feel like a king,
now?!
no... i feel... more curious...

i have to admit... sleeping with two women at the same
time... i hate *******...
it's so staged... reality is so... dislodged from...
like any aspect of drama: there's no script regarding
reality...
         one girl was ******* me off
while another girl provided me with her ******* and *******
and i was reimagining myself
as a toddler ******* on my mother's ******* for
a hard-on...

       is an Oedipal Complex real when
you share two women in the same act?!
         just asking... half of me was being ******...
half of my was *******...
i ended up getting the best hand-job the world
is yet to: not see...
          i was clinging to the neck and cheeks of the one
jerking me off while the one stroking my *******
i was looking into to find elements
of jealousy...

imploded voyeurism...
how they joked... how i loved laughing at myself...
truly, magnificently, weird...
being naked in the presence of two naked women...
i think i've just passed the threshold of
what's to be "expected"...
since she started spraying me with her perfume...
but at least one of them knew
that she was the lesser of the two...

two women... at the same time...
     wow: what: wow... seems kind of pointless
to have read Madame Bovary...

two women at the same time with me...
well... i wasn't going to be left out...
          if everyone is seemingly wandering with a bogus
focus for egocentric exfoliation...
i'd leave the brothel and talk to a Jonathan...
we talked about women... drank the remains
of my brandy... he was trying to become freed from
these two girls who were trying to get to Thurrock...
from Goodmayes?!
ha ha... sure... one **** after another: taxi!

i needed this to create my antithesis of
having watched *******...
i needed... to have one girl ******* me...
while another girl watched...
    i think i needed this... like a liver-transplant...
to hell with *******...
i was going limp from tiredness before
i took a drag of a cigarette and she lubricated her hand
and... hey presto... one was imitating a ******
with her hand...
the other was squeezing my *******: ripe plums?!
while the one doing the former was squeezing her face
into mine and the other doing the plum-checks was
scrutinizing being the "less-involved"...

threesomes... mighty weird...
well... at least i have that covered...
    thank god both of them were willing to do so...
and no...
there's no Shakespeare abounding on this type
of topic...
                 how does one put it? "one"?
you've just been shared between two women...

i abhor *******: like i abhor movies...
that abhorrent script... expectation wise...
i was hoping for an hour with one girl...
what did i get? i got two...
                       voyeurism completely avoided:
it ******* imploded...
one's jerking you off while clinging to you...
another is helpless looking on...
eye-contact... massaging your testicles...
you end up merging the one doing the former
with the latter vacating her ***** for a make-shift
******...

               dear god: oh no... nothing human is alien
to us... the gods can... sort of... disappear...
it would almost be a taboo to walk a dog on a leash
with a muzzle...
it truly would: after a *******...
1x man + 2x women...
                     you don't come back
the sort of man your father is
after a *******...
                 the thirst changes...
prior it was a thirst for: water...
now? now i thirst for watermelons...
                         and the more the grandiosity
of her cleavage...
                      i must have these periodic bouts
of madness when consecrating either thought
or body on the altar of a woman.