Her body’s indications are indicating what she's anticipating.
Something exhilarating and stimulating
\ventilating.

supple and orange to the taste
like a water slide to a desert
in a wild goose chase
just a hair short of a bone
ninety nine of the smallest ones

cracked open ventilating
dancing vapor
a slow shift in flowing feel.
soak up the gray
you turn to cellophane

only on the inside
you're alright
the ball keeps on rolling
around that big old fire

the cushion smiled
warmed by your seat
pressed into a drowse
you catch the change

wonder the time
about that
settled cataracts
smooth rolling cadillacs
big old Adirondack
smiling in the cottage.

Magnetizing physics
Magnetic chemistry
Precise mathematics
Bubbling biology
Histrionic history
Attired economics
Refined fine arts
Electrifying looks
Electronic vision
Scintillating psychology
Ventilating physiology
Tantalizing mechanics
Tranquilizing metabolism
Dynamic damsel
Oh! What a scientific disposition?
Kudos to the Big-Bang Beautician.

Magnetising physics
Magnetic chemistry
Precise mathematics
Bubbling biology
Histrionic history
Attired economics
Refined fine arts
Electrifying looks
Electronic vision
Scintillating psychology
Ventilating physiology
Tantalizing mechanics
Tranquilizing metabolism
Dynamic damsel
Oh! What a scientific disposition?
Kudos to the Big-Bang Beautician.

.my prime allegiance was always to the language, as a child of 8, it was always the language... the people? secondary at best, but mostly tertiary incubators of my own ****** in terms usage; oh way past caring for the organic, as my ex-girlfriend who i lost my virginity at university from Grenoble pointed out when i offered to be her psychology test subject: only native speakers allowed... who gives a **** about native speakers... it's not like the English language is organically contained to the British Isles... and since it isn't? why pay dues to the ******* natives, imagining them as Christ-like figures, "saving" the world... sorry, no... not even the king of England would have thie sort of audacity to speak down to me, like some of his peasants took the liberty of... suddenly, England... isn't a UNESCO paradise, nor the ******* moon!

english language is an inorganic entity
imbedded in me, learned...
my mother-tongue, on the other hand?
organic... with a sensibility of a past...
now...
   identity "politics"?
    seems to me, that the Spanish language
has no notion of such bogus ideas...
to me, a language most lax...
    see... i wouldn't have played the identity
politics card...
    if... some ******* retards didn't
come by, and assert their hyper-ventilating
status of grammatical intimidation...
   why?!
         i wasn't born with this language:
i nurtured it...
   i kept it for what it's worth...
    but i can't simply erase my ethnicity
away...
        i can't suddenly turn to the English
term slav with a "hidden" E...
and not think of germans as GERMS...
          in my tongue?
   slav = słowianin -
            whereby słowo = word...
i'm a wordsmith -
          no more, no less...
                   i'm praying to god that
the Bulgar and the Romanian economy
starts off,
   so the bogus claims by the so-called
English cripples makes a finite gesture
of counter-proof!
         i'm dying to see it!
   all of a sudden, whittle Bwitain thinks
itself the crown jewel of hegemony...
but these Anglican *****-whips have never
experienced the nausea and monotony
of a homogeneous society...
   every time i visit my grandparents...
i'm struck-dumb...
   thinking: i hope i don't end up
******* my distant cousin...
                but if a peoples, who are so adamant
in their status as islanders,
who don't even recognize Europe
as a continent spreading to nibble
on the Ural mountains?
   the **** are we talking about?
            oh no... the english i speak is
not organic, it's inorganic...
but as i said before...
you want me fully integrated?
you want me to speak English in private,
in my own home?
*******!
             i'll speak your language
in public...
   now...
learn a tad bit of French, while you're at it!
who knows?! you might also
learn a thing or two about
etiquette! but i doubt that you would
or will;
                   manners ≠ mannerisms.

What are we, really?
For as long as we have been able,
Humans have looked skyward and wondered.

Wondered about the timbre of our voices
About the pastel shades of our skin.
When we are cut, why do we all bleed the same red?

About our origin.
About our purpose.
About our murky past and our luminous future.

What are we, really?
As a species we are collectively stumped.
We have journeyed far.
From trepanning the ill, ventilating their skulls to drive out malevolent spirits,
To carefully calculating the oscillations of distant stars.

And yet,
Despite our ingenuity, despite our ambition, despite our progress,
The truth still escapes our inquisitive grasp.
What are we, really?

Are we god's chosen flock?
Are we simply another infinitely random arrangement of carbon atoms? Flesh and gristle and calcium deposits?
Are we overgrown simians with overgrown egos and obnoxious sense of importance?
Or are we a simulation? Ones and zeroes on the motherboard of the cosmos?

What are we,
Really?

I don't know whether this is a dream or a fantasy...
But how could it possibly be...
That on this night you here with me...
You can be anywhere in the world that your heart so desire...
But after days of working on my mind In my heart you choose to retire...
You can rest there as long as you remain there...
I will always love you as long as you show me you care...
They say home is where your heart is...
So when you return home I promise to always be there...
But you must understand that a one sided promise just ant fair...
So you got to promise the same...
Also you got to take my name..
From here on out nothing will be the same...
See this all started with a wave...
But it would of all went away...
If you didn't have the strength to stay...

So now we stuck in this little world of ours...
We left everyone on the outside...
And decided to build a home...
We standing at the alter...
My mentality has been altered...
I take your hand from your father...
To begin a new life...
From this point on may we become one...
Till the end of time may we remain one...
We just got to stay strong...
I know we going to have our ups and downs...
But when them bad times come along...
We just got to remember them good times...
Like the nights we spent on the phone...
Late Night Conversations...
Mentally Ventilating...
Memories Commemorating...
Intellectually Reintegrating...
How we belong together...
In our alphabet's lets make "I" and "U" the only letters...
"I Love You" always remember them 8 letters...
When I say, "I Do"...
I mean "I Do"...
I just hope that you mean it too...
If you ready for it just take my hand...
We'll take this world together...
I give you my good...
I give you my bad....
I give you my heart...
I give you my mind...
I give you my soul...
If you going to take me girl you got to take me whole...

i always wondered what
je ne sais pas might sound like in german...
   ah, **** it, let's put
this prosthetic limb together,
you never know, a siamese twin
might just pop out to steal the show...
ich      (je ne sais.... ah.. ha ha ha!
i was thinking of je ne sais qua...
ok ok... je ne sais quoi, quo-oh-e...
    e. e. cummings, come ere!
fiddle this violin to a fine tuning
that a deaf man might 'ear)...
and when language does indeed
as diabolical as this, you really should
stop using Poles as antibiotics to
German then Islamic fascism...
or kidding yourself that it's really
just a pardonable dream you're having...
so the prosthetic limb is coming...
  no point schmoozing me with
anything else... oh please please:
just dance the one legged tango a while
longer, i'm working on it... honest...
  look here... je, ich
   ne, nein, nein-stimme... no steam:
bog **** choo choo!
     meaner: neinschtimme -
   kinder dicht... why would i say kid-tight?
well... ballerinas begin their careers
at an early age... maybe that's why...
   otherwise? dunno...
let's feed this alcoholic cold-sweat -
finding the tutti-frutti hyper-delusion,
trying to say much more than the sound
of knocking on a door can ever provide...
that's one way to go about it, for sure...
and every part of me wants to be a serious
novelist, and be sober, and chop wood,
but then every other part of me
wants the poetry, and the drinking,
    and the scarcity of the adventure...
  to feel, having only slaughtered one pig,
that i was able to feed a billion ching chongs
in Beijing...
           china... ching chong...
a focus on the prefix ch, and the suffix cha cha cha?
no? different joke, on a different continent...
   i swear there was this guy from Bethlehem
who also made the same conclusion...
     can't remember his name...
you know, like: two fish three loafs of bread,
you can satiate a coliseum...
   ah! delirium! that's what alcoholics experience
sometimes... i love delirium...
      it just shows you, that if you're really
serious, you can experience many more facets of
alcoholism...
    hidden gems... and if you're really
hot-headed, have enough crassness about
to write about it...
    delirium... when other drugs have the after-effects
of paranoia, alcohol prescribes you delirium...
   in polish slang also called a delirka...
   but i'm not drinking purple denaturat /
ethynol substitute to chanel no. cinq...
    or should i say: çank?  yep, that ship sank
once it gave a smoochie to an ice-berg...
                                 hail Titanic! ave Titanus!
but i really was trying to find
je ne sais quoi (qua... ******* French,
excessive spelling and a gob that later
says much more throng... and that nasal
cavity needs fixing, seriously -
  but they write so beautifully,
and later slobber it with their local...
or should i say: locál! or perhaps: locállé?!
depends how you make do
with a syllable dissection) -
so how would it go? the je ne sais quoi in
Swabian?
   ich tun nicht was kennt...
              well... there are worse things than
mutilating a language...
      you could do worse, like mutilate a body...
   like in that film...
   with colonel sisi... the last king of scotland...
ah, what's his name? that guy
reminding me to never travel to uganda?
    yeah, had a wife, she cheated on him,
so he cut off her legs and arms, and sewed them
back onto her torso so she really ended up
with a confused pair of cranium hemispheres...
    and i'm the mad one...
just because i drink and have a vocabulary
equivalent of diarrhoea...
       but, so it goes...
   i'll never say the correct way of saying
je ne sais quoi in Swabian... because je ne sais quoi
is a complete package... like faux pas is
a complete package, like carpe diem is a complete
package... like coup d'état is a complete
package... like déjà vu is a complete package...
    there's absolutely no way to unravel it
or furthermore: translate it...
      a German once complimented my language
on the cushion-like effect of the word
  kurva...  *****... he loved the trilled -r-
and the waterfall of -va / wa wa... va to english speakers;
and so he did, relieve himself of stress
saying the word... and with such malice as
to no hurt anyone... and what's happening in
english? social-cool, prescriptive dyslexia...
        one step away from really, i mean
really being o.k. with watching **** and all
forms of perversity, and not o.k. with seeing
the correct spelling of the word ****...
      yes... mm... so ******* agonising seeing
a correct spelling...
                                   i better gouge my eyes
out having seen that....
or that case of ultra-proximity...
     kręt                        vs.      skręt...
kręt (a pathological liar, on a building site in
England usually called a Romanian) -
skręt? a rollie... a cigarette, you know the type,
you buy the tobacco, you buy the papers,
you buy the filter... and you actually roll
a cigarette... a variation of the word skew,
i'm sure... kręt does actually mean a meddler...
a swinddler...  and if you having been exposed
to the reality of a construction site in england...
you should see the ******* that's written
in the toilets...
     i really shouldn't have gone to university,
i wasted my degree in chemistry to merely drink...
**** good wine though, home made juice...
   hyper! hyper! hyper-ventilating on the silence
that's gathering around me...
  and if you ever spotted a lightning bolt
and never heard a thunder... you're bound
to be as itchy as me -
and by the way: the karma term for a German
in Poland is: schwab - or szwab...
              of shvab... it's getting dizzy... pfoo...
bilinguals can't be proud polymaths...
         i'm seeing alternative spelling in different
linguistic geo-political zones.

why is everyone, suddenly sully, namely patient x, readied for psychological testing, when his only mental "disorder", is the society he lives in? why has everyone become suspect? is stalin in office? no... so, why the ****, do i feel like i'm under some premonition shadow of a bogus minority report? now, shouldn't i feel obliged by a paranoiac shiver, to merely ask a question? no? fall into rank you say... now i'm going to die less in awe, and more in a nervous anticipation of a kafkaesque trial... some words really deserve a thesaurus... when awe became worry, when worry became paranoia, when paranoia became huh(?), and then huh(?) assured us all that it was: not worth the ******* bother.

i don't like psychology for one reason,
and one reason alone:
there's too much common sense in it...
every time i hear some psychologist speak
i think of some sort of common
sense adventist...
      then again, i also think of these
          people as obtuse insomniacs:
for all the common sense they speak,
  they also seem to be the ones
most likely to have been the ones
   recently woken;
i can't help but find psychologists as
"historians" freshly out of hibernation,
with a sickness known as morality,
a "soul" and a god:
    tell that soul bit to asthmatics,
those hyper-ventilating
    multiple-reincarnations locked
up in a two 4 one deal of existential debates,
            ******* gratis...
there's just too much "common sense"
in psychology,
    this darwinistic puritanism that's
annoying as high-**** of a 9th tier worth's
of dante's paradiso:
you still get to see the face of god
(beatrice portinari) -
     but then you miss the murk sloth
sleuth of *virgil in the inferno...
                     and why wonder,
why the people have already decided:
hell is more interesting,
   god is a bore,
                and a woman is at most desired:
when she cannot be attained -
and a man most desirable:
          when he cannot be tamed.

I spent part of the night watching old videos.
Some of them were of him and I.
I couldn't stop laughing.
I couldn't stop smiling.
I then listened to songs from last summer.
I sat there with my eyes closed.
Remembering all the different times they played.
I was smiling so much my face ached.
The memories were great.
Abit later I found myself standing there in silence.
Another memory popped in my head.
I ended up on the ground sobbing and hyper ventilating.
I couldn't handle it.
All I could think of was those words.
The one promise I never thought you'd break.
The one promise...
I guess I caused you to break
I promise I'll be here till the day you don't want to see my face.
I still want to see your face.
You're not here.
Some memories are torturous.

Label it, it shows us we're bad, convinces us to things, making assumptions, lights bright they bling, flying and floating my hands aren't my own, for this ecstasy has took me for loan, i try control it as i write this it makes me feel unreal, all the mysterious mysteries can't wait to be unveiled. It's nothing to be afraid of, yet experience is unknown, i feel like just like a vessel of souls i dont control. stages n rounds of brave euphoria,
psychedelic beginning, hyper ventilating over thoughts, every touch of your lips bring pain n loss of the future, where possibly you aren't there

/how can you write an Adam & Eve story, with two protruding vowels deemed to be consonants, i.e. ע (ayin) & א (alef)?! teach me, show me at what point you sing the alphabet, and lose the name of a letter, to govern spelling, within the confines of a "borrowed" prefix, and subsequently a suffix / affix... show me! show me why the story doesn't begin and end, with two Adams, i.e. ע & א... your Adam? is my Alef... your Eve? is my Ayin. too bad you gave letters names... since the romans sand their letters in sequence to the vowel-catching tetragrammaton of: ah... gnostics in arabia... the crucifixion of a phantom... ahhal; with regards to the arab play on god | dog...                 ahhal... since not everyone suddenly spent a second's worth on exclaiming a profound: ah... of some sort of realisation pause./

U that isn't you -
        Y - which isn't lower-case
gamma,
    the rhythm solo
on iron maiden's
afraid to shoot strangers...
  might as well call it
a copernican cornerstone
with an el - L -
   hyper-ventilating
reading a compass?
me too...
     and that's a genuine
anti-thespian attitude...
         take on english surds:
notably?
          (g)nome, (g)nostic,
diagnostics!
  left, a mountain
not climbed.
      left no worthwhile
application guiding
archeology, anthropology,
or those missing
worthwhile rubrics of
study...
           as ever, as always:
niche...
            stratum confederatum...
again, pleasing to the eye,
but the maggot tongue says:
a rat's worth remains
in the scuttling enterprise,
hidden,
                bowels above the sea
waves...
            hiding by hanging
with a chime of
               a "lost" history...
         prior to a god,
i'd rather take salt and pepper
to a union with my ancestors...
god or no god...
         built to this mortal
frame...
            with my ancient
architecture of bones...
                no hamlet,
and no grieving scoop of
   words to match-up to this...
as once i felt inclined to
kneel before the mudded plateau,
asking for the plateau to kneel
before me...
          missing, confusion with
the grapheme in
               æ....
         notably in the word:
   pla'h toe...
            "un-writing" english makes
if not manes english as, pure,
  ugly...
                     never trust an egyptian
thinking he's above an arab,
when there's a quran as
evidence...
                            me?! i wouldn't
trust an egyptian with
a ******* brick! who cares
if his mother is iranian...
          that's beside the point!
see the tickling?
                     it's called: nuance.
plateau vs. plato...
            the greeks already had
consonant graphemes,
which are easi34 to digest,
      notably the siamese twins
          bound to F, i.e. Θought
              and Φilosophy...
                        consonant graphemes
are easily applied,
     and most easily represented
in optical terms...
           vowel graphemes?
     not so much...
  easi34? look at the keyboard...
what's below, askew? i.e. \ \ ?
                    E             und             R.
κατ, or כּ‬אט
                      which means:
executioner...
                                 subtle,
   esp. when looking at a cat...
black-clad
                        hangman's
   shadow, penetrated by
                 the sun's mirror that's
the moon at night...
           i wonder...
                what element is riddled
by the moon, that allows it to reflect light?
they never sent a geologist to the moon,
did they?
            thanks for the quote though, neil.

perhaps i "feel" this more than i "think" it,
but, however i observe this
phenomenon - i can't but "feel-think"
(intuitively) of it, other than with
the take-over of biology-ism of history,
genesis: darwinism -
   exodus: genetics -
to me, all this ostrich posturing and
flamboyance of hyper-ventilating of
said opinions, is nothing more,
than a historical cul de sac of a false
zenith, a false ideogram -
the ideogram of ape-to-man...
   man has achieved a surrogate
complexity of expansion,
  but has truly, truly, dumbed down
the narrative...
in that there's a perpetuation of false-assertive
awe...
   oh god, + the normalisation of
mental disorders...
   frankly, from what i'v seen?
english schizophrenics aren't even aware
of a "la la land"...
we're not even talking about
telly-tubby impostors for the n.h.s.
mental health staff,
oh yeah, i infiltrated this area,
i played a schizophrenic deceptively,
"la la land" is a real concept
in the minds of n.h.s. nurses in
the psychiatric division...
**** me, you're ****** once you enter
their system of: pass the chalk,
scribble some **** on a non-existent blackboard...
no wonder the younglings are
****** over...
        it's common, and it makes me think:
so, those, in the medical profession
are ******* out of these mental
patients? and they're also supporting
charity mile marathons for cancer sufferers?
how about we mix it up a little:
and take the **** out of the cancer patients
chanting: should have walked straight,
should have walked straight, like lobsters!
straight! straight! straight!
ya cursed, for strutting sideways!
now... point me in the direction of
this supposed "la la land"; hmm?!
blood's boiling, and i've only just begun
my anathema!

things.,
that require reassurance
to function...

wait...

     trans-
implies a transcedence
of pluralism?

                  why wasn't
i told about it sooner?!

there's a concept
of they = i?
            
                hegel is
rummaging in his remains -
****-wit!

             the reading
of the reader
of the nag hammadi
library
   is readily hyper-ventilating
before
                the focus
of alexandria.

death comes,
on stealth-hybrid
                  wings....
never believe a forcefuly
woken cat;
he'll most assuredely,
demand a reason
to be awake;

via:

                 what the ****
am i doing here?!

    god as a vector,
via the allahu akbar
sentiment...
           or god,
as the lutheran coordinate....
choices choices,
             and then,
the willingness
to take to an exercise
of...

  while the cat gently purrs,
himself, falling asleep...
the god forbid,
               image of
                     tragedy;

a hetro- male
petting, or getting
accustomed to, owning
a cat;

              the horror!

well...
        there is the everyday.