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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
i was... 4 or so years ago,
asking the dumb-*** question
of a poetess...
the acronym, a.s.l.,
why? so i could figure
out the jist of her poems...
it's not like i was readied,
licking a post-stamp,
about to flush a postcard to her address...
i, *listen"...
  apparently the woman was
deaf, by all terminology of
convenience being exploited...
   2 years, having invested
in the platform...
   i get kicked off...
for a non-offensive private messaging
fiasco...
    wattpad...
the only site with any notion
of copyright laws,
that prohibit ctrl c / p
style of "printing",
and boom, i'm gone,
for asking a sincere question...
i.e. so what do you see?
what inspires you?
        what do i get?
    can i please sleep with
a **** Valkyrie?!
  some blonde bombshell?!
can i can?
   i don't like these people...
they're bugging me...
like cockroaches...
        i'm having the sort of
barber itching of
a haircut, from the excesses of
"stubble" rounded up from
behind the collar...
   itchy, as, ****!
            why was i deplatformed from wattpad?
for the most innocent messaging
exchanges?
   no, tribunal, no court, no jury...
jack-****!
  leather boots! no shoeshine boy!
   **** me... the genesis of the current
conundrum began 3 or so years prior...
wattpad... one of the few publishing
sites, that actually mattered,
in terms of ctrl c / p obstructionism...
  gone... out of existence...
   for the acronym a.s.l.,
      i wanted to hear what this fellow
"poetess" saw, from outside her window...
it wasn't an infringing schematic
of forwarding information
of a defamatory nature...
         2 years? any excuses? and reasons
for being deplatformed?
zilch...
  nada...
                i'd sooner entertain
a chimp in the form of Caesar,
teaching me Pythagoras!
        it's not new, it's simply been, delayed...
i had plenty of content on
the medium... but then again...
the YA genre buckled,
people (esp. young girls)
started to grow up...
        and the wattpad ******,
genre bogus bias,
  buckled, when werewolves, vampires,
and... Frankenstein monsters
took the dinosaur route...
             it's nothing new to me...
it's a bit like sending a curriculum vitae
to companies...
   and hearing no reply...
          i was at least expecting
an answer, an excuse, why the acronym
a.s.l. was so offensive...
    got none...
                    the mainstream concern
has been brewing, on the slow-cooker
for over 4 years...
     i guess i joined wattpad in the early
2012...
              good thing to know...
whatever i write, and post online?
i keep no personal copy of...
   nothing...
i am given the de platform, strike?
  you, erase me...
    i don't keep copies of my work on
my hard-drive...
          i don't keep it...
you attack me, like that ******* wattpad
attack, on hellopoetry.com?
    you give me sanctimony,
outside the realm of mortality...
you allow me a chance
to implode upon the awaiting
   ruling of a mortal being...
i, become, death...
erased...
    and all my work, gone within
a sanctimony of a lived-thriving-ambition...
but i'm all for it...
i love being teased into such situations...

    perhaps i love animals too much...
but then again,
a metaphorical dog fight
among humans?
        perhaps i'm waiting for one...
gauged out eyes...
slit tongues...
     bleeding gums
and lost canines and incisors...
        because? right now?
i'm not waiting for anything
more than what is necessary...
an escalation of mindless violence...

     like i mentioned before:
just bring a belt without a buckle...
wrap it around your hand and wrist,
ensuring there's a St. Andrew's cross
protecting your knuckles...
  
    brick wall, or jealous antithesis...
there's still a sweet punch left
to make an applauded dynamic, of.
Jey Oct 2015
Isang araw, muntik na naman akong nagpakatanga. Isang araw, naisip na naman kita. Isang araw **** ginulo ang isip ko. Isang araw, binalik-balikan ko ang masasakit na alaala mo dahil isang araw, biglang iniwan mo ako.

Iniwan mo ako… at mula noon ilang araw akong wala sa sarili. Ilang araw iniisip ang mga dahilan kung bakit ka umalis. At kung bakit hindi ako ang iyong pinili. Ilang araw na akong nagbakasakali na maiisip **** ako na lang. Ilang araw na patuloy na umaasa sa pangakong babalik ka… “Babalik ako, bigyan mo ako ng isang linggo.” Ilang araw pa at naghintay ako, naghintay ako kahit alam ko na kung sino ang pinili mo.

Isang tanong na patuloy na gumugulo sa aking isipan. Isang tanong na hindi masagot nino man. Isang tanong na hindi ko makalimutan. Isang tanong na wala naman talagang kasagutan. Isang tanong, “Mahal, bakit mo ako iniwan?”

Hindi nga lang iniwan kundi iyo naring kinalimutan. Kinalimutan agad na parang walang pinagsamahan. Puta isang buwan, ganyan, isang buwan nga lang naman. Marahil naging mabilis nga ang mga pangyayari pero ipapaalala ko lang sa’yo ikaw – ikaw ang naunang nagbukas ng pinto. Ikaw ang naunang nagsabi ng “Mahal, bakit di natin subukan?” At sumubok ako. Lumaban tayo.  Ngunit pagkatapos ng lahat ay ano? Wala, wala nga palang tayo.

Alam mo, ito na marahil ang pinaka-tangang nagawa ko sa buhay ko. Sa sobrang ganda at saya kasi parang pwede nang isulat bilang isang nobela, baka nga bumenta pa sa Wattpad eh at ititulo ko “Tinidor” o kaya “Alexa”? Haha.

Pero sa sobrang sakit din parang pang-soap opera. Kaya bakit ganun? Bakit parang ako lang ang nasaktan? Bakit parang ako lang ang nasasaktan? Bakit parang ako lang ang nahihirapan? Bakit parang ako lang nagmahal? Bakit ako lang? Bakit? Ah alam ko na… kasi hindi ako ikaw.

Hindi ako ikaw, ikaw na naging pipi sa pagsigaw na ako ang mahal mo. Ikaw na naging bulag sa pagtingin sa kung sino ang nandito. Ikaw na naging bingi sa mga salita niyang “hindi kita gusto!” Ikaw na pilit umiwas sa maliliit na eskinitang daan papunta sa puso ko. Ikaw na naging duwag sa pagtangkang sumabay sa daloy ng ilog na magdadala sa atin sa bukas.

Hindi ako ikaw. Ikaw na nagdulot lamang ng bagyo sa aking mga mata. Ikaw na nagdala ng lindol at bumulabog sa mundo ko. Nagdala ka lang ng buhawi ng hangin na paikot-ikot lang at kahit sinisira mo ang lahat, nahihigop mo pa rin ako.

Ikaw. Ikaw pa rin ang bumitaw. Ikaw pa rin ang bibitaw. Sa kabila ng lahat ng kasawiang dinala mo sakin. Oo. Ako na yung tangang nagmahal pa rin sa’yo.

Ako na ang mabibingi at sa kalaunan ay magiging pipi, sa pagsigaw na mahal kita. Ako ang magiging bulag sa pagtingin sa iba dahil sa’yo lang mahal, sa’yo lang ako susubaybay. Oo, ako. Ako naman ang magiging bingi sa mga salitang minsan mo na  din sinabi sa akin, “hindi ikaw ang gusto ko!” At ngayon alam kong, hinding-hindi yun magiging ako. Ako ang sisiksik sa maliliit na eskinitang daan sa puso mo. Ako na ang lalangoy at sasabay sa daloy ng ilog maging sa hampas ng alon kahit wala ka na sa bukas na kahahantungan ko. Oo, ako.

Ako na ang nagpakamartir na harapin ang matitindi **** hangin. Ako na ang trainer wheels sa iyong bike. Ako na ang band-aid sa bawat sugat na iniwan ni Alexa, mga halik sa sugat na magpapatigil sa dugo. Ako na ang unan **** sa gabi mo lang nakikita, sinasandalan tuwing pagod, may problema, mahihigpit na yakap tuwing luha’y di tumitigil.  Ako na yung huling stick sa pakete mo ng sigarilyo, inosente’t di ka sasaktan, pero iba pa rin ang pinili mo.

Masyado nang mahaba ito, kaya tutuldukan ko na. Kasabay ng pagtutuldok sa masasaya at mapapait **** ala-ala. Kasi ngayon ako naman ang napagod na maghintay. Ngayon puso ko na naman ang unti-unting namamatay.  Pero hindi ko ito hahayaan kasi mali eh, sabi nga ni Trixie, “nasaktan mo lang ako, pero hindi mo ako napatay.”

Hindi ako ikaw, ikaw na tanga kasi pinakawalan mo ako. Mayabang man kung maririnig nila pero oo gago, ang laki **** tanga dahil iniwan mo ako. ‘Wag kang hangal kung sasabihin **** hindi siya ang pinili mo kundi ang sarili mo dahil alam natin pareho at sa kanya ka pa din babalik. Ito lang ang masasabi ko sa’yo. Minsan subukan **** maging ako.” Para alam mo kung gaano kasakit. ‘Wag kang mabuhay sa parang. Sa parang sa’yo, pero hindi. Parang kayo, pero hindi. Parang mahal ka, tanga hindi.
Uni(berso)
1:05 AM
August 5, 2015

celestialdeity.wordpress.com
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
doubly toasted rye bread...
anything on it...
of course i'm not going to treat it
as a bagel: although i should...
some smoked salmon...
the mayo and cucumber and dill...
come to think of it...
toasted rye bread would work
better than a bagel...

        we're not having some brick lane
salted beef, and bagel...
salted beef... good that you asked...
what makes it so... cosmopolitan, i.e. pink?
himalayan salt... i was thinking of
prague salt... don't ask me why...
how? i heard it down the line...

again: larry tesler died a few weeks ago...
well "weeks"... 20th of feb of this year he
passed away... as reported...
larry tesler... it's not an everyday
name... but under the umbrella of darwin that
becomes darwinism:
a group-fire, a get-together, a come-together...
larry tesler is a bit like
a michael faraday...  

           somewhat of a "mystery"...
like... never... i was daring to confess:
those revisions of the cursor...
the phantom hand... of a 2D object in a 3D
object... those 2D ferns in the original
tom raider... moving rapidly when approached...

i can hear the bemoaning...
no new scientific "theory" has resounded true
in the past decade...
unless it's that Higgs': hiccup or... boson...
that only happened a few years ago...

don't... agitate... the... beehive!
i've finished one whiskey and ms. coca
ms. venezuela - ms. novella...
             but i'm still pretending to drink from
an empty glass -
perhaps agitating the whiffs of scotch
perfumes to come...

       how often do i use the larry tesler
method?
well... if i want some... braille...
some glagolitic... some runes...
pretty much all the time...

        toasted rye bread... i'm thinking of eating
some roasted rye bread...
the english being bewildered...
and that's because the former raj
brought with them the cinnamon the cardamom...
ever eaten a curry that listed
rosemary or thyme as a prime ingredient?
can i please just eat this
dogshit, then?

    sourdough bread... not pop enough...
  beside the zeppelins... rye bread galore...
pumpernickel bread... a german thing...
   the name changes... but...
there's only so much toasted white and brown
bread you can eat... before having
an ancient hunger become arise in you...
the baltic cuisine of piquant herrings...
plenty of dill... and rye bread...

- i asked the swabian about this windsor affair
concerning the saxon: the ants-in-his-pants
little brother saxon...
the german who needed to go outside of saxony...
burgundy wouldn't suffice....
had to see the world: become a semite...
a wandering "plague"...
the postman... the dove of "repose"...

this is still about larry tesler by the way...
               ⠓⠑⠗⠑ - larry tesler...
     ⰕⰖⰕⰀⰣ:             "       "
              ᚺᛖᚱ:              "       "        (ditto, as above)...

woman: a human female being -
          because she's not: woo man...
and she is not: woe, man...

               she's a human female being -
that's what everyone might had said...
when being stripped...
to the basics of grammar:
i, pronoun - definite article: the -
noun of nouns -
                        the in between cardinal nouns...
table, fox, wool...
in between cardinal nouns...
box, moon, whiskey and (conjunction)...
the royal pronoun: one would expect...
the other royal pronoun: we would agree to such
claim... given our entourage...
louis XIV very much liked such
pronouns...
             they are the disembodied courting
presence of ghost: where we should be...
to posit...
and what if i want to be known as: there?
can't a they become a there -
i know that's asking too much...
after all... there is an adverb -
perhaps i feel like... being an: ad- -verb
rather than a pro- -noun...

                          there said: it's a cul de sac
and the peoples are gagging for
lessons in grammar... this is still about larry tesler!
well... it's become more of a toasted
rye bread "analogy"...

to be less denoted by noun -
more associated with verbs -
               does that even matter what pronoun?
what if i want to be an adverb: base?
there is an adverb... here is an adverb...
why is BEING a noun...
and not an adverb?
               become is a verb...
   becoming an adjective: although it could
be stressed as a noun: could...
           i think of being... on the lines
of a "here" and a "there"...
nothing is a pronoun...
                          while nowhere is an adverb...
being is a noun but in all fairness it could
be treated as an adverb...
                                   being alone...
           if only it was as simple as...
turning on a lightbulb while at the same time
expenting falling pirouettes of snow...

all this words deserved to be archived
in trash...
     i'm not a betting man and none of these
grammatical arguments really probe me...
i have invested in them a pet-peeve...
and they're nothing more...
but whenever i hear about them being
stressed... i wonder why the counter
argumentation doesn't fall for talking about
this logic on a purely grammatical level...

to update the tabernacle of holiest of the holy
"pronoun" with...
something akin to... by adverb standards...
etc. -
          this is still about larry tesler, though...
and about toasting some rye bread...
nonetheless -
i'm not that old but i'm already tired...
i imagine eating custard as being...
somewhat alleviating...

                but not actually eating any custard...
just imagining eating it
and pretending to drown - gurgling it...
once more: this is still concerning larry tesler...
mind you... larry tesler doesn't exist
on wattpad...

            but all these other would be publishers...
allow larry tesler to exist...
along with that little gremlin that doesn't work...
i.e. ©... not even new york times has
obstructed larry tesler ctrp + c / ctrl + p...
© - yeah.... "copyright"... my ****** ***...
wattpad has actually made actual © "progress"...
you can't use a larry tesler "heimlich" on:
those most scared of texts...
poems by 16 year olds!

              just saying...
you don't need a bagel to enjoy smoked salmon
with a dollop of mayo some cucumber
and dill... rye bread works just as well...
**** i'm hungry!

- again... what (a pronoun) - sorty of © "copyright"
logo is that... when you can larry tesler that
with... export it via highlight and ctrl c / ctrl p?
wattpad doesn't allow you to ctrl c / ctrl p...
at its height it was publishing that
goldmine of one direction fan fiction by
14 year old cherries...
    
                       i guess you can larry tesler
wikileaks: back in the day...

                        so if not larry tesler... who was behind
ctrl a? does it matter - if there's no toasted
rye bread in my gob... just these words
congesting and subsequently constipating my head?
good thing i have earned myself
a bad back - the golgotha "wisening" /
humbling... of digging up roots in the garden
where trees and shrubs once stood...

these words are... hardly a compensation's
worth of balm... but before i gorge on some toasted
rye... they just have to do.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
you know about as much about copyright laws, as i do, about shoelaces; what's the word... oops?*

and what did i decide to cook today?
oh, just some hungarian goulash sauce -
extra paprika - pork -
served on a potato "pancake" -
mixed potatoes with flour, an egg,
salt & pepper, more paprika -
fried onions & bacon, and, would you
believe it? brussels pâté...
i was desperate: there was no lard
in the house...
   served on two grand leaves of
col lettuce: yummy as a sunset glazing
a hyacinth;
and no, on a flower it's called
caramelised butter effect,
   it's not actually called photosynthesis
at those moments.

i'm still bewildered by these people who
"just happen" to dictate a "reality"
by calling the dasein of events a case of:
on the internet, vs. the real world.
utterly bewildering...
no, i'm still bewildered -
let me tell you a little story...
do you know how much mail
i get through the door each year?
perhaps 4 letters...
        reality check: the b.b.c. is broke,
it's actually the broke broadcasting corporation,
the british bit flew out the window,
they're airing shows from the years
MMXV & MMXVI primarily -
oh look who's coming with the surprise -
no, it's not *pacman
: the ol' jolly roger
by the name of jimmus savillius -
****** broke the bank with his antics,
not the b.b.c. is a dog with three legs,
broke! ha ha!
             there's still something
bothering me... what part of "reality"
are these people pushing, that can't see
the duality, instead choosing a dichotomy
of the existence of the internet,
ah, either they're too young,
or the internet itself is too young,
and they haven't seen the shredder impact
of the internet on the high street...
when was i at a local high street?
honest to god, heart on my shoulder,
hand on my other heart singing the regional
anthem... can't remember...
if you only get 4 letters through the post
a year, and even less emails -
unless of course you tell people your email
address...
   either i'm the biggest loser, or the biggest
winner in this fiasco...
   i get as many emails as i get actual,
post-office letters...
    **** me, lucky you if it's a handwritten
letter, without an electronically generic
signature, you must be santa claus!
ah, pretty pretty, esp. since it was written
in green and purple crayon...
     get in there my son, you're bound
to enter the major league of *******
and *** fiddlers: just make sure you mention
the black component preference,
like, you know who.
           i can't believe they're coming for these
people, i swear to god, if someone working
class was to read the saturday or the sunday
times supplements, they'd go gargamel
bonkers... as i once explained the smurfs to
a scaffolder and his girlfriend walking
from an off-lice, as we both joked:
   she's short enough for the blue...
god, her reaction as impeccable:
heaven sent no hell apart from a woman's
fury at being either scolded or joked about;
works every time,
  so, gentlemen! can we return to our
drinking?
                  and they said in pop culture that
grief was an aphrodisiac - twice down
the shoot, thrice with the shakers as **** it is...
as it turns out so is male humour is a gemini
with grief...
     the furious vagi... and i knight her:
            n'ah...
                        i still don't get where
or when the reality check will take shape...
how much of "real" life on the internet
is not mere commentary?
... ... ... ... i'm giving you some time to answer...
whatever happened to the intricacies
of the "real" world and the internet?
what about those hacks, what about
internet banking,
   what has suddenly become so unreal
about the internet?
oh right, so we can hold a welsh f-u f-off (V)
to the publishers, and bypass their
bad taste in prose?
          thinking about it: i think it is...
oh sure, we'll earn a few collateral badges
of those who fell with weak psyches -
but to say, the most splendid, known
to man, ever imagined ******* -
well... you'd be a fool to distinguish
the internet as a wachowski construct...
listen mon, you're saving the amazon,
pixel by pixel by pixel alone...
   but you've also woken the eyes of
beelzebub -
          and the irish are pounding -
and the russians stopped drinking for a month -
and the poles decide:
it's our time to march with the gob!
i still can't believe that people can't
fathom a simple newtonian calculus
of integrating two entities -
     and making them as one -
      personally?
i'm an impatient person, or, rather:
i don't like people wrestling with me over
copyright, copy what? what?!
there's only one page on the internet
that respects copyright laws... wattpad...
no other page on the internet disallows
the ctrl c through to ctrl p...
not one... ******* if you think anything
about "copyright" laws in the 21st century...
one page, one page out of a billion,
that respects copyright, and what do they do?
they kick me off it, because in
privy i asked a girl where she was from,
to get the feel of what inspires her...
like in that film the passengers -
where the girl says: i could write all day
with a view of the chrysler building...
  well then... UP YOURS!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
pre-scriptum:
                no polyglot would experience this sort of "paradox", it's not even a paradox of a "paradox" off a 'paradox', bilingualism has its methodology, as Kant could explain, extracting his methodology off the page into a meticulous day-to-day activity... the sage / if not the clock of Königsberg... i can imagine this obsessive-compulsive mini-rituals that would always escape the throng on a Sunday... the Sunday eucharist wasn't enough for the man, there were so many rituals to take care of, having famously not married, while Kierkegaard having: infamlusly not married... i appreciate their strategy... reading them while also reading Nietzsche, these two gentlemen, by comparison, if not in work, certainly in life gravitate above the popularity of Nietzsche... why? Nietzsche appears as an incel... fan boy, are you? *******... but you need some sort of structure if you're not going to marry... Kant found his daily routine an eternal mass... so many routine daily tasks seemingly mundane to some, can enlarge themselves to become out of proportion pillars of preserving sanity in face of standing before god and a post-life scenario... hell is not so much a place of suffering... i can tell you of the most "mild" form of suffering... an extrovert becoming drunk... constant talking, lack of purpose as in: lack of direction culminating in: lack of concentration, pandemonium is the heaven of a flickering light for a moth... again... this always bewilders me... why did Sisyphus have to drag the stone up the hill? was there some overlooking demon with a whip looking over him? couldn't he just... sit, and concentrate on the stone, create pleasure, from thinking? is that really so odd... i suppose so... given the grand h'american export of the freedom of speech... few people will find pleasure in thinking... Kierkegaard, which Nietzsche didn't read... said: why do people concern themselves with the freedom to speak, when they already possess a freedom to think? is this, me speaking, because it's the internet and it's a public space... surely i don't have an eloquent speech, i speak too quickly, i sometimes mumble, this is an extension of thinking, it's not an invitation to speak... rhetoric is an art designated for people who joked about philosophy and took sophistry seriously... i don't like Nietzsche... i still think of the man as the esteemed bachelor... apparently being freed from women allowed him to write his Critique with the sort of clarity that comes, in a cascading form, at the end, in the methodology of transcendence... which reads, like a page-turner tabloid narrative... once the formalities / difficulties are established... i'm no polyglot though, but i do succumb to some eccentricities... as any entrenched bilingual might... notably linguistics... how there are no diacritical markers in english, but there are: in other latin script based languages of continent europe... how i've never heard of dyslexia outside of the realm of spoken english... how orthography does not exist in the english language, which creates all these silly english questions of: what is reality, what is perception... with no orthography: metaphysics runs rampant... and "another" thing... i really can't read a philosophy book in english, i always have to revert back to my mother tongue, to Polish... i can't read a philosophy book in english... i looked at Plato once in english... the aesthetic is lost on me... but the Irish know of the Slavic aesthetic when it comes to dialogue, i.e.:

(a) the english standard for dialogue weaved into a narrative -
"i want this," she said,
   "as i want that," he said...
(b) the slavic standard for dialogue weaved into
a narrative...
- so?
- what?
- will we try to speak without
   the reiteration of who said what?
- we could.
- no, we should.
smoother... James Joyce noted this,
casual - no point adding descrptions of
how the puppet-master lost power
over his puppets with " " ditto markers of
dialouge of a: he, he really did say...
no, not he, the narrator...

   i simply cannot read the genre of philosophy in english, too much easy access points of pop culture with that umbrella overreach... matrix, memes, darwinism, blah blah... too much focus on images and very little focus on words, esp. etymology, that other component of history that focuses on: a universal application of words, beside status king, or status pauper... both the word bread can succumb to the king's tongue, as to the pauper's... but with an origin story? anything beside **** similis, the monkey, will do me just fine... then again... there's no one strand of monkey to begin with... a bit like looking up your own *** for too long, you decide that there's a coherent, "bigger picture" and it begins with chimp- and ends with -rilla... doesn't anyone else just tire of looking up a monkey *** to peddlestool the importance of darwinism for so long? i mean... at least chemistry is a playground among the science... there's no worry for a beginning... there's only play... no... i can't read a philosophy book in english... i have to read it in Polish... which is also a... january, february, march, april, may, june, july, august, september, october, novermber, december... you'd think i'd be able to recite you the months in my mother tongue... styczeń, luty, marzec, kwiecień, maj, czerwiec, listopad, grudzień... english alphabet? a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j, m, n, l, o, p, q, r, s, t, u, v... **** gets scrambled... pointless rubrics... give me the practical! - i've just picked up a copy of Plato's republic... straight away i know that i'm finding my gensus in Plato rather than Aristotle...

    och ty, pijaku z psim pyskiem,
                  a za to z sercem jelenia...

    oh you, drunkard with a dog's snout,
                           nonetheless, with a stag's heart...

again, Nietzsche: Kant is an idiot, Plato is boring...
perhaps in German, for a German,
looking for Germany while roaming parts of Italy...
well... Plato, really seems appealing in
high slavic (western), the conversations breed
a sense of clarity, about fog, about darkness,
or any akin metaphor to boot...
                           between Nietzsche's maxims,
i'll take la Rochefoucauld succinct observations
before i succumb to pop-nietzsche modern
cult meme fucklords...
                          Roger Moore... prime example
of a bachelor, Kant, the same, Kierkegaard...
as for myself? if i married?
  would i still have the same sort of access to new
music, that i currently enjoy?
   for god's sake... i have to fall asleep while
listening to music, if i spend a day without
at least 5 hours of music on the headphones
   i start to lose the plot...
              my drinking is merely a side-note...
a p.s., given that now i'm a reformed drinker?
having cut my dosage in half...
     i'm still a music *****...
   women don't like music junkies...
                   and when my ex- started reading me
a qustionnaire from a russian cosmopolitan
magazine on the train to moscow from
st. petersburg... i thought i was going to shoot
myself in the head...
             perfect girlfriend this,
perfect girlfriend that...
             bob dylan saved me...
        but not for long...
                         women aren't feline...
at least with a cat you can ignore it...
                  he's pretending to be a solipsist and
you pretend to be: caring...
                 food on the table,
a clean litter tray... besides that?
                                                 fuckoffski!
     and i write this from a perspective of endearment,
nothing beats the zenith moments in a hetrosexual
relationship... the odd date...
                 talking impromptu... making food...
***, ***... ***... *** *** ***... ***... ***...
       but the petty arguments...
   the attention to detail...
                   god... anniversaries?
  i don't even celebrate my own birthday!
i fake celebrating christian holidays...
                    today is today, tomorrow:
that's tomorrow's concern...
           o.k. england winning the cricket world cup...
but that's a celebration with a calendar!
it's not regulated by hormones and
the impossibility for nostalgia...
                 i tried the relationship,
i tried the ***...
                       i had to visit a brothel for
the anaesthetic with regards to the past...
  i needed to visit the brothel to also visit
the butchers...
                               i needed to become meat,
to **** meat... and stop concerning myself over looks:
they only brought me trouble...
like i was walking with a "telepathic"
c.c.t.v. crow on my shoulder...
                             so i put on the weight i lost...
and... at that point? it was liberating...
mind you... if you want to lose weight?
  bicycle and swimming... no gym...
fruit for your last meal during the day...
eat anything you want...
  but losing weight? and all that bulimia,
classical roman bulimia:
training the oesophagus with first *******
into the mouth... then with no fingers
down the mouth?
                beauty... is not worth the trouble
when you really tempt yourself with the expansive
temporal canvas...
21 was my peak... after that...
                     voluntary celibacy...
                   a **** here and there...
            but no... it's not for me...
                    i guess i looked up to the right sort
of men... with regards to staying a bachelor...
to be highly invested in something,
   like Kant in a transcendent methodology...
like Kierkegaard invested in the arts...
like Nietzsche invested in waiting for
the fruition of his prophesies...
                      you have to be born to want to live
the simple happy life...
                  the "expected" life...
       the whole Hiob motto of: once taken,
can be regained blah blah...
                        it needs to have trans-generational
breeding involved...
                   a list of expectations...
                social-pressures and for that matter:
intrinsic socially-cohesive-stratification...
i'm a ****** in England...
             and... that puts as much social pressure
on me as... a chihuaha barking does
to an Alsatian's yawn... that's the stereotype...
the smalls dogs bark... the big dogs bite...
                 oh sure, when i visit my grandparents
back "home"... the older generation put
the pressure questions to the test:
even women from Warsaw...
   so where's your girlfriend?
to the old folk i reply: well i can't exactly force
a woman to be with me...
to the women of Warsaw?
   i'm practially a monk...
                        why?
          you don't really want to be aged 21...
forced with a scenario of:
happily dating, presumably reciprocrating trust
with regards to contraception,
being forced to reply to the scenario:
i think i'm pregnant... my my...
   and we were only 6 months apart after
the break-up, living in two different cities...
em...
                     on a lighter note...
what's the most fun you can have in Kenya?
   sitting on the balcony, in the shade...
feeding rascal macaques anything from nuts...
to bags of sugar... you, two macaque monkeys,
one balcony... the indian ocean frothing beyond...
it doesn't require a genius to figure out
what's worth cherishing without having
to feel obliged to the whole of humanity for...
offspring - many already figured this out before me:
you learn to give birth to your self (reflective,
and yes, not yourself - the reflexive)...
   which brings death to having to stand on its head...
... isn't Sisyphus the son of Atlas?
            couldn't Sisyphus just sit beside the stone
and... well yeah: think up the philosopher?

.em... looking back at the british empire, and the loud-mouth former colonial people... by god, i've never seen such leeches, i've never seen a people, so proud of being colonialißed! what's there to be proud of?! looks like in a post-colonial world, these former colonial busy-bodies had to, had to: step up and move their markers for Aladdin being performed in the West End... *******...  never in the history of the world, were post-colonial people endowed with so much pride, the whole m'ah bwee'dish *******... to counter herr zeppelinmann with the pakistani in the p.s. framework of the british empire... rotherham... ring a pakistani blue?! have a guitar on y'ah?! see... i don't like these former colonial states, with their people migrating to england, having their overlord say it now, say it clear bollocking... i don't mind a top hat, tux donning ******* giving me directions... but when a ****- does it?! sorry... i'm so sorry... will you please excuse me?! i just don't like *******, i don't like the sort of people who celebrate being colonial subjects, esp. after the whole post-colonial celebration of "libertion"... i don't like ****** / pakis who have to find their "past" by playing the cricket ball of, "the former" colony! i hate copper skinned ******* of ****- origins! former colonial raj-vizier... how can you breed these sort of people, who find pride in being under colonial power?! the **** didn't understand freedom, only understood it when being subject to its lack?! well... so much for english women... i guess they were only going to go for pakistani grooming gangs... drowning in the ganges... i have as much of jesus christ on the cross in me, as i have plenty and enough of pontius pilate's worth of soap to mind the next few years; never in my life would i have to witness the former colonißed to bribe their way, into an acceptance "speech" methodology... the ****- to fable the englishman for his, "tea"... no conquered people, no colonißed people should ever glorify their conquerers or colonißers... i guess the british achieved a double subversion... why do the ****- (stanis) still play cricket... i don't want to know... i'm new here... but... but... when a ****- attempts to displace a european from europe? that's my breaking point... i don't like being displaced from europe... the next ****- that will? well... the obvious target, a northern english teenager girl readied for grooming. i said! next ****- that tries to displace an european from europe... well... i guess.. given the power of the current politicians... nothing! ha ha!

well, with the e.u. article x, y and z...
herr zensor just flew over
London and dropped a bomb
from his zeppelin,
             because?
         two year ago,
       a teenager, girl, aged 13,
downloaded some materials
regarding self-harm...
              now the english government
is implicating regulations,
it will regulate social media usage,
mind you: ***** 'arry was pushing
the agenda all along...
   never mind the competent users...
just tackle the problem
with the addicts...
    oh look: no ******, no alcohol...
ms. amber: i'm sorry, we've failed,
we punched "the agenda"
of a blank canvas too far,
    we're going to have to double down,
for a while, so we can just
survive and have this sort
of a punching-bag of a blank
canvas readied for us...
               so the government will come
in and regulate,
       come on, 13 years old,
but the rising queer epidemic of
premature depression in the youth?
    while the parents do not
implement internet safety
   for their children,
        no block filters...
                like blocking pornographic
sites,
      so the infiltration came
            from within the supposed
safety-net sites?
           ****... i was exposed to
rotten.com by word of mouth at
school...
                           just when the internet
launched with that whole
dial-up modem,
    chris rock in lethal weapon
moment talking about old telephones...
and people bemoaned e.u.
articles...
         there have to be consequences...
people should / companies
should be taken into account...
     what about the *******
  who sold me chemically enhanced
marijuana?
            well of course:
   better a guilty man walk free,
than an innocent man become imprisoned...
that logic is still kinda flimsy
for me...
                 i don't know why...
   but it just is...
    surely there are parental filters
for what a child can and cannot see
on the internet...
                 when i was first exposed
to horse on woman *******?
       em...
         is there anything honest to think
about, at this point?
          maybe that's why i decided
to "ghost" around 200 fwends on fb.,
i figured...
        **** this pseudo-voyeurism
of what people want me to see...
    i've invested a decent amount of years
and settled for the 13K poem / doodle count...
and some pictures...
   none of them saved on a personal
drive...
         why would i stash the content,
hide it, when i want people to peruse...
'it's always dark before the dawn',
sorry, i don't know how much
of a ****-******* optimist i have to be...
before a stoic cynicism grinds me
to a halt of:
                   "branching out"...
              i came here for the punching bag
of a blank canvas...
              i never came for the fake
sycophancy or some count of numbers...
i came here, for an outlet...
      it was either this,
                     or a punching bag...
and you almost sense that this whole
farce of "national sovereignty"
is about to be dropped into the *******
and flushed...
       because... it will all become
                             "too inconvenient"...
oh they'll stall... until the european elections
take place...
                   and there's a u.k.
                        (probably the only time
where an N does't come between
vowels)...
                they're wriggling themselves
out... public: 1 vote...
                parliament: i've lost count...
it's not even akin to rats jumping ****,
more like a maggot **** in a pit...
                        that's what a cynic is:
a realist...
                         if i'm wrong, i'm wrong...
but...
              on several occassions
i haven't been wrong...
           and you just have to watch for
that glee in the eyes of channel 4 journalist
anchors...
     i know that glee in the eyes...
it's a glee of hope...
              a sly variation of hope...
               it's also a certainty imbued
               with a certainity-expectation;
thank god i didn't use the video medium...
no passive watchers,
      at least with writing...
certain sacrifices have to be made. / / / / / / / / / /
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

a "p.s.": well of course i'm not happy
with the news coming from today,
mind you: ever spot a woodland pigeon?
god, aren't they plump?
               bloated *******,
they always seem well fed by the forest...
a pair nested in a tree in my garden,
only yesterday, i picked up two
almost translucent offspring of theirs,
thrown out of the nest,
   the bride and groom
               decided they were sick,
weak...
                  they did look weak...
     death stared back at me,
          what once was animate,
lying there, among the stones, inanimate...
what a strange sight...
            do i believe in god?
            well... tell me...
   what is the driving force that coordinates
hearbeats, the functions of the stomach,
intestines, liver, kidney and lungs?
the categorical imperative split of the brain:
thinking, memory, imagination?
the bank of pathologies?
              tell me, what is the universal
1: nth term functions of the brain / 1 (divided
by 1),
                 the heartbeat / 1,
              the liver's function(s) / 1...
              the stomach's function / 1...
the pancreatic function / 1...
           i sometimes wonder:
  i own bones only in light of the thin
skinned extentsions associated with
fingers and tooes...
   sometimes this sort of thinking helps...
to "fake ignorance",
in order to rediscover awe...
         as if a genesis story...
to be the first...
        you never actually know what you will find...
sometimes there's no point being caged
in all the advancements of knowledge,
of certainity we are presented with
on the secular altar,
            ****! i can't even begin to comprehend
how i managed to clamour out from
beneath the eisenvorhang...
    a brief interlude... and straight back under
the siliziumvorhang...
            i guess i need to sleep the better dues
to pass this day...
           it was expected though,
i was, after all... sending out an S.O.S.,
     wattpad... what is it?
              teens wet silly with poetry
associated with no messy love,
mostly girls...
              YA novelties and novellas...
side projects...
               again: vampires, warewolves,
zombies, blah blah: yawn a year later...
         teen girls: sensitive as
daffodils, but as soon as a presence
comes along: little scheming modliszkas
   (mantises) - since daddy would not
approve...
              i discovered marquis de sade
in my teens: thank **** that i did...
i wished for an exoskeleton,
i moved past it, into lizard skin,
until my skin started resembling
an oyster shell hardness...
                     you snooze, you loße...
i only saw the trilogy once,
in the waterstones of Greenwich Village
in London, when i was doing some roofing
for a housing project...
i only saw the trilogy once...
i only bought Joris-Karl Huysmans's
Là-Bas once... i should have bought
the two other books...
  since i never saw them again...
  unlucky me... having succumbed to the sterotype
of the magpie stealing silver spoons...
the cover...
   artwork by aubrey beardsley:
                        'of neophyte and how the black art
was revealed to him by the fiend Asomuel'
   (the pall mall magazine, june 1893)...
on amazon.com you either get a chance
to purchase this book, or:
Against Nature (a rabours)...
    but there's a trilogy behind Là-Bas...
zee fwench: sorry, and not sorry,
the english can be grand poets,
but when it comes to prose?
                they're not even sniffing
the toes of the french...
                what happened to woodland pigeon
coos today?  wattpad.com,
2015...             the same for me...
an outright ban... because some girl
decided to be offended by me cutting off
a conversation with her: wish her a good life...
and i really out so much effort into that page...
zip it shrimpy: cut off, little richard
on the guillotine... cut!
                well... i was clued into
the world of 'olapoesía.com,
           hallopoesia.com
                       sveikidzeja.com (lithuanian...
dzieje? happenings, events, in ******)...
          and just my luck...
      leave a harmless comment in an in-group,
in a hive?
              how the nazis were not exactly
mongols, or the first christians who
burned down the library of alexandria,
when notre dame burned...
      when the blitz of london...
and how st. paul's "miraculously" survived...
and i said: i'm pretty sure the people
in command said to the luftwaffe squadron
about to bomb london:
you drop a single bomb on st. paul's:
firing squad...
           they were nazis: but sure as ****
they weren't the people of the siberian steppe!
so hellopoetry.com,
  2019, suspension from may until december 2019...
but unlike wattpad...
  i still have my account!
   and guess who's digging trenches, right now?
poetfreak.com and minds.com are
step-overs...
why did i delete my 200+ fwends off of
facebook.com and reduced it to
3 random strangers?
          eh?
                   as much as i abhor darwinism
poking its head through to give
every single existential explanation...
i have to side with darwinism on this point:
a defensive modus operandi...
lie low...
          pretend to be dead...
                   i knew the censorship storm
was coming back in 2015...
and this current banning of woodland pigeon
coos banning?
     i'm sort of happy...
but not for the sort of reasons stemming
from the ban...
     i can finally spread the "love"!
           i finally know what it feels like,
for someone who liked my work...
         being cut off from my content...
frankly... it feels great!
                   i can finally entertain my perspective
with a pinch of empathy...
sympathy is already here:
since it happened to me back in 2015,
and in early 2019...
         now for the 3rd time lucky
on the platforms i already mentioned...
but like this hindu woman said to me...
1st time is an honest mistake,
2nd time is a lesson in learning...
3rd time? there's nothing for you to learn...
and that's of course in reverse:
of me being banned.
                         after all...
if marquis de sade is still with us?!
                 marquis de sade...
                              i knew herr zensor was
coming...           but i didn't exactly
expect to climb from under the iron curtain,
to be draped over with the silicon curtain...
and these people know they're taking away
our former playground,
our youth center,
                       well...
                           but at least i didn't make
passive content akin to a video...
         if they really want to ban me a third
time...
       i'm glad someone took the effort
to read my work...
   saves them the time ageing toward granny
age, resorting to binging on harlequin
romance novels.

p.s.

you've actually caught me in my berserker
drinking mode... i'll just spew...
and spew as i must, i never expected
the "useful idiots" to comply to what my thinking
didn't prescribe them to do...
even hegel once pointed out:
something about 3D chess,
a thinking man, with pawns of willing
actors... i never liked hegel...

                  hegel has become too much
of a crucifix, a bookmark,
of what and where, "things" went wrong...
i hate bookmarked people...
kant isn't bookmarked...
         all the slander that nietzsche offered him,
as some repetitive jargon booster,
with the sort of a bachelor lifestyle
he greatly admired: rooted in Königsberg...
****** worked like clockwork...
his predictability was the great deception...
forget shuffling ideas and whatever
like a northern semite...
weren't the vikings the semites
of the north? restless creatures,
constantly displaced? weren't they?

mind you... eh...
     you know how many necromancers
actually exist?
   you ever read a book by jean-paul sartre?
james joyce? stendhal? dumas?
sienkiewicz?
      you sure you're not
a necromancer?
                it's not an exactly
illustrious title to hold...
             when reading the books
of the departed, aren't you invoking
their living presence, into the current storm
of affairs?
  sure as **** it's not a spectacular "title"
to hold, is it?
           to think: one is more likely
to cite the dead, having "risen" from
their grave, that one is to make
   "compensations" with the living...
   when journalism ****** politics...
and the sort of admired journalism,
akin to all the president's men...
died...
                a slower death than the traversing
speed of a snail...
   like that other quote beside
hegel:         the terrible...
                   has already happened.
the holocaust, chernobyl...
   that has already happened...
               awaiting what could ever be
worse: is but akin to the sword of Democles...
it's hanging in the air,
   blood-thirty,
  like the talking heads of
the french aristocracy, once the guillotine
chop happens... gagging for "free speech"
in a basket...
what is mary antoinette just said:
let them have croissants?!
    fat fake cake binges would...
with a snap of the fingers... be over...
still... the english crumpet...
      tyson fury vs. manny pacquiao
    (the obvious choice of crumpet,
and the croissant getting battered...
akin to a french toast,
               soaked in beaten eggs)...

you read any book by a dead person,
you're a necromancer...
             i'm a necromancer...
                 you're a necromancer...
the dead arrive at your head,
have a ******* with your thinking,
then leave,
you continue,
   in your own right,
and in their right: of mutating their
original thought...
          that lost ambition of narrative,
transcending any and all
moral 'oughts...
                    try me after an hour
spent with a ******* doing nothing
but kissing her:
just, because, "on a whim",
i forgot to trim my ***** hair...
                stealing kisses from prostitutes
isn't exactly easy...
all that pretty woman dogma...
     **** above a kiss...
          well... "yeah"... in reality?
                   i'm thinking about three things
right now... growing a heard long enough
to reach my heart...
   bonsai: in both the tree botanical form
and a feline form of a shrunken tiger
akin to a maine **** cat...
   and a pagoda...
                      don't ask me why...
i'm good at su doku puzzles... mahjong...
really **** on the crossword puzzle scale...
hence? random words just enter my mind
and i need an ars poetica impromptu
to lodge them into.

p.p.s.
i already know what the inquiring man would
or could ever do with a child,
to inquire about his own development as
a child, to find the: dot dot dot the missing
answers, to see for himself as he developed
into an adult, or, worse, to project his own failings
onto the child, child genius tiger mums team
alpha-bravo... child prodigy gehennah...
it's almost a psychological fetish for some,
to bind oneself to the canvas of a child,
better off with a cat, or a dog if that's your
"thing"... at least you won't be hurting anyone...
worse still: the marquis de sade ******
scenario... i still have memories from when
i was 4 years old... Ganesha must be looking
over me: the stereotype? elephants' memory,
which is as long as its trunk...
      "conundrum": if an adult male can fathom
his child: himself at the age of 4...
if he can fathom a metaphorical foetus,
why would he have to procreate,
to produce a d.n.a. mongrel to satiate his
curiosity further?
      besides that... if society was once overtly
religious, moralistic...
today's society is overly-psychologised...
i hate psychological stereotypes,
everyone is this part-time hobby-psychologist...
             i don't exactly require a biological
part-replica of myself to preserve at least
one thought with origin and end within
the confines of my self...
       i'm not exactly prone to utter patriachal
proverbs that encompass whole ethnic groups...
maxims or categorical imperatives
cater for individuals...
                   not the masses...
i'd have to be a patriarch to utter proverbs as
a way to gather the brood of my own
sow and subsequent harvest...
to be so obscure,
    to be so... concerned with lineage...
                   you have to be born with the facets
of necessarily ensuring that future generations
are to make the same mistakes...
           that's why i would never trust western
neo-atheism... d.n.a. as the only future blah blah...
         sure... if you can lodge a thought
into d.n.a. and receive the token of finding both
self and consciousness within such claustrophic automaton confines,
"somewhere down the line"...
      much older generations would have told you...
that's in the fables, the mythos, the temporal crux
and crossroads... time doesn't give a donkey's *******
about your "rational", scientific materialism's worth
of continuum...
                         etc.
Bryant Arinos Jan 2018
Ano nga ba ang pag-ibig?
Nakakain? Naluluwa? Natututunan katulad ng aralin o nababasa katulad ng mga maiikling tula?
Nanggaling ba ito sa mga kwentong banyaga at kwentong matatanda?
Siyensya? napaliwanag na ba niyan?

sa totoo lang di mo yan napag-aaralan,
kusa mo kasi yang mararamdam.
di mo rin yan pwede ipilit,
para kasi yang tao, kusang yang pumipili.

di rin yan nakakain katulad ng paborito **** chicken
o ng paborito **** pansit bihon, miki o canton.
hindi rin mahahalintulad sa mga palabas o mga kwentong wattpad na mababasa mo sa libro.

at para sa iba, sabi, pana raw ni kupido ang dahilan
tinig ng sirena naman ang kwento ng iilan.
di naman dahil raw kasi sa naaakit sila sa panlabas na kaanyuan.
hahahaha kalokohan.

Wala pang nakakapagpaliwanag niyan.
siyensya? pwe, di lahat kaya niyan patunayan
basta para sa akin, isa lang ang alam ko diyan.
Ang pag-ibig ay regalo mula sa langit.

di mo na kailangan pag-aralan,
di mo na kailangan pagexperementuhan
di mo na kailangan ng kahit na anong katibayan.
tandaan mo lang. Regalo yan ng may kapal.

kaya bilang tipikal at praktikal na estudyante, wag kang magmadali,
darating rin sayo ang mga bagay na ganyan
Di mo lang alam, matagal nang nakasulat sa tadhana mo ang kwento na nakalaan sayo.

wag **** pangunahan!

imbis na pairalin ang tibok ng dibdib,
subukan paganahin ang isip.

MANGARAP! MAG-ARAL! MAGPURSIGI!

wag muna maglandi!

pag-aaral ang unahin
para makabawi sa paghihirap ng mga magulang natin.

at huling pasabi para sa lahat ng kabataan
at basta paalala sa lahat ng umiibig,
wag **** hayaang mabihag ka ng kalituhan ng mundo
protektahan mo sarili mo.
yakapin mo ang puso mo.

Regalo ng may kapal,
Pangalagaan mo.
"One thing good I can say about the hotel,
There were plenty of skanky crack ******
Strolling the boulevard.”
So began my Expedia travel review.
As usual, I got less than I’d paid for.
My review title:
“Next Time, Sans the Engineering
& Construction Inquietude.”
Pulling into the parking lot
One immediately recognized the scene,
A modern version of Cecil B. DeMille.
The 10 Commandments.
Pyramids of Egypt
Reconstructed, Escher-like
As a 21st Century construction site.
Oh, yes,
Everything Habib had in mind
When he subcontracted
The entire task to Hershel--
Hersh from Kanersh--
The famed,
But cursed
Jewish architect.
I digress, yes, but only partly.

Noise-induced stress, anyone?
The electrified multi-frequency drone,
Saturates like a post-war Levittown
Sea of Cape Cods . . . cods?
Bacala: stiff, salted, yellow & oily.
Cacophony:  a Festivus for the rest of us.
Oh yeah, Mr. Costanza.
Post-war?
Hardly, the mahogany wax
Still faintly, freshly sober,
New cards shuffled.
New cards dealt.
At that mahogany conference table
We weep at stacked decks,
Aces & Kings for the privileged few
Deuces & treys for the hoi polloi.
That hinky Bretton Woods poker game,
Convened while the war went on,
WWII still raging, guns still firing,
Tanks still rolling & rolling along.
There sat the Ruling Elite,
The 1%--as they are calling us these days--
We didn’t even offer
Our Gold Star mothers,
A moment to
Hold their breath.
Not one decent interval of silence.
Nein, nein, nein.
It was let’s get back to business.
Capital resuming its
Uncivil War on Labor.
First, add decades of slow boa squeeze.
Inflation, insidiously mocking Calvin--
Your ethos of work
In smithereens--
(Smithereens.
[From Irish Gaelic smidir n,
Diminutive of smiodar,
Small fragment.] ...)
A recipe for Sisyphus,
Your down-the-ladder warped reflection
Stares back at you as your
Up-the-ladder false hopes
Go escalator bye-bye; and by,
Staring at you,
Pinning you to a wall
With Econ 101 clarity,
As taught by Karl,
Another wily Jew:
It is a treadmill, after all,
Noting again the clever juxtaposition
Of a Jew and a handful of Christians,
Devotees of random Protestant sects.
The following link is a gift to some struggling writer @wattpad.
(Who Cares ON HOLD INDEFINITELY Chapter Twenty - Page 1 ...
www.wattpad.com/4225578-who-cares-on-hold-indefinitely-chapte­r-twe...‎
Apr 22, 2012 - Leanna was totally stunned by this and immediately halted in her tracks and began to scream at such a high decibel, Opia could hear her ears...) That’s right, another commercial in the middle of a ******* poem. The proceeding link was a gift to some struggling writer @wattpad.@*******.
Expedia Review:
The Windemere.
Its last syllable from Old English 'mere',
Meaning 'lake' or 'pool'.
A magical name
Reeking, swirling through your mind,
Lavender & English lakes
With steam ferries.
Ne c'est pas?

I arrived at the front desk?
The computers are down,
Having earlier that day
Been hacked into.
No restaurant.
No bar.
Nowhere.
Scaffolding & drop cloths,
Everywhere.
Construction materiel,
Everywhere.
When you finally get your swipe card,
You Notice that the “Buy One, Get One”
Pizza promo, laminated on one side,
Expired about 5 months ago.
The drive to the room
Is wry recognition that
The Windemere Hotel
& Conference Center*
Is actually a ****** motel.
Backhoes & cranes,
Everywhere.
Multiple, out-door spaces
Sectioned off with police
Yellow crime-scene tape.
Everywhere.
Railings on balconies
Appear to be seconds away
From giving way.
Odor, anyone?
You can count on it,
The moment that electronically-challenged keybox
Gives up its flashing green dot ghost.

Most times you get less
Than you pay for.
$47.00 a night?
Please ask,
Next time,
What's the catch?
“WHAT DID YOU LIKE ABOUT YOUR STAY?”
Again, Numb-nuts,
You think it’s a poem.
But it’s actually my
Fakokta Expedia Review.
WHAT DID I LIKE?
This one I had to think about,
Coming up, quickly . . .
(An advertisement generated by algorithms for your amusement follows)
. . . ***** Spray for Premature ******* - Web Site - the home page. www2 rochesterhomepage.net/...Premature-*******/CHedfhhlmkmt-i...‎­Aug 2, 2013 - ***** Spray for Premature ******* Spray Helps Men Last 6 ... 54% of the men in the placebo group delayed ******* for more than one . . .
Coming quickly with Dwight David Eisenhower,
The man we liked & called IKE.
When asked if his VP Nixon--
Running for President himself,
In a tight race with JFK—
Had distinguished himself in any way
In his 8 years as his Vice-President?”
IKE replied:
"Give me a minute and
I'm sure I can think of something."

Not a ringing endorsement.
IKE knew something
The rest of us had to wait for 1973,
Reserving a room at the The Watergate,
Close to Foggy Bottom & Georgetown:
THE WATERGATE HOTEL
& CONFERENCE CENTER,
Just like The Windemere,
Another ****** motel.
**** me! What was I thinking?

Not to mention lack of privacy,
Be it acoustic or visual and,
In one case a veritable DEA bust.
Crack ***** in residence next door,
Cranes her neck around the balcony wall,
A would-be nurse, perhaps,
Offering home hospice &
Concern for your raspy,
***-smoking cough.
Her pox face bursting in on
The long anticipated
Marijuana Miller Time.
On the veranda, early evening,
Lighting up your first joint of the day,
Desperately in need
Of some herbal peace of mind.
Ne c'est pas?
Her big crack-***** head
Giraffes like crazy around the wall,
Invading your balcony space.
*******? Who was that?
Let’s lock the doors.
Let's hunker down for the night,
Taking turns keeping watch,
Like a couple of shitless scared
Grunts of the DMZ.
(Urban Dictionary: scared shitless www.urbandictionary.com/define. Ph?term=scared%20shitlessIt's when you scare someone to such an extent, you scare the **** out of them, at times causing them to excrement all over the vicinity . . .)
The Expedia Review goes on:
Anything interesting about the surrounding area?
Oh, yes, as previously mentioned:
Plenty of crack ******
Strolling the boulevard.


Hey, Windemere Hotel,
*** am I doing in Mesa, Arizona,
Two days shy of the summer solstice,
And 119 degrees?
That's another story.
But for now,
Hey Windemere,
Here’s a tip:
Next time it's total facility makeover time,
Shut the **** hotel, please.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
studying the a.i. concept of / via the internet...

i talked to siri once... she didn't reply,
instead she sent a message to all these people
that only said: slow down...
   yeah, messaged her... she wasn't the blonde
turned super-redhead i was led to imagine,
but at least she reacted in an unexpected way...

siri? oh, that microsoft a.i. project?
     i play word games, not world of warcraft...
luckily we can be said to be architect of some kind,
   or at least that's how keep a sane head when using
the internet... or simply bypassing all major
outlets that encourage certain messaging services,
like the telephone, the media... the pope...
  i'll write my little ******* verse
         for someone who doesn't implement
censors... not unless it's wattpad, that has
a genius code that doesn't allow you to ctrl + c
and then ctrl + p...
           that's probably the only good thing about
that website...
   if all website had the secret to not allowing
a ctrl + c, that would really be basis for
intellectual property, and what's otherwise the basis
for jurisprudence in the ultra-modern era...
        the fact that most websites don't use
a sentence of code that implements a ban on
ctrl + c says a lot... i mean: a grand canyon's worth
of meaning about theft and plagiarism and what not...

yeah, but you see... given the + of wattpad,
it's hard to understand why someone, a really ******
poet can complain to the authority of the website
for having a conversation with them
on the basis that you simply do the 20th century thing
of a hotmail chat room within the frame of
the acronym a.s.l. -
          but merely concentrating on the l -
so you... well, imagine where they're writing from...
i suppose there wouldn't be a problem asking
them if they have pets...

yet how this thing behaves on a musical level...
you start listening to a macbeth soundtrack,
you switch to listening to the exmachina sountrack,   <-- p.s. ref.
and you want to listen to a particular song,                      to unnecessary
in this case: #6 -                                                                       italics
    so a bit like writing a symphony and calling                    thus
it: in #A or... that's A-major, isn't it?

   and to the sound of wasps' in a flurry...

    it's about how the algorithm behaves when you
take that one song out from a link to the entire
sountrack, and what other suggestions come along,
the immediate sense of archeology of past choices /
preferences... e.g. robert plant's darkness darkness...
hedningarna's räven, ghost b.c.'s year zero...

the only thing that's artificial is the fact that someone
smart enough to code wrote the program,
           on the basis that i didn't have the capacity to write it
in order to not muse about it's behaviour...
  
i have keep making these repetitive interactions with
the internet, it's this thing completely devoid of
any sublayers this world might have -
  well... if we didn't have internet banking i'd
clearly say: life on the internet, and real life...
    there's bound to be a "    "         in that sentence,
i'm just not sure where to put it...
      i stopped believing there was a distinction,
given how huge the human population is
and the needs to travel... for what? coffee and cookies?

for those of us who still remember life in the 20th
century...
                         what was i, in 2000? 14?
   i was a kid back then, and i'm sure people much
older than me think fondly of it...
         there was so many things to touch, to feel,
to smell...
                       i don't have this classical 20th century
or beginning with nietzsche *nostalgia*
for ancient greece... my nostalgia is subtle because
it revolves around an organic structure of
my own memory, nostalgia for ancient greece
is quiet frankly, *inorganic*, that gets passed down
via philosophy books... my nostalgia is for the
end of the 20th century... not so much being a child
or anything as crass as that...
                    but that there was this fluidity in the world....
hanging out with people in car parks,
               going to the high street...
                  agoraphobia took over from that...
and that's the best thing the greeks ever gave us:
a list of phobias...
  but then why would i be right about that?
given that polite society doesn't engage with
dialectics... with **** schizoi A bashing this opinion
and **** schizoi B blasting that opinion...

recent videos i watched? a funny compilation...
     i have to admit that *sia's* early output is
staggering... she's like this matured version of
*katy b*...
                     can you imagine that some of us coming
from the 20th century had the sole ambition
to work in a music shop?
                          oh look.... that's flushed down the toilet...

god... i hate sarcasm, it's such a dry comedy,
i might as well walk into a desert and pretend i'm
a cactus.

oh right... youtube videos...
   that rare combination of
*the amazing atheist* and transgender dating and
if that's bigotry...
      i already stated the "video" i'm watching now
ex
machina #6... no, nothing robotic imagining the music...
more like wasps... or termites... evidently something
sinister... but then again gradual,
nothing like an avalanche... and there is a part
of me that would like to usher in some purposive
imagery... but then i'm being fed imagery
and i'm trying to refine what it could be by that track...

oh right... and the last video...
   this is such a francis bacon moment, how he
found beauty in violence...
    me... i'm more into seeing a brotherhood of some sort,
something that can be shared, moulded,
     something elemental, and vaguely orientated
around western values of free speech...
             anything but a vague humanity,
this constant need to individualise...
     to speak about things where the only taboo left
standing is violence...
                    there are age restrictions, of course (oddly
enough, missing in galleries...
but you know: if you ever masturbated over
an Agnolo Bronzino painting... you might talk
something as refined as the link i'm about to post)...

       youtube - Russian streetfights
                                         Russians VS Muslims...

what's amazing is this sense of togetherness....
              i can't call it anything but baconesque
after watching the david jacoby adaptation of
the artist's life and work (daniel craig being the muse
and tragic suicide)... it's almost as soothing as sitting
on a beach and watching the sea...
                                       being an only child
gives me this precursor of opinion... to think of a large
family, moving synchro like a wave.....
           it is the sea, truly... it swells and absorbs
                            the earth, teasing, gently nibbling
on it...
                      well... at least that's how i use the internet;
and so much more gratifying is the case
where i make the conscious effort that
  is in equilibirum to the made effort,
                        rather than just a passive care for
number, and a video; unless of course i'm fooling myself
on that *** note...

to finally see violence as the last standing taboo
                            and all others so openly disclosed.

p.s. what's with this website's * / _   ?
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
you fed me, therefore you armed me...
now show me the snowflake
trenches...
      i'll invite the vermin...
to keep them company...
  what?!
aren't all Polacks vermin?!
            oh... really?
             i heard otherwise...
eat your ******* ***** numb!
i am fury...
i am gorge...
i am everything but thought!
i! i... i debate with
the hive...
                        you start calling
one vermin,
you start calling all, vermin...
see how the hive reacts...
thank **** the ****** migrants
of the generation that joined
the European Union have
decided to move back...
  ******* applause!
who the **** would even be sane enough
to stay on these isles?!
what... like a Britney can't
get no Pakistani?!
  last time i inquired about
Rotherham...
that wasn't a problem...
        you didn't take to examine the words
politely...
mind you...
          rats have transcendent value,
well equipped with:
eating you;
  VER-MIN!
the English north Pakistanis could
have called me anything else...
now i have a ******* ringing
in my head...
like... eating out a **** could become
much more than a vegan enterprise
of oral...
  like...
         the prodigy & tom morello...
or pearl jam's rats...
only the northern ****...
your want your... "little" culture war?!
have it...
      vermin...
               Jew harbourers...
       us: Herr ****...
   we... vermin...
   people of neither book: but the sewers...
and whatever Palestine looks
like in the House of the Saudi...
they don't eat, don't sleep
they don't feed, they don't seethe
bare their gums when they moan and squeak
lick the dirt off a larger one's feet...
and the Lebanese wonder,
literally, "wonder"...
why aren't these vermin integrating?
who the **** said i wanted to
continue eating falafel?!
you want prejudice?!
what's up with your accent?!
huh?
where you from?!
  you want to hear that sort of *******
from immigrants?
esp. those who decided to settle...
what's wrong with the answer:
from 'ere... why?
i'm ******* praying for more Polacks
to leave these isles...
like...
i don't pray... but the insinuation
is there... **** them...
**** these David Attenborough masochistic
sadists...
        your women, your fate,
just like in the Victorian era
concerning the children...
     please... ****** is as much a racial
slur as Dr. Dre... is...
what? Mozart?!
have it, delete me...
                 whatever...
                i've learned one thing from
an innocent private conversation
on Wattpad in 2015...
           have it all...
          whatever...
               you die by the hand
that also feeds you...
        have it...
                          have it all...
              once upon a time,
once upon a space...
  once upon upon a once neither
space or time....
ended with:
  forever... what was always
what came prior, but never the after;
happy was never
a necessitated outcome...
to begin or end with...
      it was...
               a gambler's luck...
and since so many didn't gamble...
it was never supposed to resonate
as an opportunity of outcome,
or expectation...
                        namely?
happy is what people achieve...
when the angry do not resonate
within the inhibiting construct of fear...
happy is what people achieve...
when they learn to fail...
  fear? fear is coupled with anger...
happiness?
  that ******* is coupled with failure.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.but i wasn't obviously going to go far down this "worrisome" route for too long, maybe like ten minutes... i had to think of something relaxing to do... i looked in the mirror: ****! the wild-man of Essex! beard, shaggy, the neck barely visible... hair like Mozart composing, or as the Poles say: hair like a wkuriony Chopin (******* Chopin)... ****... better do something about it... ah... there's only one thing that can lighten my mood and this whole, tirade... a visit to the local traditional Turkish barbers... so i ****** off... in went the wild-man of Essex... out came well-groomed human being, not a sign of his werewolf past to be seen on him... ah... this is the 4th time, proper, that i visited the barbers (prior to? long hair... after? a shaved head like a Buddhist monk)... god... just sitting there with closed eyes... i'm starting to think that going to the barbers is better than ***.

i was never into blocking someone,
esp. if someone is liking your stuff,
but it happened to me with
that poetess on here,
       i wanted to know how it feels,
to just randomly block someone
who really enjoys your stuff...
             and then... ****! gone, never
to be seen again...
   Wattpad is basically a fascistic website
to boot this thread of thought...
who the hell gets booted off a platform
for starting a cordial conversation?
- but i really did wake up with
a moral hangover...
   excuses?
             irritability...
           there's just a certain level of
conversation i can take,
                              i can't get the pedant
out of me... i really can't...
i tried and i tried,
  notably because when speaking
to natives, i see them lazily doing this
or that, while i come with an acquisitive
perspective, hence the furthered
acquisitive impetus to further this
acquired language... while the natives
are like: blah... it has been given to them
from birth...
     and conversations,
after having completed a...
    well for me it was an exhausting poem,
the desire to finish it before off
the rails with the bourbon instigated
a thirst, matched with irritability...
               ****, i hope i can unblock the guy
and apologize...
spare of the moment thing...
            well... if i can't...
i know what it feels like:
           not being on the receiving end...
so... that's one plus from all of this.

p.s. that sort of direct messaging language,
aged... 40?
             how can i talk to someone
who's older than me, on that level...
(looks up his profile page)...
huh?
             so i didn't block him?

Dennis Willis's profile is not
visible because they have blocked you.


and i still have the block option
handy...

mind you... i didn't wake up today
recollecting some pretty
   trippy *******).
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.even if the supposedly, best ideas, never rise to the top... well... neither do the people, who could perpetuate or lend pursuit of their propagation; there's no point of a good idea, when only bad people are equipped with them... it's sort of the "question" of: it's not what you know, it's who know... likewise... it's not that idea you possess, it's what idea possesses you, and: what sort of person you are... not a Forest Gump? what are we even "talking" about, if not trailing behind?

a bit too late to be
creating echo-chambers
within the confines
of the comments section,
don't you think?
my end began in 2015
on Wattpad,
when i asked a girl
her A.S.L. acronym
to get a feeling for her
work...
   was booted off the platform
without reason...
point being... they kicked
me off,
and i never actually save
any of my work on
a private hard drive...
  i wondered:
writing the Wattpad team
with a question:
do you think i could
get my manuscripts back?
****...
    nice...
now i know what it feels
to be gassed by the quasi Nazis;
oh, i don't save my work
on a private computer...
it's all online...
   i get deleted online,
i get the Auschwitz ticket...
good to know...
really good to know...
    compared to the current
*******?
i'd honestly prefer
to be dealing with authentic
Nazis;
at least i'd get my
death wish.
since 2015 and the now,
2018?
   i sort of should feel
sorry for the independent
creators...
of videos...
but no one felt sorry
for me back in 2015...
for asking a fellow user
age, ***, location...
  which could have been a lie...
so i feel anything
for the amounting
hysteria?
   did anyone feel sorry
for me back in 2015?
no...
       so....           so?
  so?! really?!
            oh you have to be *******
kidding me!
Gariel Sep 2013
me.
I like things that sends me to euphoria,
music for example
It helps me to calm down and just relax
pop and rock music is what I  love the best

If I'm bored or just lying around with my dog,
I grab a book or open the Wattpad app to go on adventures
where meeting your favorite bands can happen
I also check some phrases under Proverbs and try to apply it in my life

And my sport is swimming,
how I randomly swim around and the water comes in contact with my hair
I sometimes wish I was a mermaid so I can live underwater.
totally random and out of place
Sin Aug 2018
Sometimes i wish i could go back to the end of 2015 and the very beginning of 2016. I don’t remember having very many deep emotions or overwhelming feelings i just remember floating on top of everything. The only big emotion i really remember having was when i got my first real feelings for a girl.
I used to stay up reading wattpad stories and the only song i would listen to was lost boy. I dreamed of being in love one day, and i would wake up everyday thinking of a new way i can finally talk to her. It all seemed so simple. I was so innocent, so pure. My hair was down to my waist, straight as could be, tamed and frizz free. I didn’t know anything, i was blind, i was excited to be alive, i had no idea one day my hair would be at my shoulders and my life would take a turn. Now i take pain killers because i don’t want to be in pain anymore and i always check the weather before i visit the cutter.
I hope it’s not all over, i hope some of my innocence is still there, i hope it’s not all gone forever,
i hope my hair grows back to where it once were.
4:12 am
Bridget Allyson Jun 2015
So this isn't a poem... But I've decided to ask on here (Instead of keep asking on instagram: @Maybeiloveyoutoo)
I'm looking for someone to do a collab with. Either poetry or a story. Right now I'm looking for a call & response kind of poetry collab. And for a story I'm open to ideas, just keep in mind writing crime and gore, or even ****** content is hard and uncomfortable for me.
So,  any takers? Just message me!
Any poems written will be put on my HelloPoetry and instagram account. And as for the story, if it is finished, I will put it on my Wattpad.
(Will give half credit to you)

I'll end this with an exert I just finished writing.
"Don't you want to fall in love?" She looked at him with hope in her eyes.
"Love is a fairytale," he replied, looking up to the evening sky.
"Fairytales don't sound so bad right now," she frowned. He looked down at her. His face showed no emotion.
"Yes, they do," he said, "If you go into a fairytale, then you won't see the reality that lies in front you."
"Then let me live a beautiful lie," she whispered.
blue mercury Jan 2017
hi guys so i have a book on wattpad i'd love for y'all to read if you have an account! @oh-blue and the story is called dreamboy please read and vote and whatnot. i just want my poetic voice to be heard you know? and if you like dreamboy the sequel softer dreams is up so yeah please please read and vote and spread the word! i love you all!
blue x
Ryan Cripps Jul 2021
WOW! It's been forever hasn't it? I don't know if I have any people that actually liked my writing so much where they cared about where I was. However, I still feel like I owe an update.

I can't remember the last time I posted, but I'm sure it was pre-pandemic. It's been a wild ride since and honestly has been since the summer before. I won't go into details, but there has been a lot of life changes. Some horrible and some great.

I miss writing poetry, but I'm not sure I have the talent to anymore. My brain feels so unorganized that I can't focus on writing and I'm kind of short on time these days, but I would really like to get back into the craft.

Hello Poetry was the first place that took my poetry seriously. I have a deep admiration for this site. So I may be posting stuff once again soon. If not anything new, probably stuff from my Wattpad days.

Anyways, I'm working on a person blog where i'll be posting poetry and original fictional stories. So keep in touch and I hope to see you all soon!
- Ryan Kain
Yhinyhin Tan Jun 2019
i.
The LAUGHS, the SMILE—
Everything beautiful
             I showed to them TRANSPARENTLY.
    The CRIES, the GRIEVANCES—
Everything hideous
            I intentionally UNDISCLOSED to them.

ii.
I TRIED, I FOUGHT—
           Brutally following
           The TREND of this world,
     But their JUDGEMENT continues
           As if I transgressed
           The DOMINION of the kingdom they ruled.

iii.  
All I ever wanted is to be ACCEPTED
       All I ever needed is to feel the LOVE,
              but this world DENIED my EXISTENCE
              and they marks my life BELITTLED.

iv.  
They UNDERSTAND only my songs
       and HELPLESSLY UNHEARD my inner voice.
      They APPRECIATED only my talents
       and couldn't see my TREMENDOUS efforts.

v.
I might have the FAME,
           the WEALTH and the POWER
           But still my soul longs for
           PEACE, FRIENDSHIP and a LOVER.
    Inside of me was full of INSECURITY,
          ANXIETY and SELF-PITY
          and SHOOT! I CAN'T TAKE IT NO MORE!

vi.
The AFTERLIFE awaits me,
              Maybe there, I can find SERENITY.
       A place where no people to please,
              No more hurting feelings
              And geez! No more of me
             PRETENDING.

vii.  
As the night begin to passby
              I could finally get some REST.
        To all perfectionist out there,
              be GLAD, cause you won't see either
              hear me anymore, ADIOS!

"FROM THE EYES OF A SUICIDAL"
Written by: Yhin2x (Ate Yhin)
062520192000
All right reserved © 2019
#YhinsPoem
#wattypoems

© posted on my wattpad account @ Yhin2x
Share your thoughts and free to click the star button if it pleases you.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
i don't know why this conclusion hasn't arrived...
two outlets: prostitution and cooking...

there i was sitting for a whole day
paralysed by: something's "wrong"
   trying to see how far i could shove my head
up my *** to spot an ostrich...

before?
       amongst other things...
       online publishing?
              bit of a farce, isn't it, considering
the principal of ©...
    namely that, of all html outlets of
self- or otherwise publications,
  wattpad and only wattpad has
    an actual copr. in the code...
namely the inability to ctrl c through
to ctrl p...
        one ******* website!
       among the giants of publishing
which... apparently do not have any,
                        any! copr.!
so much for any prestige being gained
having words printed under:
vanity fair, e.g.

but then i started thinking about dinner,
for a while,
   ****** off 3 times to fine art (Bronzino)
and jada stevens and abella danger and
that's your pop culture, right there...

before thinking about what to cook...
****... haven't cooked a risotto for a while,
i remember my uni. flatmate used
to cook that **** all the time...

    oddly enough i even bought non-alcoholic
wine because i liked its pale colour...

and... some rachmaninoff on the radio...
gently adding the ingredients,
cooking from a butter rather than
olive oil base...
       sometimes simply frying,
but then suffocating the meat under
the lid to add tenderness...
       wondering about the amount of
scrubbed nutmeg...
   the double cream just at the end
or before the chicken broth to allow
the rice to slurp the moisture in?

after...

                  1 hour's worth of cooking
is probably worth 20 hours' worth
talking to a psychiatrist,
       or at least half an hour with a *******...
maybe even less...

     but i'll give it half an hour
considering that's how the "lowest of
the low" sometimes tend to charge...
  like it was ever about stamina,
or looks, or: yeah, sure,
   i really wish i was *******
the *****-types...

                        but an hour's worth of
cooking is probably worth 20+ hours'
worth of talking to a psychiatrist...
         chestnut mushrooms,
pork, just a hint of bacon,
                      definitely parsley rather than
basil...
   autumn theme: basil wouldn't
get past this mixture...

                    if they say that music
sooths even the savage beast,
                   n'ah...
                                cooking...
music these days can actually
    excites the cultivated man and makes
him... a meathead...
   so yeah...
                         you have the ratios.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
can you conceive of an in-built: a priori "gender" gratification "ontologies": i.e. the male ontology, the pre-deconstructive focus of a willing change? well... what's the canvas like these days in academia? i still hold a door open for a woman, among, the, "plebs"... i'm a pleb too... woo hoo! so now i have to conceive of the gentle trickle of an ex-built: a posteriori "gender" counter-justification "ontologies": i.e. the... she-man ontology, the post-/ pro-deconstructive focus of unwilling change to the reminiscent continuum of circumstances... oh... you know me, academics just love, love verbiage... this is just one exempli gratia... it does mean something per se... but, hush... on the privy? it can mean, whatever you want it to mean... once upon a time: a man used to find gratification in gender "stereotypes"... there really was a gratification process subconsciously working its way into moulding a man... now? eh... the sort of tom waits' elongated eh from glitter & dust live: live circus... that one... this is a great kandinsky-esque verbiage collage... academics will probably focus on the isolated meanings of words, mumbo-jumbo them back together in a pale replica of voodoo brainstorming and: ici, voilà, alors... à savoir, voilà, c'est-à-dire... which makes heidegger's pedantic schemes... well... da-sein counter... there is such an indefinite article... reducing words to conjunctions borrowed from AND... then applying the article category... da-sein: there-being... there's being... that's really an indefinite article of... sein: being, very ******* ambigious... i have to curse... i'm writing an oath... if "offended" you probably say worse things in satan's synagogue of ****** *******... where you should be speaking vowels and syllables and onomatopoeias rather than full sentences... no one is a saint... here! i'm giving you something on a platter... i'm not using hiedegger's temporal mentality of: across the seven seas, the seven mountains the seven rivers motto for hope... here we are... here, now: hier, jetzt... you figure it out... so am i! oh sure, now we know there's (an) existence to be had, lived, experienced, closed... it's almost a cosmic joke that finds its genesis in: voilà! while the exodus is much more painful... since we're not exactly looking at a magician, or a gymnast... we're looking at... a science school-teacher... we're looking at... a clerk, a street-cleaner, a bus driver... oh sure, sure... voilà! the insurgent immediacy of the awe-insirping rush... then again... perhaps Heidegger implies... the sort of validation of voilà! via da-sein of... the sercret affair of: mundane job, but a kick-*** hobby? hier has no potential beside the collective awe-numbing: oops"?", while da-? there? well there is a vector, a linear framework of ABC (0, 0, 0) confined to an end of: (1, 1, 1)... da-sein is a look into a future, it's not the hier- voilà! -sein fatalist approach of inspection... it's a look into the future... i'll always read philosophy in polish, look at german words, and reply in english... that's how my bilingualism works... two firm pillars... and several loose cannons... i hear one academic speak, i tune into bbc radio 4... i swap my tongue for 9 itchy fingers... mostly index, middle, ring of either arm... sometimes the pinky, sometimes the thumb... ballet of the fingers... and always regarding imitation amphetamines... how can you keep a tornado in your head, without your ego spewing out shrapnel... cohesive sentence structures, narratives? that's long gone... it comes, it goes: just as the whiskey flows... for all its worth: i can vow a true statement with reiteration... once upon a time there did exist a stereotypical a gender-defining ontological-gratification, and exclusivity stratum - of the only two tiers in existence... most men probably miss this gender-defining gratification of... pseudo-malaise... it felt comfortable performing banal res-extensa-theatre tidbits... the simplest of things (acts, etc.) always brought out the most selfless joys... the grand replacement of the Muses and the Furies... ex-pec-ta-tions... morose social norms... and we as men complied... now? how about a song... matta... chaos reigns... how's that? if i was in this game: which i am not a part of... who wouldn't be tired?! to have courted the general splendour of the ramped-up polar opposite ballett via mediocre instances of ****** differences... now? this... fiend... this figment of everyone's seemingly sleeping faculty of imagination... of recurring dreams... of nights without dreams... i am a foreigner and having made the utmost utility of this language... i cannot speak for it, with the sort of biological stigmata of an english caste system...  very much apparent come the Royal Ascot... as i also not a foster parent, or some ultimate-******* example of a surrogate mother... oh believe me... i bring redemption for prostitutes... i've paid a tenner extra for 110quid an hour to show you the hydra in my gob... redemption is all prostitutes deserve... there's a tier above them... surrogate mothers... a bit different, ******* a harem of a single ******... quiet another to be a surrogate mother for two homosexuals... that's another level! prostituting your ****** for an hour? em... prostituting your womb for nine months?! there is no "relatively" speaking here, it's not a rhetorical question... this comes when the women disgrace prostitutes, calling all pundits: slavers... girl likes to ****, and she ***** in the most face-to-face fashion... but i'm pretty sure, that same girl, doesn't rent out her womb for nine months so Jim & Joe can have a ****-up of a toddler's worth of a leather napkin... to wipe off the otherwise apparent ***** from them gobbing down a perfect baked alaskan lolly! but you'd have to visit Amsterdam for that sort of perspective... away from England and that perverse Carry On! *** humour that states: we're all nuns! under the omnipresent scrutiny... and then... 1960s shameless ****... that's what i learned about the English... two-faced nymphomaniacs... or whatever decree... why didn't Henry VIII decide on a harem... or polygamy? i don't like the way the English concern themselves with ***... using terms like: joke, naughty... all things crass... infantile... i hate it... it actually creates a brimming spectacle of boiling water in my head and heart... pretending to be this puritanical could only take a hypocrite to craft a performance act... seems the english have only one form of escapism... ***... which would explain why they need to dress it with as much innocence as possible... which in turn translates into unfathomable depravity... perhaps not in the en masse sense... but at least a few thousand seances... akin to those *** acts... that would require a ******, a dajjal... to be looking... for the man to get an *******... or the woman to be aroused... the third party principle... otherwise? within the confines of the "so-called" privacy? dry cookie crumble - meet limp ****.

.bitter.. or simply... determined?

that's why i like prostitutes,
            it leaves me with
a blank canvas' worth of a narrative...
no cuddly bits-and-bomps...
   just straight talk:
- i get regular STD checks...
- good to know, really good to know.

unlike that age-old scenario
that my father warned me about:
- a girlfriend of mine
tried to trojan horse
   a baby into my lap,
and it was never my own...

   funny that...
i had that happen to me once...
mind you,
i do come from a horrid background...
both the mother of my father
and the father of my father
shoved him into the arms
of their parents...

                 salty... ouch...
*******...
   and i'm his breed...
                       oh, and that interlude
"picnic" of 30 minutes...
when you have just entertained
20cl of ms. amber,
and there's still a bottle's worth
of a sinking ship?
that half-drunk / half-sober
interlude...
                    yeah... those are nice...

ideally in love...
it's night-time,
people are asleep...
    i have to caution myself
from bursting out with laughter
reading some of these poetic...
ahem... group therapy sessions...
i know i loved,
and what i loved,
and i am certain i know
what i ******...
                    because:
it being ******,
replied with the adequate
reciprocation answer...

             the more i listen to incels
the more i'm like...
   this... this is the only "problem",
dating?
              i once took to a speed
dating event at edinburgh
university...
              it went...
as it was supposed to go...
    big L on the forehead,
started digging cognitive
trenches...
      
               the ultimate sign of respect
you have for someone?
eating food with them...
that's my starting line of inquiry...
everything else is just
pretending to tame
******* politics...

                      tell that to
latex lucy... for once in my life
i became an old man in
a young man's body...
               heart started speeding...
the unattainable became all
the more: real...
                  
      thank god that i'm not much
to look life,
so i went among the sort
of women where
upon giving them an ******,
there would be an expression
of anguish, and surprise...

         kanalrattebeißen...
but at least not an english politician's
take on the wriggly **** pit
of a maggot...
          when "god" played
bonsai with rats,
as man played bonsai with trees
and tigers to create cats...
came along the mice...

           latex lucy: everything that's
wrong but somehow right
with this world...
                i stopped myself from
****-**** when i "feigned"
    breeze-'ed...
             oh i'm pretty sure
she's the sort,
the mandible sort of beauty...
     but, clearly...
   i was expecting the typical
******* chub and good humour
akin to that puerto rican in
amsterdam...

              born half a monster,
died... eh... somewhere between:
the polacks never receiving either
german reparations...
  (which the jews received)...
or soviet reparations for
Chernobyll...
       the women were told to drink
iodine, if pregnant...
lovely year, that year 1986
when i was a month shy from
birth...

                but now...
                       if they shut me up on
wattpad... back in 2015...
over a comment which ended:
o.k., great, have a great life;

             well?
     surprises surprises...
leaving one ***** colony,
then finding another ***** colony.
trust? nil.
           hope? nil.
                    faith? nil.
         the chance to encounter
plenty of kleindiktatoren?
   what, whittle hitlers?
          all the time:
all, in, the, name, of, "democracy".
god...
if i'm not going to ****
a latex demigod deity...
i might as well write something
in deutsche:

    as the proverb suggests:
if you don't have what you'd like,
well... like what's readily given.
Deepali Agarwal Jun 2019
Hey friends, I am delighted to tell you that except from poetry, I am also trying to write a book, which I am currently uploading on Wattpad, titled 'THE FOREST GIRL', Genre : Romance. It would give an impetus to me if you read it, and leave your valuable comments.

Here's the link : https://www.wattpad.com/story/188764838?utmmedium=link&utmcontent=storyinfo&utmsource=android  

And if you like it then don't forget to share it with your friends.

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