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Hooflip Aug 2014
Jam
And it’s groovy ****
The way my words maneuver it
A user but I won’t be used
By all the drugs I’m doing
Shiiitt
They talk abusive ****
Like they’re the one’s that using it
And usually I’d be busy on my timone and pumba bizz
Ness is what it’s all about
They’ll tell you anything to reassure the cash come out
To their hands
You gotta fight em with your bare hands
n realize a workaround to their plan
And on another note
I be kickin flows with a dopeness
Thinkin I’m the one
Yeah
I been thinking I’ve been chosen
Cold, I flow frozen
Shows, the vibe golden
Ghost the most smoke, I got casper choking
Actors be pulling mad guap and holding chart topping spots
Well they had a soul, sold it.
We don’t like change
Boy they’ve got us all brainless
You prolly changed this for a song about some ****
This ain’t it,
Re-spray it
Re-paint it
Rekindle
The vibe is alive, revive your minds sizzle
It is you, you are a god you are a ******* goddess
How the hell on earth could they stop us.
They cannot, we got this,
Positive is progress
We taking it *******
Don’t know where the top is
We Jam.
Like, this is your brian,
This is your brain on drugs
Well this my brain when I let it just

JAM
Some of my Hip-hop ****.
Check the song here:
https://soundcloud.com/thehumbleloud/jam-flapjack
Luke Dec 2014
You came over here
In your Kimono
You wanna stay right now?
I think "oh no"

Hold me down
Whirl me round
Open Kimono
"Oh no"

My spirit wants to
it's still no go
I wanna be yours, but my pace is too slow.

don't wear me down
lets find a workaround
open kimono

argue black is white
my mood is black as night
stick around and you'll be aware that the danger in the air
is set by the tone of my voice
to scratch the atmosphere.
katewinslet Sep 2015
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It's really a procedure or simply technique with time has shown on its own to always be quite as good as each and every techniques or possibly methods that which you were using for you to do identical things. You are able to state that this is the most beneficial approach an individual, your current crew, or perhaps your institution found to do a specific thing. Why do these people problem? Recommendations happen to be priceless because they're typically the psychological means -- that "secret sauce" -- that can assist agencies continue to be extremely affordable. It truly is best to be able to institutionalize suggestions in order that most people comes after all of them. You can feature him or her straight into procedures, practices, and/or over the internet undertaking service platforms. You notion may be to develop a best rehearse databases who some people have access to simply. You don't wish which treasured info to end up being underground inside of a data display case this no person knows all sorts of things concerning. That utility area may just be inside of a database, on your Web-site,

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Kate Copeland Aug 2019
conscious about subconscious
moves and twists she hated 

to lie but there it was

the life getting the hold
the songs where the tears
a boy where no love
a kid where no desire
no fear while a mortgage
no shame while a contract

so there it is then

the little voice holds no music
the life keeps her promises

conscious catches subconscious
a lot cooler
if you did restore HP
to old-school functionality
when things, like, functioned
consistently. reliably. simply.

there are so many
little things *******
that I overlook because
this place is part of me and
how I speak

it’s our mouthpiece for
soul love light dark scenes
so, just make it work
for our inners

and, plz -

do.
some.
testing.

kludgey af workaround:

save poem as draft
edit draft and save as public
Irate Watcher Jan 2019
You say —
it is impossible
to read
people within
your own frame
of reference.

You’re a neuroscientist,
so I should probably believe you,
because you know
more
about how
the brain processes
information.

You say —
communication is the closest thing
we have to reading someone’s thoughts.
You can't infer the type of person someone is
or what they'll do
from their actions alone —
you just need to ask them.

Evolution is a testament
to the power of speech.
It allows us to co-exist peacefully
with other human beings,
warn them of danger,
or tell them where the food is.

But evolution isn't so
intelligent, and I would premise
that communication
is just a workaround
telepathy.

First of all,
humans lie
when they want
for us to read
what is NOT in
their mind.
Rarely will one
get a straightforward answer
to the question: "Are you lying?"
And should you really expect to?

You say,
of course you can tell
when people are overtly lying.
There are biological signs
of deception
and we're hard-wired to detect
them —
the overly detailed stories
prolonged eye contact
calculated breathing,
are all indicators
of fibbing.

Ok, so there is truth-telling and lying,
but like most dichotomies
there are several somethings
in between.
Like when people don't mean
what they say,
but say it anyways — miscommunication.
Or when people genuinely
believe the words they spew
are true, but they are — mistaken.
Or when people
want so badly
for words to be true...
but they
are
just
not — denial.

For example,
someone like you
could tell me over and over again
that you're sorry,
But communicating isn't gonna help
heal the bruises, honey.

I’m so scared
you'll hit her
when you raise your voice.

I don’t know how to talk about it
because when I do,
she suffers the consequences.

I’m so nervous
I’ll have know about it
the entire time
and still have done nothing.

If I say something,
I’m so worried
she'll think I’m overreacting,
and then stop telling me stories.

What is the least about of harm
you can do
before I’m allowed to speak.
Is it a bruise?
Why must I wait
for the inevitable
just to say
I saw it coming all along.

The complete disregard for her as a partner,
your disrespect, the verbal assaults,
are known precursors of domestic violence.

As is my silence.
But I can't seem to
communicate the situation
without making it worse.

I can’t known for certain
why you treat her this way
from my frame of reference,
because the evidence neither supports or denies
my claim, and I am judge-mental if I infer it anyway...

until it is too late.
Because it wasn't a truth or a lie,
just a thing I knew deep in my bones,
but was told I have no
evidence for
from people like you.

People rarely mean what they say.
Why should I trust their displays
over my own judgement.
Yes, sometimes we are trapped in perspective
and then our perspective turns out to be wrong
about people.
But it takes someone strong,
to risk being wrong,
when she is
chastised for it.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
i've never cooked crocodile flesh before...
but i've seen what happens when
you buy raw herrings...
you're not going to cook the herrings...
after all: herrings are the Baltic sushi...
but you can't just eat them raw...
you need to curate them to some brine...
i.e. soaking them in salty water...
phenomenal... a fish swims all this time
in salty waters... as a whole...
but when you turn it into a schematic of
edibility...
you have to... ha ha... pluck all that's liver
all that heart... intestines...
to get to the flesh: edible flesh... proper...
you have to throw it back into salty water:
it's obvious that the flesh of the fish
never experienced... what could make
it edible...
apparently crocodile meat is the same:
it's lean... although... herring flesh
is also high in fat...
to brine something involves the thing
sitting in its own juices:
for the "other" thing: the protein about
to be eaten is left curated:
salt... in terms of what's edible and what's
not... weighs as much as gold...
if not more...
          but you can bypass this whole
chemical experiment with mushrooms!
you don't need fish: which have to be brined...
or with meats which have to be cured...
with mushrooms it's much more simple...
you start off frying a batch in some unsalted butter...
they fry... and fry... getting all golden...
you start choking them with a lid above
the frying pan... that sort of helps...
but... doesn't... it's only until you sprinkle some salt...
and: but especially in terms of fungus...
salt: the great drawer of water...
you put the lid back on... or whatever...
to get the mushroom: you need to cook it with
some salt...
it's like... the most organic magnet...
salt is a magnet... for water...
salt is what allowed such great bodies
of water as the Atlantic and the Pacific to stay
intact... even when the rivers and the lakes
dry up... the seas will never dry up:
salt is a magnet... for water...
water, water everywhere: but not a drop
to drink... that line stands eternal:
from the rime of the ancient mariner...
esp. with fungus...
you sprinkle from salt on them while frying
them off in butter... and hey presto!
you tempt the water encompassed
in the mushrooms come flooding out...
you end up cooking them in their own juices...
the texture of the mushroom is arrived at...
but there's also the essences of the taste of
mushroom...
salt: magnet... sieve!
- but that's not brining... unless it's...
brining done... exponentially quick... which it is...
meat takes time... fungus is neither
meat nor... salad...
but salt! salt is light!
        how it draw out the remaining water
from a thing... and allows the thing
to be cooked in its own storage of water...
which it wasn't expecting to be cooked in...
you might add some more water:
depending how much you're cooking...
some excess of fat also helps...
but i've never cooked crocodile meat...
watched how someone failed to cook it on
Australian MasterChef...
          if crocodile behaves like a herring...
even though one is a lizard get-go...
while the other is... fritz...
           i expect a crocodile tartar steak of sort
could have aided the contestant...
because i can't actually imagine
eating a cooked herring...
later soaked in some spirit vinegar with
onions... a lay leaf... all-spice... mustard seeds
crescent moons of garlic... onions...
and oil...
but cooking a herring seems as much a bad
idea as cooking a salmon: rather than
not smoking it...
still: quickened brining process...
no water involved... since we're dealing with
mushrooms... fungus...
you start cooking they're browning beautifully
like it's some post-racial but still nationalistic
Brazilian utopia (since they have
a ******* football team that tells others...
you're not us... blah blah)
   but it's only when you add the salt
that the mushrooms give in...
to the "torture" of being:
less the telepathic busy-bodies attached
to the moon-key-brain they latched themselves
onto... i wish they were hallucinogenic prone
types... sometimes:
but then... all these supposed colours
and no clarity in writing in b & w...
i couldn't stomach it...
with herrings about to be turned into pickled
flesh i expected the slow-brining process
is expected: fish is not fungus...
all that excess water storage in the flesh
is what gives man a brain...
i hope... then again: i hope not...
that's why i drink: to be borderline dehydrated...
quickened brining: frying off some mushrooms
in butter then sprinkling some salt on
the frying process... immediately a mushroom
stock arrives "out of nowhere" on the canvas
on the frying pan...
the mushroom is to be then: essentially eaten...
the flesh of the mushroom: isn't mush...
it resembles something from the annals of
seafood... but the juice is... earthy...
beguiling the humanoid to harvest these
forest pleasures...
       salt is ought to be: ought have to been
more treasured than gold...
there should have been salt coins...
how there should be painting of one army
riding horses... another... riding bulls...
salmon ought first to be smoked
then... decided upon: cooking salmon ought
to be considered: haram: forbidden...
i don't want to see that orange flesh of the waters
turned into an anaemic pink...
dried out: not once... not ever!
it's one "thing" to butcher an animal once...
it's another "THing" to butcher
the animal twice upon the altar of cooking it
poorly!

i'll pretend hunchback posing as a crow:
the crow will disagree:
i'm standing up-right! you're the one who's
hunched! hitchhiker: boring son
of a dozen: that's came from elsewhere...
elsewhere... "elsewhere":
even in the now apparently arrived at now:
i see no familiar face...
i see... too many rivers...
of people... that hardly make up
a sea to froth... to boil up...

people are dying in their minds...
this rot is yet to be made popularly promiscuously:
tempting... enticing... but i fear it already is that...
people are dying in their minds
while their bodies... if agitated...
if alive... are spewing nothing but
fictions! pick-me-ups!

i'm hopeful... this period will pass...
there will be a time of fathoming a relief from this
intermission...
how all empires crumble...
but how "things" have changed...
we're all pretty much educated to recognise
phonetic encoding "biases"...
even if some of us scribble on
walls in giraffe graffiti... so be it...
TAGS...
            let people have what's immediately
available to their imagination's content...
don't let them suffer the constraints of
some ruling... ha! who's ruling in 100 years
from now?!
who's most envy prone to dictate
the peacocking workaround for social:
hierarchical-stratification?
all will pass: in a blink of an eye!
even if no eye is looking:
or to be looked at...

        i've become accustomed to cherish
this onslaught of pulverising subjectivity:
i seem to not have had a welcome escape...
pickling brain: Brian syndrome does that
to one... the sensation of being subjected
to so much... yet objecting to so little...
oh but i'm objecting to as much as i'm being
subjected to...

            i am subjected to gravity:
but i object to it... as a falling "thing" from
the top of a building...
how's that?

          i need language to somehow comes
across a... "2 + 2 = 4"...
       no?i need a sensation of: arable:
with a trill of the R: that's so... desperately
missing in the -ing-leash zunge...
i'm about to call Kaiser Wilhelm and implore
him: more zeppelins! more zeppelins!

tread past the thought that was originally cast:
lay the thread bare...
come as you were... come: less arrived at...
all this will sooner or later be:
gobbled up by the certainty of time...
which competes over space...
minding our progress...
if time is the tongue...
then space is mouth what
yawns at as: welcoming... eager for more sacrifices
at the altar...

curry is great! at a meal...
as a meal one has for... supposing it's 5pm
in Lahore...
but at 9am in France...
where there are no eggs...
poached? scrambled? fried?
  what's on offer?!
*******... CARRY... CURRY...
CRY-WE..
i can't make my stomach churn out appreciation
for a ******* broth in the morning...

it's scented ****-***: overt-**** ***
insatiability in the morning requiring English
pubescent northern girls:
sorry... they "are"...
        "my"... girls?!
i speak the language... last time i heard...
there was a lacking in brick-work...
the people most associated
with keeping food production in line...
the truckers... all gone...
well.. if the Englishman want's
an Empire implosion...
save all the Pakis... he'll get all the ******* Uber
he desires...
"my" people will just leave...
for whatever the brain-drain that arrived...
that will stay...
but the rest of it...

who needs England... when England
is all the more better off for X-factor: people need
to be entertained!
no?!
by even the more ******* sort of...
entertainment!
i'm entertained by the moon...
by a brick wall...
"my" people... came to these shores...
and were quickly told to... *******...
thank you!
let all the Pakis take over!
*******... Ing-Leash... brats!

i have an inherent animosity with these people
that has not schematic to a past
so formidable as to have a past worth
questioning: here lies...
the atomised man...

- but while speaking this... zunge...
i reach out to an elder...
i am seeking compensation:
for the tiredness i'm forever to experience...
in English i have no...
certainty: i have only an objectification
of history: not being subjected to it...
i live in a country with a past:
but not history...
anaemic hybrid...
     i'm the barbarian knocking
on the door... with a message:
let me out! let me out!
              
whoever read too much of "journalism"
but not enough of Horace...
                  
      the sanctity of salt:
                      sal de sanctitas....
backwards to forwards...
how time disembowels grammar.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
oh i'm pretty sure the anglo-sphere doesn't care much for other tongues... or what happens in them: how they arrived to where they are now... but... sometimes... it comes about by the most curious of circumstances when, the natives & / or their extended family of trans-Atlantic cousins (etc.) start to... mishandle their: zunge... then... something wakes up, that should have been sleeping... in a person who treats this tONG in the confines of: acquisition, rather than something... passed down with: accent... idiosyncrasy... "whereabouts": local "allegiance"...

covert excess drinking:
i'm starting to love it more and more:
i get to play both actor,
a shadow... and fictional death...
all is well when you can
summon the... nerves(?)
to also make a distinction between
making strawberry gelato vs.
strawberry ice-cream...
no eggs more fruit pulp
less cream for the former...
plus... "displacing" things...
you wake up... it's... [there]...
half an hour later it's... "there"...
these spontaneous pockets
of amnesia:
these spontaneous bouts of...
AM... née: SHIA...
how else? Zee-E-E'Ah?
there's another name for this:
SKLEROZA...
it's not an English word...
but the symptoms are:
you get to walk a lot...
it doesn't hurt...
ah... memory... such a fickle faculty...
it's like we were engineered to:
forget in order to: push on
forward and... replicate... procreate...
alas... what if you...
don't want to?
   like an antithesis of
Frankenstein's monster...
who... if written by a man and not
a Mary Shelley would...
play the Sisyphus for a while
and then... do-himself-off...
hanging... stab to the heart
while working out the arithmetic
spacing of soft flesh to ribs...

cumin coriander, garlic ginger
cumin coriander, garlic ginger
cumin, coriander, asafoetida... ginger...

"apparently" it's offensive to call
a dish a curry...
it's more or less just: gravy:
gwavvy...
those blue Indians of Bengal
and elsewhere those Reds
and those Incas never really
drank or for that matter: minded
the concept of yeast...
flat as the platitudes of
Belgian mud or a *******
japati...

it's the middle of the day
i've pickled myself in some 70cl
of bourbon from the night
before and... right
now: with a swiggle and a hum...
i'm pickling...
irritably pickling... some sweet
notes to mind: but otherwise...
sour as a stash of lemons...

and that's fine... because i'm also
thinking about the self-help gurus
and the machinery of:
capitalising on everything:
even death and sickness...

my advice is? read the three musketeers...
my advice: have about 3 maxims handy...
categorical imperatives
or what not...
here are the two that i best behave
under:

Tao: the best way you can help
the world is... to forget the world
and allow the world to forget you...
non-verbatim...

Dumas: the best advice i ever gave was:
to no, under any circumstance:
give advice...
since... if people take it...
will probably regret it...
ergo... blame you for it...

- currently there are two words on my mind...
one borrowed from a list:
parsley sage, rosemary & thyme...
the last on the list... thyme...
not... F-I'm...
thyme... time... thyme... time...
such a delight i have with this tongue:
you can say the same set of syllables
but imply a completely different meaning:
esp. sharpened in writing...
perhaps i was born into a language
that is as clear-cut katakana as no
other European language:
apart from the necessary workaround
of consonant graphemes: just as well as
in English: SHould you CHoose to bother
yourself: with...

i'm still not quiet following the whole
pseudo-grammatical pronoun agenda...
*** is never associated: will never be associated
with nouns in this tongue...
a table is neither masculine nor feminine...
perhaps that's... why pronouns have
imploded?

i'm currently in the process of making
a distinction between strawberry gelato and
strawberry ice-cream...
obviously no eggs in the former...
a 2:1 ratio of full fat milk to double cream...
but the cream needs to be beaten...

slang terms:
LASKA - LAS - forest...
LASKA - a fit: most desirable female...
also a walking-stick...
LODY - ice-cream...
   robić lody - to make ice-cream...
also slang for... *******...
OSTRYGA - oyster...
K'WIAT - flower...
     well... something to counter making ice-cream:
lody... gobble down an oyster?

it's not even that any miniscule variation
of katakana would help...
no stand-alone consonants apart from N...
why N?
always clinging to:
vowel: woman...
consonant... man...
mind you: there is still no concept of ***
bound to nouns in English...
the moon is him
the sun is her...

i'm gently drinking: while also fasting...
the combination with immaculate sunlight...
why wouldn't the flowers be rejoicing?!

excuse me: hrabia: wal-do-dechy
     count: hit-to-the-plank (of wood)...
echoes of expressions of a dead man...
clearly i should know:
born into a language with clear:
Clear syllabic distinctions...
more! added to vowels:                     Ą!

oh... but beside the Italians & the Greeks...
just your European neighbours...
i too don't want to mind the pan-Slavic
movement... some called it communism...
i will never understand what
the Russians were up to...
ha ha... pan-Germanic is sort of happening
while everyone seems: coolly bothered
by something with: an alias...

terrible ideas ought to die...
seems like Marxism is not such a bad idea
if it finds volunteers... zealots to:
revise it... Darwinism does account for
mutations... doesn't it?
like a pig that barks or a dog that oinks...
a bonsai tiger... wait... tigers don't growl...
do they?
they snort apathy or something...
i don't know... i was never placed in front
of one...

murmur murmur... m'hmm something
in the place of: too far away from the sea...
from one wave: to another: mω...
oh... look:
           it's only a double-u if it's an omega-yu...
yule...
    otherwise? sharpen the edges:
v'ah-v'ah: empty the room! Wedge & Whinge
are coming in with a pink-elephant
and five blind men!
should have been expecting a carton of milk...
as you would: armed with a mω a mᵒₒ...

well... at least making ice-cream... ******!
gelato! clearly there are no poultry abortions involved!
is not a sour-note metaphor for...
giving ******* to... a hungry bandwagon
of Pakistanis eager to please
the children of Ing-Land...

   - what a sight! a canvas i have returned to
throughout the day... now:
night has come...
how bewildering to stand in the garden
while two insomniac magpies chase
each others' cackle...
one perches in my eucalyptus tree and
rattles, rattles: cackles... stutters...
so much so that even some poor dog left
in the warm air of September replies
with a bark!

how rare to hear birds tell their presence
in the night...
how rare to hear birds in the night...
how welcome these spies:
they must be either magpies or crows...
it... simply: sublimates their otherwise
cautious presence in the day...
and the magpies cackled in the night
so much so: that even the dog was roused
to bark!

- one glug, two glugs: make it three!
whiskey this cold so it almost resembles some
syrupy liquid ought to be imbued with much glee!
i could make ice-cream all day!

esp. since i have found a most pristine recipe!
i'll be ever the most obnoxious
when i tell you: dear reader
of the difference between ice-cream and gelato...

i think i memorised the two recipes...
ice-cream...
    as a warning: i usually halve the suggested
amount of sugar...
whether that be using raspberries,
strawberries, blueberries...
crème anglaise

mein gott! i'm in one of those rare instances
of life, reality where: *** can be compensated:
or thereby a lack of... an Ava Lauren /
Monique Fuentes...
i like to think of *** like a well-worn...
many a times sat in: leather... arm-chair...
i like that: i don't know what the thrill
with inexperience is... all about...
timid bodies... timid: frail... dolls...
i can compensate this desert of the ****-less...
as a curiosity by some Pakistani who

i could make ice-cream all day...
i'd rather make gelato... but all day...
i could make curry all day...
curry and gelato: i'm your man...

- i abhor sober opinions: let alone sobering up
in the domain of dialectics:
i have enough on my plate with
English: the language...
making no attempt to transcend the Latin script
with any sort of addition of
diacritical markers...
Charlie Dickens: good "sport" might have
included the term: orthography...

one reason leads to another... just bad spelling...
but it's only orthography if...
you apply diacritical stressors...
can have an Empire to rival Rome's with their
alphabet... but can't exactly keep
the neo-gothic Victorian romance
alive... on a mere whim...
look at it! disintegrating into vagabond
graffiti... or... emoji! which is not the same
as breaking away from the kanji in favour
of something more: phonetic...

Koreans & the Japanese are right up there:
on my... ahem "spice" list of ingredients
of people required...
the origins of writing is to: encode sounds...
to write sounds down...
no ideas... not insinuations...
throw the whole bunch of those
sand-******* into a crab bucket and see
what confused :)( comes out... savvy?

sober people and their sober ideas...
always so... *******... serious!
like they mean it... but rarely do they
keep themselves intact on enacting their intent!
i better eat a dollop of whole-grain mustard before
every meal before i deal with:
sober, serious... sen-si-blah... sensible whole lot of them
get the ***** to launch an offensive
on the groovy... gravy... groovy? gravy train...
**** me: it's good to know i'm getting old...
and out of touch...

i get pockets of nostalgia: time... immemorial...
anecdotal evidence that i:
somehow brushed against...
the pain... the strokes... of time...
and made some spatial-coordinate concerns
moving: for-ward...

ice-cream: 5 egg yolks...
bruised by... ha ha... "bruised" whipped to a lighter
colour... some sugar was added...
two cups of double cream... one cup of full fat milk...
a cup of sugar...
your choice of berries: heated up separately...
blah blah... combined... hey presto! an indigestion
pause... relapse...
depending on your temperament...

that's ice-cream... but... gelato! GEE! LA TOE!
T'OH!
no egg yolks...
    2 cups of full fat milk...
one cup of double cream: beaten... whisked...
it has to... half the sugar you're expected to use...
in the berry pulp...
    
i'll need the RRR... why has the trill of the Ar
disappeared in the Ing-Leash tongue:
betäubungzunge: compounded... obviously...
higher tier Germanic... not this... Ing-Leash...
mongrel sort...
so the adjective comes before the noun:
rather than the noun coming prior to
the adjective... i don't want to be asking for:
proper this... eh... proper that...

the exasperated yawns... gags and yelling impositions
of the "liberal" moralists...
like a god finally said: if i gave them
free-will... can "we" just agree that:
they better experience their full: "potential"?
oh i believe in god: but i also believe in free-will...
one counter-acts the other
in the way thus: follows:
to completely have: free-will...
you can't expect a nanny-state c.c.t.v. omni: gwand-p'ah
moment... can you?
there's... sweet & sour...
there's... sweet & salty...
can't have one... without... the other...

my god! genius logic! look for applause
when all the self-deprecating humour dries up...
clap... clap... clap clap...
how can you expect a god...
when... you're also expecting free-will?
you can... no... wait... you can't be a murderer!
Cain... was a vegetarian...
Abel... ably sacrificed a goat... or a sheep...
or two... Cain was a Hebrew version of:
'indu...
so... the northern European mind simply
boils corrupted with: staged logic
and...  the idiosyncrasies of other cultures...
yeah! thanks for the bread... where's, the, yeast?!

you use it?! you... ever used it?!
yeast: you get to say yes a lot...
you allow yourself to encourage to grow bread...
you also make beer...
no? not handy? o.k.: we'll just leave the "appropriate"
answer for the white women folk: people-kind
to conjure up a "properly": response...

ooh... believe me... i can play the grammar game
like... for eternity...
in between being allowed breaks
to do some proper *******...
like... churning strawberry ice-cream...
or making a curry sauce...

i am: SCHEMING!
i'm not going to allow this language to be
left in... *******: tartan: let alone:
tatters... even though it's not my own tongue...
i will not leave it: to... RUIN!
i'd best keep it in runes....

                    ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛋ...

no... you don't tell me what i am: or i am
not... "supposed" to do...
you settle my score on the fabric of
capital punishment... i die... you live...
but... it's not so ******* simple... no?
leech eats leech...
crab bucket...

she's a... three-dimensional woman...
looking for a... two-dimensional man...
ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
i need to write down laughter:
since it's so silent... so covert...
it doesn't really require a stand-up
comedian's solipsism to ****-me-off...
ha ha!
a three-dimensional woman...
looking for a two-dimensional man!
ah ha ha!

goldfish of an ego:
in a muddle of a "think-tank"
of 70cl of... is whiskey...
i could be her grandpa santa
and she could be my selfish elf
quasi dwarf on my knee:
not readied for a spanking:
i'm so turned off by modern *******

time is a concept i'd rather forget....
father Xavier...
i just want to make ice-cream:
or... make the distinction between ice-cream
& gelato...
& curry... i want to make a bucket load
of "that"... enough to make joking remarks about
an invading envy equivalent to match up to
the Ottoman Janissaries...

i don't like being sold the sole impetus
that blatantly numbs me...
a walking abortion: i am...
             find me in my most reclusive spot...
when the  birds... triple the night...
merge with it... allow the: bystanders!
postcard enthusiasts! tourists! begone!
with Essex: alone!
i don't care much fo the western aspect
of England... POMPOUS SODS
THE WHOLE LOT OF THEM!

anything associated with Bristol
i wouldn't feed to pigs...
sure... they might be the most pristine sort
of people:
they're still a people i wouldn't
share food with... sorry... what?!
you might care that i might care?!
how... custard-esque...
how... bewildering...
i... exist?!
                    *******...
really?! does one digest that fat of fact
with a: hmmm...

         SUDDENLY?!
"diatribe of waking shadows"?

forget it...
the postponed death of Johnny Cash
matched up to the "un-expected"
relief of... false claimants oeuvre!
Elvis... ought to have died...
he died... the end!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
well... i have to agree... with my myself: who else?
exercising the torso would be...
just fine... getting a six-pack muscular "tinge"
even better...
it's not enough to cycle... press-up your body
weight so your man-***** disappear...
but then... the aesthetic of a ribbed:
what's otherwise a cage that encompasses
all the sort organs...
body-hair... i'm not going to shave my chest hair
therefore i'm not going to shave my stomach
hair...
hell... from time to time i get an itch: wanting
to revive the use of the razor...
but inspecting the work of the Turkish barbers...
it's not a prized beard / moustache...
**** me... it's a fu manchu and a walrus
   (when did i last see a barber?
the last time: after i saw a *******...
so about a month)
                                      and a garibaldi...
obviously the chin needs hiding...

but you simply can't pull off the aesthetic
of an athletic torso
when you have bush-whack sprouts growing
over it...
impossible to do...
best to leave one area of the body soft
to allow for some: liver-boxing...
like today... 2 and a half hours...
i did the inspection of Havering...
the entire council... from Havering itself:
a little village on the tip of the "topography"...
on a hill... founded prior to the battle of Hastings...
1040... something or other...
all the way down to the village of Rainham...
just beside the A13 to the "left"
and the Thames river to the "right"...
Upminster and that other little village
beginning with A-...

every time i get on my cheap-*** bicycle
i find the meaning of life...
not that there's much life to be found:
but plenty of meaning...
if i'm this supposed 6ft category of man...
for the choosiest of women
and i have it... ahem... "rough"...
no wonder... but mea culpa moi:
i'm also a minimalist...
even if i wanted to own a car...
or a bike... i wouldn't want to...
own it: but also not... own it...
pay a tax on it... to use...
a road tax... an m.o.t. you name it...
i like owning something: by owning it...

the idea of a car is so... beside the point
of ownership that...
i simply don't want to own one...
my grandfather didn't own a car:
my grandmother always: the mantis that she:
still is... even though he's "transitioned"...
regretted how he: ****** away
a Mercedes-Benz...
me too... ol' Joseph... i'm also counting
how many i can find...
find what?
how many goldfish with no wishes i can find
at the end of a bottle of bourbon...

it suits me fine...
a life is much more worth living when...
you know that...
someone can't blame you for your shortcomings...
if were to be staged in a trial
and a woman would claim with as much audacity as
might be expected that:
i made her miserable because i had... have... have...
had... a drinking "problem":
i already had the SOLUTION!
it was drinking: it wouldn't be her redeeming
company... prostitutes are for that...

what have i inherited: perhaps all the men in
my lineage have had "problems" with women...
how much fun it is to **** one:
to be with one... i just need my mother as
the perfect example... of late: come 9pm she throws
a tantrum while i sort out the food
and help her with the household chores...
the one time i will or ever have used
Fahrenheit over Celsius...
165°C is the most perfect temp. of chicken meat...
anything above it... a memory of my grandmother
butchering a chicken twice:
it's one "thing" to **** a chicken...
it's another... to don't give it due justice
when it's cooked...
an oven cooked chicken with ******* so un-juicy
that you wish you could be eating pure gelatine...
smacker... teeth seem to stick together...
shoe-lacing of teeth on over-cooked
chicken meat...         it's an ugh it's a smacker...

i once dated a Russian girl...
she "thought": hardly... that it was some sort
of an innovation to drink cognac with a slice
of lemon...
she also "thought" that a suntan was
a signature of lower-breeding...
a suntan was a peasant "thing"...

juicy chicken *******... perhaps the skin isn't
"suntanned" enough... but at least the juices are running...
you can't butcher a bird twice...
it's enough killing it...
but not giving it justice when cooking it?!
that's... mildly: unfair...

in the supposing absence of the world:
alias for: other people...
i can't remember the last time i've had a dream...
i look at the clouds...
there's a bearded man
reclining... with a baby dragon
on his chest: puffing out smoke
into the shape of a speech bubble...
i'm bound to see such things...
since i don't dream...

perhaps if i were to dream: i wouldn't see
stories in the clouds...
i'm growing suspicious of the she-maine-****
in my bed right now...
she usually "disappears" when i light a cigarette...
eyes piercing...
i thought petting cats was
supposed to be easy! she was supposed
to ******* and do her solipsistic hair-do in purple
and peacock subtleties long before
i came around to harness the keyboard...
but there she is... eyes piercing...
like i'm about to groom her again
and go wild with her uptight **** of an ***
cycling between outer London and inner London:
yet still going back to the tested brothel!

- oh good, she decided she was implied as more
important in some "elsewhere"...
i can keep a focus on immoveable objects
in my vicinity...

closer to eternity on a bicycle than with
72 virgins... closer to eternity with 72 prostitutes...
if i were going to be thoroughly: frank...
cannibalistic outskirts: of Germany:
literally we eat our own...
since the Christian metaphors will...
simply not do...
excavate the juices... the German fringe
"movement" are teasing the questions:
literally!

i was gagging for either a bicycle...
Thurrock... the flatlands... teasing the Thames
to: hold the tide...
the German cannibals...
an unlikely project... on the fringes...
the world might blink thoroughly through
the day...
eyes open... wide: come the: NACHT...
i see you... Albert Fisch... pushing needles
into your pelvis...
for the added conductivity... blizzard...

you simply can't butcher a chicken: twice!
you can't overcook the meat!
it's not fair on the cluck! cluck!

while making a Waldorf "profanity"... i added some
poached: said... meat... reiterated... meat...
i was making a rosół...
a chicken broth... all that was missing
was the celeriac head...
celery stalks... carrots... a parsley root...
garlic... leek stalks...
fresh parsley... i had some leftovers...

the Waldorf "profanity"...
i added some poached chicken thigh meat
to the usual: mayo... lettuce...
toasted walnuts:
mind you... all nuts ought to be toasted...
beginning with cashews...
walnuts... but pecans esp.
apple & celery..
    
my heart breaks while it still doesn't find concerns
to abdicate: for the crows of via death...
"gammon": all these simple girls...
from the villages from Havering through
to Rainham...
such native beauties... lucky them...
i live two outsider roles...
not born in England: having most of my life
lived in England...
born in Poland: having most of my life
not lived in Poland: hey! quadratic!
i'm an outside either way i "will" it"
i'm an outsider in either England or Poland!
born in Poland without an inkling
to the daily affairs,...
living in England... without anything that
to be inherited as... sensibly... "their" own!

numbed by the drink....
**** serve mollusk: she's the pitch-perfect
harem piece,,,
Victor D López Apr 2020
In hour fifty-five,
"Houston, we have a problem",
200K miles.

No rescue to come,
So easy to accept fate,
Say their last good-byes.

But not for these men,
Surrender not an option,
Theirs is the right stuff.

Just work the problem,
MacGyver a solution,
Use what is at hand.

Squares fit into rounds?
No problems for NASA's best,
Duct tape and a sock.

Make spare scrubbers work,
Remove CO2 before,
Death comes to all three.

The workaround works,
Freezing heroes fly back home,
Glorious splash down.

Ingenuity,
And the hearts of true heroes,
Disasters avert.
Written for a poetry challenge on AllPoetry.com
3rd night of your typical ordeal...
sober then tired
then drunk from tiredness
then sober from tiredness...
I would have never admitted
O the luxury spent
Scribbling to no avail a veil
and it isn't even winter yet
so the air is the cool and warm
zenith of autumn
with the sun being somewhat
forgiving...
if only I had all my fingers attired
to a keyboard not this twinkle
and twiddling thumbs on a shmartfoonz
on my way to "work"...
any association with arguments
of personal space dissociated
crammed into a late running northern line
just four stops from Morgate
to Elephant & Castle...
two blonds not a nightclub dance floor
awkwardness...
and the whiff I got...
of their hair... soapy and not...
a perfume of candyfloss...
and more...
that absinthe soaked sugar cube
being set alight and caramelised
on a spoon... a ****** a heroine of scents...
and oh how I miss sleeping in the night
the agony of a farewell to the sultry hours
where one can become infuriated
with so many details the day allows
whereby the same details in the night
become o O so monstrously bigger...
the senses seemingly dimmed
but also more acute...
all that could be missing is a ritual
best associated with the prancing of
naked witches at a sabbath-*****-****...
came the night from the 17th to the 18th
of September: super harvest moon...
where the wolf to the past participle
of: no... past simple... to (have) been...
a wolf? So what would be the past
complex?
For all the rigidity of grammar...
     a flow of language that doesn't abide
by rules: each to his own version of
a workaround collapse: imperfectly strident.
Nocturnes no. 16 in F major
John Field...
                                 and until 7am...
that rubric of songs on the radio
simply overflows with minutes of
meaning in the hours of banality.
alternating in thinking: this would be an underlying motif of my life on Kauai, this domesticated fuel of feuds... and it's seeping into my digestion like it's a cognition: i have, started, to think about thinking as byproduct of digestion... maybe i just like how i don't bother to rhyme sentences... for the purpose of cute soundbites... maybe it's time to rhyme concepts: thinking and digesting... maybe they are very much aligned... hmm?

sonic hangover meets a moral hangover:
or rather: what's leftover from the sonic
and the visual hangover of doing
7... that's 7 of the 8: 0.875
5/6 = 0.833...
   3/4 = 0.75:

funny how fractions oscillate around
0
and become the ****** numbers...
fractions assume a whole: a one...
while decimals dismiss one
and begin with 0
a fraction is 3/4 of 1
while that's also true of 0.75...

   just saying... just saying...
today is the 23rd of August
but the 22nd of August was spectacular:
i ate the fruit...
i was the body-fermenting
a digestion of thought
and i did spend the entire day lying
in bed
and divulging in psychology lectures
worrying about my spine
stinking of rot and **** and not that
i was ****** or rotting
but i might as well have been:

i ate the fruit and i didn't feel sin:
i just felt: shame...
i was naked and trying to incubate
my genitals by folding my legs
and almost pushing my genitals
into my bellybutton:
let that image sink in:
it's an imitation of the serpent eating itself
for the... purpose...
no... longevity... yes: the temporal plane...
spatially: well:
i experience this strange assemblence
(assemble: assembling ambiance of
semblance - assemblance...
the quality of something not yet
designated to be imitated or understood)
of gravity without vectors of Newtonian
explanations...
like a second advent of Copernicus...
vertigo while lying in bed:
quiet an experience...

the nightguard is a gimmick:
i'm not that much into boxing matches:
parlor of the shakes in Muhammad Parkinson's Ali...
sorry: but i'll wait my turn for what's
to come....

is Kauai supposed to be my St Helena?
is Kauai supposed to be that?
it sure as **** and hell above it feels like that:
now comes the thinking about it...

Taylor didn't have to sing about it:
but, being the Grand Witch... she did conjure up:
she did invite the serpent:
of the eras tour i did like
the dark sexuality of Taylor the ***** witch Taylor
and subliminal or not:
she did ask for the serpent to come...
little did she know:
the serpent the tongue of the dragon:
but the dragon wants to become a bear
and disregard the monkey...
money monkey money monkey...
all just dangling in the open
in the air: concentrated into an arena!
ah... i was just aghast with so much
air and... this meteor leftover where
a cult could be born...

the theonyms... the study of YHWH
has brought be beyond any measure of how
language is to be proper processed:
i can't see the potential in Allah...
i just can't:
there's the Latin assemble of YHWH
graphemes... diphthong: Æ
       YÆHWÆH

                       just saying: Adam of Yah
and the Eve of Weh...
you can't even say the name because you
have to write the name and think
about atoms and letters and vowels are +
while consonants are -
since...
vowels can exist by themselves
while consonants need to be supported
by vowels:
a be cee dee e ef gee H i jay kay
el em en zee queer

where is that video i was watching about
queer theory:
it was fascinating:
traumatizing children...
queer is the antithesis of what homosexuality
looks like when normalized by society
i think i'm queer in that William Burroughs' sense
of...
homosexuality at a Taylor Swift concert...
well: working with Muslim men:
some virgins...
and them slobbering all about Jannah...
funny how no bomb exploded
how i was able to tame the frustrations
of being a male ****** Muslim...
so i had to do what...
any bear in the vicinity of:

my mind is a fishbowl and my ego
a goldfish...
my mind is a fishbowl and my ego
a goldfish...

but she did invoke the serpent
in that segment where she was all BAD BLOOD
like: no no, it wasn't a subtle concern for
getting sexually poisoned...
weird: how can people be so
irresponsible concerning ***...
******* on toilet seats
for others to late imagine
parasites in ***** crawling up one's
buttocks to later make
maggot acne indentations on the face
like the moon is protector of the earth
and moon is man and woman is earth:

forget Venus and Mars:
men are from the moon and women are:
here... men are from the moon
and women are of the earth...

so i'm eating this apple and i'm thinking:
maybe i can get some ******* idiot
to pretend to be a young Socrates
and speed up the process
and design a metaphor...
wine... bread...          applause! applause!
and i know that it will be my turn
to be born and die...
eh... once should suit me just fine:
i'm a productive know-it-all
so i'll get busy regardless of the sane,
mortal, allowance: by a woman:
to architecture a child... into...
something workable...
all my deviant vices some call evil will
come to the fore...
they will be a playground for voyeurism...
i don't mind:
if i can turn SIN into SHAME...
i will have a workaround...

now...            to turn SIN into SHAME...

of course i wanted to explore the victimhood mentality:
ha ha... funny... no -ism escapism,
red riding -hood like the sound of tuning an Oud:
oh wood ah woo! hehe...
   so i took the shift on... Monday...
like i was gang *****:
but i wasn't:
the night guard lover knows i talk and walk
in my sleep: i am a sleepwalker...
but those chips on my teeth?
oh... i didn't do these when sleeping...
i chipped off my teeth when i was wild
and awake...
you missed the bottom ones:
this was my wedding gift to death:
she wanted bone so i was like:
haven't broken a bone in my body
you want bone into your cauldron?
**** me... em em... right...
well, you want a bit of my chew?
so i clenched my jaw so hard
that i saw no sclera and no iris in my eyes
just that darkening whirlpool of pupil...
like a shark...
and the abyss just yawned saying:
you've reached the bottomless envy...
you can forgive yourself
as long as you eat of the fruit of shame
and tame sin...
so i did... i think: by the way: i don't think...
i just experience the afterthought
of what the semblance of man to animal
has become... via science...
because religion wouldn't allow
that mirror to stand...

too much ******* schematic obstructions:
or punctuation... name it what the hell you want...
new mysticism will try to actually
condense science...
there's no name for it
since the original mysticism was
something to do with congesting literacy
and the knowledge, proficiency of a language:
now that language is known
and deviating into... something...
abstract is a quote?

               Taylor did summon a serpent...
good girl still doing good but at the bottom
so open about being of a certain age:
millennial:
not *** and the City not
                     Bridget Jones... but still a red riding
hood: witch...
        who is...         is who?
as what?        how is that?
                                 writing songs, drinking wine,
can't you just leave those cats alone?!
cat?                   hey!      fern!
nice kitty... nice houseplant... stay stay...
go go!
                     i don't even know why
i have cats in my house...
my life would be so much simpler if i didn't
have them...
outlandish: they're not even utilized for anything:
i made sure there were no mice in
the house
and even if there were these creatures
are like horses left to pasture
without me having to ride them into battle...
can't exactly turn a cat into an armchair
or use it to cut vegetables...

so in  bed all day... contemplating SHAME...
why? well i had a great day of scribble-productivity
and... yeah...
my mother caught me on the off-load of
drinking and smoking wobbling in the kitchen
and it must be such a shame
to have a mother
and a father
it must be shameful to have such people...
oh but i known Baron Envy
and how children are raised these days
with at least one missing...
              but that was worse than:
i don't drink during the day... sparingly...
if i have a great idea and want to concentrate on writing
then yeah: i will drink...
otherwise i'm just vanilla sensible...
and it was unlike sleeping with someone
who tells you upon waking:
oh... your grind your teeth... you talk in your sleep:
well! i'm not a painter!
i need an unconscious outlet for the art
i conjure when conscious: writing should make you
talk in your sleep and not dream... right?!
but mother, dearest, caught me while i was
semi-sleepwalking...
why did she want to see me in my most vulnerable
creative self:
my most creative self is also when i'm
the most self-destructive...
i have reached the nihilistic zenith of drinking
and writing as a form of escapism... which is not:
hasn't been properly tested...
as far as i known there's no impediment of
third-party associations...
         that's why the internet exists and that's why
it has become so unnerving for my paranoia of
others: **** 'em...
         that i can... just...
justify my ambition of how networking crux...
it's not hacking...
but a close association to it...
             if i were desperate to make any money
from my verbiage...
if i were... ha ha...                 oh if i were...
i wouldn't write this...
with so much sadistic pleasure - and i write this:
with as much sadistic pleasure as
is necessary.

p.s. i wasn't sexually harassed...
but you put yourself in a scenario with so many
young females...
a lunatic asylum, makeshift...
the only equivalence of confiding in sexuality
is only going to be a male...
not that that is a symptom of ******
frustration: but a ****** dominance...
no... prominence...
i allowed Jason to eat my ear...
it almost felt poetic: even my friend Alexander,
the painter... dropped a bomb
when i was off duty drinking at a pub
and this guy with a long-board: not a skateboard:
a long board... crossbows longbows etc.
YOU'RE THE THING, AREN'T YOU?

am i the poet-bouncer?
**** me... i've heard of the sage-warrior...
maybe this is equivalent...
truly: if i was in power? yeah?
i would ban the consumption of alcohol
at football matches...
if it is, supposedly: such a beautiful game...
why spike it with alcohol?
if football is the equivalent to ballet:
don't ******* drink when watching it!
get to appreciate the intricacies of the sport...
otherwise it's not helping you
if you require the sport to drink
and vent off personalized detailing of
unsolvable drama in your life!
otherwise just ban the sport...
          clearly there's a very different clientele
when it comes to appreciating
rugby or cricket...

jeez... a Roman Catholic living in England
is like a death-wish...
the ******* were so adamant
about being the inheritors of Rome that
unlike any other Europeans:
they didn't allow the insurgence of diacritical
markers onto the original letters...

e.g. SHarpen šARPEN... the Turks were closer
to the point of excavating
a borrowing of identity: the identity of posterity...
right now there is no identity for the sake
of posterity...
                                     like year 0
()                              all over again...
and i know )i( (know)
                                   i'm not an imitable crux...
so i'll just let words be words
and the rest will resolve itself,
queer gay or straight; whatever.

— The End —