Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in

Everthing passes through that Arbor Vitae,
Anything and everything, living or slain.
Its great branches store the fruit of memory,
Letting us understand, love, the reverie.
Fondness and hatred alike,
That great trunk rooted in our psych.

There is nothing we can feel,
There is nothing we can taste,
There is nothing we can hear,
There is nothing we can see,
There is nothing we can DO,
Without that great tree of life.

Twisting vines,
Turning emotions,
Growing leaves,
Retaining memories,
Deep roots for reassurance
No wind shall move your greatest durance.

At the entrance of your feild of dreams,
At the edges of the reality seams,
Light is shed in the world of you,
Give that great tree a view,
Darem eam libertatem, ne putaveris:
Cura et dilectionem pro arbor vitae.

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
    Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
    We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
    Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
    Within a dream.


[The title translates, from the Latin, as
'The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long'
and is from a work by Horace]

lâtin
steplerinde doğarken iki cümle
logo’ya adam asıyordu
gözlüklü tilki federasyonu
ben de
aynı ilacı yazıyordum kendime
vitamin niyetine
aç karnına düzenli
düzenliydim
hatta düzenliydik ercan’la
çıktı konusunda

tanrı şahittir
gripli resim asmadık gökyüzüne
delisin oğlum derdi
maximum olanından hem de
prezentabl bulutlardık
tepeden tırnağa manikürlü ufukta
kızıl bir şal yolladık nihayet
dank etti tilkinin kafasına

gözüpek aslanlardık ya
saldırıp antilop sürüsüne
meyle günahlandık
kimi
kimiyse eksildik bir savaşta

şimdiler’de
deri işinde ercü
bense sökemedim
türkçe’yi henüz
geniş
plâtolu steplerde
kimse bilmedi
kim oldugumuzu
nerde
ve nasıl solduğumuzu
adımıza
curriculum vitae
soyadımıza yok yazdı
ceo’lar

once you claim to not have not experienced
all the fooling with women in youth
and exhausted the libido...
you never really want to claim a need
for their company while ageing and
growing jealous when her stories emerge
over drunken conversations when her
friends get invited -
i mean, it's almost like you have a *****
stitched to your forehead that
is a reminiscence of youth not claimed -
indeed old age is hell for women...
and youth the hell for men -
in between there are children...
feminism is an odd-ball... it's this rebellion
against an ageing patriarchy...
men who sway power...
what a weird and wired fetish of thinking...
why would i claim companionship with a woman
if she experienced all the sensual freedoms
in her youth... while all i got is a freedom
of a range of professions? exertion of one muscle
here, exertion of another muscle there...
had i stuck to full-time industrial roofing i'd
probably write one poem a week...
oh please, let's not obstruct with too much consciousness
of how poetry is defined, that's for english teachers
to rekindle hopes of a Shakespeare resurfacing
while ignoring Milton in the curriculum ante-vitae...
no, when youth is not allowed mutual pleasures...
the following concerns for life suddenly disappear...
there's no acidity relevant to it, no abhorrence,
no need to testify a revenge...
it's all a matter of comfort... and it's more comfortable
to be without a woman than with one,
considering the pelvic-pivot-of-*** was not strained
well enough to settle down into a friendship
with women... since my own sensuality was barely
scraped to consider a friendship...
instilled in me, the idea of two potential flints
scratched for a spark... but nonetheless remaining
two rounded marble spheres
that dimmed the lights... i felt it too opposing
to consider a half measured sensuality forced into
a platonic love... i might as well have been born a homosexual.

I came along to your garden, to see your chillies growing
Unaware of what laid in wait, or what was really showing
There stood a glass a lidded drink, familiarity of knowing
If that's what I think it is, I don't want it overflowing

Do my eyes forsake me, is that a fluid from the body
Is that froth of a good beer, or from a head that's shoddy
Does it look like what it is, a very dodgy toddy!
Ghoulish drinks will turn you green, like Goblins are in Noddy

What the hell you thinking off, with water that's distilled
It smells like the local gents, so it should not be spilled
I don't mind a special brew, but this time I'm not thrilled
Unusual cocktails are okay, but not ones you have filled

Aren't beverages supposed to be, refreshing and thirst quenching ?
You say that it's good to drink, but really it's gut wrenching
An endless supply you may have, but it should be toilet drenching
Don't ever make a wankers drink, by using a fist clenching

You wouldn't want this drink on tap, it defies imagination
It's just the same as a lady, drinking her own *******
It maybe the water of life, but it's just urination
Aqua vitae is not my idea, of a real drink designation

Even just the thought of it, makes me feel sick and hazy
To drink a glass of this stuff, you must be ******* crazy
Well talk about recycling, or are you just bog lazy
Is Harvey Denton related, or do you live in Royston Vasey

People like to drink sometimes, is there something I have missed
You seem to have your own ideas, but with a certain twist
A brand new meaning you have brought, to getting yourself ******
Golden showers are one thing, but that's when your sexually kissed

There's one thing I'd like to know, so what do you say
Why do you think that drinking ****, will keep the germs away
It cant be very good for you, it's an inside body spray
Your just drinking toilet water, hay Jay are you ****** today ?

Gemini in seasonable  evening,
serenely swirling in Septemberous
ferris wheels
reeling in the vast domain
of lonesome leviathans
and witch-fires;
nowhere bound in the boundless fecundity
[ the feral joys of creation... ]
twins
meander in gravity's
well of souls,
swollen with unknowns and proteins;
golden rods in pointless foam
brewing the elixir vitae
in the Dippers cup. the Milky Way,
a wayward gush
from an ancient Mother Goddess,
plump and shameless, pumping teats
to nurse worlds
infused with divine rays of gamma and x...
why set dark apart
from firmament burning
spheres?

dragons
must clutch eggs in the void
as much
as fork tongue white dwarfs.
of course, the Source
unfolds
as  Love does. it's purpose,
in thrall of fearless veracity,
spinning yarns for glad garments
to clothe the naked dread
of such fearful symmetries
as roam the wild delights
of the infinite
meringue.

the Pi
on the window sill,
tempting the circular frame of reference
to square with the sublime Will.
another Fibonacci in your
bedpost,
to better hobnob with
broomsticks.
everything annihilates hatred.
from within,
we sojourn to sovereign super-continents
of opulent peace.
profound realities surge serpentine
with Meaning.
we are outdone on the inside by small minds
and farcical
hearts.

so at night
look up.

Love's Tongue Is
Love's
Word.

Writhing, Choking
Stealing the life blood of this giant.
Suffocating, Strangling
We must fell this beast.
All but dead,
It holds on reaching upward
Roots tearing at the sodden earth.
Trying to **** what little can still
Be found there.
We can nearly hear it shrieking
The behemoth groans and creaks,
The battle is nearly won.
Victory will be bitter sweet.

A leaf swooped down from my overgrown mane
And embraced her lovely little frock-the hue of the rain.
Day after day she basked in my warmth, and I in hers.
The pages of a fairy tale flipped by tiny fingers.

A leaf swooped down from my plentiful mane
And embraced her long lustrous locks in vain.
As they danced, she blushed; the wind began to hum.
Prettier than my flowers young love did blossom.

A leaf swooped down from my sparse mane
And embraced their picnic spread- artistically lain.
With adoration-filled eyes, she beamed at her kin.
Twin infants danced around me; laughter and din.

No leaves prevailed on my naked frame.
Summer, spring, fall- were all now the same.
Branches that once swayed and loved her like their own,
Lay lifelessly still as they beheld her lonely gravestone.

Lost myself again
in this trivial world
of plain facts and knowledge

Bored of my prospects
aspirations and dreams

"You have potential!"
Yeah, and so did Helen Keller
but I bet she was happier
knowing her limitations

The lost conquest
of the inner self
plagues my mind
making ruins
of my achievements

If you truly are
what you have done
then in truth
you will always be
a shadow of your deeds

I am a man
of what I could of done
a procrastinator
with low self esteem

So walk on,
Men of virtue
walk on,
Men of grace
I grow tired
of your idols
I grow tired
of your ideals.

Dear Miss *,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we do not have space for you at our company.
Yours,
Xxxx xxxxxxxx

Dear Miss *,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we cannot offer you a place with our company as you are under qualified.
Yours ** xxxxx

Dear Miss *,
Thank you for your application. We regret to inform you that you are over-qualified for the position.
Yours,  xxxxxxx ***

Dear Miss *,
I don’t think so love. This isn’t even a letter, this is my managerial position on you handing me your cv.
Cheers, bahbye now

Dear Miss *,
This isn’t really a letter either, but despite how un-pc this is, we can’t hire you due to your gender.
Thanks anyway, save your paper.

Dear Miss *,
Thank you for your application, unfortunately we had stronger applicants.
Yours, etc.,  aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa

Dear Miss *,
Thank you for your application. Unfortunately we are not hiring at the moment even though we had advertised the job you applied for.
Yours, xxxxxxxxx xxxxx

Dear Miss *,
We had left it between you and another applicant, and couldn’t decide so we flipped a coin, and she won. You’re a lovely girl though.
Yours, fffffff ffff fffff

Dear Miss *,
I refer to your claim for Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance at VVVVVV’s CCCCCC local office. Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance claims are subject to periodic review, consequently, I would appreciate if you would attend this office for interview on the 31/17/78 and bring the following :
1. Proof of Identity (i.e. Passport or Driving Licence or Long version of your Birth Certificate)
2.  Proof of Residency (e.g. Letter from landlord/ Rent Book/ Lease/ Mortgage Receipt/ Letter from Parents + Household Bill)
3. Written Proof of recent job applications and replies.
4. Proof of job applications made through FAS
5. FAS courses applied for.
6. A copy of your Curriculum Vitae (CV): unemployed from
7. If your spouse/partner is an adult dependent on your claim, please bring his/her GNIB and Passport/Travel Documents.
Failure to respond to this letter may lead to suspension or disallowance of claim.
Yours sincerely,
* *
Local Officer

My name is JP
And I'm 23
I live somewhere in the Philippines
Where tropical birds are singing

I finished a Computer Science degree
And I currently work in an I.T. Company
As a Spiderman
Developing web programs

I earn about fourteen thousand pesos per month
Depending on the deductions my employers' cut
And the expenses I have to pay
Because I have to support my family everyday

My objective for sending you my résumé
Is to apply for a position, if I may
I am applying as your forever, if that's not too cliche
I am very serious, don't think of it as a play

I am not that hardworking, but I can work smart
I'll make your every mornings a great start
You cook and I'll go wash the dishes
I'll hug you from behind, and shower you with kisses

I am a good singer, I'll always serenade you
I am a good dancer, let's sway and dance tango
I am a poet, I'll dedicate poems for you
I am a dreamer, let's wake up our dreams for two

I'll let you indulge with wanderlust and see the world
I'll keep surprising you with small gifts tied with a ribbon
I'll keep my vow that there will be no one but you
I'll pledge with full loyalty that I'll always be true

I can list down more if you'd like to
But that'll be too many, so I'll stop with these few
These are my assets, things I'm good at
I'm introducing you to what I have and what I got

So, please carefully review my application
This won't be enough proof, I know
But as our relationship grows as lovers
You'll see I'm worth your forever

For character reference, here's my number
Let's go to dinner, I'll give you a call
Sincerely yours,
Your soon-to-be future

Os iusti meditabitur sapientiam,
Et lingua eius loquetur indicium.

Beatus vir qui suffert tentationem,  
Quoniqm *** probates fuerit accipient coronam vitae.

Kyrie, fons bonitatis.
Kyrie, ignis divine, eleison.

O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena esse Virgo creditur.
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena,
O castitatis lilium.

Kyrie, fons bonitatis.
Kyrie, ignis divine, eleison.
  
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena,
O castitatis lilium.

They wanted a curriculum vitae
In absentia
I decided to ad lib
Ad nauseum
Ipso facto, lie and deceive
Exaggerate, mislead et cetera

Hardly a bona fide
Modus operandi
They caught me in flagrante delicto

Requiescat in pace, (RIP) my chances
Now I'm persona non grata
Mea culpa

there was an audience... there is still an audience...
i wonder about it...
i'm such a conservative deacon in the comments
that... i leave very little traces of interaction...
i tried getting ****** into the whole affair
of leaving comments - like i might have left
grafitti tags on the pillars of bridges...
                   there was an audience... there's still an
audience... i imagine...
or i rather: translate with metaphor what i'm:
trying to imagine...
              three moths have attempted to fly into
my room to spend the night free from fear...
i caught two in my hand... put the clenched hand
to my ear... no... not the sea trapped in a seashell...
close... sound effect of... rain on a tin roof...
a moth trapped in a cage of a hand...
it hasn't rained for days... weeks even...
       the most... bountiful of springs in england...
and everyone is... supposed to handle the affair
like the 2nd coming of ribonson crusoe...
          i can: because i'm used to it...
                    peacefully anti-social...
                     it's hardly bragging but:
there's an audience... there's always an audience...
here's to me: getting regularly milked...
or... laying some eggs with the sunrise and the moon...
i am... at a stage of maturing from...
a phase where... i did... once upon a time...
care about what i wrote... for my own gratification:
but... not any more...
         i've reached a point where...
i can join the ranks of the 4 Dada Suicides...
     'the four' (who) 'took nihilism of the movement
to its ultimate conclusion, their works are
the remnants of lives lived to the limit and then cast
aside with nonchalance and disdain'...
Vaché (overdosed)... Rigaut (shot himself)...
Cravan and Torma (disappeared)...
        the latter two... probably lived a life in
approximation to what might have happened
to... Richey Edwards...
born on...                  disappeared aged 27...
death is the last clue...
    not that i'm going to imitate what's already
claimed...
but... a mile from my home...
i can... find... ample resources... hemlock...
the stems are poisonous...
      i've tried... lilac mushrooms... dog mushrooms
they call them...
i don't know whether i ate a poisonous
one or not... it wasn't...
    a muhomor... amanita fly agaric...
           but... when the circuses have died and
the bread is still there...
no new movies... no sports...
what can beat: the old tease of mortality...
the grain-of-sand per month's worth of movement
added... to the tally and
the curriculum vitae of vivo per se...
                   the theatre of death...
     if i don't think about death with a joke...
i stop being... ridiculous in life...
                   i like the thought of death when...
life doesn't preserve any... sense of...
any... alternative... "light" entertainment...
it's not like i'm planning an escape...
rich and about to clone myself...
   and teach the clone "me" to be: a "future" - and me...
i almost can see how someone must
have tried to cheat death with the available
avenue of cloning...
but... the subservience of the clone...
the clone being what?
       someone must have learned the hard way...
i just interjected the question as an: and...
which is a conjunction...
          but if you're gonna go...
hell... seal a room and yourself in it...
and buy a... metaphorical tonne of lily of the valley...
go to sleep... and never wake up...
death... even death has to become entertaining:
in thinking terms - at the very least...
the only real eventuality among...
half a dozen of impossible things to think about...
daily... and here's that apple...
   if nietzsche... sentenced the source
and future disease from the 19th century...
well... so much for overcoming nihilism...
         nihilism... after all... is not... apathy...
   and even with the death of nihilism...
                              at least nihilism still asked
for moloch-esque sacrifices of will...
     apathy? what does this slug ask for?
it asks of you to... well... wrestle with yourself...
hence that "overlooked" quote:
if a day has many pockets...
       yes... those pockets of self-realisations that
provide a glitch of proof...
a proof of... having to find dominion in
settled dust... oh to hell with grand metaphors
of staging revolutions brought down
from mountain-tops!
- and i'm literally drinking my way through...
what 19th century nihilism became:
a 21st century apathy hangover...
      i'll spare the 20th century the rites of...
a mythical new beginning... a year 0...
        100 years give or take... each side of the end
of the 20th century...
but... nihilism is no longer... the standard:
to overcome...
             as much meaning can be derived from
a peanut as from a falling star...
to be this: subjective sanitiße everything -
                       i hardly think... a dickens would
require an objective reader...
what is an objective reader?
someone who studies: rather than reads...
newspapers...
someone who probably proofs reading...
by also ensuring citations are... made abundantly
clear... archives... etc.
well... better contemplating the theatre of death
than... say...
"normies":
    ahem... the critique of china...
       point: can you imagine... if... communism...
was thought-up... when...
the french revolution began? the only revolution?
rather than the russian oopsie?
well... and communism began...
when... engels and marx... went to the north
of england... and... prior to the manifesto...
wrote of the details of child-labour...
this is not my thing but...
it gets to the point where:
you can criticize china all you want...
but there's no smart... or dumb way...
to go about... pretending to be at war...
with a population of a billion people...
that... if push comes to shove...
could be conscripted instantly...
              to point out... is to exhaust the argument:
to have an argument for:
"western" principles of democracy...
here... have some balloons... here's a keg
of helium... 'ave fun...
by now... saudi arabia is secretly planning
a jihad into the Xinjiang province...
saudi arabia: the vatican of the islamic world...
is secretly trying to... blah blah...
no... the saudi princes are strapped to their yachts...
the bangladeshi slave labour blah blah...
yeah: but whittle ol' england needs
the Neds of Lahore and their tier up from
the chimney top: crescent moon-lick... slick...
- but to be this... fired up...
                it's simply exhausting to have:
a freedom of speech for such high demands...
not need to hide behind the ideals of love...
or being misunderstood...
             in no defence... but... under the guise
of that grand word: capitalism...
the sub- thorough: made in china...
                and what now? the jaw dropping
counter to the very delicate status quo?
it's beyond nihilism... when such upheld
values allowed for artistic rebellion...
to the moon: been there, done that..
europe the old man... h'america the newly
acquired *******...
       you want politico jargon ******* squeezes...
sure thing...
     stoic india... always the stoic india...
to **** off the competition - cheap soviet steel...
the soviet union's nuna 2, on 13 september 1959 -
in between: frank sinatra's:
fly me to the moon - 1963...
and thus... r.e.m.'s yeah yeah: 20 July 1969...
it's hard to compensate / compete with
that sort of a trojan hard-on ***** of
the elgin marbles...
                              at least the germanic peoples
played and understood the ping-pong
with the slavic peoples -
the hungarians on the side...
but not this... african trash for beijing...
the mongol capital of crimea...
and golden hoarding project: typo...
   when they came riding in... smeared
in **** and week old **** and horse blood...
to make... the labyrinth of the baghdad library...
a pyramid of skulls...
squeeze me: to this tired state of lost
the head to a guillotine chatter-box...
even the events of napster unfolding...
and all that's being streamed and...
now's the time to kiss and cuddle prostitutes...
and wet mr. whittle dicky for second
chances of a lost digestive... in that pond
of brew...
                easy fools to fool: those camel back
rich in dino-blood: soul black...
like espressos of mecca... flowing rich
and dying with a soothing...
from amnesia and diabetes...
and amputated limps when... sugar ingestion
leaves them... dancing ballet on only one foot...
because: porky pie and ms. amber: ha!
all bad!
                so much for... what's waiting
the white girl pornstars...
the liberated afro-h'americans and the service...
of beijing shrimp ****...
double edged sword... the height and...
all those attaches... of a fine... fine...
procelain piece of ***...
no-man's-land... the middle ground:
of... mercedez-benson-and-hedges...
        on my way out... the apache / sioux /
dodo / aztec / mayan / dodo (again) projects...

semi-closure...
   gary glitter - rock & roll part II
     ian watkins (of lostprophets) -
                      shinobi vs dragon ninja...
sorry... that one was a paedo...
              toddle-****** for the latter...
and it's not like... i enjoyed the music
to begin with...
i can't see an ad hominem argument
for the former...
                 toddler-******: esp. if the output...
well... it's not trash...
   it's: dad mantra... it's dad claustrophobia...
my take on:
mahler contra pergolesi....
            counter: invest in 100 years to come...
of which... you will...
find a future reader: being alive...
not having re(a)d you...
1986... the reader is born...
1997... you die...
you are discovered... come...
2K and 7... 8...... perhaps 9...
  a time-reference of...
         13 years from the readers birth to your
death... it's Glasgow... a very rare...
sunny... afternoon...
psychosis of the reader...
         1997 through to... 2008...
              that's 11 years... so...
what matters most is... how well you walk
through the fire...
that one about the crow and the madmen...
and each: having his niche:
his "social distancing" clause...
writing was fun when one could
stomach the: in the background...
when people lived their: very troublesome:
important... surgical precision...
nobel prize winning type / typo lives...
writing via a sense of voyeurism was...
well... hardly the self-evident blatant it has
become...
escape into fiction (lies you tell others)...
escape into imagination (choking ties of
tier-a: as above... with tier-b: as below)...
or escape into memory (lies you tell
yourself)...
but i rather the memory...
the cinema of it...
i forget to blink when: blinking is akin
to... signatures... autographs of famous people...
bull... shyte: philately...
         lepidopterology... half closure of the semi-
closure... a brilliant metaphor...
      when the **** or the latex gimp suits
are not available...
there's always that 14 year old "idea"...
of... a tamed *******...
well... if you imagine it as... love at first sight...
you're 16 she's 14... and...
you're dating her older sister at the time...
and then... she disappears...
within the confines of her first and last
unflowering...
but the pristine first-impressions become
less metaphor and more: idealism...
it's fun... when there's a concensus of it being:
forbidden... it's what drives both the hunger...
and the feeding...
that it's never actually realised is beside
the point: made... in... lars von trier's
nymphomaniac...
          too catholic of me: born into it...
but... repressing the urges... is as much as...
delighting oneself in them...
ergo: the necessary *******...
so much for... *****-******* and oyster
slurping... when... you have been...
ahem... told to **** it up...
with the: "excess of skin"...
excess of skin / chemical imbalance
in the brain...
how about... i allow... a triatoma infestans...
to quicken my: dementia...
the myth goes... along the lines...
a horse with a grain of sand...
via its ear... will bash and ram and ram and bash
its head against a brick wall:
in an attempt to rid itself of the irritation...
conformity:
cul de sac queers and kwerks...
i lampoon on a sunday...
the rest of the days i'm free...
clued into: cwown...
which is... somehoo: velsh... in parts...

- by death i imply a riddle...
                 by death i imply:
          freed from the cinema of highly edited
pseudo-living...
not even among the stage of the theatre...
but at least...
cinema got one thing right...
   the suicide of christine chubbuck -
the urban myth goes along the lines of:
a cockroach was found... alive... 2 weeks...
after its head was guillotined...
       it's like that... bane quote:
and... the andrei chikatilo... reality...
non-verbatim:
                 'perhaps he's wondering... why
someone would shoot a man...
before throwing him out of a plane'...
rephrasing:
   'perhaps he's wondering...
why someone would shoot a man...
after throwing him into a prison cell'...
unless... he wasn't... expecting...
to wait for him... to die... of a urban myth...
2 weeks if not more...
brain-dead: heart still pumpking...
horrors from Kiev... Chernobyll the *******
icing cream topping the gwand:
godzilla: pie in the sky...

     i cared... once... once... that was:
upon a time...
these times don't really require much focus...
the space itself poses enough
liberty... no need to look as far back
as there's to look forward...
     the 20th century killer: zenith...
****** and ferriswheel of events...
                waking up to the new mandarin
plateau... it's like...
waking up from... the refreshing cain
mythos relatability...
always from h'america...
otherwise... bullet to the head...
king soldier: human rights...
   yeah... nice... the shame of homeless people:
there's an alexander the great...
a a diogenes of synope: with a hippocratic
oath... loitering around the corner?
hell! go wit' the flou...
                 jump-start a prison adventure...
less... high morality ****-pants
asking questions on the way...
people of high morality
and high: low social status importance...
**** someone...
better than becoming philosophically
homeless... blah blah...
                         i'm so little i actually
define myself as:
at liberty to preserve the lives of moths...
yes... well that's nice...
for anyone asking to: ride the easy... roulette.

Satietatem potare dulci nectare tua desiderium ego
Ad nos transeat, usque mane
Nostra corpora convol
Corpora nostra lusibus
Sol ortus, Sitis commoratur

Amorem vivere devora tua suavita
Vitae caelestis
Nostra ad et aut angelus diaboli
Quod viget, vitae singulis nobis,
Retorta peccatorum gaudium de salute nos

Corpora *** carnis luxuriam
Tenebrae concupiscentiis saginatus
Dolorem voluptatem servus
Impium impium fames
Sanctus diversitas peccatorum

Ita et nos, in manus nostras et amore peccatorum nos
Nos ad unum corpus est cor

Translation Latin to English

I drink my fill of sweet nectar of your desire
To pass to us until morning
Our bodies roll
Our bodies dance
The sun rises, thirst lingers

Love, live, eat your sweetness
heavenly life
Our call to the devil or an angel
That is active, the life of each of us,
Twisted sins, the joy of our salvation

Bodies with carnal lust
Dark desires fed
Pain and pleasure slave
wicked, wicked hunger
Holy diversity of sins

Even so we, in our hands, and the love of our sins
We are one body and heart

~Wes Noneya

My Latin isn't the best but I gave it a go. I like both versions.

I lie facedown on the tallest tree branch, hair bleeding into greenish-brown wood that tastes like dark rain. I reach my hand up and curl it, ring finger to thumb, just within my sightline. My fingers feel soft against each other, slick with moss and the places between the bark that glisten with last night’s rain. The circle I form with my hand fits perfectly around the edge of sunlight melting over the horizon and I stare until my eyes begin to burn.
My grandmother once told me that the cure for anything could always be found somewhere in the world. “It might not be five minutes away,” she had said, pinching tea into bags that had gentle embroidery along the edges. “But it’s out there. Be careful what you give away to find it.”
I close my eyes. Open them. Smile at an aphid making a home for itself on a twig near the sun between my fingers. I like this silence before my house and my friends wake and take away the light. I like the cadence to the world, the light between my fingers, the water against my cheek and the rhythm of my heart slowing down. I put down roots with the old oak tree, drinking in the medicine of the mineral rain.

that's all you have.
Ive got words too but I don't use them
to describe my "inner landscape".
they just get in the way of "experiential knowingness"
of my personal energy field of unconditional love,
they just get in the way of being my beingness,
for I am where there are no edges.
For I am and equal  individual independent and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe,
which you can immerse yourself in,
merge into and become as one with me,
like I am eternally one with you.
if you can drop the Mind and Conditioned Identity in the head,
of the body that you are incarnated in temporarily,
just for this your latest lifetime,
and it could be your last lifetime as a human being..
that's the only condition--drop the Mind--let it go--you don't need it--
but it needs you to deceive and manipulate.
The Mind needs you to survive  but you don't need the Mind to survive
for you are as I am and we all are eternal and self sufficient,
beyond edges and dimensions.
Just imagine the Universe and all that is in it inside your head,
impossible you cry but that's truthfulness in action.
I know who you really are even though Ive never met you
and am unlikely to ever meet you,and when I say you I don't mean your body--.
I don't mean your "name" or curriculum vitae or certificates on a wall--or photographs of a face among billions .
I mean you--the individual Isness--that small part of me that you are--as I am that small part of you that I am.
The body is just a vehicle made from mere flesh,to get you from point A--birth--to point B --death--.
it has attributes and emotions and possibilities but it most definitely is not and never can be YOU or me--.
Youre incarnated in it in order to realise your true nature as a small but equal independent individual and autonomous part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe.
You are,like me,the Isness of the Universe incarnated for this lifetime
in the body that surrounds you  but unlike me you are
in the grip of Mind permanently--unless you dissolve Mind consciously.
Minds are the obstacle to union with the Isness of the Universe
and I am the Isness of the Universe incarnated in this body--
just like you are--and so the mind in the head of that body is
the obstacle to union with me.
The only difference between you and I ,female or male,
is that I am permanently Mindless by choice
and you are struggling towards
becoming permanently Mindless--unknowingly.
My struggle to become Mindless
and Conditioned Identityless is over thankfully,these last few years.
I live in the body but the body is not me.
I use the body for my many pleasures
but no pleasures of the body can compare to the pleasure
of being in union with the Isness of the Universe.
One can only be in Union with the Isness of the Universe when one is Mindless.
Words are absolutely useless for describing my inner state--
for my inner state is not of the body--
it is not made or nourished by the body--
my inner state can only be experienced.
Words cannot set you free--they can only make you a lifelong prisoner of Mind--the controller of what should be your words--but arent.
And individual Minds must coalesce into GroupMinds
which are  families and relations and clans and tribes and races and nations and religions and politics and all the other groups that prevent you from becoming your true nature which is that of being a small but equal,individual,independant and autonomous  part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe.
You have always that encompassing edge to your body--the skin.
I have no edges--my skin is permeable and insubstantial.
I am the Universe extant.
I am the Isness of the Universe.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk

am i the only one to spot that the former holy roman empire,
shifted a little bit to the east? the Visegrad alliance -
a new holy roman empire - well - as Billy Joel sang
of Belgians in the Congo - perpetually the Germans
attacked the colonial trinity: England, France... Spain...
which is why it all feels, well: a bit weird....
mind you, i like the poly-chromatic culture:
i get to cook curry - for each tsp of garlic and ginger
i shove in a tbsp -
                         because i'm nice -
but that doesn't mean i'll get
to bang a Hindu princess -
then again, a monochromatic society
gives me nausea - listen,
being 1st generation, you'd think i wouldn't
adapt to what former colonial powers said:
be nice... oh sure... i'm the sort of European
that never left the ******* continent...
nice is second nature when it comes
to pockets of Indian and Pakistani
while feeling superior with a cuisine of
bangers and mash... that's right up my street!
or be nice because you're all being
hypocrites or be nice for the sake of being nice
as in: socially acceptable manners?
this gets a bit confusing with America
******* into reliving the 1960s...
i mean...  just a bit *******...
but in reality? wholly window-licking.
with that d'uh of phrasing:
picked up a moth... d'uh... oh d'uh...
that's the point where i say: at least the
Iowa villagers aren't hypocrites -
all these New York scam morality brokers
and faking the charm of living out
a life of: moral ambivalence.
but sure as **** the holy roman empire
has shifted east by 1 degree...
of all the established powers of Europe,
the ones least hypocritical are the
non-colonial powers...
                    spain france and england will
continue receiving terrorist mail...
this is how i invested in a new sainthood -
we didn't leave the continent, they did...
we're not being hypocrites in the sense
of accepting migrants...
                 how about saudi arabia?
oh wait... no... too busy ******* out oil
and spending money...
                     true... what about Morocco?
n'ah... we're too much alike.
                  well... aren't the former colonial
rulers a bit thick? they thought the Irish
were a bit thick... i guess the Poles are doubly
thick... and if only i was born in England
and didn't retain an inkling into roots...
well... at least they aren't hypocrites:
i.e. said too much, but did too little.
                    sure, they'll attack the colonialists -
and the colonialists will wonder:
       but we've been so nice the past
50 years!
                          and my name is
Joseph Manage-Bottom, heir to
the entitlement of the 3rd estate of Sussex
known as: Candle-Lickwood -
                    because everyone said:
it's a bargain...                   i just don't understand
the whole notion of surprise -
    just because of the Rolling Stones
and the Beatles the fermenting crimes are to be
simply forgotten?
                                 Jesus!
              and i thought i had the naive perspective on life!
later the propaganda read: journalists reveal
the MI5 and MI6's curriculum vitae seances of
gearing up for employment the few that might
                                      do a Michael Jackson trick
with bleach.
yes, Poland has a monochromatic society -
and i'd feel weird cooking up Bengali perfumes -
i feel nausea whenever i enter it...
                 but, to be honest?
multiculturalism is a failure... in the sense
that as tradition states... i can't **** an Indian girl...
even though i'd be able to cook her
a meal her mummy also could - according to Caesar:
no one wins, ergo etc.

Once (not that long ago, perhaps, though we likely know better)
The summers were languid, liquid things without end
Each day fully equipped with a high sky,
The blue so all-encompassing, so all consuming,
That lazy fly ***** seemed to disappear
As if God had scooped them up like so many routine grounders.
We played, in a field long since abandoned
To crownvetch and scrub grass,
Twenty one--five points for those *****
The celestial powers had bobbled
And we were able to catch on the fly,
Three points if we took it on the hop,
One if we safely trapped it before it rolled stone dead,
And so our Julys and Augusts fluttered by,
Every bit lazy and aimless as butterflies or knuckleballs,
With the exception of the de riguer tribunals
In which the assembled debated and determined
Where bounce ended and roll began,
Where shoestring catch was reduced to single-point trap.

It all came to an end, of course;
At some point, we crossed a line
(Undelineated but firmly established nonetheless)
Where it was no longer advisable to attempt this at home,
Mere joy no longer an acceptable substitute for proficiency.
Find something else to do, kid, we were told,
And the bats went to the back of the closet,
The gloves and ***** consigned to a spot
(Where we would surely remember to find them)
Behind some canned tuna and Christmas lights,
The fastball blurring by us now,
The field a warren of subdevelopments and cul-de-sacs.

And so you’d forgotten,
Or perhaps just suppressed, the whole notion;
There were, after all, a gaggle of coupon books
With return addresses from an ever-changing confusion of banks,
Sales on pasta and milk, other fees and foundations
Politely requesting ones attention,
So you couldn’t be sure
That it was really the crack of an old thick-handled Adirondack,
Or the comforting thwick of the ball landing squarely
In the pocket of a Wilson A-2000,
Yet when you wandered to the window and peered out,
There they were, looking straight up at you,
Waving their hands like childlike Prosperos
Gesturing to reveal some fairytale glen.  
Come on back, they are saying, and you go down,
Powerless to resist, even if you had wanted to,
Returned instantly, seamlessly to a time and place
Where a shout of I got it! I got it!
Was all the prerequisite or vitae that was required,
And you are unable to bring even mock-edginess to your voice
When you insist I got that cleanly on the hop.  That’s three points.

You brush aside the thought,
And the tear forming in the corner of your eye.
Lost.
Alone.
Confused.
You think of other, more harsh words to
Describe your pain caused by anguish--
******.
A sudden intake of breath makes
A soft noise in the pressing darkness.
Yes.
There is power in words you tamper with,
A power with no force,
Or selfishness or greed.
No,
These words give a concept
To what you are--

Without a place.

as said by Octavian, may my tongue waggle
from the east to the west, whereby also
north unison with the time as in the southern realm -
Cerberus fed three portions of raw meat -
einklang sprechen - no laurel leaves for the
poets to sit on with pretence for idolatry of laziness -
let me don them on my cranium for proof
of authority - as prime citizen, solo utopia,
solo urbanity, let me become the butcher, the carpenter,
the baker, the street cleaner, all composition of one,
self-sufficient - but nothing of a puppeteer's worth
of fiddling the knitting of the fabric of an Empire;
poor Octavian, never quiet self-sufficient -
always the dependency, the donations of blood -
as with one review of a book: the only reason
we moved from drawing long or short shafts of wheat
as the Athenian prescription for satisfactory democracy
(oh sure, we need prescriptions in politics too) -
the reason we moved away from sortition is because
we ventured into constant entertainment -
the magician and the hat, Mr. Roger Rabbit as p.m. -
it's all about image, Core Bone Light has an image problem -
they really want election to look pretty, sortition
meaning: a Mr. Sputnik will have to be minister of
finance, and a Mrs. Paraphrase will have to be education
minister, both will loath their jobs, just like the everyday man,
hate their jobs, and in hating their jobs become more
efficient - no care for image representation having
that mint comic book quality - they'll wear
perfume akin to the stench of old books - and they'll finally
shut the **** up - these days it's excess rhetoric,
making a dialectic puncture is like finding a needle
in a haystack... you'll sooner open up a ****** girl's ****
than find that needle... no number of big bad wolves will
blow that haystack and wrap it into a tumbleweed -
no number of big bad wolves. join the shrimp colony,
or the sardine swarm of clouds beneath the sea -
make arithmetic snap click nod ye ha! lasso that bull in!
i agree with applying the magic trick or lottery to
democracy, they loved the ones that looked pretty,
modern democracy's motto? something from
a Louis XIV assertion of seeing himself in mirrors...
look pretty, people will trust you... power in appearances...
airs... isn't that how aristocracy functions, simply on airs?
imagine the king on his throne minor... out pops
Napoleon's head - the crown is heavy, but the throne is
lite / mm pop of a Pepsi, **** ahoy! plop... shiver me timbers,
yarrr or yarn in the weeding pool of gimme gimme a
**** in the morning before all the major affairs of human
interactions take formal tones - overtones? eyeliner.
my curriculum vitae - i think i studied once, i must have,
but i'm not sure if i learned anything -
i know i started self-education myself and learned
Faustian secrets along the way, became an optometrist,
i swear i was taught by other people prior,
i learned how to tie my shoes, make a hangman from
a tie and put it round my neck, shoeshined a pretty smile...
did i mention i drank to excess and held a V of index
and middle against the wind on the way?
did i mention i faked madness in order to be free to
slander with truth? they can't lock me up now...
i'm a "vulnerable" citizen - plus closing those mental
institutions means that society has to vacate them -
in turn becoming a madhouse - which England is,
as we speak, the virus spread to the blonde comb-over
brigade across the "pond" - this Anglo-Americon
relationship seems too friendly... if you get my cockerel
quiff minding the matter -
and never was language so rigid as to say it only dampened
the tongue to slur words in clear division of fiction
or otherwise - the time has come for my eyes to burn,
or turn into complete whitey of the sclera -
or, what was that? oh yes! now i remember, reducing
theology to what pronoun is adequate... god-he or god-she
or Alanis Morissette? team America accented Damon -
m'eh... we have squatters and priests in this domain,
call them parasites if you like, but theology is more than
what pronoun is adequate... let's just call the transgender
movement as if calling Stephen King's It -
acronym for: infatuation technology - i.e. what a lovely
butterfly, what a lovely pear, what a lovely sunny day -
aaaah mm, a naturalist's common thread;
oh right, so this ~arithmetic and politics -
quick agreement / disagreement followed up by a quick
validation of the point (dialectics is reserved for old
people, that being said, when Potato Plato turned 70
he discouraged young Aristotle, unlike his mentor
Socrates, Potato Plato never reached Socratic maturity
when he turned old... dialectics remains the art-form
of only one individual... nothing was learned, as the populace
proves every-single-time... we're quick to state opinion
than to dispute it... minus points for encountering /
encouraging bullies to make opinions physical, an iron tonne
of gravity with knuckles). language and gymnastics -
most people write like they're ******* pedestrians,
stiff coffins of vocabulary, never the verbiage fern phantoms -
oi! i need the shade! there they are, dreaming of
astronaut eyes doing the Olympics' triple-jump on
the moon? hey! lack of gravity! it's not the fault of doping!
they want the physical experience, never the mental
labyrinth - they write their curriculum vitae like they live
it - based on a lie - they never really turn rōnin
against their first oppressor - grammar;
always the ******* never the **** - shame really,
it's this naive Newtonian acceptance of gravity,
words like apples fall into their laps and they slurp rigidity -
now that's really a stance refreshing Heraclitus -
tenet? obscurity - or in revision: ah forget what is written
as being obscure, let's test them using punctuation -
that will really **** 'em up - after all punctuation is
literary architecture - Cinderella's glass shoe of the soul...
if it fits... it fits - if it doesn't then slice the van Gogh heel
or the Everest climber's toe; or let us say
the arithmetic asthma of punctuation, catch a breath...
release; shame i never learned to read music,
played the recorder and the xylophone in primary school,
i guess this is my revenge - to have written something
in complete silence, punctuated as i have done,
and never revealed the way it ought to be said...
i learned to read music scores by punctuating as it goes...
well... never learning either, sorta automating an ode
to the symbols of music with the symbols of poetic
musicology - p u n c t u a t i o n markings - the Pharaoh's curse.

For love

A million positions available

Requirements

A curriculum vitae

Not perfect in its application

Remuneration

A labour of glorious returns

struck by lightning twice by twenty-four
this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed,
this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med,
and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second

this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo  
but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt
on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow
grow heavy, even in the bright lights
of his operating theater

his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age
his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks
number three was the neighbor with whom they shared
nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares

her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and  
she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two  
was lying with others to stand himself  

when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more
than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen,
and half the 401K

to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons  
while she married menacing molecules to one another
in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions
asked by the dying she would never meet
a lump would only grow in her throat    
if she thought his scalpel never sliced
the heart of number four, for five

"Oh, yes. That hurt.
That hurt like a thousand slaps from a
Thousand teachers each. Like

Dragon claws dripping with bile and
Venom into male ego exposed. Ego
And pride and the nature of the bottles

Of labelled **** that you threw back,
Chickening out on cold, hard reality.
Once again.

Friends and lovers lost, some long,
Some not. All gone with the wine. You
Could have written volumes by now.

Recorded legendary albums, created
Art like few others.
Yet, every millidrop of your

Blood screams for someone, or
Something rather, to take you
Away from all that's everyday.

Be it even war." Well,
I want peace, now.
Battleworn and

Empty from facing all the same
Demons. Chainmail shredded,
Body worn on the inside from

Aqua Vitae and ale.
It hurts. It hurts like a thousand
Freshly sharpened pencils carving

Into the exposed areas of my love
For bad nostalgic habits and
Days after days with drink, laughter

And inhaling
The air of temporary excitement,
Picking at scabs and naming myself

Surgeon, letting the hearts of others
Pick up my tab when one of us
Inevetably leaves;  

Those freshly sharpened pencils
Carving mantras to keep me alive
And wake me the Hell up, like:

"The people I
Need do not
Need me like

This," and
*"I have
Pride."

Here they come to seek a symbol
of seaside sun - a cruise ship
castaway, beached,rain stained,
landlubbers hamock and griddle.

But first they collapse me and curse me.
Doing it properly should be
part of their curriculum vitae,
a test of nationality.

Then I'm candy flossed, ice creamed, Blackpool
rocked, salted and crisped, generally stuffed,
while they lie back, roast and relax.
Good job it's not a nudist beach.

well... there's pindar...
    a great biographic entry,
when alexander the great sacked
thebes, pindar's was the only
home standing...
          that's great... but where's
the evidence that he, actually wrote
anything?
      that's a bit like stating that
descartes: really wanted to prove
he existed...
              no he didn't...
                  he didn't care to allow
thought to precipitate into being...
he already started working
on it being elevated to a god...
   but come on... running a poetry
website and withholding
   pindar's poems?
               i have a grand "metaphor"
to counter with that...
         it really was a day of constipation,
   i had to drink about half a litre of *****,
and a warm bottle of beer (ugh...
   that's doubly worse than the way
they drink ***** in england... warm... shots...
i find that warm beer is doubly carbonated)
and then finish the day off with some bourbon...
i did say i was constipated, didn't i?
    there are usually three tiers to the affair...
first one, fair enough, it's a whale or a squid
   about to plop into the pipeline...
the third phase is a bit like: not yet! not yet!
    tier two and three are shy *******...
   you have to wriggle a little bit to get them talking...
it almost seems like some army interrogation tactic,
but i'm not dealing with some taliban fighter...
i'm dealing with my own ***...
                      it's only past midnight that i get
the whole bulge out...
        like i'm some baker that a maine **** cat
makes fetish of, joining me in the toilet
and lying on the windowsill...
       cat ****? that's three times as rank,
human **** seems chocolate to animals...
                        but i am trying to take poetry
seriously...
               i just sat through half-an-hour of
grueling efforts to extract that remnant of last night's
egg-fried rice (yes, with scallion)...
                  but as it feels... i could have
just dashed a tablespoon of chilli powder into my ****...
     i'd rather chop a hundred onions and regard that
as tears forced by sitting with a girl watching
a rom-com than feel this dash of chilli powder up
my a-hole; because that's what it exactly feels like...
   it almost feels like the harambe injustice...
   last time i checked gorillas were vegans...
         unless it wasn't going to be a tarzan story...
no? it wasn't? oh well... there goes the dream!
yet they still have pindar listed on the poetryfoundation.org
website... and there are no poems enclosed!
            it could be great to have read
a snippet of his curriculum vitae...
           the curriculum mortis belongs to too many people,
and the essence gets lost in the tornado of history...
               then again... i know the difference between
    a .jpeg        and a .pdf
        but what's the real difference between
                        a .net     a      .org          and a .com?
           tiers? just tiers? like the national agenda of a .pl
and a .co.uk?
                                 well, there is the sunday times
newspaper... 15 year olds on sugar daddy websites...
           and how sergeant blackman was
  convicted of warcrimes... when he was a trained
killer... some said that people akin to moses couldn't
fit into our modern society...
                           neither could albert camus...
               it might still be considered an existentialist
movement... but it's definetly moved beyond absurdism.

For I understand, now,
That it was not love:
It was merely my mistempered;
Beshrewed list,
For what is só scarce
In this marred world:

She,
Is oft misused and no one descrys thee engrossing forfullment she gives:
Like a mantle of a paramour,
On a flesh penetrating night...

Marry!
My heart feels tossed on the abstract,
For I was overturned with the conceit
Of being Your Thisbe...
Your Trojan princess...
Your right-hand-lady...

But Sir,
My heart, now
Desires but one thing:
To be announced as one's kindred
And be loved as a kingsman

I am content, in faith!
Let us lief love
With a love, greater than love,
And may we build with flint
On the foundation of vestal love.
Let us be one another's bier
When our bodies brine;
Ghostly anchor...
Pilot in the bailful pestilence;
Crotchet in woe;
Behoveful paramour to tell aught to
Without the conceit of neither being cast by
Nor discreet;
Aqua vitae dram in languish...

When thát day abroach
I shall anon be aught...
Do aught for thy...

When thát day abroach
I shall doff
All inadequasies...
And love you
Invariably!

The bodies of paradise
are the fledglings of humanity--
little chicks
that peeped for love
and instead found
what we attempt to purge.

Which is reality
instead warping
and mourning
the placate scene
into what our creation
has never meant to be.

I've become fond of
literature and statutes
that line a facetious library.  

One which mangles
others from stepping inside
yet holds the truest heart.

My finest lines
are not those spoken
but those read
from paper or stone,

because
it is only
to those un-living
the crēvit are not divined
and which Veritas,
can come find
*Amor est vitae.

and now, i too, can jest, waving the brick,
the 20th century's Odyssey,
so too Ulysses, father of, this cantos poet,
it's a well worn book,
to make books like leather, the older
the better, lost the colt stink of freshly
peeled, leather rather than fur,
so too, i, can now close the book and leave
it's ancestry in lost conversation among
the living in cafés and pubs,
so now i can give you a bewilderment i too
am aware of: the chaos of kept Latin
geometrics, style, indeed orthography with
accent here and there, but to dwell on
the past like that, per se, prae se or any such
coercion to disregard the general public,
no surprises with such a pompous raucous,
elephants and stilettos, mass and weight,
bouncing on the moon, the sheer chaos
of how the barbarians lost runes and incorporated
the gaps, i.e.: a, e, o, p, R, b, B, Q, g, d...
                       with Hindu 0, 9, 8, 6, 4...
or as Arabs say: our ten commandments.
but still the chaos, once meaningful now meaningless,
hence programming, encoding, data structuring,
fish tanks think tanks, and SLANG, or SHLANG
as i call it, impromptu youth too cool for school:
still don't know what you're talking about...
the lettering survived because their arithmetic
that gave us beauty like the Coliseum and marble
testicles (later missing with castrato hosanna
in excelsis deo - o took a baritone stance) -
the fall of the Roman empire? all due to
                      I + VI = VII
                      XI + V = XVI.
                                               everyone was like... huh?
can you really **** around with these symbols
in modern physics and mathematics?
... no thanks... we'll keep the alphabet but bring
you down on your mathematics...
but have you seen the Appleton Tower in
Edinburgh? or the library in George Sq.?
you haven't... both are hardly Islamic mosaics and
minarets. as many curves and glitches of beauty
as the models on a catwalk during London's fashion week;
anorexic imagination: keep it square and bony,
me and my godforsaken x-ray vision.
so suma summarum:
it began with: and then went down to the ship...
but ended up with the ship being a gondola
i.e. you in the dinghy (piccioletta) astern there!
i'm not even going to read the drafts & fragments
section (CX - CXVII - C X C V - or the curriculum vitae).