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Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
.i have come to realiße that... it's not so much what you write about... but the mere fact of writing... i can't imagine myself being subjected to something, like a narrative, or furthering a character study... i can be the object of whatever is whimsical enough to come into my head of its own accord - i want to forget forcing something to come into this puncture, this dam, this incision that i am coordinating... and it's not that i'm objecting to something, but i am not going to subject myself to - no more than a whim, of its own desires... with no attached: i think so too... it's not about what i write anymore: it's the fact that i write... if i'll be able to spew 3 thousand words tonight... i'll be content... because... i know that i have crossed the threshold of not being left "satisfied": nonetheless constipated by an instagram haiku... mind you... that's a very troubling hindsight note you have in there... wouldn't an object the size of the earth... in a vacuum of space... create its own winds to imitate movement? there is no wind on the moon... yes... and we're talking hindsight from 420BC... the moon landing happened in the 20th century... let's give it some times before that becomes an obvious hindsight too... do you feel movement - rotating - did the turkish dervishes help at all?

the fine line between: competition and corporation,
otherwise known as a: very, very, naive poo'em...

by a definition alone:
it's not so much concerning whether this
would ever become a capitalism vs.
a communism "debate"...

after all - i'm ref. walking a tight-rope...

of the latter, verbatim:
'an association of individuals,
created by law or under authority of law,
having a continuous existence independent
of the existences of its members
and powers and liabilities distinct from
those of its members'...

can i just point out, foremost,
in an environment of competition laws can be bent...
to add to: the spectacle...
the athletics doping scandals:
it's within a spirit of competition...
the sprinters are not corporating for give
a spectacle... they are competing...
for the the spectacle...
ask me again the difference between...
what used to be a competitive event
done during leisure hours...
and what was a leisure event akin
to reading...
and ask me again: the difference between
taking part in the event of competing...
and watching a competition -
and what had to be involved to give
the spectacle its architecture...
i don't think it was so much competition
as it was corporation... never mind for now...

after all... how many times have laws
been bent when watching a football match?
the passing of law is hardly an objective
crux that so many "rational" and logic-"riddled"
people stress - can be made by one man...
sure... laws in vivo - science and what not...
these objective safety-nets...
that can lead to endless to-and-fro...
but i hardly think... man is capable of passing
objective laws: in vitro... notably in -
           in unum: omni...
unless that's a schizophrenic metaphor...
which is already a metaphor when
tested on a bilingual brain...

how many people did it take...
to pass: the earth rotates around the sun?

the heliocentric model...
genesis in the west from philolaus,
heraclides ponticus,
pythagoras (hindsight...
wouldn't an object moving in
a vacuum of space... create winds of
its own?)
aristarchus of samos,
then onto philolaus of croton -
anaxagoras; whoever was
debunked by ptolemy... then so many years...
until enough time passed...
before people could take the plunge and
be certain: for old time's sake with
copernicus - well the people have been sleeping
for long enough...
enough time has passed and we can pass...
this objective truth... that the heliocentric
model is true and that the pharaohs held
no authority as the sons of the sun
in the static geocentric model...
likes Xerxes ordering the sea to the be whipped
to calm down... and become a lake...
some pharaoh must have had a wild
idea telling a sand dune to stop moving
or seeing some mt. sinai said: shrink!
so instead be said: let's build us a... perfect pyramid...
a mountain that looks... geometric from
both afar and near!

or at least that's what Homer would have
said when visiting Giza: Δ'uh!

so a single man is somehow justified
in passing an objective truth?
unless the mob encores...
but what about the jury - a trial without a jury
is any trial at all...
murky ground if you ask me...
i don't expect man to pass...
judgement for a universal equilibrium...
but what i do expect is that:
he doesn't think he's capable of this: grandiosity!
clearly he's not... the objective reality
of falling... the subjective: i'm right as
allocated the status judge: therefore i'm standing still.

competition in a medical environment...
only in the realm of psychiatry...
and the mine-field of misdiagnosed misfortunes...
but i hardly think... competition is a catalyst
for getting surgery done...
corporation, yes...
among farmers? a rare treat....
a hobby pursuit for a selected fraction of
the crop... the dear-to-my-heart "g.m." tomato...
but all the other tomatoes... need to be harvested...
but this my pet-tomato... which needs to be:
THIS BIG! another matter...

sport and competition...
but work... and competition?
no wonder work and competition,
rather than corporation gives end results as...
who's wearing the most trendy sneakers?
who's social media account requires...
the most editing? who's child is the one with
the smartphone? etc. etc.

the bait of the poo'em is that it's naive:
but i think it is - so there's that to begin with...

i still can't fathom that "capitalism" was solely
promulgated on competition -
i'm still having to address the "model" as...
having to retain a "socialist" aspect akin to corporation
to get away with... what later became:
an all out economic "war" of competition...

naive utopian of me to somehow huddle
at the fireplace of corporation...
work - if so many people hate their work...
what would be the only gratifying
alleviation? and i'm pretty sure some places of work
are less about competition: and more about
corporation - as i write this...
the british national health service...
some people will compete by cutting corners...
competition will lead to doping scandals...
competition is... an Elisium for the few
and... a crab-bucket for the some...
call them the 10% cliff-hangers...

i've noticed it in poetry... slam poetics...
what not... this affair is already riddled with too many
****-up ****-wit window-lickers:
of which i am primo...
but i don't think it necessary to compete...
this was never about competition...
not every work is required to be
tinged with competition...
sometimes... it's just better to corporate...
do... undertakers compete?
do... postmen compete?
last time i heard: each is allocated his volume
of letters... it doesn't matter whether
he finishes his chores before the other postmen...
no postman is stupid enough
to take up someone else's allocated letters...
the first finishes his chores sooner...
the latter works overtime without pay...
it's a corporation of endeavours...
all the same... but there is no need to give these
postmen running orders when
they can walk the ******* mile...

competition within the realm of sport is one
thing... i guess a long time ago...
some people engaged in competition: sports...
to escape the general lagging begin plateau
of corporation... Rome wasn't build in
a single day... others dedicated themselves to
slouch and sloth of expanding the cranium
by reading a book...

the naive is still the bait...
is conscripting in an army...
about competition... or following orders and hierarchy
and therefore: not solely about corporation?
hierarchy you ask...
well... wouldn't that be something borrowed from
plutocracy / nepotism?
competition in an army environment...
what if you're in the royal guard
competing at what... shooting more blanks
into the sky expecting to shoot down the moon
at a wrestling-match fake
of staging of a state funeral?!
the cannons sounded... and that's all these
ever did... they were shooting with
empty wallnut shells! the wallnuts were
eaten by gunpowder gremlins long ago...
before the pomp & circumstance was shot
with: aenemic *****...

this is not a capitalism vs. a communism
debate... communism was riddled with nepotism...
come to think of it...
capitalism is not there yet...
but it's already there...
from what i've heard...
capitalism as this utopia ideal is not a meritocracy:
exceptions are made...
cicero was an exception of the roman empire
under nero...
exceptions and genetic freaks...
is this still a naive poem?

i can understand where competition works -
notably in what jobs it might work...
but most jobs require a stable work ethic
of corporation...
perhaps all self-employed entrepreneurs...
"perhaps" have no corporation in mind...
to a greater degree of orientating themselves...
in that corporation is: outside the bracket...
if everyone was suddenly...
self-employed... there would be no fear of...
the robotic onslought to come...
at least then... the microcosm would open...
and there would no longer be any employees...
just self-employed facets of...
"corporations in name only"...
which they already are...
corporations in name only...
given that... the corporations are no longer
competing with each other...
they have consolidated on a monopoly...
and since they are no longer competing with each
other... they have designated their former...
inter-competition into a hierarchal intra-competition
of "employees"...

can a bus driver, or a tube train operator compete?
by law... you can only drive a bus for 8 hours...
to operate a tube train... you can do X number of hours...
and these include breaks... necessary breaks...
can you find competition in these:
ultra-corporative environments? no!
capitalism might think it is necessary to scare everyone
into: the robots are coming! time to be self-employed
and compete! compete!
but some jobs are still: primed to corporation!

could i ever see undertakers competing?
in times of a spiked demand - during a plague...
what is healthy in sport -
is not necessarily healthy in a workplace -
after all... most people detest earning money -
it's a chore - mind you: do i enjoy writing poo'etry?
am i being paid for writing it?
no... i am "volunteering"... for the love of
the art... for ****'s sake... nothing more!
nothing less!

is this still a naive poo'em: yes... sorry...
i forgot to be caustic and there's no rhyme... my bad...
but this is not a capitalism vs. communism
tirade... from the yoke of the soviet union...
i learned from my mother that...
flues weren't really that prominent...
not until the 1970s...
by then it was a common theme...
biological warfare... while the crown-virus has
yet to claim a life outside of the mandarin
genetics: in the age of propaganda journalism:
you hear a "truth" one day...
three days later you're singing along to your
own "biased" / solipstic narrative...
after a while you have to adopt the "autism"
of solipsism: the world can only bite so much
out of you... you have to turn to standards of delusion
to match to their: from the many, one...

in sport, competition is the "zeitgeist":
it's not a metaphor, it's a misnomer...
but given the " " ditto brackets - i'm tired of looking
for the: "required" word... sometimes...

by the 5th definition of competition...
it's not as direct as corporation, competition
needs to borrow from an -ology...
again, verbatim: 'rivalry between two or more
persons or groups for an object desired in common,
usually resulting in a victor and
a loser but not necessarily involving
the destruction of the latter' -

what is untrue about this is that...
the destruction of the latter is paramount...
at least these days...
am i to believe that capitalism was not,
not ever, tinged with a belief in corporation...
that it was always, somehow, only about
competition?
what was communism born from?
when did the abolishment of serfdom happen
in russia? 1861...
the abolishment of slavery happened
in england in 1865... 4 years after...
but... but!
in russia? the slaves were thought of as...
people from within russia...
in england? the slaves? en route a trade from
one foreign place to another...
wow!
all slavery: either foreign, or domestic...
and to think that communism was a "failure"...
hard to imagine... truly hard to imagine...
given that... communism was born...
4 years prior to slavery in general was abolished...
of foreign to become "nationals"...
what does english he-he-history tell us about
native slaves? four years prior to the slaves
moved from africa to the cotton candy fields...
there were slaves that were not: ***** out of africa...

reperations who's who?!
why didn't capitalism bloom in russia...
why will it never bloom - oligarchs and...
currency of modern western capitalism:
nepotism...
who is jared kushner?
mr. cushions mr. cushtie...
mr. minted in: network baron...
slavery was abolished on the international scale
in england in 1865... four years after...
internal slavery was abolished in russia... 1861...
isn't that the sort of wow you were expecting?!
so when was slavery-slavery abolished
in england?
again... if internal slavery was abolished in russia...
4 years after slavery on an international
stage was abolished...
communism was a failure because: per se...
or... was communism supposed to be...
a short-cut attempt to catch up to capitalism?
was it a failure in catching up to capitalism?
in the 2008 financial clash...
where was Poland? recession free...
again... communism was a failure per se...
but... was it a failure in terms of catching up
to capitalism?
to me... it's still catching up...
when again... we're talking... freeing people...
only 4 years prior to people who would
otherwise still be... rummaging the romances
of Kenya and seeing no albino tourists sipping
brandy on their shores...
perhaps better for the whole load of us...

i ask, again, in my naive way...
that's the difference between competition and corporation?
not much...
a football team needs to compete with other football teams,
but it needs a corporative methodology behind it...
you can sometimes spot a maverick who wants
to be the solipsist in the team and become
nothing more than the top goal-scorcer -
then again: a kevin de bruyne and the number of assists...

if there was to be a level playing field...
everyone was to be self-employed...
what fear from robots?
competition on a ford's:
each man is a cog in the assembly line...
you can't compete... were you supposed to?
i thought that the only reason sport
was fun was to be compete and corporate...
it wasn't solely about competing:
not even in tennis are you ever competing...
unless you're serving a ****-ace...
competing but also corporating:
for the spectacle: with 19shot rallies...

to reiterate: this is a really naive poo'em...
is has to be!
- again... before capitalism became this hell-scape
spiral of: fear of robotics / a.i.:
let's just see if we get enough self-employed
people on board...
oh sure: the self-employed undertaker...
the self-employed bus-driver...
i'm sure there was, what's not called:
a "healthy spirit of competition" in work related
niches of existence...

i'm an alcoholic living among workaholics...
not a pretty sight... believe me...

i'm sure that capitalism... must have began
with: a "healthy spirit of corporation"...
that one henry ford would benefit more than
all the assembly line workers: fine...
the brains is allowed the conscious efforts
to move the eyes, close them,
use the jaw... bite... do magic with the tongue...
the liver has no knowledge of alcohol...
the heart isn't exactly aware of either veins
or arteries... fine... a henry ford cigar can get
away with thinking he's not adding
a chimney to the whole affair...
or a rhine-valley load of chimneys...
the stomach doesn't know what taste is...
sure as **** the small intestine knows
what it feels like to be a woman:
should it find itself unfortunate to have
a hitchhiker tapeworm attached to it... etc. etc.

but i imagine the capitalism had a sense of
corporation before...
it worked too many psychopathic sport analogies
into itself... precursor to the fear
or a.i. robbing people of their jobs?
testing people in a self-employed job market...
again: oh sure... the self-employed undertaker...
the self-employed busdriver!
perhaps a self-employed cabbie...
a self-employed surgeon?
how would that work?

        what's that? the cult leader... would not find
a job status match... in a corporate market of ideas?
then a ******* maverick he is...
esp. with such dates as: the brian jonestown
massacre hovering over his head!

perhaps i am naive is reiterating:
work implies corporation rather than competition,
in that work implies chores...
i've seen this in my father -
he doesn't underand household chores
on the basis on corporation -
he understands them on the basis of competition...
and he's to somehow... take pleasure
in the "free bread and circus"...
when the circus is not what it used to be?
once upon a time: the circus involved
men... who were footballers...
but they also did part-time metallurgy work...
they would clock in at a certain hour...
then be let off work to play a football match...
they weren't paid: professional:
disappropriate wages...
because their "work"... was over-inflated
by the gambling syndicate dicta...

there was a utopia in Poland...
it lasted for... roughly 30 years... from 1945
through to 1975... after that the herrings
didn't want to be pickled...
the baltic sea started to boil and the fish
strarted to froth at the mouth...
it's not a nostalgia segment: i was born in 1986...
this is mythology: curating the temporal
standards of modern journalism...
history: what time ago?
50 years? elvis was abducted by aliens...
n'esst ce pas?!

slam poetry competition with fellow:
poo'em eaters...
can i jut take the armchair with Horace?
i don't feel like competing...
what am i competing for?
volume... a new YA novel?
i will not ***** language...
even if it is a language i acquired:
and it's not a tattoo native first come first served
expression...
this is not a capitalism vs. communism
affair...

all the: towel in champions of capitalism
have made it clear:
start a traditional family, start a farm...
milk some goats...
pluck some eggs... living the dream:
brown fingers and all...
                       way way out from competition
in the workplace...
so... no need to corporate...
solo does it...
                                and if i'll be needing some
milk... i'll likewise claim: an autistic
pension and enough barren land to feed
goats organic glue and toilet paper that
magically morph into... a propaganda poster...

olim truncus eram ficulnus, inutile lignum:
once i was a stump of fig,
a wood without use... this is my best Horace:
thank you, goodnight...

what is to be competed for?
rather: what it to be retained, kept, status quo
enclosed... this pride for corporation?
competition in the workplace can only go as far...
not all professions can allow competition...
some will forever retain their base:
corporation...
to compete outside the realm of sport...
sport... those with enough awareness
of the body would pursue it...
those with a bit more brain in tow...
wouldn't... the ghost limb terms:
there's nothing of note
when it comes to competing with i.q. in
mind... or corporating...
there's this ancient feat of "solipsism" and
self-bettering... rather than running
the "expected" mile...
was capitalism always this:
chicken-shack-shackled into... wishing to squeeze
out drinking water... from pig ****?

again... this is not as easy give-away
that it's a capitalism versus communism base scrutiny...
all the eastern european laid-deeds have made it into
their chandelier filled land-allotement sights of
better ****** that gynocentrism...
i don't mind...
      yes... because among the bulgarian strip-party
i'm the ottoman janissary turned
well spoken sheikh... when morocco is given...
a fictional name... and i'm the Ali
that rubs Muhammad's lamp and
averts the... most ****** schism...
oh sure... Islam would be a pure religion...
and they would be allowed to complain about
porky-pies...
but... you see... how long did it take
for a schism to emerge between the orthodox grees
and tha catholic italians?
how long did the islamic schism take
to grovel and dig trenches?
not that much...
after all... Shia... Persians... Ali Woke-oh-Haram...
and the ****'ite... the ***** muslims...
the Saudi bin-Ladens...
well... that schism... didn't take that long...
some whisper about a schism in the monotheism
of the hebrews...
ha ha! i write ha ha... but even i have to laugh
out loud... a monotheism an inbreeding
of something more than genes...
fix the idea... and continue!

by now even i know that christianity has reached
a status of polytheism...
it's the same jesus... sure sure...
via no other than the orthodox,
the catholic, the protestant (calvinist, lutheran)
standards... or the baptists... or the jay-***-***-V-and-G
standards...
next thing you know: the vegans are
the gnostic monks!
because it has to be a joke at this point...
if christianity is a monotheism...
i'm mother theresa and that albanian
that stole george w. bush' mickey mouse's watch
on a state visit...
so to complete the holy trinity...
i'll be... alastair campbell... always for the giggles...

an alcoholic among workaholics...
who always had the satan's postbox concerning
the niqab... the same ones who were to be always
quoted: the beast from the east...
jesus is coming! look busy!

i mean... no need to look busy...
when the high a tide is making a comeback...
would you believe it?
if you saw the words... united kingdom...
england, scotland, wales... ireland...
that this was not moldova?
this is a language these are letters so arranged...
by an island-dwelling folk?
if you're the first, driver...
shotgun! who are we smuggling in the passenger
seats behind us?

imagine my surprise at the rereading,
with the typo: a missing (s) in letter()
and a missing (d) in arrange(d)...
i call them... the lost key of solomon...
or my own personal, hybrid,
hard-on...
oh god kept me with a phallus...
while giving all the angels a proper chopper
of the ol' wood... **** to stump...
i'm the one that wasn't circumcised!

and all i now have to sing about... is...
a forest of pines! a forest of pines!
pines pines pines! yippy caye!
judy smith Jul 2016
The 9.6 million followers who tune in to watch Miranda Kerr having her hair done on Instagram — for this is how models spend most of their time — were treated to a rather more interesting sight last Thursday: a black and white photograph of a whacking great diamond ring.

Across it was the caption “Marry me!” and a twee animation of the tech mogul Evan Spiegel on bended knee. Underneath Kerr had typed “I said yes!!!” and an explosion of heart emojis.

A spokesman for Spiegel, founder of the Snapchat mobile app, who is 26 to Kerr’s 33 and worth $US 2.1 billion to her $US 42.5 million , revealed “they are very happy”.

At first, the marriage seems an unlikely combination: a man so bright he founded Snapchat while still at Stanford University, becoming one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires by 22, and a Victoria’s Secret model who was previously married to the Pirates of the Caribbean star Orlando Bloom (she allegedly had a fling with pop brat Justin Bieber, leading Bloom to punch Beebs in a posh Ibiza restaurant).

Perhaps the union indicates that there is more to Kerr than we thought. More likely, it reveals something about Spiegel — and the way the social status of “geeks” has changed.

Since Steve Jobs made computers cool and Millennials started living online, nerds are king. Even coding is **** enough for the model Karlie Kloss, singer will.i.am and actor Ashton Kutcher to learn it. Silicon Valley has become the new Hollywood, as moguls and social media barons take over from film stars and sportsmen not just on rich lists, but as alpha men.

Being a co-founder of a company is this decade’s equivalent to being a rock star or a chef. And, if their attractiveness to models and actresses proves anything, then being a Twag — tech wife or girlfriend — is a “thing”. Sources tell me Twags are also known as “founder-hounders” because they like to date the creators of start-up companies.

Actress Talulah Riley was an early adopter. She started dating the PayPal founder Elon Musk in 2008. Riley, then fresh from starring in the St Trinian’s film, met Musk in London’s Whisky Mist nightclub after he had delivered a lecture at the Royal Aeronautical Society. I interviewed her shortly afterwards and she told me they had spent the evening talking about “quantum physics”. A month later they were engaged. Their on-again-off-again marriage lasted six years before she filed for divorce again in March. Currently Musk, worth an estimated $US 12.7 billion and focused on Tesla cars, is said to be “spending a lot of time” with Johnny Depp’s estranged wife, Amber Heard.

Model Lily Cole dated the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey in 2013. Later she had a son with Kwame Ferreira, founder of the digital innovation agency Kwamecorp. Actress Emma Watson is going out with William Knight, an “adventurer” who has an incredibly boringly sounding job as a senior manager at Medallia, a software company. Allison Williams, Marnie in the HBO television show Girls, is married to Ricky Van Veen, co-founder of College Humor website.

Could it be that these women are onto something? Dating a bro certainly has its appeal. They are innovative: how else would they invent apps that deliver cheese toasties or match singles based on their haircuts? They are risk-takers who must be charismatic enough to inspire investors and attract crowd-funding. They may not be gym-fit, but they are mathletes who can do your tax bill. They are animal lovers: every start-up is dog friendly. And they are fun: who would not want to date somebody with a ball pool in their office?

There is a saying about dating in Silicon Valley: the odds are good but the goods are odd. Nerds are notorious for peculiar chat-up lines and normcore clothes. Still, if geeks can be awkward, that is part of their charm. Keira Knightley, complaining that Silicon Valley was all men in hoodies and Crocs, described how one gave her his card, saying she should get in touch if she wanted to see a spaceship.

One Vogue writer recalled a Silicon Valley man messaging her via a dating app, in which he noted: “In 50 per cent of your photos you’re holding an iPhone. It may interest you to find out that I invented the iPhone. More accurately I was an engineer on the original iPhone . . .”

Most promisingly, some guys are astoundingly rich. It is suggested Kerr’s engagement ring is a 2.5-carat diamond worth around dollars 55,000. She has already moved into Spiegel’s dollars 12m LA pad. Between his money and her Victoria’s Secrets bridesmaids, no wonder sources claim they are planning an “extravagant wedding”.

It might rival even the Napster founder Sean Parker’s $US10m performance-art bash. He married songwriter Alexandra Lenas in a canopy among Big Sur’s redwoods decorated to look like an enchanted forest. Some 350 guests wore Tolkienesque costumes created by The Lord of the Rings costume designer Ngila Dickson. They sat on white fur rugs and were given bunnies to pet. Presumably rabbit babysitters were on hand when the disco started.

If such fantasies inspire you to become a Twag, the great news is you do not have to be a supermodel to be in with a chance. Such is the dearth of single women in Silicon Valley that one dating site, Dating Ring, crowdfunded a plane to fly single women to Palo Alto from New York.

Be warned, though: guys are single because they are married to the job.

No wonder most meet their partners at college or work — the Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg met his wife, Priscilla Chan, at Harvard.

The Instagram co-founder Kevin Systrom met girlfriend Nicole Schuetz at Stanford. Melinda met Bill Gates when, in 1987, they sat next to each other at an Expo trade-fair dinner. “He was funnier than I expected him to be,” she said.

Kerr began dating Spiegel in 2014 after meeting him at a Louis Vuitton dinner in New York. You can bet he was networking. Shortly after Louis Vuitton showcased their cruise collection in a Snapchat story. Last season Snapchat went on to become the biggest new name at NY fashion week.

If you want to meet tech guys, you might catch them at Silicon Valley parties, which is how the Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick met his partner, Gabi Holzwarth, a violinist hired to play. Or they might be schmoozing clients downtown in a swanky Noe Valley club in San Francisco or a boring Union Square hotel in New York. In London you find them around Old Street, aka Silicon Roundabout, in bars, at hackathons, or start-up meet-ups. In the day they are coding at Google Campus or practising their pitching in a co-working space.

Some tech boys date the old-fashioned way: on Tinder. Airbnb founder Brian Chesky met his girlfriend of three years, Elissa Patel, through the app. When I interviewed Instagram co-founder Systrom he admitted that when he had been single he had signed up.

Dating agency Linx — presumably a play on operating system Linux — is dedicated to making Silicon Valley matches. Amy Andersen set it up in 2003 after moving to Palo Alto and being “flabbergasted” by the number of eligible men. She claims her clients are “extremely dynamic and successful individuals’’: tech founders, tech chief executives, financier founding partners of large institutions and “tons of entrepreneurs”.

Andersen says tech guys make “fabulous partners”. Romantic and chivalrous, they write love letters, plan dates, “even proposing on Snapchat!” If you want to marry a tech billionaire, she says, “you need to bring your A game.” Her clients look “for women who are equally, if not more, dynamic and interesting than he is!”

There are drawbacks to dating tech guys. Before Google buys your amore’s business, he will be living on *** Noodles waiting for the next round of funding — and workaholics are dull.

Kerr says Spiegel is “25, but he acts like he’s 50. He’s not out partying. He goes to work in Venice [Beach], he comes home. We don’t go out. We’d rather be at home and have dinner, go to bed early.” Which might suit Kerr, but is not my idea of a fun.

You had also better be prepared to share your life. When Priscilla Chan miscarried three times, Mark Zuckerberg wrote about it on Facebook, while Chesky used a romantic trip with his girlfriend to promote Airbnb - uploading a picture of her in bed, with a note saying “f* hotels”. Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism.

It has a chief exec-bro culture that puts pick-up artist/comedian Dapper Laughs to shame. Ninety per cent of women working in the Valley say they have witnessed sexist behaviour, 60 per cent have experienced unwanted ****** advances at work, two thirds of them from their boss. Whitney Wolfe, a co-founder of Tinder, took Justin Mateen to court for ****** harassment. Her lawsuit against the company alleged that Mateen, her former partner, sent text messages calling her a “*****”.

Spiegel has tech bro form. He apologised after emails from his days at Stanford emerged: missives about stripper poles, getting black-out drunk, shooting lasers at “fat chicks”, and promising to “roll a blunt for whoever sees the most **** tonight (Sunday)”. After one fraternity Hawaiian luau party, he signed off emails “f*
bitchesgetleid”.

No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Jade Musso Apr 2014
Two bottles of Southern Comfort, Black Keys on iTunes, profile picture with sister, stir-fry, 30 Rock, Gorillaz poster, pancakes at 3 am, spontaneous lunch at Barone, friends with benefits, need a hug, Columbus Day, touch my ****, too much tongue, crumpled into wall in the morning, Urban Outfitters for a t-shirt, silver medal, free Dominos, Workaholics at 12, secret sleepover #2, ******* because i thought that's all he wanted from me and i wanted him to stay, hickey on my neck, studying in a room with the round table, drew a horse on the whiteboard, fill out a police report, Redgates from Firehouse, he looks cute today. Tackled into metal, did I break my back? Jump on it, it's not funny, I'm crying, cold beer, kiss on the porch, stop kissing me in 12, *******, more kissing, blood everywhere, come over, comb through hair. you can stay over again, skips class, uses my shower, makes the bed, come with me to doctor. Vermont secret, Batmobile, on Prius, dune buggies, Phantom Menace, brother-in-law, supermarket in Newfane, stir-fry, statement at 6am. Hurricane, in my basement, halloween at the fire station, knitted scarf headpiece, mother's phone number, red gate sandwiches by Citi Bank across from library. Confirmation party, Chartruese, Coldplay at Mohegan, Torches, enchiladas, screaming, stuffed wolf, comic book finishing touches at 1 am, new roommates, L.O.L., I was going to propose to you - in the hallway, 3 month long orchids, Vermont trip #2, no riding allowed, nap by the fire, bare butts touching over unscented blanket, sapphire ring too big under lamppost in parking lot, happy. Sarasota, hide my eyes with Mosley Tribes, take a walk without me, Game of Thrones, cold sand, hair dryer joke, need eye drops, Ringling Mansion, gator bites, silent walk by traffic, kayak in shallow water, families too different, bike ride to tune of Star Wars, nervous about the summer, panic into shoulder on flight home. ******* in the middle of the night, drive around campus, leave me alone, pack up N-64 games, fight before final presentation - only one group gets an A, instant milkshake and magazines to pass the time, make a pizza, here let's make out again - apparently that isn't so bad, almost forgot my friesian mug and vase by the trailer. Texting *****, sick stomach, Lord of the Rings, try smoking, Magic: The Gathering, first communion, wedding, Chip's Family restaurant, high school graduation that I couldn't sit at, Miya's with the mini *****. Fireworks on hill through trees. Retna laptop with blue cover, HGTV's Next Design Star, I have to leave. this is where I stop.
Zero Nine Apr 2017
Hit too hot hit too hot
Now my throat burns
Watching Workaholics
I'd say Blake is my favorite
His hair is cute I like his face
Wild red hair creating umbrella space
Flick the engraved Zippo the gift from wifey
Blunt in the bowl smoking
Spent ten on a three
My other lover might sit with us soon
Three in a room sharing hands
Possibly kisses, massive attack
Playing mezzanine we'll either touch
Each others' skin or carry conversation
As it turns out I've found peace with
Either outcome or any other potentiality
While it's pleasing to be receiving I'll be
Lying if I tell you I don't appreciate the fine
Details in simply spoken word between us
.....
Teenage Writer Jul 2013
I stare out of my window at the midnight street:
Desperate lovers roam back alleys, hoping one day they’ll meet.
Creeping shadows cast from dimming street lamps haunt the pathways;
Yawning teens sit awake typing up long overdue essays;
The dreams of the unsuccessful hang in the sky with the stars;
Drunken mugs trip over their own feet outside the city bars
A lone tree stands to attention in the middle of a frost bitten field
Fear ridden walkers use recycling bins and garden walls as shields

Workaholics typing themselves into oblivion
Athletes run laps hoping to become an Olympian
Stray cats and the heart wrenching cries of the homeless haunt the alleys
Holiday goers walk by torchlight through hundred year old valleys
Hopeful wannabes sing their shoulda coulda wouldas by the crack in the kerb
Whilst I sit… staring at the wall thinking of a perfect verb
Hi dudes and welcome to the Jupiter moon and today I wwill perform some ripper crazy person songs for you and the first song is teddy bear here it goes

Teena totter teena totter teddy bear
They are quite cute the teddy bear
They are nice to cuddle from the head to their feet
Teena totter teena totter teddy bear
I would cuddle him and I will kiss him and make him feel warm
Teena totter teena totter teddy bear
I want to be near my teddy bear
You see we go teena totter twice for him to make him feel warm the little teddy bear
Oh I really love my teddy bear
Teena totter teena totter teddy bear are so cute

Hi dudes and that was a really great song and now I sing a song about me and my friend Patrick going to a actors course
Both of us are doing well

Here goes

You see me and my mate Patrick went to the acting studio to audition for a movie
Which sounds really cool
You see it was about a man who ate a huge city's worth of food and we will make that entire city
Starve to death
I wanted to be the mayor of that city and Patrick wanted to be himself but in a short little way
He doesn't know how much it is worth
You see the director said I smell like a buffalo doing a ****
And the director gave Patrick one almighty whip
You see we were good but in hindsight we were bad
And Patrick said he wanted to be a Waller snatcher who snatched people's money so they end up all broke
You see i became a man who wanted everything for myself
I was a selfish man who doesn't
Care for anyone but myself
Then the great director put me and Patrick in sumo wrestler suits and said how about you play two sumo wrestlers struggling to make it in this world
I said no and Patrick said no
But that all changed when the whole thing was cool
We jumped up and down in our sumo suits saying we are tougher than the rest
Then mr yoni hebsworth said Brian and Patrick I will give you both a fight but the director told us before the fight that me and Patrick got in and that made us feel cool man

Now dudes here is our next song called I got tinnea in my feet

You see i feel an itch in my feet
Making me feel uncomfortable oh yeah
You see the itch was telling me
I need to put a cream on it oh yeah
You see I felt like I was on drugs
Which made my feet itchy dude
And at one stage I had fungus which had to checked out oh yeah
I don't know what to do because it itches really bad
You see I got tinnea on my feet and it is really itchy
You see it could be my medication forcing an itch in my feet. It could be the simple problem I have with white meat
It could be me sitting at home
Watching episodes of workaholics back to back
Because they talk about having *** which is something I have never tried oh yeah
Yeah I am a ****** and watching this show brings this sensation to my toes
You see I have tinnea on my feet and it is really itchy
It could be my desire to have *** when I was young
It could be the hooligan inside
My body today
I have tinnea in my feet and it is really itchy
No matter what it is it is itchy dudes

Hi dudes and now here is our next song called *** is wonderful but not old ******* young

You see Robert Hughes is a **** and so is Rolf Harris
You see they will have *** with young people which is totally repulsive oh yeah
I know once you hear a child scream you should stop straight away
Keep the *** with someone your own age that sounds so cool oh yeah I know old fashioned tv shows used to show people enjoying *** oh yeah
But *** between the old and the young is repulsive don't you think
Thank you dudes see you next time
JP Aug 2019
He
took the rocket
from the earth
to
Escape from nights..
Anais Vionet Mar 2024
Classes started up again today. Soon, we’ll be gloriously stressed, and clocked-up on whatever. Our hearts will swell to the pre-med symphony - a frantic opus, composed in the key of no sleep.

In seminars for rising pre-med seniors, (What's needed to get that med-school slot!), it’s obvious that 60% of the students who started out with us, on this track, are gone - left for other majors.
“I wasn’t happy, it was too much,” they said.

I feel a pang when I hear that undergrads we’ve shared a trench with have switched their major to basket weaving (political science), TikTok (computer science) or Phys-Ed.

I envy those deserters, I pity those deserters, I envy.. Wait, aren’t deserters supposed to be, well, you know.

Meanwhile, the rest of us, the stubborn few, cling to the dream. It’s a waking dream, for caffeinated zombies, obsessive-compulsive workaholics and maladjusted wonks who neglect personal needs, relationships and in some cases personal hygiene (not me, of course) in favor of a goal.

Maybe there’s something wrong with us?
Brian Rihlmann Jan 2019
We chant our allegiance to it
in shouted slogans,
and fight ****** battles
under its banner,
ironically chained to it
as we are to many other
shadowy and ghostly things.

But never has treasure
so desired
been so eagerly
given away.

Primitive man
gave his to gods
of sun, sky, and earth.

We give ours
to elected tyrants,
weak and corrupt old men
made powerful
by our faith.

To imaginary boundaries
we lock ourselves inside,
to roles we play,
to straitjacket ideologies
we writhe in,
foaming at the mouth.

There are slaves to
their own bodies,
or the bodies of others,
and ******
for the envy of neighbors,
or strangers.

Collared submissives
who bark like dogs
and beg for the whip.

Workaholics, alcoholics,
pill poppers,
shopping addicts,
and spiritual junkies.

In a thousand ways,
we hand it over,
between thumb and forefinger
like a piece of chewing gum
drained of its flavor.
“Here...take this.
I’m done with it.”
Split Nov 2019
When will pulse increase
out of excitement
rather than fear?

regretful hearts
signal a cry.

Tears slip down
onto our heals,
feet no longer
cling to soil.

left the brain
to rot and boil.

have no grit
have no might

do as you're told
don't question molds.

oh how these days of symmetry
lack any sort of tranquility.

for now, our bodies mimic
palpitations of so-called workaholics.

actions contradicting
wishful tendencies

each obedient second
portraying societies' needle.

lackluster blood entering veins
infecting what once kept organs aflow.

in reach of hearts
it may not pump

but within our souls,
we grasp control.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
i'm an egoist like i might be a spider -
a quizzical pointer and a loiter of hubris:
that word again...
   i must have mistook hubris for hiatus -
i see no future for the arguments
concerning genes -
         beside: solo project i -
                and what will continue is
the concept of a species -
i am quiet thankful that i don't demand
the face of the slobbering gods to be
of a particular inclination -
     in that: i was never fond of english:
philosophy - once the parameters
of darwinism became established:
there was no longer any blinking involved...
or at least missing the abyss -
the abyss forgot to manufacture dreams
and the darwinistic enterprise wanted
me to peer into it with unflinching metaphors:
and scarred details...
that a man might refrain from
potentially petting an arachnid...
   then again: i'm only a cat person because
******* are one thing...
but parading with genitals of dogs
is just another daydream -
      once upon a time:
                   it wasn't like the darwinistic adventure
came with a cute poetry akin
to the copernican revolution:
cited: he stopped the sun and moved the earth...
perhaps to borrow from history:
when people were wrapped up in
a "solipsism" of their own species -
           that not much from "elsewhere"
could be borrowed, tailored to
a mimic... incorporated... slyly suggested...
the full bodied and ****** consequence
of the old lies and emotions of squabbling
men and ferocious women -
beside this current neuter:
flimsy generic loaning of insect:
             ontology?
                for what was deserving for men
to imitate: a rhetorical crux / pinnacle...
that would never become a cocktail of
more robots more a priori nibbling at
the old unfathomable god:
a god outside of a polytheism that can
only become a brain-freeze and a tongue tie...
it's not that darwinism isn't... a truth beggar...
but you can't exactly make incisions
of an existentialism with darwinism -
how the 20th century becketts got "away with it"
is beside me...
but i can't be a man no more
a brick when i'm facing a comparison
from an alien revelation of insects:
to **** is to be eaten - just as much...
hell... i wouldn't mind being eaten
as long as i couldn't be milked...
         i am truly alienated by the task of
preserving genes:
there are a billion chinese and a billion
blue indian raj examples to pick... from...
it's not like the species will die...
i am no atlas and this solo project
is bothersome to have to question: to begin
with...
  i never liked darwinism because
i knew it would go far beyond a mere
observation: it had to be incorporated -
the behaviour of lions or of insects -
          after all: i am not subject to my own
undeciding human...
                  any more than i am:
objecting to: the crowd pleasing objectification
snooker or borrowing from:
these ambivalent critters of pouch shadow
and a thought...
             i'd want to summon
the old gods but there they are...
no subject matter ignites their need for
a presence...
            they might as well have secluded
themselves on the gentle silence
of a scratching orb trace to tease saturn -
i want to find the crows mystifying -
i do - but that doesn't help much...
i don't want to delve into life that's not
immediately concrete -
i followed a whiff of making concrete
but then i knew: ****'s the real stinker
and the juice...
                    i played a ****** when looking
at a spider feast on a moth...
days prior i was inviting
moths to the nursery of my bedroom...
- you simply can't create a cosmopolitan
allure for cafe existentialism with
priding yourself on darwinism -
it's not wrong it's just: i don't want to
borrow from the very base, crude:
psychopathically teasing tendencies
that... well... deviations from mammalian...
if "we" borrowed from elephants alone...
from whales...
were we oh so solipsistic prior...
yes... we must have have been...
we domesticated horses...
we domesticated dogs...
   we created bonsai tigers...
             we probably petted poster / glue
nibbling goats...
we forgave the cannibalism of chickens
when one could meet the stump
and axe: a golgotha like congregation
of drinking blood...
         a violent old god...
death and jester but a pretty innocent
apple...
now a benevolent god and a fruit:
a bundle of metaphors and metaphysics -
it's still the old trick of poetic cannibalism -
i'm sure that if i worked on the apple...
i'd get a cider from it...
am i cured from the curse of the wine -
what if my body is a rumble of whiskey
and a potato chip?
  is my corpus "antichristi" this...
wheat "buckle"... what if i can turn
the bread into a consecration of meaning
with... a ******* gnocchi or a noodle: bundle?

- catholicism - well: perhaps born into it...
but i'm missing the confirmation language
that even the great atheistic tinker and tailor
and: how biology and the rule of
the thespians killed off the alchemists and
poets...
            let's just pretend! let's... let's...
just... pretend...
             years later i can finally appreciate
Al Purdy...
   i know what put me off...
the notes in a copy of his: rooms for rent
in the outer planets...
i need to buy some rubber
to erase these pencil details...

             female handwriting -
i know it... the letters are al bubbly...
they're not akin to chicken scratchings...
bubbly ******* of toads...
"unsentimental view of nature"
a real "treasure trove of antics"...
what put me off: what always puts me off:
a need to annotate poetry:
to teach it like one might teach
a bunch of young Frankensteins
a lesson or two in anatomy...

that language so already sacred in it
being scarce has to endure...
a postmortem of additional details
of: that it can't be left alone like
a floral insignia on a base dulling of
Hittite brown:
     a bark of wood the colour of cardamom...
the argument of: well...
those egyptians were so advanced
back then... even the Iraqis...
hell... the Greeks were advanced peoples
too... looks like they took a *******
bicycle to hiatus land!

burdening me with a past and:
that darwinism doesn't really life...
a concept of / a "concept" of the Avignon
Papacy...
  i'm strapped mr. gill and mrs. gimp all
latex to a spider and some
******* chimp'zee bonanza...
           no one teaches dogs to swim...
in a priori dimming they: know
a duck from a water...
   they know a pancake from a victoria sponge:
hypothetical:
borrowing from the 1960s:
a hitchhiker in the form of a mushroom
apparently opened my eyes
and i am now: the ego-son
of the fungus with potential to:
amass the same sort of gorilla build
architecture from... scraps of...
a plethora of vitamin sources...
i'll eat the deer...
the tame the boars and shave them
to attain crick bacon...
the ******* gorilla will laugh a blank
autistic look at me:
weighing in at a K.O. from...
papyrus and twigs and perhaps
a concept of: straightening bananas...

this slow sludge of walking "backwards"
from **** sapiens to **** similis -
this opposing venture into
anti-literature -
it's not that the mirror of hopes
is now a glass grieving from a lack
of shadows...
  no one wants to find themselves
beside: an exfoliation of tongue...

once more: the church bell of the uvula...
the brain the sponge...
my liver the punching bag
of an alcoholic opponent -

    that bukowski is some this that and
the other: and he knew:
the pressures of 100 years...
that there was also this Al Purdy...
and i too made my own wine -
pretending to blindly support
a Vest Ham -
             way way out west in the east:
that i did see a tease of Venice but
that i probably will never venture
south of the thames to
this cut from the home counties
of: how Burial (dubstep)
originated...
strapped to a mythology of the north...
Thames: a river without a clarity
of mountains:
how the Thames cannot
be celebrated akin to the Vistula
or the Danube...

              murky grey fonz -
this lingering tide amass of custard...
england's last lacklustre exertion
from the 1960s...
some kingly riddle ransom of
crimea associated for the purpose
of crimson -
a taming of purple in the hue
of hooded Burgundian -
  my solving tiresome base for
eyes -
    it's not that Greenwich mean-time
could ever be "important" -
insomniac polyphony of the hours
in passing...
   is more beside the equator...
some topsy-turvy pancake a butter
lofty toast:
that toasted rye that toasted
sourdough... or a ciabatta slice...
             is more and more than this
arrogant prize of english worship
"Blumenthal"...
        
a bonsai tiger's eager inquisitive prompt
from behind a door:
retreating like a lasso or
a folding of bedsheets -
or an ironing of unironic jeans...
some things to be worn should
be best unironed -
   notably jeans -
          azure: clarity chippy of:
variation:
   death's desire to come along
the purpose of lost purples:
in denim like a...

              arbeit macht frei will
forever stand the test of time among
the workaholics...
it's as little infamous as it is:
the currency of keeping with
details of a towing of two un-opposing
factions...

these service jobs and their lowering
of physical exertion:
substituted by gym maintenance -
service jobs and the "work" of...
loitering the hours in...
                 these service jobs and the clocking
in of hours: eternity begot the yawn...
adam begot the scratching of the head:
god conceived of the hierarchy of
taking the knee:
satan borrowed a circus and
a seizure for the future of
ronin imagination...

   can a fire itch?
        i'm pretty sure the licking of ice
can be allowed a fathom of both
an itch and a burn and:
       towing glue...
pockets of dry water staging coups of
crystalised details
of attention *******...
  
and a: between...
   the suffocating mantle piece of...
morbid avenues:
the t.v. robbed the zombies
of their pitiful dues...
machinery hatchling detail...
                  a burden of phallus and
a hammer...
crude "avenue": a **** the size
of a nail...
all life a coffin an scalp that snow
is also dandruff -
and there is nothing of a limit to tow
a continuity -
the species will survive...
the species will survive:
there are enough "stupid" and *****
people to preserve it...
more ***** than "stupid"..

             they are not to be...
coerced with submissions on the grandours
of religion...
having to preserve their appetite
of disinhibition...
they are to be kept on their own
worth of: kept perpetual:
there's no siding of the **** similis project
akin to the lizard kings with the meteor...
so it happens: the moon was sleeping...
when that little nugget of: oops...
****** up the tides and sleeping
patterns of proto-happenings...

    - as i am having "my" kitchen refurbished...
the surrealism of a fride-freezer
occupying a space in "my"
living / civil room -
where the t.v. is this altar of mundane
sacrifices...
at least there's still a concept
of a bedroom and the need for
a bed and the thorough avenues
of abating sleeplessness...

       i dare to sleep because i have
no wish for a *** life that's
a demanding expansion of...
custard-**** of an alter-ego of paragraph...

biting the ******* of
a schadenfreude category:
by the time she becomes an exhausted
**** in the pornographic clogging
of exhausting the machinery:
there were some organic components?
there was a "riddle" of
a lumberjack and a carpenter..
associated to.. ahem... wood?
i want to wish for a plain & simple
trucker analogy...
but then the agony of
conjuring up a chair & table...
and a rocker... and one of those
serpents of moses...

    god blessed grievances
to make elaborations with mahogany
that it would never become:
tantalizing marble:
                            
in a periodical inconvenience of tome:
this time: my lacking...
i will never find it an easy ride
to appeal / appease the
morbidity of the throng...
  having to tow a romance
of england...
a little detail a little of everything
and everywhere...
a pact with celtic / ginger
*******...

    ooh! hot coal... i am an european
5ft8 dwarf... a 6ft6 african goliath
is picking my cotton...
and i own a whip: and i am:

       nie z tego rodzony...
                            it's my little alien
planet of: but it's not important
right now: 100 years from now
when... my contemporaries are
a wish for sanskrit in both
itch and dust...
      
                biGGer... beTTER...
tease the doubling of consonants...
i'm tired i'm just simply tired
of excusing my contemporaries...
whatever they wanted to be
achieved: they have achieve it...
i'm proto-****** little cog little
blister: tamed mustard...
my little nowhere this "here"...

                good enough...
   a variation of aleister crowley bids
you...
      a night knitted with dreams...
and no... pangs of the horror of doubt...
closure for the things eaten
raw... a beef superstition
surrounding... what came to be known
as a tartare steak.

        god - to appease a minor public...
this little ******* gauge of a little public:
this carthage beside a blooming rome...
no... i'm not: excuse me...
i'm not native: this tongue is acquired...
i will not be mentioned in
the colonial anals as
this ******* imbecile of coercion...
this past without ridicule this past
with: goliaths toying the junctions
of exhausted base q. to an "i." unfathomable
first...
               runner junction...
i'm becoming tired of either
side of this bothersome argument...

hail babylon! hail an impeding tomorrow!
**** the 100 year from now.
best of me: no fear mongering
game to tow genes as me too:
a gamer invoked...
humanity survives...
the individual dies...
perhaps a beethoven is riddling
the hive with nuance...
humanity survives:
the individual dies...
i probably wasted my life on
ambition...

   then again: i didn't waste it on
a delusion of a societal project of
poly-                 multi-culturism -
                     i wasn't born on the Faroe Islands...
i had to come about an itching for
life: ventured for a cleaning and a kippah
for a tonsure -
i came across a grief of scalping -
i came across a curry...
i imploded an empire and sent out
invitations and became...
day by day less and less of London...

i ventured out of London and i found myself
in: inbreeding territory -
i became... sick from the homogenous  
zebras of parlance...
   black on black: white is white...
       it's a sickness from detailing
the aftereffects of gravity when having
to sort-out: a belief in the promenade...
            
   whatever... 100 years from now...
i will need to be dead:
for my writing to be elevated from
mere hobby to... this suffocating pride
and orthodoxy canon i want
it to exfoliate in...
then again: no...
                  then again: i am not in a position
to leave behind a pyramid...
i might leave some rattle and bones...
but most certainly not the toils
an wavering of others...
for... a flimsy prospect of: transcending
ambitions...
best played out as truant...
gobshite a god-envy
of a rhetorician's envy...
         stutter to excavate punctuation...

   yes... tomorrow and that: again...
and come sleep come death
come... the tiresome first breathed...
red and ginger...
ginger a tinge or orange ******* with
brown... this precursor of
loiter: a dirtying of earth with ash.
Brian Rihlmann Jun 2018
Refusing the dream
a mortgage noose
second job slavery
or ******* half my wages away
on a studio apartment
I rent rooms in people’s homes
though I’d rather live alone

I’ve lived with
slobs and hoarders
and paranoid cowboys
packing six guns indoors
tyrants and doormats
weekend club hoppers
couch potato cable junkies
drunks workaholics
ghost hunters
and time vampires

Sometimes I stay
in my room all weekend
climb in and out of windows
like a cat burglar
oil my creaky door
sneak to the fridge after dark
avoid being cornered
by bodies
by faces wearing eager smiles
by voices dull as butter knives
sawing at my solitude

In my room
I breathe easier
when I hear them leave
engine noise fading
down the street
I roam the house
snoop at photos on walls
bills piled on tables

And sometimes
the women I meet
think I’m a loser
“Aren’t you a little old
to have roommates?”
one asked as we rolled
in the driveway after midnight
we went in
the dog barked
and out came the old man
sagging flesh jiggling
in tighty whiteys
pistol in hand

She still ****** this loser
(I’d rather be loser than slave)
riding me in that twilight room
mattress on the floor
half hard whiskey ****
fearing her prison tattoos
coiled black snakes fading blue
wrapping her torso
she didn’t come back
I’m probably lucky

Now I’m searching
a new house to call home
I shiver at the thought
explaining myself
to whatever strange tribe
adopts this orphan
grows to think of me
as one of their own
when I am not
even
mine
Infamous one Aug 2018
As I grow older friends get married
Some have kids and start families
Sad how everyone grows a part
Some find success and achieve greatness
Others get lost and struggle with addiction
So many struggle with loss and change
Sometimes change is good others have a hard time with it
Divorce occur with failed trust or conflict of interest
Some have kids but don't see them and struggle to pride some as a single parent
Heartbreak takes time to heal overcome obstacles
Work is to survive others become workaholics to avoid the change that's hard to cope with
Or some try to drown out their sorrows using alcohol hoping to fill that hole so they can be whole feel complete
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
title: chirp
body: sparrow, bold.    a 502 bad gateway bypass...


in the dimension of "things" pre-,
  i must be premeditating every possible scenario,
although i hate playing chess
i sometimes do... i'm more in favour of backgammon
but that's just me...
like i said to the other girls in the workforce:
wait... just wait... don't tell her i know...
so she was pressured... i put on the charm offensive:
there were already rumours of she *******
the supervisor... eh... i go to prostitutes...
what's the big deal? it's not like you use
a cloth to dry dishes with once: then get a new
one every single time... i always tend to buy
second hand books... they have a certain feel
to them... i'm not the sort of person who likes things
in mint condition...
everything leading up to this point just seems:
well-slotted, premeditated... but at least it
wasn't self-sabotage... i had to fall in love her...
in order to get at something: so she would retreat...
i wasn't even the "friend zone": i was in
the... "priest zone"... the "psychologist zone"...
the stuff i heard... and that's another thing...
there was no common language... some vague *******
barrier... we didn't really talk about music,
we didn't really talk about films or books...
we talked: well, she talked... i listened...
just talk about her son... and more about her son...
what a brilliant mother she was... back-stabbing
her friends... blah blah... oh... and plenty about her
exes... if i could... draw a schematic...
let's just say it wouldn't be a treasure map
with one              X marking the spot...
it would be more like:

  x                  x

  x  x        x          x

  x      x        x

with her good looks, back when she was in her 20s?
oh man... she was having a rave...
esp. since she worked in the financial sector,
so all the financials "jocks" would be all
over her... now she's in her... coming to 40...
well... imagine my dis-belief!
- and yet she's still playing a game of a 20 year
old party-****...    she's out to lunch...
obviously...

- and as much as i love women...
love: but sure-as-**** and a penny-drop i don't
want to understand them...
no-can do... why?
      makes my life easier and: ensures i'm
out of their hair... both parties satisfied...
i hope...
but it's not that i don't have something to do...
there's always something to do...
i'm already getting past the fact that at 35 i'm
living with my parents...
after all... the plan is...
they're not going into a care home...
i'll be there... and once i reach a certain age...
there's always Switzerland or the Benelux
euthanasia clinics... so...
plus i'm already the custodian of the property:
i do the cleaning, i do the cooking...
i do the d.i.y. - i pay them rent...
while the other option would be... what?
get a mortgage or pay rent to some stranger
and what? live alone?
no thanks.

i'm already over the disappoint of hoping for
a romance... yeah, my mother's pedicurist / manicurist
is coming over on Friday and she's bringing...
my new favourite lady...
my TOY... oh she's not even 1 year old...
she takes a **** into a ***** on the spot...
but she's disinhibited... she pokes my nose...
tugs at my beard, sits on my lap...
looks into my eyes like trying to hypnotise me...
she's yet to speak a word but i already
managed to teach her my mimic...
cluck... pluck... whatever the onomatopoeia
is... she reciprocated...

        here's to fulfilling the role of the: alt vater...
the old father...
she's not mine, but she's of my stock,
my ethnicity... obviously i'm going to go
for ethnic bias... everyone else is...
maybe that's what put Jeminah off... i'm a ******
and she's of Scotch English stock...
maybe i'm not black enough...
yeah... i must not be black or Pakistani enough...

she blocked me / deleted me on WhatsApp...
thank god i took that screenshot of her pretty face...
i think i'm going to listen to some The Cure
Pictures of You and attempt at glee...
what could have been...
her dog liked me... from the get go...
couldn't stop licking my ears... then started
to lick the wounds from me having put out
cigarette buts on my knuckles...
licked those scabs clean... i started bleeding:
she noticed... i didn't...
well... pain... it's a hyper-sensation...
you get used to it and afterwards... you sort of
ignore it... or... rather:
everything else is THERE... HERE...
that's a res extensa (extending "thing") when
meditating on Heidegger's dasein... weird, right?
how philosophy morphs... you read something in your
mid 20s... then it only becomes applicable in your
mid 30s... something so, so unpractical needs to
wait a while in your head... before it turns out to
be as useful as a ******* hammer...
who would have known?!

i'm guessing she blocked me because her son
had a conversation with her about...
is that my real dad? or... n'ah... that's me gloating...
what happened to that guy who made
that delicious banana loaf?
well... Freddy... mummy has... IS-USE...
            hyphen for an S...
                i could have seen it straight away:
i'd be bored after a week...
  there would be nothing to talk about...
  i don't remember even having said anything about
myself...
oh... but she ticked all the right boxes
when there were more people involved:
on that superficial interpersonal level with
the public... but she wouldn't...
she wouldn't allow for an explicit bond to take form...
it would always have to be implicit:
think about the starving children of Africa
sort of *******... what? the Somali pirates?!
the Nigerian scammers?!
those, "starving" children?
                      the ones with birth rates like
the harem of the sultan of Brunei?!
must be rich... hardly starving... if they're having
all those mouths to feed!

i already mentioned this little curiosity before:
it took **** Germany AND Soviet Russia...
longer... LON-GER to subdue the Polacks
than it took **** Germany to subdue the French...
the French... Napoleon... the French Colonial
Superpower... and these modern leftists "think" i'm
going to be easily swayed?!
pronoun dickly-squat my sore *** from
sitting on the toilet... and the feminists?!
            well... what's on offer, gentlemen?
let's... broaden our minds... Lawrence...
  (Prince's Partyman playing in the background)...

just like that lie i was told in my childhood:
that there are more women in the world
than men... i've been sleeping:
the opposite is true... and now we're supposed
to compete on already banged and bagged women?
that's the option?
maybe there was a rumour going about
my knuckle scars and the time i gave myself
a plum mascara pouch on my left eye
from having wrestled with myself...
turn-off... i get it...

  or... perhaps she's just into coke-addicts...
wouldn't know... i just drink a lot of coffee...
perhaps she's just into all the sort of range of *******...
but, seriously... if i can only be decent,
romantic, tender... with prostitutes...
at least it's in the open... there's a transparency
of a transaction...

the last text i sent her she didn't even read...
i was talking about the conundrum of:
the way into a man's heart is through his stomach...
i thought: well... given the stomach cramps...
that's a misnomer phraseology...
it's a ****** metaphor... because it can't be taken
oh too literally... why? i think the original meaning
has been lost...

the text?
yesah, to reiterate, thanks for these stomach cramps
flirting with butterflies...
although i'm a keen student of etymology, this has nothing
to do with etymology... the phrase:
the way to a man's heart is through his stomach...
the modern interpretation insinuates that a woman
ought to cook a decent meal for a man...
no... sorry... i can do the cooking myself...
i didn't choose to have these stomach cramps,
"transgender"et al. feeling like i'm giving birth
to nothing more than dizziness and watery eyes...
there's something quiet sinister afoot here,
i can't point in any sort of direction: it's almost
a malaise of disorientedneness...
sorry, i have to play this "role" for the forseeable
future if i'm going to get anything done...
you might as well pretend that i'm wearing
two masks to keep my cool... otherwise it's such
a welcoming prospect to write to someone
directly and see them in person than what i'm used to,
when writing... staring at a blank canvas...
or messaging someone who lives in... ******* Hawaii...
of all places...


see... problematic...
i am problematic... i exfoliate with language...
this is that, this isnt that... games...
or my other theory goes along the lines of:
she can't find me on social media...
she can't snoop on me...
i bet that's her grinding her teeth...
well: obviously i'm not going to give her access...
i'm writing about her...
i don't want her to find out what my narrative pursuit
is like her... of course she's the momentum bringer...
i'm not going to give that up: so easily...

she knows my first name...
maybe she typed that in, along with my ******
****** / Stalin sort of type of surname...
it has changed... i always argue:
there's a missing -SCH- in the Elert...
no... i'm not "alert"... let's pause there...
maybe she typed in Matthew with Conrad...
but then again... i tend to hide in my mother zunge...
Mateusz... and hide doubling down
on hiding the Z with a caron S...
i.e. Mateuš... well... she won't figure that crap
out... i'm prone to the pastt-ime of looking up
googlewhacks... while listening to Prince...
esp. Raspberry Beret...
or REM's happy shiny people...

  ha ha... 43, 300+ readers on one poem alone...
imagine: if i were paid a penny for merely that...
i'm groovy, i don't mind doing something
for: not even peanuts...
the art needs to stay alive...
i can't allow the last avenue of freedom
to go "missing"... i'll just pay myself
with FEELZ... self-help my ***... therapy my ***...
but if you're inclined to be the sort of
******... tired of watching *******...
hey... my legs are spread wide-open...
or rather: someone scalped me...
then took a massive chunk of my skull off
and now my brain is wired
to a pickle jar... for pickled: transparent
brains... jelly-fish territory...

              ha... prior to protein... prior to sinew...
          prior to bone...
what did we have? gelatin floating about
in salt water... nice... rubber stamps of:
oogle doodle do no good but leave numbing
sparks of mini-lightning storms of:
lazy gods began thinking...
    my my... as expected: it took them a while...
******* hedonists... ambrosia custard soon
to be wise-ups, but all the way prior?
crazed ***** and complete hard-on morons...
the gods...
funny that... you can't go mad twice...
they took a stab at me once...
                      sorry for being the party pooper...
i sort of can't go mad, twice...
i literally missed nothing on the dating scene having
been a recluse in my 20s... apparently...
self-evidently...

now? i'm going to make some Silesian gnocchi
for today's dinner, i've already cleaned the house...
i'll be making some curry for my parents for tomorrow...
play the chemist with the spices available...
i might make myself some lunch for tomorrow's shift...
hey, life... plenty of it...
  but... oddly enough: not enough people in it...
no matter... i can at least ping-pong backwards
and forwards with my own words to: eh: ech... echo echo O!

sure... it would have been nice to play
the surrogate father... perhaps we could have learned
German together...
i could have cooked for the pair of them:
i never know how to cook for one person to begin with...
but if she's into boxers and coke-heads...
hey... Pontius Pilate...
i have to left hands... and their pointing outward...
if i tried... then i shouldn't have tried... to begin with...
if modern women are going to be their stupid
selves... so be it... there's always the night,
the forest, the moon, there's always the scent
of autumn... there are so many things that can keep
me disorientated in an orientated sort of way
that... all the lies from the 1990s Rom-Coms can
fizzle out...

maybe being love is a luxury that not even
the richest in the world can buy...
thank god i don't earn the sort of money
that might attract gadflies...
  thank god i earn what is necessary...
            who's not going to buy those Valentine
flowers, those anniversary "sputniks"...
those sofas... those iPhones for the kids...
me!
                              i'll be buying food... etc.
better spend money on food than on a doctor...
that's how the saying goes...
to hell with women and all their superficial
*******... and if i'm in dire straits because
the bone-**** of a hand is not enough?
£120 for an hour with a Turkish *******...
problem solved!

i just can't stomach being an ******* in order
for women to stick around...
something so deep as: self-integrity is making
potential suitors turn me off...
esp. given their past histories...
i don't want to be an ******* when it comes
to loving women... and no... i'm not nice...
one thing i've learned from the English is...
******* Thespian crowd... actors...
two-faced juxtaposition makers...
or... or? they sing, they dance...
a nation of alcoholics or workaholics...
  but if i have to be this sort of ******* that women
feel the need to fix?
no... covert: under the radar...
i'm not doing that crap...
                    i'm not going to be a ****** man just
because a woman might find that appealing
to hone in on her lost archetypical requirements...
she's going to **** it up anyways...
  she always does...
                      i'll just be me... do me...
and if i'm predisposed to have to have to give
off steam with some bedroom antics...
i'll go the the women that still crave masculine
sensibility... prostitutes!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
i acknowledge that some of this is a delusion, but if it's only inscribed in thinking: and hurting never hurt anyone... if thinking doesn't translate into action... it can come: it can go as it pleases... as long as that feral creature: ego... can be tamed awhile... i'm all for it... then at least i know some of its needs are met... i guess the feral creature: ego... is best fed delusions...

the time of year has finally come to make wine...
this year's harvest has been terrible...
my vines seem to be stricken with a disease:
a botanical parasite of sorts...
it's not exactly the cancerous growth of mistletoe...
but the vine started to outreach with its sickness
to a nearby plum tree: and the plum tree grew
sick...
it wasn't the same sickness when "translated"
but at least the plum tree came out with
a good yield...
beside all the usual garden requirements
i managed to render in... circa 10kg of grape pulp...
which equates subsequently to:
circa 2.5 gallons of worthy juice...
finally! autumn! and finally! winter i'm itching
for! have come...

i've lived in her vicinity for almost 20 years...
but i've only learned her name today...
Sophie...
                  which i learned from my mother...
who learned it from the father of Jack...
who's she's dating...
i've seen her grow... become a woman...
then again: i didn't really see her grow:
now that she is a woman...
one memory most piquant...
seeing her seeing me sitting at the desk
proclaiming a presence in the window
with last night's circus freak Halloween
make-up... less hangover and more...
recovering from having drank a spiked drink...
some ****-art at best... it almost made me fall:
i had to pick up a slab to balance to get home...
but she saw me in my clown make-up...
and that smile... hmm...
or that time when... her older sister
would parade in the bedroom mermaid naked...
plump *******... then the mother would walk
in... likewise... such mature forms of those "things"...
and the added flab of the torso...
mermaid... half-naked...
then she walked in... how old was she then?
still in her teenage years...
   she just lived across the street...
circa 20 years... she has seen me...
aloof creature...
             still pretty much the most pristine form
of single...
if only i started using those dating apps...
i wouldn't be the one
spending £120 at half a decade's stretch
when prompted by .......
                              a female cat... no... no pandering!
ah! grooming... with her raised ****...
i had to revisit the brothel...
would i be using those dating apps...
isn't social media already: cancerous?!
it's a profile outgrowth of a parasitical nature...
it might be an investment for the future: at best...
at worst... it's a meta-mirror...

another muse... i've had a few...
now she's moving away...
from across the street... to... two doors down...
her boyfriend's father is a builder
and work is underway to recover the structure
from the previous occupant:
a single mother with an autistic boy
who would sometimes take 5 minutes to cross
the street...
a proper carousel lady...
sometimes there might have been
         a man every single week in that house:
but did he fix anything?
no... apparently it will take... 3 weeks to revamp
that house of horrors...
******* beta orbiters...
  would any of them fix anything...
beside probably abusing the kid
and ******* his mother... the boy beefed up...
stopped barking... now they're far away
about to start a new life in... Chelmsford...
somewhere in Essex...
         at least in the brothel you have a sense
of a working environment...
am i living with savages, for, ****'s sake?!
in a brothel you're... well...
there for only an hour...
there's the hour's keep...
         it's not like you can: eat where you take a ****...
i'd summon the moon to the forest
and **** there than keep my house in disarray...
where i might: read... a... ha ha! a book...
eat a meal...
it sounds even more demeaning when
listening to some medieval chants...

oh dear Sophie... she's moving away...
from across the street: two doors down...
this is where the delusional part of me says...
it's because she wants to be close to
her mother... and her boyfriend Jack is doing
the white-flight left available: from East Ham...
to Romford... not much longer...
soon there will be a white-flight from
Romford too... but not yet...

i have experienced women strangely though...
they're still a phenomenon...
i was walking out from my ex-girlfriends house
in Hackney when a "bearded lady":
a woman dressed in a niqab went past
and... unveiled herself...
perhaps i have a bad memory...
but i saw what would be best described as:
too little butter... spread over too much bread...
she looked mutilated...
i stood still and... follow her?
round up all the white knights in the area
and save her?!
eh... then this little quickie... cycling down
oxford street... this one oriental girl flashed herself
on the junction been oxford st. and reagent st.
again: perhaps i need glasses or my memory is
all lies: did she have knickers on...
or... were her ***** trimmed as... imitation
of knickers?!

to borrow from a people that gave names
to their letters: whether the greeks,
the northern men...
hebrews... or the arabs...
perhaps when a people give names
to their letters: something can become of them...
all the greek letters that became
scientifically-mathematical constant:
but not in Latin: as one might /
be expected to sing... or to write with greater
fluidity...

aleph: mim: shin...
    A: M : SH...
mind you... shin is a "doubled" consonant...
since it asks an Islam...
a harsh "Islam" of a consonant H...
to be submissive to S...
when... when coupled with A...
is the genesis of laughter...
-leph -im -in
                   Sophie could have moved far far away...
meta-relationships: investing
in the uncertain future of: from death do us part:
                Jack...

all that's happening is para... phrasing...
sense & sensibility...
pomp & circumstance...
              
  dearest Sophie is moving away...
the day Jack saw me rooted walking back
with two bottle of cider i sort of knew...
i wish i could lend you a cushion to sleep
on... Jack...
but... hey... a woman's fickle mind...
if she's not ensnared and made comfortable
to even adorn the niqab...
i'm your lucky loser... Jack...
if she is allowed old again: and i'm allowed old
age... even in my presence
she'll turn into a budgie:
reading Harlequin novels...

        i'd play a tugging game: i too want
to relieve myself of this life...
on the other hand...
it is SUB-LIME...
ha ha... not sub... lemon?
ha ha...            how words are conjured...
from... prefixes and nouns...
later arrived at...

Sophie is moving away... from across
the street to: two doors down...
might she want a better angle of me...
sometime... toiling in the garden...
psst... let's keep me and you...
a mystery for her...
otherwise... boredom...
expectation... recurrence...
same old... same in... let's become forever
"un-attainble"...
              but i hear whispers from the past...
how courting can happen in the modern
day almost unavoidably...
poor Jack... all the trades: beckon...

IF YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE...
YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE... MOVE...
YOU'RE NOT GOING TO MOVE
ACROSS THE STREET TO BE CLOSE
TO BE CLOSE TO YOUR MOTHER...
MOST DAUGHTERS ABHOR THEIR MOTHERS!

huh?!

i'm delusional! i'm even an adjective prone:
delusionaly 'appy!
poor Jack: he owns a car and works
the Docklands...
i own a bicycle and sometimes the night
and sometimes the forest...
because... i'll walk bare torso into it
and ask for the callings of the owl...
to sooth my drinking habit...

meta-relationships happen... when...
there's an invested hope in...
no death do us part...
         there's a rejuvenation process...

oh to hell! the self-proclaimed wine-making
process can wait...
there's all thought-exclusive...
thinking about the girl: woman
to be...

were diu werlt alle min...
i'm delusional.. of course... of course i am!
such tender lamb!
such impostor i!
                
we're here concerned about making wine.... whine(s)...
wine not whine...
and for that it would: most necessarily require....
a yeast compound:
dried yeast, bentonite...
yeast nutrients: diammonium phosphate,
magnesium sulphate, nicotinic acid,
magnesium carbonate, thiamine hydrochloride,
zinc sulphate, ferrous ammonium,
sulphate, biotin...

to get things moving...
fermenting... eating itself to give new life...
i won't get into the stabiliser stage
where you'll need sodium metabisulphate
& potassium sorbate...

drink any bottle of alcohol...
it will contain a disclaimer as if vegans
are to be necessarily minded...
it contains... sulphites...
i think i'm excited about making my own
wine...
it only happens once a year...
and i think: if i were only allowed to
make... wine once a year...
i'd have a carnival!
i'd have an ****...
so much so that we wouldn't sip the ******
sip throughout the year:
faking it... seasonally!
we'd eat fruit in the summer...
apples and pears in the autumn...
get ****** mid-way through winter...
while the rest of the year would be:
could be: would be... spent... sobering up...
but only after that **** of drinking and *******!

how it is... so readily available...
for the lowest of man and the highest of man:
likewise... given the same circumstance of: now...
my heart is already broken:
my mind too... what else is there to throw
at the "unexpected"... "surprise" stampede...
boxing my liver into a cubist shape?!

                  i drink some cider: i feel... hungry...
i combat that with drinking some whiskey:
i'm full...
sober, sane, people... if not workaholics...
have so much time spent for / off of them...
i'm drinking hoping that someone
sane diagnosed me as insane...
but... there's little chance of that...

i walk in canoes: size shoe 10up... 11...
i have canoe feet...
people tend to stumble over my shoes
sometimes barricading the most shortened
space between stairs and the civil room...
the living room:
if the t.v. is to be implied as fireplace?
i'll pick up a book to find my eyes: burning!

picking up a book via someone who
wrote about: numeracy of... ******... not ******
partners... talking to someone on the phone
for an hour...
when was the last time i talked to someone
for an hour... wait... i can't remember...
last time i checked i was sending someone
the equivalence of braille...
not my first love... not her...
i was in love with her sister...
in this supposed heaven
there's not *****: no menopause...

so... i turn all crazy at the fold: this...
is... all... that... ever is... or will... be?!
post-science... post-news: fake...
adolescent acknowledgement of the rules of:
hide & seek... rekindled...
it's not like too many people know
how to play the game...
some of us made it so difficult that the rest
of them found it boring...
we turned the game into a war-game...
sharpshooting their presence...
climbing trees and roofs to aim with
imaginary rifles...
the game was lost... everyone lost
interest...
we were beginning to be snipers at
the battle of Stalingrad...
no fun in that... the world moved on...
bored... as ever...

Sophie... what a pretty name...
she's moving...
from across the street...
two doors down...
i just can't wait for the horrors...
it's not like i'm writing this from the perspective
of a perfect husband...
i'm a proper ****-up i never used
a hook-up bribe of app...
submerged myself into:

what came first... the chicken (consciousness)...
or the egg (sub-consciousness)?
i'm pretty sure h. h. holmes was
merely a con-artist...
with a few naive lambs to slaughter...
albert fish though?
needles pointing into his pevlis
while he died: ******* into an electric chair...
another: altogether...
do you mind?

the slaughter of world war I: for kin!
G... the son against the grandson!...
the Hebrews turned into... cattle...
come world war II... willingly they walked
into the slaughterhouses!
said quote: the Jew is what the Arab
now sow via...
a non-important quote...
why lever... thise Semite from a Semite...
such a kippah-tease-of-the-north...
              believe me when i say:
i have venom's worth of eyes for the niqab...
i'm yet to hear about the future
guided by... anti-usury...
i'm not going to hear much from
that "tabernacle"... am i?
                  forget it... you push along...
push forth... you settle down...
have your children...
Darwinism is... primarily applicable
in the anglo-sphere of the zunge...
i'll sleep...
                    Darwinism will never be
French or German equivalent of
existentialism... it... hasn't arrived yet...
it's still basic... form focus...
it wasn't fashionable in 19th century
continental Europe... it's still not fashionable
in 21st... continental Europe creeping in on
the islanders...
                  
the ancient Romans looked at the ape too!
and they too said: well... maybe...
similis!
                     there's nothing ******* new!
the WASP attack on Copernicus...
suggesting... the ancient Egyptians knew just
as much...
well then... given that Darwinism
is so ******* obvious...
the apes knew too!
so they allowed men to conjure up
their pyramids and their coliseums!
while they remained mute...
and via mute: giggle...
pity man...
pity that he might think himself
to remain.

how's that?! i hate Darwinism...
               i don't need to accept it...
it arrived in the mind of one man...
"originally"...
in my mind it arrived as either POP
or plagiarised...
otherwise... exhausted...
i still retain the observational luxury
of keeping: ape...
no? you revive Darwinism with keeping
a man in a cage...
i might respond... then.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
title: workout
body: roundabout dot, dough 2.   502 bypass


i only woke up at 2pm, even though i had snippets
of consciousness by 10am...
11am... i was in and out of sleep: my dream was yesterday,
i slouched home at 3am...
finished the shift at Fulham at the exact timing
of 10:15pm... all my coworkers stood me up...
apparently i didn't follow instructions
but in the back of my mind was the motto:
safety, security, service... if two elder gentlemen
came up to me with concerns over why one
of the gates in the park was closed...
that there might be a stampede when people
were leaving... what was i going to do or rather
not do? not stand by the gates and not direct
people? luckily all went smoothly...
so what if the supervisor had to wait ten minutes
more so that i might return my walky-talky
and my accreditation... people's safety is the priority...
some *******... but your other lesser supervisor
messaged you... no they didn't... only the upper supervisor
did when asking if there were any radios still
not returned to him... i have a witness...
this 19 year old Romanian kid i was working with...
the one who was sitting in a Turkish akimbo
on the bench next to me when we were taking
a break... the one i managed to sort out with a free
cheeseburger that would otherwise set him back
6 squid... anyways... i was getting paid to work until
10:15... so i don't see any issue...
grumpy old men and their: "leave ten minutes early"...
England... a nation of alcoholics and workaholics...
life's too short... i already promised myself this:
the money i earn will go to prostitutes...
i was tired but... i arrived at Goodmayes...
bought myself 35cl of brandy and a bottle of coca cola...
circled the brothel several times trying to relax...
hype myself up... finally walked in...
that's what i promised myself... i'll spend the money
i earn on prostitutes...
                        what else am i going to spend it on?
vinyl? there's only so much vinyl a man can own...
shoes? clothes? drugs?
well... brandy doesn't count...
                  sort of like buying water... for me at least...
10 quid at the entrance... but i asked the madam:
is she here? Khedira, Khadijah?
the Turkish girl? is she here?
    how many girls are there? two?
o.k. - what an impression i made in my work clothes...
long coat... she later touched it: oh, so soft...
almost like a mink...
                  tall, dark brown handsome devil...
she was there... how relieved i was to see her face...
when you're ready? right now...
i took the other girls hand and kissed in...
into the bedroom... mirrors... mirrors...
in her own tongue... which was constantly waggling
like a primitive life-form of its on volition
eagerly seeking light or in this case...
the phallus and my own tongue and lips...
look into the mirror as i **** you off:
the best sort of *****...
  ooh... murderer eyes...
                          güzel adam: her own words...
          we started off with her sitting in my lap...
after i took a shower to clean myself up...
took off her bra and her underwear...
    she was mine... for an hour she was mine...
at 35 i thought it odd that i would be trying
******* for the first time, i snorted a little
and told her: it has no affect on me...
  i prefer marijuana... i used to smoke a while...
what effect did it have on me?
a second became a minute and a minute became
an hour and an hour became a day...
tiredness... a sneaky symptom of a slightly limp
****... but what i wanted... she also wanted...
me standing on the edge of the bed
performing the doggy *** position...
  she didn't even mind me slapping her ***...
she even responded positively... pinching her...
biting her... of course i didn't ******...
but at the same time: she noted my care for hygiene...
she put a ****** on... later noticing my discomfort
she took it off: live dangerously she said...
yeah: unprotected *** with a *******...
seems like i have special privileges with her...
if i can have unprotected *** with her...
it's not like i was going to ******* into her...
oh... but such a body in my arms...
  i could throw pearls to pigs...
            i could sink a thousand ships containing
Mayan gold into the sea...
but this body in my arms...
                  i knelt in between our *******...
kneeling my head was aligned with her collar bone...
petite tender creature...
ol' raven haired Turkic countess...
              and such ****** contortions as i rammed her
changing pace from doggy
to her on her back with her feet on my shoulders...
tongue waggling: eagerly seeking a kiss...
so i ****** her tongue in between slobs of
the oysters and the clams of lips pursuing each other...
today i woke up... dazed... no confused...
just... relaxed... even though i didn't ******,
i told her... that's not important to me...
i like the mere act... the ****** doesn't bother me...
i can but i don't have to... look... i'm tired...
i just wanted to be with you...
i'm not going to wash myself after this hour...
i want to have your scent on my skin...
you married? no... well that's good...
i want to keep you for a while longer...
          then she proved the pinnacle of my success...
can i have your number?
sure... so you call me when you want to come...
and i'll tell you if i'm available...
so what's your actual name? Khedra...
inshallah...
                            at one point she did use that
phrase: already a scheme in her mind...
            güzel adam - inshallah...
                          my thoughts exactly... there might as well
be a third branch of Islam...
not the one associated with the Arabs the Sunnis
or the Persians - the ****'ahs...
but one more... associated with the Turks exclusively...
i'd love to see a third branch of Islam emerge...
it has to splinter further...
if it truly was the one true religion:
there would be no schism... oddly enough the schism
arrived so early... maybe a second schism would
do the religion some good... the Turks could take
charge of this second schism...
really charge it along the lines of
                                  Sufism *** Gnosticism...
at 2am after i left around 1am she sent me her picture...
honestly? she looks better in real life...
much younger... animated...
some people are just not photogenic...
they need to be contort prone...
they are not supposed to be frozen... in a photograph...
being *** starved, intimacy starved...
no wonder i feel so relaxed today...
then again: if i had this sort of intimacy somewhat
permanently, i'd take it for granted...
i like the idea that i have periods of the cold dark...
of inanimate objects growing ears and eyes...
whenever i come across another living creature
and interact with them sexually...
certain chemicals blah blah are produced and i relax...
again... the act itself... how beautiful two bodies look
so entwined in the act... esp. if she tells you:
look in the mirror... look at us...
**** me... unprotected *** with a *******...
*******... just tells you how bad things are
on the dating market in the West...
prostitutes have better barometers when it comes
to STDs than most women in the West...
then again: she is Turkish...
                      Khedra... no... **** dating... i tried that...
Jeminah burned me...
i had stomach cramps i thought was out of love...
no... just a premonition... this is going to go nowhere...
she's going to ******* up...
what, a, *******, waste, of, time: and good wine...
and a banana loaf...
no can do... i'd rather pay up front for intimacy than
weave some ******* courtship past-time of
going on dates, for dinner...
i'd rather cough up £120 upfront and get what i want
than ******* enter some sexless limbo land
of ginger goats and blue sheep... count count...
n'ah ah... fall asleep?
        i'm not even going to bother thinking about
Western women... **** that...
Oriental? nope... Asiatic "proper" i.e. Indian or Pakistani
or Arab? nope...
Turkish... we come from the same womb of
the Caucasian sort... we're steppe people...
formerly known as... why, *******, bother?
i don't need a headache... i want an *** to slap... a neck
to bite...
    oh she burned me... sure... she might have had
hundreds of "customers"... but i hardly think any of them
looked into her eyes with such passion...
i told her: ******* has had no effect on me...
i'm here for you and you alone...
now i have her number... maybe we can get at it
outside the brothel...
well i must be doing something right, right?
all the women at work are school-girls... stunted
psychological growth... they're petty gremlins...
ugly souls... ****-able after a few drinks and if they
tarted themselves a bit more...
but... ugly... bog souls...
                    petty critters... backstabbing ghoulish
soap-opera drama queens...
i had to learn the tactic of veneer...
acting... politeness... superficiality... it's brain-dead-numbing...
but if that's what's supposed to be...
so be it...
as the zeitgeist narrative of the West goes
in terms of ****** dynamics: white women hating
themselves for a past that has endowed them with...
all that interracial *******...
breeding out a neu-Bra-tsil... well...
hmm... i have an idea of my own... i'm not going down
the narrative... chances of me meeting a girl of
my own ethnic synonym: "missing"...
better with prostitutes than with girls who are
merely looking for a meal-ticket...
Heidegger: ponderings XI - aphorism  50...
"westliche demokratien"... written circa 1939...
resounds more true than anything i have yet
to read... reed...
my god... what intimacy can do to a man...
but better i don't get used to it...
when i'm starved of it and i encounter it...
i can throw my entire weight about...
i can go overboard... full: utterly full charm offensive...
mirrors *******... slapping the ***...
biting... pinching... kneeling before the altar
of a woman's body...
doo-doo eyed the next day, relaxed...
not taking anything for granted...
now i have her number...  eski kuzgun saçlar...
old raven hair... tatlı kiraz...
benim aşk...
                                    if that's how it's going to
go... i'm sure of it...
the Turks could branch off from the already
established Islam... they could revise it...
have their own version... become the bridging
positive force... of all the Islamic people...
the Turks i respect the most...

- tesekiur ederim qeanam...
- benim güzel kuzgun-saçlar

      welll... unlike the diacritical markers in French...
the cedilla in French: garçon... thatr's
a "secretive" version of the Greek sigma:
στιγμας...
  the variation between Turkish and Czech
is that the cedilla... is equivalent to the caron...
ergo?

                      Ç = Č ≠ S...
Tammy Mar 2020
Do you scoff at the monkey 

clinging to my back?

And do you think his presence

is strength that I lack?


Ignorance is weakness

and you reek of its stench.

I don’t know your stuggles

And you don’t know my strength.


Pretending to be shocked,

you gawk and stare at me,

with my ever crazy monkey,

while yours tries to succeed.


Or are you the class clown

that needs to laugh and mock, 

at the expense of others,

so amused by my mug shot.


Before you cast your judgments

on your pedestal so high,

let’s take a look at all 

the monkeys that you hide.


Pills, pills, everywhere

from the good ‘ole doc.

That’s how the “better half”

of society like to rock.


And isn’t it a shame…

Curious George has gone wild,

playing in a Google jungle,

with his world wide web of lies.


Weekly drama overdoses,

that glamorize a world of crime,

with your children in the room,

and you call it “Family time”.


And you knew this was coming… 

Over eaters who refuse,

to believe they have a monkey

and ignore their health issues.


Or maybe your monkey

is cute and hard to see…

Like all you shop-a-holics

who get high on QVC.


Have I said enough?

Or should I pick up the pace,

with more evil little games

that monkeys love to play.


Hmmmm….


Worried Winos, Workaholics…

Poker Nights and Prayer Group Gossip,

Steroid Freaks, Casino Junkies,

Candy Crush obsessed monkeys…

Girls night out and Man Caves

are sweet bites that lies crave,

Cheating Hearts, Lying Eyes,

***** Mouths, and Idle Minds,

Jealousy and Vanity, 

Rebellion, Pride, and 

Selfish Me…


This monkey business could destroy

your nice civilized values…

So don’t you dare judge me, 

inside your monkey zoo!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
i don't really question the existence of god;
i also read
a very pop poem by a maya angelou -
the phenomenal woman -
what's great about pop poetry:
unlike pop music - yes...
these are the lyrics and also:
thank god there is no music to accompany
it...
i might just like it...
   then again: Wagner... a rarity -
in that he also wrote the libretto for the operas...
perhaps that's why the music feels
a tad bit as an indigestion -
         heavy on the germanic side...
but pop poetry: well...
it's for people who probably wouldn't
want to experience a democracy
of the whole "affair"...
who's a jack spicer or an al purdy in this:
teasing of leashes to tug at
the greatest number of acolytes -
           words although once: written
with a blood of pigeons - this diluted
ink from flight -
                     and on some variation
of flimsy paper -
           maya angelou doesn't resonate
with me like: hell...
even walt whitman doesn't resonate
with me... what resonates with me
is the english...
tongue of many abodes:
i feel sluggish and shy to have to burrow in
this tongue for:
no reasons really given...
i'm not running off to claim a reading
of louis zukofsky or a delmore schwarz...
i like how the hebrews can retain
status of missing the stereotype galore
of: become lumber-mill owners having
started off selling toothpicks...
   i don't question the existence of god in as
much: i am a fiction nugget in what's
already an apparent: loss of sensibility -
that i imagine a grave and the shallow warmth
of a shadow marrying itself to night:
how the shadow has married itself
to the sea of night and how i have:
only bare minimum inclinations for the project
with a thought: here and there...
i have come to distrust the faculty of
memory: in that... i am also purely
unimaginative...
   i couldn't conjure you a Dumbo even if i tried...
content on the restraints given:
i do imagine myself in two ways:
a breaking of the neck when falling
on the gallows...
or turning into a pickled cucumber stashed
away in some obscurity... like a prison cell:
even though i have done nothing so wrong
as to give me justification for enduring
such squalor...
but that's that... in a prison cell
i can imagine myself staging a coup d'etat of
lying back and watching a memory cinema
like "something new"...

jude law: the third day...
the music hones in on the project -
alias? the wicker man...
so nothing new: but a welcome reinvention...
i'm just wondering whether or not
demdyke stair provided the music...
probably not...
            it's the wicker man through and
through...

  as i sometimes digest culture:
i can find a canvas to meet an outlet and
it's hardly a critique:
oh i'm not that rich to hold
a sensible job at a newspaper
where i am paid to watch television
and make critique of it...
                would i?
                what a formidable platitude
of expectations...
  
             why don't i question the existence
of god: teasing at a gnosticism... perhaps...
at judaic phoneticism: obviously...
but no...
some ruth Ginsberg dies...
a supreme judge...
i have had one notable experience
of man made law: a revision of thou
shall not steal in my life...
i was a witness of a theft...
   i was on the team of the grieved party...
a witness accuser -

      we were walking a car pulled up
my fwend's phone was ripped from
his hands: i asked for the number plates
to be noted...
they were... due process was furthered
and i was summoned to look
at mugshots...
i summoned the little gremlin to court...
the incident happened in the night
but for lack of imagination:
my memory is furnace -

               in his (the gremlins') defence
a photograph was used to debase my assurance
from leaving pristine confrontation
against the use of a mugshot...
the year was: when england won
the ashes...
     the defence presented a photograph:
and argument: can you recognise this face -
the picture was dated:
in the days when photographs still
had a vivid neon crayon of red
imprinted on them: as i pointed out -
two years from now i hope to be sporting
a missing chin... i.e. a beard...

i don't think there was any weight to
my argument...
after all: the injured party didn't recognise
the mugshot - i did...
i don't actually know whether
the drive-by phone-jacker was convicted...
it's beside the point:

gravity - an unquestionable law...
gravity and death -
     the film moon starring sam rockwell:
and there i was thinking that
clones would only be used to further
the projects of centaurs and caesars...
i was so ******* wrong...
the soul destroying project of:
only one authenticity left to deal with...
this clone is a machine deposit...
it's not a would be: futuristic project
to keep death at bay...
anyway...

    i am sooner to find myself in
the "supreme court" of a law that states
itself paramount and unbiased -
adjective adjective adjectives...
       that sort of law i can stand...
   but to come across... nuances...
man's inhibitions...
man's jurisprudence jargon of synonyms
to lessen the blow:
something less hoisin comforting
in a marinade and: peppery / itchy /
sneeze conjurer...

          i will sooner come across a law
of a deity: like gravity - mortality
is itself a bundle of tenure possibilities /
day-dreams -
i will sooner come across that:
yes... deism and that's because...
a theist would want gravity to be bulldozered
for an interlude in miracles...
but i will sooner come across
these laws...
than... confined to a court...
have to stand sober and marionette-esque
pretty to specify all the plethoras
of nuance... that man ordeals himself
with...
i.e. a theft is not a theft when...
the third party recognises the culprit
but the injured party doesn't...
at least that's what it felt like from
my experience: i didn't hear a follow up
on the passing of judgement -

           well... at this point i am not surprised
that everything i write has a tinge
of juvenilia - it's the same base project
of 1 + 1 = 2 and: god exists or doesn't...
i'm so far beside myself:
the demiurge as a bad joke for the greek
polytheists -
       is or isn't: question or no question:
fundamentally fudge-packing
and custard goo ruining a smile -
best looking toward those serious
orthodox closures from the russians
on the topic...

  arbeit macht frei: would be a question
imposed by the workaholics -
which is never a never real question...
to write toward a tongue that
will never be spoken that only eyes
will decipher...
i never read what i write...
as i write what i see i automate
on the basic principle of: extending
beyond the friction of the digits -
fugazi *******!
fugazi jackson *******...
a half smoked cigarette in my lips
starting to draw ms. amber's wetting -
nothing like smoking tobacco
via a soaked filter stinking of
                       maple syrup of a bourbon...

but that the topic remains:
the laws of men and all of man's nuances...
at least there was something akin
to keeping sanity with:
all are equal before death
and a ledge...
             aren't all... equal?
      all are equal before death:
death the court jester of the versailles
of heavens...
   death the joker death cry me a clown...
cry me ****** frictions that
can become an eternal smile!
death no bomb death the joke
death of deaths and death's ashore
sunbathing on the tide
of the Styx with imitation of Thames...

      evelyn waugh's gilbert pinfold's ordeal...
pushed to the limits of
a stress membrane being breached:
a claustrophobia of any and all ego projects:
akin to egoism -
my metaphor for the schizoid "adventure":
or what it was first:
a promising future via bilingualism...

but that man has these laws...
his own graces and his own demises -
the hindering bias for:
money juggling and monkey rendering
the concept of honest work:
in the service sector can there be
an authenticity of work?
with all the loitering and keeping up
appearances "in between"...

i bellow with a mule's agony of a last
breathable breath to source
the vanity of cyclopses -
   i no longer can hear anything for
the worth of these letters and these words
just automate themselves:
i see auroras of a congestion that
allows me to escape this poorly lit
night sky...
a moonless night promenade...

                i hyperventilate with
a purpose to only pursue a vanity that's
the least: that it doesn't rhyme and
propose a fire for the invitation
of stressor memory bundles...
my little corner of impatience becomes:
a penitent proof of...
worthless unimaginative spell-binding...
but at the same time i am lost
should i come across a formal lingo...

                       a language of translation
or a language of: feral and honest locality -
that which has to be preserved for
some ulterior this that and the other...
it's no surprise that charles dickens
isn't celebrated on the continent...
should he be?
   i'd like for him to be celebrated:
don pickwick...
                
               just how man passes laws...
this jury on the possible
irregularities of the heavenly spheres...
the arthritis of the glue
that stands firmest when
the moon swallows a shower
of meteors...
gobbles them down with
a pauper's glee...
              that there must be a dinosaur
graveyard and: no-brainer explanation
for the meteor -
how an why this meteor that
killed off the dinosaurs hasn't
been romanticised and given a name...

hell: call a ***** a ***** a screwdriver
a camel jockey...
even if the name for earth:
is this same blunt: earth...
that the moon is still a bland scythe...
bleeding gums murphy...
but it would be nice to have a name
for such an event -
Mr. Oppenheimer -
the meteor that killed off the dinosaurs...
how's that?
there's a mt. everest...
there's a name for a turtle of a rock
that's Ayrs in How-Stray-La-La....
             i can call an atom a proton a neutron
and an electron...
there's hydrogen and there's helium...
i can give names to:
even though my authentic
materialistic atheism sensibility doesn't permit
me like some vanguard vegan / jacobin
mention... Kronos or Hyperion...

          **** for thought:
big bang... is pristine in it being:
so uninviting to resonate with:
well... it does... all murders of the modern...
i'd like to call the meteor that killed
off the dinosaurs and ushered in
the advent of the spider monkeys:
the **** simils and the **** sepia and
the **** sapiens as...
  
same old same old variation
of caucasian in mishaps -
  some grandfather mandarin -
some father mongol -
   some turk of a son...
           whittle ******* of brides that's
part Viennese pastry
   and part London gluttonies of the broken
bones pie...

i'm here for the party: are you here
for the party? we're here for the party!
i couldn't imagine myself as anything
more than an extension
of the primo party project:
eating the culinary half-oyster of an
egg that's a poultry-abortion...
i love it!
   i love it so much i scramble it...
i poach it... i soft and hard boil it...
i even add a scallion from time to time...
i'm here for the party...
here's to... still using language that
never bothered to settle down to tow
a mute... buttonz of galore...

                well... it could have helped
to conjure up a parthenon of sorts...
a get-together of imaginary side projects -
but the modern sensible man
this highly elevated man wrestling
with some also unseen
microscopic and tuning his worth
to an argument for: more more more...
i'm actually devastated by this new guise
of atheistically prone materialistic
sensibility: a word salad or just
some forever golgotha custard come about
from crushing bones...

i was sensible once... when i knew of
joseph stalin: the little georgian that
hijacked the russians...
or adolph ******: the austrian that
hijacked the germans...
  i was sensible once...
this is no time to be sensible...
this is a time to be: wholly pointless and
incessant!
why wait?!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
i'm only ever after... a cushioning
pillow worth of rest...
to mind the old ghost...
the new shadow...
a jung and his matchstick play-dough
of ego...
an evelyn waugh an edward
hopper... hardly a...
last bearable breath of loitering
empire... and pride...
and... in this language...
the viet-cog-and-cong sort of...
ambush! in... the vicinity of...
the semi-detached jungle
of... there's a name for that sort
of enterprise...
     pride from the "revision" of
empire... when last awake...
the hitch-hiker borrowed from
pearl habour... godzilla loop-holes...
sorry... no... no soppy story...
the connells: 74 / 75...
   kid growing up...
   the beastie boys...
always and forver...
godzilla contra ghidorah...
beastie boys: inter-galactic...
   urotsukidoji ****: whipped cream...
tow: ties...
   this grieves the sentance of
a hong-kong handover...
            come hiroshima...
nagasaki... chernobyll..
                        new advent revision
of... snap-shot auschwitz!
hiroshima: like... blind... *******
ride of... the arbeit macht frei:
because...
in a land of only workaholics...
drinking is neither a desired nor
a way to bypass...
even the huxley argument for alternatives
doesn't work...
miracles or cobwebs...
tarantulla bread winner...
since... the web spinner is...
the loitering... grief of...
a da vinci whimp: waiting for a pope...
pauper the seventh...
art is best provided...
when it is matching...
a... patron!
                  grief that one might have
to be wedded with...
a plot of argument:
a race baiting bride...
if she was a kenyan chic-choc-flick...
a *** "parisian" porcelain...
a thai suntan of squint: and lay-the-mon's'dayz...
on suit: and off...
           i'll call her new delhi...
and... black cardamom...
and i'll her her cinnamon...
i'll call her kalachiri! i'll call her...
kashmiri zenith tease: nibble... bite...
piquant...
                    i will... ****... anything...
that... moves...
half of pakistan is left with...
a mongolian surname...
KHAN...
and Baghdad pretends to not be...
because... there's no JoJo: no new:
Baghdad is the "new" Istambul...
          
all our... cherished parodies of time...
the Turk is somehow...
the Angevin...
        tuba büyüküstün?
                    as one might cite...
a "bit too beautiful" for her...
              said beauty... and then...
hardly... the crevices... to conflate
the understanding of limbs...
this is enough...
longshanks... skinned...
             looted: the crux and scandal...
thus versed: and best: rooted:
oak;
        to have made attempts
to cry... is to have...
been unable... to... coerce
a conversion of laughter into...
an... exhilaration... thus... at best...
to cry... is to have played...
token... poker... mamluk... here is to...
being converted... owning...
a foreigner's own... more...
prominent... this... english... grief and
sorrow and rubble...
dickens! is to be prized above
shakespeare in the realm
of teaching children the language!
i will own this language more prized
than by those born into it...
that i have no name...
that i am akin to the mamluk
and the janissary...
                      convert: who to conquer?!
the king in yellow - the myth of reciting
in greek: famed:
how the h'americans discovered europe...
somehow...
    graham plowman...
in reverse: the h'americans were always
about to: "about to"... revive...
and... recite... regression...
find "old" europe: from within...
the confines of... "new" h'america...
like... poached egg meets... scrambled...
and... tickled ****: ******* *** master!
vegas lost ****-and-edges! *******-pusher...
saint-bite! saint-****!

and all that... saint stephen with a rose...
h'america... the forgotten...
h'elvegen... you are the rite:
for the ripenning of...
whatever... cluster **** worth
of autumn!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
did i miss something from having written familial estrangement? i must have... only recently, a day or so ago i went cycling... obviously i didn't check the weather forecast... the rain in a form of deluge came: deluge or monsoon... i was speaking to a co-worker about it... after the drought? it felt glorious... i couldn't see past ten metres ahead of me... i was sipping rain water that was getting lodged in my mustache... i told her: it reminded me of when i was 6 or 7... running barefoot in the rain with my cousin Justine... in a similar sort of rain... barefoot on the pavement... we went back home and cuddled while my great-grandmother her grandmother tended to us: obviously we caught a cold... what a glorious experience...

i must be mad... after today's shift i was asked by one
of the managers:
on the 21st... i know you're the supervisor at the London
stadium... but do you feel like working
Wembley too?
you'll finish the London Stadium shift at 4:30pm
you'll start the Wembley shift at 6pm...
Wembley are short-staffed...
me? being a single man...
that's the thing: the best lesson i have ever learned
is that you don't say NO...
wow! you're the first to agree!
that's why i'm a supervisor without the required
qualifications...
sure... i'll do it...
for me? there's not "drudgery" of work...
there's work and there's no work...
i like collecting the hours...
oddly enough: i enjoy it...
i like being a workaholic-alcoholic...
it boosts my ambitions to come across as
someone required: responsible... needed...

i left the house at 2pm today... train strikes...
missed the train toward Stratford by a minute...
it arrived on the platform just as i was walking
into the station: **** it...
took the 296 towards Newbury Park and got the Central
Line instead...
enough time to eat a double cheeseburger
at a McDonald's: sign in on time...
shook hands with the managers...
Dan "the man" asked with with wild eyes:
so you're working Oxford with me?!
yes? well... if you're imploring me to do so!
wild-eyed reply came as a yes: you are, aren't you?!
you're on the segregation line with me!

oh **** me... what a waste of time...
i'm out of the house for almost 10 hours:
i'm getting paid only £50 for it...
£10 of which goes into the fuel...
it's a waste of time...
but i'm looking to get good references...
i'm not going to say no...
i don't have a wife... i don't have children:
i'm elusive...
even today: even though i was breaker:
i helped the supposed supervisor to get her act together...

hold on: why am i writing about work?
who the **** writes about work?
people who enjoy working?
then again: as i learned from my father...
my ethnicity has bred workaholics and alcoholics...
i'm a workaholic-alcoholic... a terrible combination:
i only have time to myself: for myself...

i noticed that with Michaela today...
i pick up on subtle cues...
she looked tired... out of her past two times i was with her...
my totem: a fox... was rummaging the streets...
i gently walked up behind him:
he didn't look startled... neither was i...
something is up with Michaela...
mind you... it was a true beauty of a quickie...
******* can do that to a man
while she's all submissive and you're slapping her
***... pinching her thighs...
she started complaining about spider bites on her calves...
i told her not to squeeze the bites...
i told her: go to a ****** supermarket...
and buy some Spirit Vinegar... rub it in...
after the quick ******* we exchanged music
tastes... we talked about her changing her nails...

i must either change the brothel or...
i'll wait... she's going back to Romania for a month
on the 28th... i'll wait... i need a new ****** partner...
she felt like a painting of Picasso's blue period...
distant... i need a new ***** to ****...
i said: you look tired...
she started talking about her new eye-lash
extension implants...
i mentioned to her:
you know, those black girls?
eye-lashes the length of camels'...
and nails?! so long: they couldn't possibly chop
up an onion...

they are really minor queues...
we ****** for the 3rd time and i could feel tension:
the thrill was gone... she wasn't as willing to kiss me...
she even implored that i was lying too far away from her...
she wanted cuddling...
talk of nails... talk of spider bites...
          no... oh god no... this is not going to work...
i think we passed the threshold of casual ***...
some scamming mommy is going to come out of
Michaela: right about now...
i'm out...
            don't blame your apathy on your newly implanted
eye-lash extension... you're bored of me:
after two *****...

she's going back to Romania on the 28th...
i'm going to wait until she's gone until i pick a new
****** partner...
i'll wait...
  of course she was surprised that i ******* too soon...
i blamed it on the heart and the tiredness after a shift...
i asker: but... but now all women ****** during each
****** encounter?
i blame her "beached whale" physique...
i'm extremely attracted to slightly overweight women...

it's not premature *******: but it's ****** close...
i can't help it... i can't control my ontology...
she's not pretty: she's just unique!
unique toward satisfying my palette of "inhibitions"!
i like plump-plum girl...
but the awkward body language read-itself
to me immediately... the dynamic changed...
she blamed the lashes: i blamed her...
although i didn't actually blame her...

no no no... my totem is the fox... i can suss if something
is becoming awry... strange... tense...
i know better to simply stage
a mirror peering into glass dynamic...
or a glass peering into a mirror dynamic...
the body language changes... dramatically...
eye-lashes my ******* ***!
i gave Michaela a promise: i kept it...
i'm guessing she's used to men giving promises
but not keeping them...
me? i'm tired of women being treated like ****
by ****-boys...

i had a headache travelling to the brothel...
some woman was having a pseudo-conversation
with a man...
she started... explaining... how:
sound travels to her ears from his tongue:
******* and you crack-******* *****...
i switched off...
i either need to change the brothel...
or the rota of prostitutes has to change...

of the three available... i did want to chose another
one from Michaela... but Michaela was there...
and i promised her...
aha! that's what it was... she probably realised
that i wanted some other...
cold... *****...   kalthündin....
    mmm...
                          mmm: sine in trigonometry...
www: cosine trigonometry....
                  i love women... they deal with such subtle affairs...
a man can become loved up at first sight...
three of them were sitting pretty...
Michaela among them: but i noticed this youngling
among them... Michaela must have noticed me
noticing her first... this... doe...
makes sense...
sure sure... "eye-lashes"...
no no... this was the magic of jealousy at work...
before i even blinked the women knew what
was afoot... the youthful thrill of renewal hit me...
but i promised that i would come back for her...
that didn't ******* matter...
shorter than a blink: an exchange of glances
between love at first sight and a blink...
and what the women told each other in between...

a jealous *******? i think i just spent half an hour
with a jealous *******...
i thought prostitutes were immune to jealousy?!
how many are to be shared among one?
but a man comes along and he's like:
i'll share A with B... create an AB...
i'll share B with C... create a BC... etc.
that's why we started talking about her spider bites...
why we started talking about her nails...
it was like lightning: the three of them sat there while
i walked in... but the one i was familiar with
lost the plot of her parade of pride... because:
she felt: **** me! undermine by a younger updated model!

sure! great! she still didn't get it!
she's probably my age... overweight...
yet i still find her attractive... and she's asking
me why i ******* the 1st and 3rd time so early?
why? i say: you have your eyelashes excuses?
i have mine... you beautiful *** is blocking my picture!
you beautiful plump torso is also blocking the picture:
your fat **** are also blocking the picture:
mind you: there's "no picture":
because your fat *** plump torso and fat ****...

i adore imperfections that create an individualism...
but even she couldn't catch me off guard
today... i might have felt tired...
come on... we started talking about music:
we this || close to being clued up into
becoming a bickering couple...
the honeymoon period was over...
she was already willing to the next ******
partner: as i was i...

              change of gloves: change of hands...
i think i need to find a new brothel...
this isn't working for me...
                   the body language can be easily read...
there's this stiffening of the body:
a way of giving birth to the shadow
with the mind:
with the ****:
a sleeping foetus along with the live
one via the ******....

women made awkward: become stiff:
two-dimensionally...
esp. from a "compromise" of competition...

why did i join up to these shifts: well... as a single man
you rarely get to say NO...
this Oxford shift is going to punish me...
**** it...
      then i'm the currently sole lonely
happy-camper doing both the London Stadium
and Wembley...
                 it's hardly the drudgery of work...
you ******* from the workplace for about 10 years...
return to it: invigorated...
you sort of build up a stamina of being happy
to be out of the household...

arbeit macht frei!
                 it's so true... it's truer than true....
i need a new ****** partner...
i just need Michaela to ******* back to Romania
on the 28th before i can revisit the brothel...
i don't exactly like the idea of jealous women...
i'd need ****** to deal with that...
i don't have eunuchs...
        
                i need to start seeing a new *******...
the body language: sort of skewed...
you can sort of sense that you're
borderline necrophilic when a person starts becoming
counter-responsive.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
there's absolutely no need to write
these days -
perhaps if i were much much
younger and idealistic -
what love... what oh what woe...
could have could be (etc.) -

today i found myself in love
with england for: however many
a time...
the rolling hills cliche -
but i was alone: yet i was legion...
i was no anglo-saxon
with an army...

i strolled the countryside and
for this moment of certainty:
i was truly allowed to
hold firmness of aloofness -

beside the rabbit i crouched
beside two meters away...
a wild thing i was almost eager
to pick it up:
was the rabbit blind?

it's beyond questionably unfathomable...
well... there was that fox
that decided to come to soup kitchen
in my back garden
for nearing two months:
at a time when i desired
a dog... because: cats don't really
eat leftovers... fussy eaters...
no gluttonous slobs among,
         them...

my new earned pleasure:
to walk is better than to talk...
yet even i found myself talking
to the wind:

verbatim:
imagine! bewildering that such places
still exist!
even if for an hour...
later i found out that this was
historical ground i was treading...
related to henry VIII and edward
the confessor -
teasing passing through
a village havering-atte-bower...

i didn't see a human face for hours
and hours... i did see birds-of-prey,
i saw i noted...
i didn't bring a pen and paper...
i was so entangled...
i was so freely there...
i was so... freely there...
unlike where i am now:
"here" attached to an extension
of thinking...

come to think of it... i was so pristinely alone
that if i were asked anything
outside the realm
of casual formality: if i were to be implored
to bid good day or a hello...
i'd straighten out a *******
banana and call it: the staff of moses
if i had to deal with this bogus societal-
never on a street am i ever
asked for a hello...

why do people find it necessary
to bid these ****** hello impromptus
when facing the base for all dreams...
i never liked talking during
***... i never like disturbing
the language of the fields and the teasing
moors and the chimes of branches
with anything that isn't jokingly
spontaneous:

like today: imagine... such places do
exist... where one can truly spend a worth
of an hour or so alone...
with the birds of prey flying
above... with horses grazing...
with a rabbit: i presumed blind...

it's most decidedly unnecessary for me
to write this: but i can't allow
a good glug of kosher malt to waste...
if i'm drinking i'll have to find myself
writing...
such that i need to restress a fondness
for this equipment:
a pair of feet...
no need to run... if i can catch up
with noon and make it home
come sunset...

i will most certainly not prescribe myself
to live under the cooking instructions
of a chicken sold by a supermarket...
1h40... 1 hour and forty minutes?
to cook a large chicken?
like all women are the best cooks
and the chicken ******* need
to be dry as a brittle (trans-grammarism)...

i wasn't listening...
shove enough thyme / garlic infused butter
under the skin and give it a maximum
of 55 minutes...
mismatching my rooster albert bartlett
tatties... i was hoping for a synchronised
swan lake esque event concerning
the oven enterprise...
bad luck moi...

     a thermometer is so key... to eating
a pleasure roast of chicken...
i'll understand pasta undercooked...
teasing al dente: but over-cook it...
and serve up mush of melting glue:
kept together by a "miracle"...
same with chicken...
oh god... over-cooking or undercooking
meat is... i will dare to say...
never mind... 165°F for chicken meat...
i can't eat chewing gum made from
chaw-chaw-chaw barbarous chew...
welcome back to civilisation:
lost wanderer...
              
i honestly don't think i needed to write
this: that i didn't...
but i did... i hope i can be excused
with "keeping my **** together"...
i'm not a fan of drinking in front of
the mirror...
or putting my hand in a hot bucket
of water...
why does drinking supposedly
encourage commerady...
why is drinking supposed to be this:
social event...
drinking alone is bad...
walking alone is doubly bad...
well **** yeah! let's have us
a *******-wanking of a marathon!
a drinking **** to boot!

drinking alone is all that is "leftover"...
if it weren't for the add chance
of utilising a plumber...
once in a blue moon scenario:
since the previous generations
invested so much in the plumbing...
it's not a question would i be better of...
i'd be: off of now...
in this currency conundrum of...
impersonal justifications...
a hybrid anonymous butcher...
or some... variation and "other"...

give me the sky! the wind! the fields!
and the time necessary to not encounter
some ******* baseline pedestrian
who... upon venturing upon holy ground...
public footpath nonetheless...
seeing all this nature has to...
pass me by with an invitation for
a hello hallow how'do'you'do...
         weird:
if i walked down the street and
all that pleasing concrete was in the way...
would i get the same "invitation"...
then why, bother, my, silence...
when i'm standing on grass... looking
at trees?!

unfamiliar territory i am sure...
i don't need assurances of teasing poker...
get on your ******* bus and leave us
to its...
it's hardly an "english" thing...
is just happens to be a human bollocking
working up to a crescendo that's only
now apparent: who dou 'illed with
'reats again'st the theat're?

         the rabbit! the rabbit! the rabbit!
was the rabbit blind?
i didn't sneak up on it...
hello words: congest my mind allow
the voyeurs in...
i won't be here long...
                 that space between
the ears and the eyes... i suppose the eyes...
like candy-outgrowths...
bulging i pretended to blink
they were still intact...
a camouflage... this close to a wild
"thing" you'd find me expressing
details of moth wings...

that there's a an M25... that there's an A406...
and there's the great...
walk-along to ******* alone
work-around for feet primo...
i think it's called a circular...
like a hand of an hour
i imagine walking around greater london
7 times...
it really is a bogus project...
but it's a mad enough
beginning to allow myself to dream...

like in those old movies...
oceans, eleven?
the 'ctor roost and... the professional
boxers... treated as mere cameos on
screen...
so... here's my cameo...
i have yet to find such a footed
riddle as i have...
no ******* from noak hill will tread
these parts...
i'm sure of it as i am sure:
it's not that i'm a lover of nature...
there's no david attenborough
voyeurism involved to produce
a semblance naturalist...

words architecture,
words architecture...
word... ugh... architecture...
      words grammar architecture...
it's not that it's ugly...
it's just so well-arrived-at...
it's pristine... unshakeable...
words, grammar... architecture...

i want to walk...
to hell with running a marathon
while mr. c.c.t.v. is jerking off
a commitment of transmission...

acorns and oak-fill... lost for words...
chestnuts! chestnuts!
all that is evolved monkey
and devolves back into a bear...
sounds mad enough to 'ave some...
i just like to imagine...
digressing with winter nonexistent...
this parody of insomnia:
whether via work
or via...

one alcoholic vs. one hundred
workaholics...
vs. one thousand bureaucrats...
vs. 4th industrial revolution
staples in the millions...
cost effective "work"... and "effective":
a work not as: the best
that can be done...
but as a public service loitering...
ahem... sorry... "provision"...
have people forgot that
there exist a version
of humanity that somehow
has to be appeased...
that people can perhaps relapse
into their trained-monkey phase
and treat a supermarket
cashier as he or she were
a heart-surgeon...
or are we all so *******
desperate as to: settle our grievances
on mediocre pyramidal schematics .
tiers invoked... blah blah...
whoopsie: it snows.

grandiosity herr engels: i gather....
but for all that toughening of limbs
and of making concrete assurances:
to borrow bones to somehow delve
into carving marble...

how to turn a gorilla into a weakling
man pursuit...
brain hijacked by a mushroom...
and retell squirm with
a man-beefed-up-bear-in-tow...

it's not merely... impossible...
this of the fewest least...
it's this rugged tease of
     an avalanche...
a stampede...
when in fact... it was merely
a wriggling of a centipede.

demiurge ave!
   demiurge ave!
  as one probably does...
walking past a curation of budding ***...
she's teasing 15...
and she gives off quiverings in
the air...
she's so teen...
so prone to angry...
  all that she is... is a scent of bubblegum...
she's too young to become
complicated with ***...
and *** has become one of those:
metaphors... drawing water from
a stone...

i'm too tired of wanting what isn't readily
available...
in the availability of a harem...
i'm too tired to want
what i must, most necessarily
never have...
then again... again: i will heave
not having above what i could
perhaps want to heave: rather than have...
all those pornoflicks from
******: should i be irritated by
******* tailor-me-pretty...
a kit-kat of fingers usually does
the "job"...

         yes... my heave: my harth...
my liquid lunge...
my  best and therefore by least...
forest of a crown.
Corona virus! Corona virus!!
While we wonder of your sudden outbreak
And about the decision to take and hard times we now face

We now have heartbreak
As daily we have a new case
You are busy sweeping rapidly across the globe
Each person wears mask and glove

Out of Wuhan you appeared
Bedeviling the entire human race
On one hand we cry and groan for the disaster so far
We wail and mourn for the death within and afar

Daily death toll rises like smoke licking through the sky
This causes tears to drop from our eyes
Affected Families now stand apart
No more time to sit and chortle with friends
Market places are empty as churches and mosques hold no worshiper
Starvation is taking its toll as channels to make money are tied
While you laugh at us boasting with your nickname Covid-19

On the other hand, we ain't totally sad but rejoice
For families now have time to spend together like it's forever
And husbands and wives bond like never
Workaholics now have time to rest with great leisure
Leaders now concentrate on the welfare of the people
And hospitals are equipped with scientific touch
All these we enjoy with all pleasure

Young dudes now sit to plan their lives
As bars and clubs are shut with no wines
Our ladies are now creative rather than sit to **** dudes dry
Prayers are no more left to the clergies
As every **** and Harry now seem to play the pope or great imam
Hearts indeed are drawn to God
As each step we take we are careful not to fall

O covid-19 what a blow you gave Us
For we won't forget the vacuum you've created
We know that some day your reign will end
For we trust in divine power to hold you down like Ebola
Have hope my friends, for this too shall pass
✍🏾

3/5/2020
aldo kraas Sep 2023
Till I get it right
Choosing the right people
To be friends with
I feel that it will not be an easy
The task for me to do
But I am willing to try
I just have a couple of friends
In my life
And I want to grow
My circle of friends
From small to large
I am not choosing the rich
People to be my friends
Because they hate
Poor people like me
Also the rich people
Are workaholics
And they also work
48 hours per week
Yes the rich people
Live also a miserable life
Because they are also
Slaves of their money
I just need poor people
In my life
That wants to be my friends
Also, I hope the poor people
I choose to be my friends
Will accept me the way
I am
Also, I feel that I can't change
Things in my life just to please
My friends
I feel that I am just fine the
Way I am
Also, I don't have much money
To live
My friends are looking after
My money
I only purchase some used clothes
From the second-hand store
Because that is also what I can afford
Also, I am happy that I am wearing
Second-hand clothes
And they look good on me
Yes I always go to the barber for
My hair cut
My friends always tell me
To shave my head
I tell them that
It is not my style
I just like a short haircut
And that also looks good on
Me
Friends I never talk behind you
Back
Because that is not the right
Thing to do
Also friends I want you
To respect me
And I will also respect you
Friends I go to bed early
Every night
I am not a night owl like you
I know you go to bed at 12:00 am
In the evening friends
Also, I think you must be used by now
Friends I hope you are also looking
After you health
If you want to live a long life
I am sure friends you don't want
To die young
Also friends it was God that gave
Us our lives
After he had made us
With his holy hands
Also placed us on earth
To live
Friends tomorrow will be another
Day that will also arrive early
For us
aldo kraas Sep 2023
Till I get it right
Choosing the right people
To be friends with
I feel that it will not be an easy
Task for me to do
But I am willing to try
I just have a couple of friends
In my life
And I want to grow
My circle of friends
From small to large
I am not choosing the rich
People to be my friends
Because they hate
Poor people like me
Also the rich people
Are workaholics
And they also work
48 hours per week
Yes the rich people
Live also a miserable life
Because they are also
Slaves of their money
I just need poor people
In my life
That wants to be my friends
Also, I hope the poor people
I choose to be my friends
Will accept me the way
I am
Also, I feel that I can’t change
Things in my life just to please
My friends
I feel that I am just fine the
Way I am
Also, I don’t have much money
To live
My friends are looking after
My money
I only purchase some used clothes
From the second-hand store
Because that is also what I can afford
Also, I am happy that I am wearing
Second-hand clothes
And they look good on me
Yes I always go to the barber for
My hair cut
My friends always tell me
To shave my head
I tell them that
It is not my style
I just like a short haircut
And that also looks good on
Me
Friends I never talk behind you
Back
Because that is not the right
Thing to do
Also friends I want you
To respect me
And I will also respect you
Friends I go to bed early
Every night
I am not a night owl like you
I know you go to bed at 12:00 am
In the evening friends
Also, I think you must be used by now
Friends I hope you are also looking
After you health
If you want to live a long life
I am sure friends you don’t want
To die young
Also friends it was God that gave
Us our lives
After he had made us
With his holy hands
Also placed us on earth
To live
Friends tomorrow will be another
Day that will also arrive early
For us
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2024
let me elaborate... like a tender realisation: why do i abhor Strauss and Brahms? waltzes... classical music composed for dancing... and not thinking and going mad... classical music intended for dancing! seigl ******* heil! nein nein nein! scheisse... little operas and even littler: loitering theatricals with intended amusement uplifting with song no desired existential pangs... blah! ah... long the days of rivalry between the gemeinsamvolk songs of the tavern and Teutonic monks... ugh... classical music dedicated to waltzes... Germans dancing, back then, even now... conjures up a concoction of vomiting, diarrhea ******, scratching one's ***, picking one's nose and lighting a match with devilish insinuation of arson. Valkyries screerching...

because living among
the English is
never, ever so rarely
as demeaning as
living among the Germans,
ironically
maybe not...
maybe not in how
i so abhor German opera
sung in the 'Leash...
such a terrible tongue
to sing opera: perhaps church
alms of praises...
but so welcome to learn
that i abhor Strauss as much
as Brahms...
can't help myself:
withheld at Schumann and
Schubert...
**** deutsche vox...
but then how much
of the English is deutsch'
if i find the isles of these
morose fabric
an extension of Scandinavia
like Denmark is: too?
among the Britons
those Velches and Scoots
and Ires of the green land...
an Anglo-Slav among
the mongrels of alt pocket
of Saxony.
geographically, though...
if Denmark is Scandinavia...
then England isn't?
peculiar... that concept of
"west": Europe...
as far west and uninhibited
as France and Spain...
as far "east" as the centrality
of Poland? Bohemia and Germany...
England is a Scandinavian
country... the miserably-happy
platitude of workaholics:
arbeit macht frei: poignant:
more than ever.
aldo kraas Aug 2023
God can I hold you tonight?
And also hug you?
Because I would love
To get some hugs from
You my God
To tell you the truth God
I am dying to receive a
Hug from you
Or should I just hug you first?
Are you going to allow me to
Hug you first
God I must tell you
That I can love you with no problem
And you also can love me with no problem
God every day I get some love from
You and I must say that
We have a strong relationship
Because God you had been the one
That had made me
Many years a go
With you holy hands
I am glad to be living
Here on earth
Also I don't forget to pray
To you my God
Every single day
First thing in the mornings
When I wake up
And in my prayer I ask father
To give me some health
Some peace and some freedom
Because I no longer have God health father
I have bad health
And you no God that I have depression
That is the thing that I hate with the passion
Also God I have good friends
That supports me in my life
Every single day
To tell you the truth
Without my friends I would not survive
A day
God I am glad that you are my father
Also I know that we love each other
We never put each other down
Because that would hurt both of us
And I also hate to be hurt
Yes father I agree that
Lots of people talk behind you back
That I am aware that some people are doing
Also that is a bad thing to do
I know that you have died also
In the cross for my sin
My father you gave me some casual clothes
To wear
And I wear that casual clothes every single day
And I must say that they look good on
My body
God I live the simple life you gave me
And I must say that I am used to live my simple life
I never wanted a life of the rich people
Because they despise the poor people
And they only love people that have money
Also they are workaholics
They spend too much time working
And no time for the family
God I am very poor and I am happy
Also being poor
But I must tell you that none of my friends are rich
They are also poor like me
Yes God if we didn't had you in our lives
We would not be able to survive
God you have thought me some
Manners and I use my manners
When I talk to my friends
God I need that you please hurry up
And put an end to Winter
Because it is winter that depress me
Also you never give the sun to us
You only give us the gray sky
The gray sky puts me to sleep
During the day
Also it makes me yawn non stop
My God the winter is also very long
And also very cold
I still go out in the Winter
I dress myself very warm
And I go out for walks
The walks are good for me
Because it helps me mentally and physically
I hate when it gets early dark in the Winter
Also I don't stay up at night
I have my sleep schedule
And I follow my sleep schedule
I go to bed every night at 9:00 pm
And I never wake up in the middle of the night
aldo kraas May 2021
God can I hold you tonight?
And also hug you?
Because I would love
To get some hugs from
You my God
To tell you the truth God
I am dying to receive a
Hug from you
Or should I just hug you first?
Are you going to allow me to
Hug you first
God I must tell you
That I can love you with no problem
And you also can love me with no problem
God every day I get some love from
You and I must say that
We have a strong relationship
Because God you had been the one
That had made me
Many years a go
With you holy hands
I am glad to be living
Here on earth
Also I don't forget to pray
To you my God
Every single day
First thing in the mornings
When I wake up
And in my prayer I ask father
To give me some health
Some peace and some freedom
Because I no longer have God health father
I have bad health
And you no God that I have depression
That is the thing that I hate with the passion
Also God I have good friends
That supports me in my life
Every single day
To tell you the truth
Without my friends I would not survive
A day
God I am glad that you are my father
Also I know that we love each other
We never put each other down
Because that would hurt both of us
And I also hate to be hurt
Yes father I agree that
Lots of people talk behind you back
That I am aware that some people are doing
Also that is a bad thing to do
I know that you have died also
In the cross for my sin
My father you gave me some casual clothes
To wear
And I wear that casual clothes every single day
And I must say that they look good on
My body
God I live the simple life you gave me
And I must say that I am used to live my simple life
I never wanted a life of the rich people
Because they despise the poor people
And they only love people that have money
Also they are workaholics
They spend too much time working
And no time for the family
God I am very poor and I am happy
Also being poor
But I must tell you that none of my friends are rich
They are also poor like me
Yes God if we didn't had you in our lives
We would not be able to survive
God you have thought me some
Manners and I use my manners
When I talk to my friends
God I need that you please hurry up
And put an end to Winter
Because it is winter that depress me
Also you never give the sun to us
You only give us the gray sky
The gray sky puts me to sleep
During the day
Also it makes me yawn non stop
My God the winter is also very long
And also very cold
I still go out in the Winter
I dress myself very warm
And I go out for walks
The walks are good for me
Because it helps me mentally and physically
I hate when it gets early dark in the Winter
Also I don't stay up at night
I have my sleep schedule
And I follow my sleep schedule
I go to bed every night at 9:00 pm
And I never wake up in the middle of the night

— The End —