Me-Too have Harvey Weinstein in jail.

But all Harvey Weinstein did was to follow the lead of *******. What Harvey Weinstein did can be seen every day in public *******.

This means ******* incites its followers to commit crimes against women and children.

no number of opinions will alleviate this apathy, promised, paradoxically: a pandora's box of pathology, which is why attempting dialectics is a farce, a cheap magic trick for a talk-show host in being "understanding", to attempt in mediating, and then scoffing it off, like some under baked crumpet / scone, and yes, it makes sense, pivoting on the possession of a conscience... it's not that some people appear to now possess it, but that they are comical in possessing, and comedy is always nuanced, an ambiguity surrounds their conscience... the binary opposite of comedy? the birth of the tragedy, a succumbing to madness, a suicide... every person possesses a conscience, as the universal law of unit, but comedy hides a person with a grieving conscience, making the person so callus as to make them donkeys, laughing stocks, spaghetti entangled liars... it's only a conscience triggered into a tragedy that reeks with redemptive qualities ascribed to a person, cf. the already mentioned carl sergeant and 'arvey 'ard on weinstein... in the spirit of the film split: rejoice! for those who have suffered are redeemed! rejoice! said the beast. the comedy is near impossible to avoid in post-script idiocy beaming the letters FAIL; the tragedy of conscience, at least we know some evil doers in death are redeemed with the only puritanical act to redeem conscience: the bride of honour.*

can an intelligent person make a slapstick
joke?
  or is it that,
   a dumb person cannot make an original
joke?

besides the point,
  a question is a question -
  and as most questions go -
it's not whether there's a correct
or wrong answer,
rather, whether there actually is
an answer to accomplish
that stated question.

i've noticed a resurgence of dialectical
inquiry, but i have decided to
avoid perfecting the art,
   other than in person,
on a park bench, rather than on
a page in pixel white...

  oh sure, i have a life beyond this
outlet,
and i rarely write a platonic dialogue
to reinforce my experiences,
i once enforced a question
upon a child in a supermarket:
do you think animals are unable
to see 3-dimensional objects
     in / on a 2-dimensional canvas?
he didn't answer, because his guardian
thought i was weird in my
presumption...
which was, however you imagine it:
casual, cordial, orientated
within the adequate use of time and space
for the question to be asked.

personally i find myself if a binary
realm of,
   which isn't exactly a left right divide -
as a "schizophrenic" i am marching
down the middle, and asking myself:
   there's only the middle to mind,
and the mind is the only thing worth
juggling, sure, but juggling
a thesis hemisphere and an antithesis
hemisphere becomes lost in
the schizophrenic-quadratic -
      right down the middle.

which is why i find modern attempts
at dialectics so odd...
i prescribed myself dialectical escapism,
simply because there are too
many opinions i'm simply not interested in.

people seem to have stored these opinions
for so long, they are choking at not
having talked about them...
  it's apparent in comedy...
among comics...
                    they simply say:
if we can't bypass the comedy and sit down
with a cold beer, we can't actually
take the opinion seriously,
  if we can't, at first, make a joke of it...
that's hard...
              that's near impossible to stage...
you can realise the complexity of
enabling a seriousness with a comic precursor
antics to "soften" the blow of
approach...
that is why i await the awaited for
dialectical artist, who must be much
older than i, frankly the age of socrates,
i can only fathom dialectical escapism,
    in that i can fathom an opinion,
but i can't fathom being endearing to it,
keeping it, nurturing it,
       maturing it,
                     making the animate
water into inanimate ice...
                       which leaves steam
   a categorical conundrum of categorisation...

in terms of the human mind,
i can only find comparison with Alcatraz...
i am forever attempting escape,
i know i will be aided by the snitch,
judas, death...
     but i have to be lodged into
a vocab that may aid me,
  or hinder me.

                   the human experience is
an Alcatraz because of the a priori principle -
what came before me: set the rules,
the winding corridors where
i'm not the Minotaur,
but the scared victim,
   or just the dumb-enough brick of
the labyrinth's wall.
or? the a posteriori principle -
           i impose my own graffiti on
the walls, and be the Minotaur of the long
wait of life, with death:
my morphine angel.
                              
         but i see no desire to engage in
dialectical endeavours,
            hence my choice in attempting
a purification of poetry,
against technique of schooling,
  in making poetry less and less
musically orientated, and returned to
its primordial genesis: of narrative.

  hence my dialectical escapism,
i really have not stable opinion,
or opinion i'd like to adhere to, to subsequently
hug a pillar of a Parthenon.
                
- believe me when i say that the english
language has no inclination of
orthography, since it uses no diacritical
distinctions...
  and yes... russian diacritics is ugly as
your waning babushka of "secrets"...
  - the beauty of existentialism?
            avoidance of the thesaurus,
mismatching words, ambiguity -
the phraseology of: for lack of a better word...
     fiddly parts, you know,
            **** it, you can't exactly
interrupt a waterfall, so why bother
   attempting to boil some water in a saucepan?

  the world once believed in the enterprise
of dialectics, but since the emergence
of a third party mediator,
       what sort of "dialogue's" worth of
the dialectical endeavour is there left?
once upon a time, in ancient,
the mediator of a dialogue was a park
bench, after that a stage for actors...
who asked these third party ponces,
  more to the point: who invited these
plebs into our private debate so they can
mere awe and sigh their saturday nights off?!
who the **** let these plebs in?!

       i'm a pleb, i can call them plebs,
do i ******* look like i work at 10 downing st.?!
plebs only understand pleb talk,
  rude, incoherent, mildly orientated
in journalism, and ever wishing for some
marquis de sade hard-ons.

i encourage dialectical escapism, frankly,
because,
          i 've found that i have a bare
minimum, laurel leaf worth of covering my
genitals aspiration to keep opinions...
    opinions have become spare change,
you loose them almost all the time,
they're the pennies from heaven,
some other lucky ****** might find them,
and then the resourcefulness of that poor
****** is imminent: spend it,
what's there to debate?

                    the only truth of opinion is
that one man keeps them,
and by keeping them, idealises them,
thus becoming an idealist,
  or that another man discards them
as easily as a ***** peacock,
and by doing the ***** peacock strut,
discarding them,
          becomes a chameleon,
a "non-conformist" (**** me that's
stretching the idealist antonym);
  
   if there's a truth: it's a bunch of lies -
and if there's a lie: it's the only truth -
because the rule of pluralism (borrowed from
heidegger states):

          one truth = many lies
           one lie = only one truth

(there is no pluralism of a truth,
       but there is a pluralism of a lie -
the genesis of a lie is?
             a continuum beginning
with the original temptation -
truth is "plural" but it is not
a continuum of precipitation,
but even if it is dismembered
it is a whole, already apparent,
           or rather: to be made apparent,
it does not require a preceding step
to provide a pro-ceding step...
   lies are obstructive,
truth never obstructs; truth rapes,
while lies groom)...

   unum verum = falsum multis
   falsum unum = solum verum unum selem.

-
I: tonight! at the Oscars!

i really had to watch the whole show
twice, to convince myself of
something;
    the first time i watched it i was
as any usual idiot aspiring to
wow!
                      you know the usual
finesse,
             a bunch of humble people
with diamonds that belong
                                     to hades,
or at least the j. r. r. tolkien dwarves,
       and the masked king
          under the dome of the theatre
or rather:
           when does an actor, not act?
and i thought the mob
    that went to see ballet clapped
too much...
                        boy i had it coming
with this crowd...
                  these one-legged actors
seem to clap more than
    your typical pleb like me at
                       a ballet performance;
but this was only upon first sitting.

2nd sitting? ooh - a cringe (show
a face of constipation with closed eyes
and skidding mouth trying
to usher in the crin-  with a floating
                    -dg         - the d being
subtle) show...
                     the majority of americans
are of german descent, although
they speak english, right?
      and i thought english humour
was bad...
                        upon watching highlights
a 2nd time,
      i started smelling a rat...
         weinstein...
               sure, sure...
                          but who's that young
girl sitting next to guillermo del toro?  
      holding his arm as if clinging
to daddy issues - but hey!
               there's the aqua god hidden
somewhere in that bag of meat
               finely, finely attired!  
yeah... and i have an easter bunny
shoved up my ***,
                    and mother goose too!  
and black, so much black,
                 well, khaki doesn't cut it
really...
              but by watching the highlights
the second time
           it just felt like
     quote from the phantom tailor,
i.e. you hurt my feelings!
   chic? what's chic?
          chick-chicky-poo-brains...
        crass, man, absolutely crass...
     the absolute german joke:
    regarding the best picture
            award from last year...
              it just so happened that
the academy made a mistake between
a BLACK movie, and a musical...
     and in this years "ceremony"
            the hurt feelings had to be
appeased and what: the barbarian horde
expected was - but not on the last
minute whim...
            well, bull in a china shop,
     the closest i can come to the grace
of a balerina, is to curl my toes inward,
  and then stand up and walk the crow
walk... the opposite of how a gorilla
does the same with its hands.

***** please, don't confuse hans zimmer
with: are you sure that
   john williams isn't plagiarising
himself all the time?
           so, i came up with a new category,
the sort of guys
    who choose the music for such
films like baby driver...
                          can't argue that that
film is the ******* purely on the basis
of what soundtrack was behind it...
how about there's an oscar for those
music nerds?

II: i never follow the exact recipe -
    this is my body (pepper),
                          this is my blood (salt).

just 'ave a look at this:

ingredient list from
     two different recipes
     (a) epicurius.com
                      (b) pekishme.com
   (c) ... the hybrid

  (no measurements are to be given
in the later revealed hybrid
   as in the following two recipe
sources for a reason...
        i'll admit... the only branch
of chemistry i was good was
       organic: or rather - the i see) -
i've seen too many english women
sticking to "guidelines"
  and have seen at least two
marriages where a woman didn't
understand the concept of
       al dente, that later had to be
cooked to a nice chew in the sauce
after having rested in a seive
   drizzled with oil, prior to being
cooled with cold water to stop cooking...

                   A                                              B
butter          ­                                       fettuccine
breadcrumbs                                    cutterf­ish
fresh basil                                         shrimps
chopped fresh thyme                      clams
mussel                          ­                     white wine
water                                                 double cream
olive oil                                            onions
zucchini   ­                                         garlic
yellow summer squash                  thyme
red bell pepper                                oregano
garlic             ­                                    olive oil
shrimps                                            parmesan cheese
scallops
fettuccine

                                     C      
butter                                                
br­eadcrumbs                                    
                   ­                                         shrimps
                ­                      
mussel                                               white wine
                                                           double cream
olive oil                                            onions
           ­                                                garlic
                                                          ­ thyme
                                                           oregano

                                                        ­   parmesan cheese

fettuccine

and there are problems with reading two
recipes...
         e.g. you can't exactly use wine
and cream and also add
  zucchinil, yellow summer squash                  
& red bell pepper with these mild
sensations that are not balanced
akin to cream and wine (esp. white),
fresh basil? doesn't go with cream...
fresh thyme does go along with meat,
notably, lamb?

    dried thyme & oregano are
a match made in heaven...

      point being,
            the crucial aspect of fusing
recipe (a) with recipe (b)
  is the butter and breadcrumbs...
    you melt the butter and brown
the breadcrumbs in it...
    let them cool, and then sprinkle
them on the dish...
    you can also infuse the addition
of cream with parmesan,
  as you might also add extra on
top...
                 but the point of
recipe (a) crux is the breadcrumbs
mingling with everything
   in recipe (b) - but also with
what's essential in recipe (a) rubric.

III: code.

    for a while i forgot where you begin
writing html...
            blanked man, blanked...
     oh... right... in the notepad
and then you save the file under
   under index.htm
             with a sub-heading ALL TEXT...
but at this point it's really caveman
talk to me, the ones using the language
proficiently have been taught
by pioneers in the field,
            and it's not about wealth
distribution, but about knowledge...
  
e.g.
      <!DOCTYPE html>
<html>                         but why not <\html>?
<body>                         but why not <\body>?

<h1>me being late</h1>
<p>the first word is spelled mama, or gaga?</p>

</body>
</html>

           with those questions in italics
  i can't see no gate opening, nor closing
     subsequently with <h1> and <p>,
               apparently the gates
    are always open and there needs
               to a constant flow through them.

sure, smart, but dumb at the same time;

because i can tell you,
i once had an "I.T" "teacher" in my youth,
charged 20 quid an hour,
and all he managed to "teach" me
was how to change the, ******* screenshot!

it's not exactly true what they say
about teachers... it's not that if you can't
do, you teach... the darker side is:
                       you scam.

IV: ✡.

       there is no such thing as a "secret"
among the rich,
    as there certainly isn't such a thing
as a "conspiracy" among the poor.

V: the croydon cat-killer.

this isn't even an urban myth told
in thailand by hippies...
        let me tell you,
          when you spot a decapitated
cat, lying on the street while
walking at night,
   and you've read about where
this story originated, i.e. croydon
you start to start looking
   for that pathetic sadist...
   thinking to yourself:
           well, and we met, would
you have the ***** to do that to me?
  i'm gagging for a chance encounter,
just to see the ****** breakdown
upon trying to move to an upper
tier of this depraved practice.

Time’s up

Times up!
Hollywood says,
glad for sordid Weinstein
for setting up the stage..,
but, please do explain
that there’s a sitting President
who publicly claimed
to grabbing women’s *****..
all because he can!

Times up!
but, the script has not been reversed,
the discourse dies a little
every time a women’s story
is subjected to shame.

Time’s up, for who, I ask?
When only the story of the powerful
is being told!
Who will play the little girl
who’s innocence got taken away?
When Barbie is still playing doctor with Ken,
yet no one says, Ken is a grown up man!

Who’s playing the story of the women
who can’t report her husband for ****?
How can he **** her? She belongs to him!

Time’s up, I wonder when!
When time is a concept we don’t understand...
and ****** someone gives you
five months in the can?

Time’s up, but who will play the story?
When our original sin starts with parents
who had *** with their offspring’s!!
Shiit, Adam and Eve...
you really are dammed,
damming us to perpetual violence
to the very ones we give birth!!

Time’s up! It’s really inspiring.
I hope that legislatively
it creates an impact.
I hope parents all over the earth
begin to openly talk to their children
about molestation and ****.
We all know the math...
90% of all **** is perpetuated by someone
you’ve already met!

Time’s up!
The phone’s ringing....
in the time I wrote this script,
someone else was already *****!




LeydisProse
1/7/2018
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/
#timesup #**** #metoo #notonemore

Everyone has apples, but doctors are concerned,
Virtual reality in the hand of the beholder.
“Who’s the outside? Never heard of them”.
Cocooned by the mothers that once hated them.

“Politics? Is that a brand of jumper?”
No idea about the world around them.
The children grow as foods change,
Dietary requirements to save the generation.

100 years since the women’s vote,
Women assaulted, *****, killed.
Harvey Weinstein – a perfect example of the times not changing.
“Women are definitely equal, where’s the proof they aren’t?”

Scientists know that there are more than two genders,
Stupid **** sapiens don’t believe.
“There are only two genitals”
When there’s actually three.

Unknown world to the millennial’s
Screens blocking the view,
Parent’s faces are square and blinding.
“You can’t change the world, why try?”

The sins of one man
Cannot be washed away
By old age or suffering
When his shadow
Has touched so many who
Will bear his mark for
The rest of their lives.
She says, "It is sad to see an old man in prison."
I tell her my sadness lays
On the banks of the river
Filled with the tears of his survivors.
Their pain cannot be abated by him
Contracting a virus.

Blah-Blah-ing in the Age of Blah-Blah-Blah

No, this is not The Age of: Hefner, Clinton,
Obama, Trump, Harvey, Putin, Kim, Xi
Trolls, polls, super bowls, or cinnamon rolls
Kurz, Kaepernick, Ginger, or Mary Ann

Nor yet again an Age of: Gold or lead
Bronze, pewter, silver, nickel, aluminum
Chrome, nichrome, copper, brass, titanium
Thallium, thorium, thulium, tin 1

This is the age of You, unless you insist
On claiming this the age of something else


1 Yes, I had to look all that up

Literary allusions: the curse of
Those who overdo—or, as some say--
Overdid the reading thing.
I speak of close associates,
Imaginary friends you’ve not met,
Let alone read (pronounced "RED") about.
Like this guy down at Moe’s Tavern,
An 8th Avenue writer’s bar I frequent.
Let's call him Paulie Muldoon,
A fat Irish slob who claims to be
Poetry Editor, "The New Yorker."
Paulie likes to give me tips on
HOW TO GET PUBLISHED!
Like me, he’s never
Been in print anywhere,
Other than his ***-encrusted laptop, &
A letter he once wrote to the editors of
"The National Kreplach Review,"
A radical Zionist quarterly
Funded by The Mel Brooks Foundation,
Harvey Weinstein & Condé Nast.
Nevertheless, Paulie seems to know
A lot about the publishing business,
Particularly after six stiff Jack & Cokes.
He says the thing is this:  
The best of the Ivy-League’s
English majors wind up in Manhattan,
Slaving away in cubicles,
Working for peanuts—literally,
The publishing industry has some sort of
Barter agreement with Planters.
(www.planterspeanuts.com)                                       ­            
They sit around on their ***** all day,
Getting their kishkes in a twist,
Eating peanuts, perusing manuscripts,
Like chimp Zoo valedictorians.
The manuscripts submitted by the hopeful
And--for the most part--delusional.
According to Paulie, these Yalie, Princeton,
Harvard, Columbiana WORDMEISTERS
Are more likely. . .
(Urban Dictionary: word-meister (www.urbandictionary.com/define.php? 1. Something yelled in place of a cuss word. 2. a rare species of humpback whales. 3. small children whose mother's name is Debbie.)
. . . More apt to be impressed with your scree
If you lay siege their psychic CPUs,
Pushing a few obscure,
Mnemonic function keys, remembrances
Of past Proustian peregrinations.
That's right, you get a much
Better shot at sidestepping that
First smug obstacle of arrogance,
If you slather them; go right
Ahead & flatter them with
Lotions, potions & emoluments,
Arcane passwords,
Vain secret satisfactions,
Tidbits of titillation,
Things that only some mook
That actually had read "The Crucible."
Or "The Scarlet Letter,"
Could possibly know,
Let alone, remember.
For a publisher’s water-boy,
A synaptic switch is keyed,
Tripping off an avalanche of
Marginally relevant,
Yet ultra-literate,
Cognitive highlights.
And, while we're on the subject,
Has anyone actually read Melville's "OMOO?"

why were wallbuilders and promise keepers
made into heros for people like me who
always lived beyond the walls?

Outside the wire,
beyond the pallisade,

within which

Very rich powerful people want all the money
money monetize

me, or phugmefofree

Spaceship earth, the generic term for
the bubble ourkind can

be real in.
This one.
Runes tuned to sounds we share

in cognitve morphic resonance coupled
with this magic-time-teck tic tic

pause
selah

Stall-speed,
need to know
this:

there, from here,
is always a place to put your foot.
I said that,
There's always aplace to put y'foot

falling according to plan, we land

here in the cloud of pod-people-recasting,
con-positivo woe to whoa to wow
in ten seconds after the first Plancsec you noticed,

Accutron-- Tom Green, not the famous one, maybe
the beautiful mind imaginaty kind,
but he had an Accutron watch in Vietnam,
I remember the tone

listen....

viral ideas are the great gift of wisdom, in a word.

The gates of the institute of us, which we, the people are subject to,
the object of our service as patriotic citizens
we,
the consumption economy-minions men imagine are
all conceived in love of money,
money-infected,
at the level of stem ideas.
common sensed as seen on TV
or Twitter

we know, entering-tainment over flow.....

Eric Weinstein
Atheist but I go to synagogue (analog for same knowing
knowing knowing knowing)
I let the spirit move me,
says he,
it doesn't mean that it confuses me... a (no signal)

hmmmm  think
Das Heilige Geist
ghost of a chance, try cognition via morphic
resonance,

or listen on Spotify. I forgot the time.

I can listen wither I wish, I've reckoned.
I, you know,
inherited the wind,

it was worth all the trouble.

Do you think it's all about belief?
Are you religious,

trivia answer for future players:

Define religious. And they say shitnobodybelieves

I say, define be.
And so on and on.

I did a half hour podcast and returned to thinking in these
runes, peace is made by the path
least re
sisted

Sistere, the word is a key to the path,
war distorts reason
for a season

stand here.

Ah, the Welsh H'laf-veard, sug
gests this may be when craft
prospers
Coud be the tothic season of the switch,
the exercise in godliness.
liness? why not godness, like
say no lie, the trials are beyond

appeal, judge yourself,

exercise godness,
hear
the voice, nay the word

nay the sound
resounding in you right now, save

ye vacillate, silly, wishy-washy pre-
tender toward

outahere

Das dunkoff deliberately drafted dis **** daffy drivel
dont denigrate doodling, deftly demonstrated,
diligently doled, dribs drabs, dosay doing dandy dancer
displaying dopen derived dimwitted drek.

Exercising effort encompassing expressing *******
eliminating every eminent excellently evolved equalizing
element er excruciating exertion earnestly elbowing explictly
each endowed equipoised eppaulted
essential earmaked e-z editorialized expose.

I reckon there must be a gamut of grammarians
waiting in the wings (shutterflying
at the speed of Soundgarden),
cuz soon after pumping iron heck,

kinetic, narcotic, pathetic, quixotic, rhapsodic,
poem within a flash fans descend and feast
upon thy warbling, twittering rocketing
my ego to the moon!

King Kong Kennedyesque Kappelmeister
cuckolded, cinched, canoodled, keepsake
capitalone Dixie Chicks, Indigo Girls,
Lady GaGa Godiva cagily,

knowingly, Kafkaesquely, kinesthetically  
kissed kepi's kewpie dolls causing capitulation
crushing Candy– clean cleft clear clobbering kaput -
clinched culture club moss commotion
calling Casper Weinstein the overly friendly ghost

granting clemency clearly convinced
crowning Charlie Chaplin chief corporal
kickstarting clandestine covenent
kept Locked Horns -

cleaved cloistered community cohesion
creating civil unrest
tandemly totally tubularly trounced
thru trumpetting Don debacle

detonating divisiveness driving Miss Daisy
(a hybrid flowering biracially
Black Eyed Susan) daringly declared debutante,
she sprouted sense and sensibility

without prejudice, but plenti pilgrims pride
paternally passed from Mayflower coterie Compact
Massachusetts Plymouth Rock venerated vocifersously,

near Salem witch trials bewitched secular citizens,
where Razzle Bathbone (held heretical liberalism)
freed Wicca Witches of Witchita
wayward wretches willingly casting their Lot
with fortunetelling forcefield manifestation
forecast, an Oracle of Delphi,  

where hurled discobulus trajectory traced arc
resembling Moisbus strip without nose hound
but distant barking brought bedlam
by half baked, battered, berserk
Betty Crocker brand Fitbit binnacle

encompassing blazed blitzkrieg
stymied mutiny on the bounty hunters
synchronized yelping at birth, sans this *******,
stirring cry of echoes,

which cosmic Flickr ring soundcloud reverberated
whimpering infant (Fingerhut size) detected
via uber reincarnated voodoo warlocks
twitching triggering happy full figured slug
hook gushed upon pressed release mechanism
screaming (Banshee like) bullet tin heard worldwide,

where webbed warped woeful Widowersdating wretch
woof whistled while witnessing
wondrous once in a lifetime phenomena

meanwhile kitsch hen squawked
with pan dim mown deem
signifying sell **** re:us son
settling Harris heir apparent,
wherein gyser spewing gremlins awoke gargoyles
grimacing grotesquely ouiji board blamed.

Well done rabbit reading ridiculous rodomontade
reaching runneled stream strewn with vibrant vistas
offering Avast Outlook Linkedin to a Yahoo mailer daemon
the Buzzfeed ding bugaboo badly crashing gateway
necessitating fix Uber Lyft via spell checking incantation
at the door, whence Earthlink from Godaddy helped Indeed.

Realized liberty, bike lanes,
okeh, Bret Weinstein is right, they do measure liberty

all my roads have double yellow lines, as a measure of safety
in a two-way world.
{which is partly why the code in DNA runs one way}

measuring minding
trips my trigger, to what I was thinking of writing
while watching a whispy-white haired man-my-age,
measuring the edge of a two-story house,

which a good man is building for his daughter,
down the hill, from where I sit.
That old man is bowed, in a compressed spine
kinda way,
bam bam men walked that way, in China, before the dams.

Tote that bail, tug that rope, nuthadayowe-der wise,
otherwise, aliens versus everything
pop knowns
you had locked away, in those gated intellectual troughs.
Yes, yes, troughs,
Pigs eat from troughs, cows eat from cribs,
chickens eat from dirt and sheep *** all the grass for wool
to pull over our eyes
filtering lies
like sunlight under big old Pines shading little old
Rosemary patches that feed bees,
wooly eyes, wise
meander, would you say away from world's wisest men discussing
what may be done, we set a spell, make peace with
having nothing else to do.

-- that sorta ran through my mind as I watched the elderly carpenter.
He was careful, but not afraid, aware.
He stepped from joist to joist,
at the very edge of the second story peak edge
perpendicular to the foundation square,

eye-ball-level to me
slow and steady he takes a tape, {such a witty invention}
a tape attached to a spring,
whereas once such things were actual hinged wands that unfolded
at the flick of an old wizards wrist,

then out came the soapstone, to lay down the line,
make the mark.
Here is where we cut, measure twice,
cut once,

he is sayin' in his mind, to me, I think, I imagine being told
this is how we learn what is right.
we learn to measure what works by what is.

If the distance between two points is beyond the reach, oopshit
I got distracted and he fell.

Harvey Weinstein is not in jail because of *******,
nor did the Devil make him do it.
Harvey Weinstein is in jail because of power.
He felt he had it - all men feel they have some.
Yet, Harvey Weinstein is the kind of man
who knows not restraint, who knows not respect,
whose little taste of power, he felt, should
be on the tongues of the women whose lives he polluted.
******* is not the impetus of abuse,
just as a gun will never be a murderer,
just as the Devil will never be anything but an excuse.
Men are their own devils.

Your duty is to learn...
what exactly can never happen.
Mine is to prove that could.

Waiting for results,
patiently possessing all the commercial good sense
being made on TV and YouTube, ignoring Tweets.

Finished Lex & E. Weinstein
Finished A World Lit Only By Fire-
Pondered,
puddled & splashed through pundit
performances of guessing,
betting
this election, 2020,
is
the respirited story conspiracy, this is all the breathers,
mouth breathers
nose breathers, nose-in-mouth-out breathers,
rare mouth-in-nose-out breathers, rare
but
possible… one in eight billion is consistent
with inspiring research, to prove
this
is commonly considered odd - almost meditation,
but each breath holding real human spirit
influencing the entire ocean of opinions,
see, wipe the beading perspiration,
whew, we are
the conspiracy, this is us, breathing one
breathable bubble, in the sea of all knowns,
we breathe knowing,
were we all to breathe at once,
here is plenty of air,
so

why are you choking?

We spend our days watching, by the hour,
The Kardashians in their ivory tower

Fifty-one million one can make,
And yet from the poor we continue to take.

With another tape, they could make more
Here men are, paying, preaching; “she’s a *****!”

Punter, performer; why is only one disallowed?
Sexes sin equally; Mz Davidson would be so proud

But a role model she is! Some also bark.
What about Wu Zetian, Zenobia, Joan of Arc?

They are lost, not as important as ingot
Instead we’ll recall Weinstein, bigot.

Stories of their tweets dominate the BBC
But where is the plight of the LEDC?

living the ultimate fantasy  
on the casting couch
a reverie of carnal pleasure
there did always slouch

some of the starlets role playing
just for him
his ****** appetite at showtime
was never trim  

he'd manhandle the sweet
titillating dames
who sought parts in the next
blockbuster movie frames

Mr Weinstein's past productions
are presently getting press
not so
good
seems the gropper extraordinaire
has split from Hollywood's
dream
neighborhood

there are ambitions, forbidden,
for words to cleave to,
to manage hives...

of the opiates that allow
prolonged loss of the dream,
a mother that persist
that listens to that band:
enigma...
but hasn't asked her son...

who are the: the dead can dance?

how weirdly we are
made central in this lesser crime
of the novel,
and somehow together bound...
i...
in that never asked for
a grammatical lesson...
how difficult you have made it,
to have to begin with...
like some pedagogy "expert"...
this your crime your new
"aushwitz"...

you have the basin, the lasp.
my infrequnted lapse
of attention...
the book club,
the antithesis of the better part of me,
when not watching
bricks become rigid for minding a construct
of a wall... subsequent topple...
such be letters that become words...
such be oriental syllables
that become words...
somehow, later...
neither... yet apart...

these have to be forbidden words...
since they are not prized...
beef or pork cutlets..

as i want to gaze upon the moon
with a drift of clouds...
and a stammering...
expectation of a tram...
to be my hour-long-awaited-to-be!

i want the pork-chops
with the *******!
i want the edible parts
and all things leftover cosmopolitan!
i want... i gorge...
for a Hagia Sophia and...
her first born: tuba büyüküstün...

winner or loser...
that all depends on what's concerned
with a win, or with a loss...
anything deemed a win:
but dissociated with a tuba büyüküstün?
is a loss... no dracula can salvage this
tabloid poo'em aside...

but i confess... to heace such beauty?
one must most certainly...
entertain...
auxiliary aids...
one can almost expect...
these expentation standards of beauty
to never incline themselves to borrow from
the Turks...
but dear god: they almost must!

the woman sun-kissing with her hair
is... almost a ****-meal-ready-mcdonald's worth
of ****... but this Istambul queen?
like i once said:
oh i'm sure the english girlies prefer
the pakistani men...
by the looks of it? it's true...
she can be petted to be...
groomed...
but a ****** ******* mother russia
will... not find 'em knocking on 'is door!
so? the pakistani leverage!
grooming gang prior to...
a would-be honest chance...
purge the labour!
honest labour!

no no... we can't have that...
and here's me thinking...
how the ****, will i find my own...
ethno-bride?!
i'm thinking about Ottoman harems!
as any legal-i.q. median man would!
torrent: '****... or a chant of re- re- re-!
there's the love of not being allowed...
and there's the love that allowed...
but otherwise taboo...
that: SPEZIAL talk concerning
the british and the h'americans...
one of them! i swear to god...
one of them is: naive spastic-mr-fantastic!

this is the part where you ask me...
so where's a william f. buckley jr.
when you need one?
that's also called... not speaking mandarin via
the DeLorean...
and no... no harlequin...
no ****-buddy-***-toy...
no neon quiz about the south korean
suicide rates being synonymous with
the lithuanian rates...

bauhaus: or: boor-cusp...
western notions of beauty...
everything mr. spastic-plastic-fantastic...
or else... buggering a niwab of a Q...

it's just a comparion...
once upon a time there were men that would
make taylor swift their beauty standard...
another bleached blonde *** note...
and if... harvey weinstein...
then alfred hitchcock... and those
hitchcock blondes...
"metoo": #joanfontaine,
#gracekelly, #novapilbeam, #ingrid,
#tippihedren, #madeleinecarroll, #carolelombard...

ease up on the blondes
for the gods' furthest fun-****
outside of heaven!
i don't see how... a tuba büyüküstün
could ever become a taylor swift... though...
a tuba büyüküstün is on par with a...
priti patel or a joanna mucha...

or i would be known as:
i'll pretty much **** anything that moves...
or... my standards are well below being on par
with a handicap...
they're just... realistic...
but even by the given citations...
this is me being expansive...

if you feel like you want to **** "something":
you're alaways awfully itchy...
you can't help it...
but there's no expansion on the narrative
for the prime impetus...
that's always lagging... or dragging behind
not having the capacity to fulfill the proper:
peacock...
it's a worse scenario to having to simply
0-base one off...

i'm a european man and i do not find
the european standards of transcendental beauty
to be bound to: a woman with blonde hair
and blue eyes and pale skin...
and speaking with a kentucky accents
of puritanical love...

for some "odd" reason...
she has turkic contort perfections of a...
physiognomy...
which makes me... her lesser...
caucasian...
that cocky-asian... or... whatever is left
available on the platter of...
i would... with my most awaited ease...
cut off my tongue...
as long as i would be...
given the guarantee...
to sip on oysters...
churn kingly prawns...
spit on well done beef...
and... slurp chicken *******...
done proper... with enough butter thyme
lodged in between the ******* and under the skin...

because? the next time a vegan comes into
my mental vicinity...
i will think...
the vegeterian gave birth to the vegan...
the casual meat eater...
surely he must have given birth
to the eucharistic literalist!
yes... the convert of the vegeterian to veganism...
is... thanks to the poetics of the eucharist...
the casual meat-eater...
the antithesis of the vegan:
the cannibal...

root fibre...
some muscle and the same worth
of fibre via the cartilege.

this world deserves an akin: you and i;
for every bad joke told...
there's an already worse moral lesson
to be... not told...
but most assuredly avoided...
which implies: to be learned...
the joke is merely the caveat...

and a caveat is not... a ******* canapé!

acting all surprised
like harvey weinstein opened eyes
hyper critical belies
this most hypocritical of people and places
casting couch denials
humblebragged ****** defilement
worked the feminista angle
best audition of the day

Woke up wide eyed and broken into
like the conservatory door of nanny's bungalow.

He looked like an elephant seal,
Shrivelled **** like a decapitated eel.

I thought myself a
Killer *** bucket
As I smashed glass
into a sleeping skull
and eye socket.

Blood balled from the
Cyclopsed Weinstein;
I wailed at the crotch like a
CK fantasy.

An hour later,
Sounds from the crater,
Red bubbles from black
***** looked post-natal.

Dead man:
Kissed by sweet inequity.

****** by a ****:
That's my type of equity.

I have often wondered, since my birth
what is my body worth?
does the outside count more than in?
humans are all born of sin--
kavanaugh weinstein trump
treat women as objects to dump
is my body for their hungry eyes?
will they undress my sweet disguise?
aware that my body is not my own
aware of my safety when I am alone
please don't think I could ever be yours
please don't harass me and shout out slurs
is an ** worth less than an xy?
how have we all turned a blind eye?

Manhattan looks magnificent in the moonlight,
especially from my penthouse on this eve.
I sense the young girl’s apprehension;
She’s only just arrived in the City of Dreams.

She wonders about the price of her admission.
What will I demand? What will she do?
Just nineteen; she’s the same age as my daughter.
Her vocals are an Angel’s; her complexion too.

I make a joke and am rewarded with her laughter.
She gratefully accepts a chardonnay.
The days of Harvey Weinstein are now over.
Young women no longer need to pay to play.

I look forward to her appearance on the screen.
I’m grateful for the part I had to play.
If I feel just a little bit in Love
I remind myself I’m old and look away.

Menopause.
*******.
Tyson. Weinstein.
Cosby. Ronaldo.

Signals from,
the inside, see, we,
may see those now, we
may wish we could not or
wish we knew the harm,
in knowing good and evil at
this
level of the myelination of the whole,

enchilada,
absolutely, PBS F'EVER, STREAM IT ALL

fund
funding
fundamentals, ah,
it's a be yo to the full thing, be the jew
at the table, boyo,
who thinks I think you are italian.
*** upside my head,

I said, I know what this is, that is the
missed re lease…

secret documents, in 2021, those exist
in paper based and ritual/music based
funda-mentalism
tolerant
encorporation of various tasks and taskers,
givers and takers, ******* and wipers then scoopers,

family cultures re-emerge from these huge, old piles
of petrified bullshat stories that turned into this,

as anticipated, says the mercenary, aware of the time
as expected, says the visionary aware of the seed
as needed, says the broken everything

fundamentally, words fix leaks in reality.
Nothing gets in,
nothing is never anything in here, these lines, this opera.

Oh, lord yes, that fat lady does sing.
Here, she sing
like them birds when the helicopters fly to Yuma,

so the few, proud brave volunteers to take the oath,
that is repeated ever after. Semper fi.
They can learn to fly in deserts, just like those ones,
where them warring spirits is loosed in them stupid boys.

It is, yes, ******-right, war, is good for nothing. Is the lesson,
if you finished the course.
that is the lesson.
of course… deep
re-morse ..--. - .- FTA - hey, I remembered something qcqcqc

-------------------------------
the curtain drops, like in real life.
Boom.
where there was no wall, there is no window,
no opening see, see me

blinking as the houselights flicker, if this were
steampunkset,
no, high school auditorium
our miss brooks set ourmissbruksit, big smile,
on TV
oh, that kid,
that kid that loved Our Miss Brooks, on TV, he
trained Rambo in the movies, that's one badass archetype.

'sing it now, I'm so proud
to be allowed to disavow my allegiance to the flag…

That I make insiders see my tablecloth, where wine
and all the de-sacredizing fluids, bacon fat and ***** of pigs,
shall have flowed, by now you know,
-- you saw that very table cloth, clean, on Jeffy Epstein's table,
-- you did not take the bait that Pinker's joker let him swallow,
sorry smart guy, you and Krause, jeffy scored on you dudes
made you stink.

you can just see it, the evilist thing you can ever imagine,
the desecration of
the star spangled banner, re
PRESENT, HARMS!

------------ zoomzoomzoom cameras in every window
lookin through the curtain

guaging our re
action, give it spin… this almost pure reaction to
Eric Weinstein 2 and 11, safe bets,

but, you gotta know this one guy I knew, who never knew
he knew a jew, and he lived next door to mister levy.

This guy believed jews were white.
I like that guy, he comes by, we talk, he knows
about the book
and how he is in it as himself
and he's ikeh with that.
-------
Yeah, I never had the time to learn anything,
until I found one day, I found one day, I did have time

for everything.

it was a theory, as the discoverer's disciples declare,
an absolute
aha, the sound of the first positive thing that ever mattered,
and a negative one that mattered too at that
ping nada

not exaspiration, not inspiration

nada never was so none of this, save this is
so something else
after the initial

matter anti matter manifests from never was

phtt phtt phit wait
ah, time to feel the wisdom take beauty to prove the point,
nothing to fear,
once you know

happiness you can joyfully live with 24/7

that is the target, not nothing.