This secret, best kept away
from prying hands that drop
eyes on eaves and awnings.

They stay within
the perimeter of spies and agents
doubling as bartender ears,

drink up and pour
the punch that hits you where
you bleed invisible. The spleen

lacerating split, a penetrating
ooze, cleaves back and forth with you.
Drain out and glaze over. Be very,

very still.

Here it comes, again, the busy time for easy goers
Have to keep heads inside the books, and minds at rest
Rest is not an option, options are yet to be explored
Explore your mind, as you walk through the syllabus

Syllabus has sections A, B, C, D, and E
E for easy, go elsewhere
Else, difficult to get through
Through hard work comes knowledge, through the syllabus

Syllabus being covered , meanwhile, time flows like water
Is essential for slaking thirst
Thirst of knowledge, with search and judgement
Judging capabilities, as I walk through the syllabus


|AB|

war took mine, i was sold  playing tenchu
on level 6... just before i was to
assassinate this ***, and he practised all
his bow skill in private, then it was made public
by a ninja... i only completed final
fantasy 7 with a walk-through...
i hate the fact that i stuck to
the schooling narrative...
  but hose were the PS1 days,
those days are gone, gone gone gone,
bye bye gone...
                 the **** was that?!
an oscar for best actor at the gladiator premier?!
why isn't more gaming mentioned in poetry?
where is raziel, and the the legacy of cain:
soul reaver, and the story about how he
squashed his brothers:
dumah, melchiah, rahab, and zephon?
oh look: the geek in me!
                 100 years from a youtube video...
i'm bound to do the bristol d'uh and say:
i've never been to south america...
nor ever...
                        me go sort out this avalanche
if that's o.k. with you, hmm?
this is the thrill you get when seeing peoiple
play a reincarnation of gameboy,
i.e. candy-crush saga... if you moved beyond
the PS1 universe you won't get it...
if you remember PS1 games, you'll probably
remember SEGA and sonic,
and age of empires 2, and sim city 3000...
**** me! but you won't probably remember the
weathergirl... who was becky mantin
when this was written...
           odd, that little gray box of saturdays
and sometimes sundays, but definitely
saturday mornings...
                    it gone... and i don't feel like owning
an update of it, because games have become
overtly narrative prone, they only allow thise gameplay
that's too narrated... i switch on the console
and i want mario bros. calculator type of dynamism...
instead i get this really complex story
when i should be reading a book...
   no, really, when did gaming become so
****** engrossing that i try to become distracted by
brick walls?
           when did i or when didn't i take to playing
chess? well... when i started playing dominos
with 6 cigarette stumps and a black hardcover
philosophy book... maybe around then.
books i great, believe me...
but this nook of counter-arcade games?
i woke up at 9am as if about to go to school
and played that japanese fetish for hours...
so much if our culture in nearing the post-20th
century culture was axis... it was almost all japanese...
you can't take that fact out and replace it
concerning: god intervened at Giza and yawned
at chichén itzá...
because you would... still, i thankfully retired
from the gaming experience (when did PS2 come out?
i wanted it for about 2 years and still didn't
get it)...
    1998? 1997?
                      thankfully i get to mention computer
games like novels... SEGA mega drive?
yep, owned that.
                   and yes, i can cite an ATARI,
and ****, **** **** me!
   that original NINTENDO?!
              and that shooting mallard simulation
against a screen of televisions that could
still issue you with van der graaf static
   of "levitating" hair?
(when televisions were still 3D and played
you remnants of the big bang
       in televised black and white khrrr sound,
all dicta fidgety, like looking through the eyes
of a bluebottle fly)... or
    the original prince of persia?
     those two dimensional ferns rotating round and
round when approached in the original tomb raider?
oh forget the cone-****-madonna...
shaid the ish cream van man to shaun shoonery...
cheap ****: said the dead with charlie
at the head of their horde of entertainment's flops.
i retired from the gaming world though,
left it when PS1 expired...
and morphed into PS2...
           i'm half sad and half saying: i can understand
candy crush, because i can understand
the origin: TETRIS.
like i can understand why i can't do crosswords,
my father just said: even i can't do them,
the clues are all a bit of a wanking to comprehend...
it's as if they only based them on the thesaurus...
   we're good on sudoku though, that can be solved
without problems...
        i miss those games though,
i finished final fantasy 7 with a walkthrough
though... tenchu was also fun to complete,
crash bandicoot? anyone remember him?
           now for not faking it...
                                     i'm glad that's over,
i'd hate the gaming experience as i hate interactive
t.v. thesedays... all this pause and rewind?
  thanks to it i sometimes press the STOP
button when listening to the radio and wonder
why it just keeps running... oh right: this isn't
a c.d. transmission... funny though, the gaming experience
translated into t.v. really has made advertising
ultra competative or utterly useless....
   you just end up pausing before a break, and then
scrolling past the advertisers' airtime...
next thing i'll be buying is when they make
an advert for shoepaste.

I walked barefoot on the pathway of life
When I came upon a crossroad;
And at its sight, I let out a sigh
Of sadness and displeasure
For now, I must make a choice

The crossroad looked like many before it
One path was full of light and color
With many leaves falling on the soft green grass
And the other was dark and cold
With many rocks and fallen trees that covered the walkway;

I looked at both and grew quite distressed
Because neither are as they appear;
In past experience, I have taken both
At different times for separate occasions;
Both were quite painful to walkthrough
And ended up making me regret my journey
in life;

The soft grass would ease my feet
Of their burden and pain
But it would make them soft and
Easy to tear and bleed and cause
Me to stop more frequently causing
My journey much delay;

The rocks would bring me
Much pain and make my journey slow at the beginning
But my feet would harden after a short while and
I'd be able to walk with much ease;
But the cuts and bruises still would remain
And I would end up messing my feet up
For the rest of my life.

Both have their benefits
But they also have their consequences
One to punish the weak
And one to punish those who think differently;
So, in the end, I will be in pain from
The decision that I will make;

I tire of making decisions
For no matter how long I ponder
I always seem to make the wrong one;
So this crossroad is no different from the rest
And thinking about it makes no difference
Because I'll make the wrong decision and
Mess things up for myself but,
Alas, I will still sit and think about which course is best;

It might take a second, minute, hour, day or year
To come to a decision that I believe best suits me;
It would be faster and easier to come to a verdict
If I wasn't without a companion and by myself;
Thinking of this choice will take all my thoughts
But for right now I'm too tired and
I think that I will lay down
In hopes that my next breath is my last one

Here at the crossroad, I lie
Dreaming of what would become
If I chose one path over the other;
I have a tough choice before me,
Shall I stay or shall I go?

But only time knows when I'll pick between those roads,
So I must wait until my mind is made up;
But truth is, I wait secretly with much hope,
That death will find me before I choose
So I don't make the wrong choice
And look back with regret at that decision I made
At that crossroad that once stood before me.

the way i see it, the internet doesn't really exist for poets
of the 21st century: instant gratification in other realms does,
the digital free-love movement,
mobile internet - and the atypical human
behaviour of sorts;
counterclockwise there's another movement
happening - not based on a dozen social
media accounts - digital selection,
it's there - the komtur movement -
you use a sieve and you add the filter, without
even considering the deep web -
you imagine yourself in a Tron exercise -
you're basically saying: what should i
include in the virtual reinterpretation of
the high street - i haven't bothered going to
the high street / junk street for ages -
Oxford Street is like Jurassic Park for me -
herds of edible oxen daydreaming while
walking - poets always have the acid tongue,
better treat a woman with truth than
shelter 10 concubines and lie -
tss! (venomous spit sound) - where the big
boy'oh and his ******* Ferrari now?
on the next ***** - like i planned out prior -
there was a leather settee sitting in someone's
driveway, i had a beer and a cigarette and
felt the need for a breather - but it's in someone's
driveway... it would look odd, no?
around the corner a John the Baptist moment,
another settee sitting on the pavement -
you know how surreal it feels to sit on something
that's intended for the indoors when sitting outside?
i usually take rigid monk attention to postured
retirement from walking, but a settee on the pave
was like... sitting on a cloud - i joined
the feline traffic wardens for a while, 1, 2, 3, 4 cars
passed, i snorkelled two cigarettes and finished the
bear - the night... mm... is this surreal?
well... imagine that Brazilian billionaire and
his Olympic Games bid parking his car
in his living room... i parked my sofa on the
pavement - he's a butterfly incubator, i'm a tornado.
in poetry you have metaphors, puns...
i treat all psychiatric terms as equivalent to what
poetry uses - split-mind is both imagery and metaphor -
i'm already wearing a wedding ring -
allocated to the mediation of money, so she's
a ******* in heaven - i call her my pain in the ***
because she is a scorching sound in my left
hemisphere, it's this constant nagging -
or be like a Kantian bachelor - test your strength alone -
you'll have cognitive arguments with yourself,
you might do the whole schizophrenic episode -
or like me... hold keen on the stern and recover
with meteoric ambition to count the number
of peas in a glass like some autistic genius -
shame that science never had any romantic dimension -
Kierkegaard explored Faust - it ended up with Faust
being more the mythology that was intended -
he simply overpowered the love interest -
a love too diabolical - and unto hell we go, less
romantic and even more diabolical - some poets
write 20 poems a year, applause applause it's all great
because it's like taking a selfie of the poet on the toilet
seat - but my throne the throne of thrones,
Napoleon sat on a throne and the warring fields
were filled with **** - i sit on the throne of thrones
and the fields don't matter, i just **** on the throne
of the French Emperor; oi! listen, i'm trying to draw
return to the narrative linear, it's not easy when
you end up constantly stimulated by digression, digression,
it's hard enough to stop the river, let alone build a
Hoover dam or a bridge - o.k., now that i'm
less excited by subconscious stimulants of talk talk talk
(subconscious? yeah, read a few articles
about Layla, Harrison, No *** Please, Modern
reinventions of Arranged marriage with psychiatrists etc.)
i figured, i must write a 21st century poem...
i'm not much of a gamer, fair enough like any teenager
i played the Playstation - didn't get to no. 2,
that old grey block of plastic -
Tenchu and Final Fantasy Seven (with a walkthrough,
i was busy doing homework), and the Sims -
the wormhole spectacular - get the Sim to sit at the
computer... BOOM! cross-dimensional wormhole,
started freaking out... but the tablets are around
and i got speeding on Raving Fever -
PLAYER43588 - number of wins 1602 - mostly on the 2nd car
in the gallery - and mostly won on a 2,000 / 4km bet -
how? the physics - the nitro on max, the braking the handling
the acceleration and the speed on max -
but it's the physics! the ****** physics! most players
i go against are like robots... they press the nitro button
and quickly accelerate - i just sit back and either wait
for them to crash against the traffic, or when they don't,
after i have gained from the acceleration per se,
and having reached the max speed, then i nitro the ******...
it's like a Zeno paradox, i'm the tortoise and they're
Achilles - it's irrational to counter a good acceleration
with nitro - a schematic and less verbiage:

car A
nitro                    (143kmph)
                                               z. (~184kmph)
                                                                                    nitro
                                                                                    car B

z. denotes the zenith of speed - if these androids figured it
out properly, they wasted their nitro boost to reach the
maximum speed, i only wasted the acceleration potential
and got slightly delayed - once hitting the maximum
speed of 143kmph - i then press on the nitro and my zenith
is at ~184kmph - they're stuck on a plateau of maximum,
while i'm decreasing to their zenith of mutual maximum -
that's why i win so often, the frustrating thing for them
is that i always beat them on the last 100 metres or so.
basically i'm slowing down, while they're stuck on
stead speed, and by slowing down i'm beating them.
i guess scientists aren't ****, but neither is raising children,
who best knows the adventure of the mind?
and how to make boredom worth your while?

it always comes out of america, it really does!
  you start listening to these guys
in the 21st century talking about psychedelic
"pioneers" from the 20th century...
- hey man! like take this l.s.d.
- n'ah man! d.m.t.! 15min of fab!
- magic mushrooms!
               to be honest, i wouldn't do that -
i don't know why i wouldn't...
       maybe because it's no longer a secret?
carlos casteneda's anthropological study
of a yaqui shaman, don juan -
and don juan says: keep it to yourself!
but no... the americans in the 20th century
had to write poetry... shout the mystic experience
from the rooftops!
and i'm like: well... that's ruined, what's the point
of doing these eywa roots?
              eywa? the avatar planet goddess...
i'd love to have tried those things,
but these fungi have been contaminated by
other people's experiences, which they noted down...
is it really that bad? someone might ask...
                                               yes!
it's a bit like disrespecting other people's privacy,
the term privacy? should anyone attempt it...
          you can easily create junkies that way...
i was watching this video once...
  this american girl went in search of ayahuasca
in south america...
   she posted regular videos...
                             after a few videos, and she's
back home in america...
                   she's no longer eating / smoking it...
whatever... she's injecting it...
             move it back to europe...
                                    well, compared to you
"cool kids" in america... (apart from the dutch)...
  we're still going: give us enough *****
and a good song, some tobacco and we tell you
of mysticism of another kind: the type you see
with your naked eyes.
            i can't remember how many times
i had mystical(?) experiences drinking and listening
to music... usually nordic, but also germanic
music... ok even some slavic music...
                               english music?
                          you trying to bribe with candy
and a heart-numbing anesthetic?
                    you think i'd emotionally get-off
on english music? some henry the 8th greensleeves
suite?                        but, it's, only, alcohol...
   i'll mystify alcohol for you... end up feeling
so much that you have to burst into tears
    without any "enlightening" images,
geometric geriatrics...
                                i base everything on sounds,
**** the images, if there's a heaven i want to be
sitting next to homer, blind as a bat, as he ended
up being.
                  you want to know a mystical
experience from europe?
  well... yesterday i woke up with this unforgiving
pain in my neck, like i might have popped a ******
and it got stuck in my neck...
                 i blame the builders making a racket
too early in the morning...
                      so last night i was like: that's it! i've had
enough! **** this *** is good...
      so first it was 70cl of capn' morgan's white ***,
not bad, not bad at all...
              and then onto the pièce de résistance
   capn' morgan's original spiced gold -
                    making up about a litre of ***: in m'ah belly...
i'll be doing an apache yawn in a minute:
   ap ap pa pa pa - lazy onomatopoeia, i know:
i can't be bothered exacting that battle cry...
      but the zenith of this mystical experience came
after i butchered some food (ate it like a ravenous
wolf) - but i said to myself: not tomorrow!
   i'm not going to lie in bed with a neck-ache
like i might have popped a ****** and it got stuck
in my neck (austin powers' ref. third movie?) -
   and lo! behold... i woke up today chirpy like
a sparrow... chirp chirp! chirp chirp!
                                   and did the oddest thing
imaginable... i watched a "movie" -
                      watched batman: arkham city...
the walkthrough... up to chapter 20...
                                  now i see the funny side of professional
gamers... i can sorta start to build up a respect
for them now, before today i thought they
were a joke...
                               it felt like: the opposite of an audiobook?
in my life i might have listened to about 10minutes
of 1 audiobook... couldn't stomach it...
       but these game walkthroughs? now that's an
area i'm really going to discover after today -
they're practically movies (games these days) anyway -
   i remember times when playing games
meant you had sore fingers... like the first
time you pick up the guitar and one of your arms
starts aching because your fingers are getting
fried on the copper strings...
                           for some reason i can't imagine
myself playing a game like the one i ref. -
                     i prefer the game of hacking google...
but yeah... these games are great to watch,
but actually play them?
                        i'd rather shoot myself in the foot
before i start playing them...
    so yeah, the zenith of yesterday's mystical
experience...
    a. about a litre of *** (white and amber)
        b. 25mg of amitriptyline
   and crucially    
                                    c. 500mg of naproxen.
and this is for you, *******, having ruined
       the potential of having a psychedelic experience!
i didn't want to know... but thanks for telling me...
    **** yourselves, 20th century buggers
                                      and your poetic buggery.

ask me: i'm a sucker for pop music and medieval hymns, whether folk or of a gratitude toward a community akin to Taizé... while society suffocates me with jester's pounces to satiate a coming bride.. i'm more inclined to satiated myself with monkish escapades... i am aware of the "existential" absolute negotiation: to preserve the upright specimen... i'm pretty sure the chinese, the african and the indian sub-continent have it covered, i'm happy to be part of the dodo project... clearly i don't want to be part of it... i should have been allowed to be a monk, with each day passing i'm hardly thinking of the petty conquests of a bedroom with a... come on... even i thought this brief relationship could resemble a brothel's "one hour spare"... Tamara... spanish girl, worked in a barber shop... lived with three homosexual hunks... i tried having a hard-on, even when she told me to have a bath with her and talk... i couldn't get it up, i was put off when she wanted a kleenex moment, ***, incubated, under the bedsheets... in a brothel you **** under dimmed lights but not in a womb of cotton! you shower first, sometimes even washing each other, there's this whole unwritten ritual! she puts on a ****** while she ***** you off... come on... aaesthetic, cordiality... prostitutes have been the most respectful women i've ever ******, it's like joining an army of marching ******... in a pink floyd revision of marching hammers... imagine... the neo-communist flag: ***** replaces the hammer... the sickle? scissors, i guess, borrowing from scissor sisters? ***** & scissors? great! we have ourselves the new soviet, ahem, soviet union... and a flag to boot! oh Tamara Tamara... sure, no hard-on... drunk one-night stand cameo... i tried and tried, but i kept suffocating under the bed-sheets cocoon ***... she broke with me after 3 days because the hard-on wasn't coming... god, i too wish i could be the perfect ***** with a heart, kidneys, liver stomach and brain to match: ON / OFF... isn't a male ******* akin to a slobbering oyster of a woman's *****? **** impressions... kama sutra speaks about elephant phallus and a rabbit's ****** (depth)... i can't just switch it on, & off... it's not a ******* ****-pumping-piston worthy of ******* web-cam incel ******* worth of video, is it?! never mind... i was having coffee in the morning between her inquiring gay-minders (she suddenly left of Ibiza to find love)... i was saved by a presence of a robin... and you know what a fictional Napoleon would have said: a robin is worth twice the sparrow's worth... timid foot, tender foot... shy organge loiter... who... for some strange reason, migrastes to eastern europe for winter, then migrates to england during the summer... i guess: continental europe provides the sort of winters that are summers, while england provides the sort of summers that are winters... the mythology of Poland... storks and bisons... on a whiff... teenage gamer... but the storyline still grips me: soul reaver:
   protagonist: Raziel...
the brothers:
              Melchiah, Zephon, Rahab and Dumah...
games what worked as book-alt.,
                  i'm almost itching to add diacritical
marks to those names to "x-ray" into syllables
and hyphens...
    mind you, what has remained of the old
anglo-ßaß?
        names in chemistry... already, mentioned,
somewhere...
  sure... gaming is fun these days,
given the in-game cash-in handicap...
from Kazakh, Ukraine, China of the rich...
etc.,
                    these internet-based non-NPC games...
they're great for non NPC non-a.i. characters,
i.e. the old games had... not so much NPC...
but s.i.: synthetic intelligence...
   it wasn't artificial as it wasn't analytical
intelligence, it was a fixed intelligence
of the "opponent" / i.e. narrative...
             modern gaming can only be spectated...
on the evolutionary "debate"
when you: only purchased a PS1 and didn't
buy any console after...
as if "waiting" for the internet to catch up
to the grid... where you could play games live...
imagine a game...
     like the old narrative games...
but where the "opponent", i.e. the narrative
learns from your first encounter...
   long gone would be the encounters
with NPC in the old school standard of
synthetic intelligence, synthetic implying:
repetition, nothing being new...
   if the NPS characters could be given
analytical intelligence parameters...
     you could reinvent the old model of games...
away from the internet FREE...
  but, really: you're playing with a handicap
against people who have made in-game
purchases... hell... once a game cost 20 quid...
and it might last you three weeks' solid
of weekend gameplay in the early morning
on a saturday... in bed...
           i'm not really a gamer...
well if i'm the *******, the throne of thrones
i'm a gamer: just like some people
are thinkers on the ******* reading books...
but the old "solipsist" gamer is long gone...
the one who played to construct
a complex cognitive narrative...
i'll repeat the mention...
i once told a "friend" about playing sims...
he was so engaged in the game,
built this, built that...
i told him i freaked out when i moved
my sim to play a game on the computer...
hence finding the illuminating
wormhole of the Droste Effect...
  i stopped playing...
  final fantasy VII?
   only with a walkthrough...
homework and ****...
           going to the mall on saturday
with the misfits...
running up tier carparks and then aiming
with saliva on people walking in...
    talking to hare krishna converts...
about Dave Lombardo's insane drumming...
ilford: early 21st century...

cut off... a second poem:

.poland played israel in a soccer match today, the hymns began, first came the israeli hymn... boos and whistling, at first... but then i heard casimir III hush the crowd.... lucky for me not being in warsaw... the crowd silenced their illogical anti-semitism, the choir sang, libera me domine... i cannot fathom the russian purges, or the germanic dislike of these people.... casimir III's hush... i look at the cat sitting on my bed, glum, yet proud... how soon the whistling and engaging with mob sounds was hushed when the israeli anthem was sung... i'm happy for these people, even if i am one of them, but at such a distance: i don't feel i am part of them... so much for the glorification of western objectivity standards in argument... but i am a ******, on the british isles... what sort of objectivity am i i to expect? the objective counter-subjectivity of born in Poland, but bred in England?! is that it?! walking abortion... i am proud that the crazed mob was hushed when the israeli anthem continued... after all... SS-obersturmbannführer rudolf höss did cite casimir III allowing jews to settle in these eastern european lands... nes c'est pas? né(s) ç'é(st) pā(s)?! how else to write something akin to this, without finding oneself gritting one's teeth, grinding them into a toothpaste sensation of fluoride sandpits?!

fan-boy literature: stendhal, dante,  
         dumas             (vs)
   young-adult novels,
              which, i will never read...

            just enough whiskey
to count the rounds
of the crucuible
of the current escapade...

i'm ageing,
but i still like bands
like i might be a teenager...
          
came the: grand sorrow
taste, for all that's worth,
in encompassing a tomorrow.

fierce
Lilly Flower Goddess
wouldn’t budge
standing strong
loving herself
challenged walkthrough
cat eyes blatantly glaring
attentive
situation at hand
handled
like a *******
boss
ruler of her domain
guarded sanctuary
trespassing
not advised
she’s shielded
unconditional love for herself
barrier of sorts
only the reflection
of the same permitted
drop her drawbridge
path leading to the
kingdom of her heart
surrounded by moat flowing
lava glowing and meandering
like a precious river
inextinguishable beauty
guarding grace
her ideas with love
uncompromising thirst
for her body is her temple
One Love

dreamed that Current studio hired me
to design
a walkthrough of a ceiling-high,
openly grinning,  paper mache pig's head:
the stable's entrance to tiny pens
packed with caged (paid)
human children
who passed out tiny buttons
enscribed with varying notes:

Please Help
They Did Not Ask Me
I Don't Want To Die
Can You Find My Mom?
I Can Do Math In My Head
Eat More Monkeys
Please Save Us
I Don't Want To Die


But it was an unpopular exhibit
The Oklahoman would not report it
The Gazette managed a story on page 9
Yet advertised Cane's Chicken on page 5

Rattlesnake Roundup is just a few weeks
away
And I have no clue how I could possibly
convey
The value of wild
life.
The degree of their
strife.

I get no replies of smiles,
I walkthrough a bunch of colourless miles....

somehow i rewarched...
father of the bride today...
in between planting three
roses: hybrids...
cool names like: prima ballerina
tea sunset... etc.

   the wedding itself didn't put
me off...
beside the princess diary
   and... catching that whimsical
thread: hook... and sinker...

i also thought about two things
today while watering the grass
just so: with the drainage:
to get the proper mush-mush
feel of stepping on it...

the grass is going to become
my new pride...
swans... left in the bathtub...
bel-air...
and the fresh prince therein...
the ice-sculptures...

but that... there was a myth...
still alive... in 1990 h'america...
of a production and export
         dynamic?
           who was the last man to
walk in shoes that were
produced, last... in h'america...
beside that... "desgined" in calofornia...
manufactured in a chinese
sweat-shop?

mind-boggling...
a bit like... poland... once upon a time...
had a metallurgical heart...
men were men that did the honest:
good...
call the electrician or...
change the fuse gone dead
in the plug... first?

i thought about two things
when watering the grass...
i thought about smoking a cigarette...
and about... jerking off...
i did the former...
forgot to bother myself with
the later...
***... when you don't have access
to... a systematic toil of the matter...
can become...
hardly an exercise of pleasure...
it can become anything...
except that...

             before walking into
a brothel i'd rub my hands against
bricks....
in order to... feel...
an exponential worth of skin
upon touch...
toughened skin...
         it felt: most likely...
that i'd find a soothing sensation...
when it concerned the "question"
of leather... it's not akin
to curating pig-skin for leather
for a sofa...
it's still... a life with a breath...

they might want to ban...
the father of the bride...
                  i don't have the quizzical look...
or two munchkins at my disposal
to park 200 cars...
or a gucci suit i'd want to fake /
pull off as black... when in fact...
deep seeded navy...

           they might want to ban
the movie because...
                manufacturing jobs...
in h'america?
california produced sport shoes...
did they... magically... spit on...
laurel leaves to conjure up...
prosthetics and...
gum-bear bacon to sleuth...
and wear to be worn down...
come... the 20 year gap?

           cherished plum! eye of my mind...
a daughter to be readily sanctified...
so cherished that she will have...
her... pride parade oops in white...
and..
it's a movie like no other movie...
since...
  the metallurgy was shut-down
in eastern europe...
the divisions and the winds
assunder...
cheaper does it...
but the quality...

   i still own a shirt... fathomed
in bangladesh...
     i could wear it for fifteen..
     but... given the currency of:
made to be easily exhausted...
the chinese "embargo":
nothing is to be traded globally...
if it is... it is to be manufactured
in china...

the lost currency of plumping...
and the new economy of:
time-eating...
        the new economy of:
ice-queen pirouettes...
                     the basking in...
detailing the artifacts of "absence"....
the eastern european...
metallurgy dynamic...
no black slave ever worked
in a coal mine...
           picking cotton isn't exactly
the equivalent of mining for coal...
this shirt off my back?
you can have it...

              adolescence of arguments...
who is to fathom the circus...
when... one isn't allowed...
paint for ogling scare and scared face...

this house... which i can't envy...
this story: which i can't envy, either...
this bride: this take on the in-laws...
this pristine... lie:
this "reality"...
this summation of cruxes laying
the path of X walking a "question" apart...

all that's anything worth...
a... lessening of humour...
when the reflection... extracted from
water... is a ghost...
a ghost-esque synonym of fading
memory...
the old reflection... born from water...
like the old forbidden fruit...
perhaps the fruit was...
to have... stated the a posteriori
niqab: consummation point -
that the gods were like us...
should we find enough water...
to peer into... and find ourselves:
the lesser of the apes: and half-witted gods...

then born from water...
a fading reflection... a ghost visage...
but... perfected... sharpened...
and now standing before
a mirror...
what was once a reflective piece...
of apparatus...
a fading clue...
had to become...
a reflexive: frankenstein myth...
a retort! an aghast and a horrowing
miasma of... borrowed...
vowel-consonant compensations
of... left-over reasoning(s)...

     standing before a mirror:
****... reflex comes itching...
talking becomes... breaking...
a solipsistic adventure in quasi...
but... taking to...
a reflection in a puddle...
or a lake...
or a glass of water...
or... a black coffee cup...
i lose the ability to reflex my
"circumstance"...
i reflect... i fade...
i marry the murk of the diabolical
waters...

as i re-imagine cinema...
9 hours worth of...
resident evil 2... walkthrough video...
which is not...
gone with the wind...
which is not...
     the director's edit of:
apocalypse now!
or ben hur! shy of 4 hours...

but this... game... walkthrough?
over 9 hours...
a cinema for...
post-hoc gaming...
     cinema-esque revelations...
old ideas: old hamster...
but an apparently new: wheel...

- the genius that conjured up a blatant
combination of...
an iceberg (salad) and some
mayonnaise...
     who might also...
curate the geometric skeleton
of square...
along... the bonus of...
the shading synonym differentiations
of...
the in between of when
blue came along with yellow...
and... bob's your uncle...
out came green...

                      the wrapping of a tortilla...
and the unpacking of a stranger's suitcase...
then the tortilla as the reinvented:
toast... because... sooner or later...
it will be known...
continental crows are much
fatter than their cousins on the isles...
except for the freaks they...
fatten with... black pudding and blood
soaked crumbs at the white tower
of loon'down...
  by that... murk of a river...
with no... blessing of a concept
of time... as... passing...
but... instead... bothersome...
because... it has... a tide... and hours...
subsequently...

                  it's not that subjectivity is "bad",
per se...
it's not like there's a way to
escape: being subjected to...
                gravity... time...
sure... the ++ benefits of being objective
about space: one can easily objectify
space...
but one... can't... objectify time...
beside that one time it was tried...
and so history became...
"something borrowed"...
clown and circus mad envy riddle
of marking bull *******
for the dough, and...
it was never... the hammer and the nail...
the sickle and the shaft of wheat...

because the stereotype hanged supreme...
the new... "capitalists"...
had a word to say...
but also managed...
what they managed...
the mug prints... the t-shirt... prints...
d.j. arcadia!
               prometheus...
           loan word bargain:
the carbon footprint of the collateral
social distancing laws...

       and what "talk" of love is there...
what pompous ****-ah-zoid is about
to lay the foundations of "function":
best... left... undisturbed...
        this lacklustre of the idealism:
love central: i'd love you tripple
and treble "good-time"...
make you ****... **** thrice...
******* **** go numb!
   fishing for shrimps!

              curl up all your *****:
give that... "excess" of *******
the geese-strutting... "bumps"...
                      
  here's to: any and every... imitation
junk-e and the yard to fathom a be...
here's to... any and every...
imitation... fast-trolled gimmick...
moth chaser...
like an exploding bottle
of carbon dioxide contained within:
the turkish buddha...
sitting akimbo...
               a feasing of... translation...
of a postcard with a DASEIN
implied...
no smarter than... the runner concept...
designed for... he...
who... would... stand... still...
and watch... warsaw and manchester...
grovel before the alter altar of time...

how can one be...
subjective about... space?
how is subjectivity... something "less"...
than objectivity?
time is subjective...
space is objective...
             i once asked...
i'm no einstein... einstein imagined
travelling at the speed of light...
light travels with our understanding of:
c²  -
           i asked...
what of...                  c³?
                the concept of light... cubed...
subjecivity is a purely communist
child... abhored... "wrong"...
to be the subject of:
the defenders of the crown!
  i asked... what of light that is...
stationary... c³... surely there must be an equation
to compensate a loss of the mobility of
light?

the speed of light: cubed:
thus stationary: light as stationary
expansion...
              
what is so... possibly wrong with:
the subjectivity...
because of the crown...
a communist variation is: absolutely wrong...
retards are being claimed to govern
new grounding...
because the smart people are all:
objective...
the novel and the novella written
from the perspective of objectivism...

subjective is ******...
objective is genius...
        that's the ******* motto!
repeat!
repeat!
              repeat!
subjective is ******!
objective is genius!
                 that thinking is
more important than feeling...
sure... and...
not feeling is most important
to give a birth to thought!
apathetic, solipsistic... semi-
if not wholly-consumed by...
an autism of capitalistic-objectivity...
and... sociopathy...

   for all the worth of thinking:
and... that thinking...
this prized asset of objectivity...
the keter... crown...
without... the subjectivity of...
the yesod... the foundation...
            schizoid paraphrasing
a last known unison of...
a constellation... somewhere...
and a universe: for some...

subjectivity is no wrong:
if you want to be subjected to...
reading a novel by Stendhal...
because to read a Stendhal novel...
to be without a subjectivity "bias"
is to... not enjoy
the act of reading to begin with...
one will be granted a "moral superiority"
as the objective reader of...
diatribe falsetto "journalist"
bogus print-god work of
satanic **** being glorified...
what's so... communist...
about "it" being subjective...
and what's so... capitalistic...
about "it" being objective?
  
the people "in the know"
who always want to be "right"... right...
subjectivity is bad:
because...
all the ******* time...
we can just.. "opt out"... from...
being... objectified by gravity!
i much... prefer...
the subtle cookie-variation of...
well... sport... son of sam...
i'm subjected to gravity...
by being subjected to gravity...
i can cut a crisp escapism...
i will transcend the: being subjected to...
and object to it...
and i will give myself:
Icarus-esque dreams
of closely related fathomability...

but i need to know...
what being subjected to said "thing"
implies!
i can't just... play the idealist...
and ping-pong... and object-object my way
out of this... "scenario"...

the genius of capitalism
and the retardation of communism...
while... the capitalists...
exported all their... manufacturing
jobs to... the crying dragon...
well... if not ****** then...
absolute genius!

subjectivity is bad...
objectivity is good...
"somehow"...
        i like eating pork...
i also like frying it...
           the placebo...
        anemia of objectivist scrutiny
statements...
who gives a **** if you...
once upon a time...
enjoyed eating a steak...
        you will not be subjected
to beef...
you will objectify beef...
you will drop these pills...
of replica... of the stated nutrients...
and you'll ******* smile
while you're at it! savvy? sputnik jim?!

i
wear the armor of the lord
faithfully
and
i
shall not hold
a broken sword
molded
into
my hands
steadfast
and
unshakeable
as
i
walkthrough
the
valley of death
in
the
glorious battle of faith
said i

More Prone to building walls
With barbed wire water and electric fences
Than I am at open doors for others to walkthrough
Unless that's literal
Takes two seconds
Gotten rather used to others looking for uses
For me
Instead of speaking truthfully
Used to be a joyful person
Until I kept meeting people and became
Unsurprised with the fact
They don't give a ****
Might as well build a dam around the rivers
Made from their saliva
While spewing fictional nonsenses
Look closely at my eyes
I'm definitely a strainer

Every day you wake-up and decide to end up what's hurting you,
Fight back with memories of your past and try to let them go,
Grind until you overcome your nightmares. And glow.

The world is a game of cards; Play it with a no-show.
Keep your business on a low.

Walkthrough your path all alone,
You can be your own best friend or a foe.
Sometimes it may end up into a to-and-fro

Grow over your stress; don't go with the flow.
Realise that it won't happen in one shot, trust the process and take it slow...

Grape kisses
On eyelids
Purple shimmers
Across the cheeks
Button nose aglow
Eyes that sparkle
Mine and yours
We walkthrough
An exquisite tunnel  
Cascading with flowers
Of wisteria tunnels
I lead you out
You want to stay
Forever, you say

This poem is dedicated
to the fire strangers started
to incinerate the broken hearted,

to the flames I had to walkthrough
that charred my flesh
and barred the rest
who did not have the strength
to resist this disintegrating mess.

To the pain I overcame,
though I dare not
whisper its sacred name
for fear of having to
face that **** storm again.

This is dedicated
to the trauma
that dissected
the desiccated frame
that no worthy lover
stood to claim,
and though those
throes and woes
from which I rose
proved to be in vain
since I am still stained
by the marks
that keep me apart
from the mundane,

this is for that which
taught me not to accept
all the *******
because I know
I am worth more
than all of it.

cool capital
name:        WAR
SAW...

for wharever is
to be sown....

   ambition: zion...
reiteration
of the clever rat
fiddle...

dossing on:
and forever the inhibition
of the loitering
looter...

     come the desired
wake...
          boisterous
that commandz...
            umbrella: this never:
heigl

  game-walk-through sessions....
that can last through and...
thoroughly 10 hours... straight...
which would make...
gone with the wind...
and 1950s hollywood epics...
ben-hur... seem like...
losing your virginity...

because i don't game...
i like...
what i don't... squid
**** the two point quarter
even want to remember...
mario bros and sudoku is
about as complex as...
the finality spectrum
of the ******* movie...
but that's not involving
any... role-play for "real"
game and solving the cinematic
experience lobotomy of...
where's the ******* audience?
click-baiting...
i click on the keyboard...
i'm pretty ******* sure some...
squid-mush of sensation of
zombie-esque... lavendar...
is about to...
pig-snout... and snorkel...
its way out of... sana'a...
              or abu d'habi... or...
gold: the mined...
              catch-phrased sunni
wonderdrug of religiosity
chanting: because...
secular sensibility is...

when games... had the basic arithmetic
of timing...
and had no assorted likening
to mind... narration...
a game of chess was...
a game... and two engaged /
to departing parties...
not this... quasi-modo loot of...
gone with the wind = 4h worth of viewing time...
the resident evil 2 - remake...
walkthrough... 9h...
                   not even harry and harriett
potter would ask for "that" long...

such is the ontology of gaming:
i don't want to play them,
i want to watch them...
given that... the conventionality
of movies...
is... a... variation of lobotomy...
              this crude: method...
              loaded: bomb... blast...
low i.q. scrutiny and all that's...
writing?
  yeah...
"low i.q." eskimo:
brow-haven... frown...
apache... winnetou patriarch
k.o. smithy:
you are... the nick's marginal...
and opus... curtain...
and shadow and... wetted bed...
egoism...

yeah... come meet me...
100 years from now!
this... immediacy...
and now... will only...
ever loiter... and become...
apparent... somehow within
the confines...
as the majority are... swollen...
to the(ir) luxury of sleep.

Happiness is not an outcome but it's a journey we must walkthrough,
We all desire to be genuinely happy,
To love and be loved,
To hold and be held,
And we know pain is the price of love,
We agree to pay it when we start opening our hearts,
We know that every hello comes with the knowledge that one day there will be a goodbye,
Every first kiss comes with the certainty that there will one day be a last,
Even if we know that love ends painfully and full of sorrow,
Despite knowing the price we still pay it, over and over again.
We pay it for we believe that it makes our life worth living,
And because love is always worth it.

I young chicken inert inside I...
Have feeling of dealing more for paths with implications
Never coerced dancing logs on fire no satisfactions
If you shallow through a lay away mind
You're concrete with no sanding paper only
the gold and silver tongued tile layer
Whose this? At the walkthrough of contemplations
ravine in a valley
If you want a different fill then with so so suds do
your belly justice

Can was should will wouldn’t couldn’t
Knowledge hate reveille amassed enamored enraged entrusted

Now and again we meant together on
the word of the hour
Trust me as you might
your wondrous mighty new super powers