I can remember when I was down and out
using vending machines like mad.
Trying to get change out of change dispensers
that someone had let go
mooching cigarette after cigarette
panhandling
drinking used pop
and eating other peoples' leftovr food.

I know it was extremely unsanitary
I even had to use public bathrooms, a lot,
the Salvation Army for a nightly stay
and one night I slept on a bench at the police station
I'd wear ***** clothes,
waited a couple of hours for a small donut,
and made a meal out of a 40 cent bag of
french fries at McDonald's
taking a load off.

Oh well - what a ******* experience.

I had been desolate, destitute, homeless,
a derelict and a strict person
but down and out - wow.

The sun turned blood red
The change in the Earth’s revolve becoming a solid stead
The Moon darkened to night skies black
But what is wrong with that?
Belief being the end of the world
Run for life becoming a swirl
But where does one run?
It’s Heaven’s call in who will be among
Panic throughout the world
People scare they are going to die
They try to live one last try
The Bible warned
Yet people on Earth weren’t getting along
The skies portrayed the Earth’s fail
But again this was Heaven’s tail
People’s thoughts were, “If only I had lived right”
One could feel the world feeling uptight
People were searching for that divine light
But they lived their life in darkness being a plight
But it was too late
It is now fate
The calendar formed the absolute date
Moment became now
The final skies curtain came with wow
Heaven is in control of souls now.

Rainwater  representing  the god,
fulfilling the beauty of nature
The rain droplets with
the mixture of heavenly wind
making the earth fresh
and  giving rise to a little torrent
with its way of beauty...
spreading the aroma
of mud  everywhere
by filling the atmosphere
with its positive vibe...

wow! sitting in the wet weather  
and feeling the warmth  of the rain
is something more than heaven...

It’s either I’m a bad bartender or you are bad customers- I refuse to believe it is the former.

I’ve spent years learning how to flair; I’ve juggled bottles, flipped liquors and done magic tricks to wow you but all you care about are your cocktails.

So I’m done pouring into cups I never get to drink from— done serving tables I never get to eat from.

I’m done being a mixologist for people that prove they don’t want to mix with me, which is to say, I refuse to be the friend that always calls; the friend that always splits himself thin for “friends” that would never do the same for me.

So the next time you come to my bar to drink, don’t expect to see me at the counter— don’t expect to see me in your life.

-Buumba Munene-

I'm not sure where the weekend went, but went it did, hid away now until next Friday, wow, a whole five days to wait.

it's somewhat depressing to get up on a Monday and start dressing for work when exhilaration is just a station on the Central and four stops on from the one that I want.

But being here among the living I'm going to give it my best,
test the waters, so to speak,

my body leaks out more minutes
than I can gather in,
I'm getting thin.

My brain cells got parole?
surely
some mistake,

Time for more coffee
which makes me come alive
somewhere and somehow
it's just before five.

PASSING STRANGE

Rose, arose & having risen:
...was angry.

'You never call me
by my name

only love & darling.'

'A rose by any other name
would smell as sweet! '
I quoted.

'That's neat! '
she sweetly smiled.

'That's Shakespeare! '
I whispered in her ear

and kissed her
sweet sweet smile.

(Each reflected in the other's eye) .

'Oh, quote me that kiss again! '
she sighed.

'How I do love thee...! '
I cried.

'...let me count the kisses! '
she replied.

My lovely darling

Rose.

*

PASSING STRANGE is from Shakespeare's Othello...when the big guy tells his tales to Dessie and she finds them not only strange but...passing strange. I always thought of a series of inns along a journey...the first was the Ye Olde Strange Inn...then the next one was Ye Really Weirdy Strange Inn...and then surpassing all that... Ye Olde Passing Strange Inn. The Passing Strange of the title refers to the fact that the poem begins with the most strange off the wall wonderful brawl of a row and ends in the most sublime *******!
I had merely asked her(as many times before) 'Do you want a cup of tea, love? ' And all hell exploded until I could understand where she was coming from and kiss it better. Using 'love' in almost every address to a person is an Irishism that is visible to others but invisible to me as...I'm Irish. I don't hear my Irish accent until someone comments on it and its little pecularities. So, my mother would say:
' Make us a cup of tea, love? ' And I say: 'Yeah, love! ' Or a shopkeeper would tell you that that was: '...only a shilling love for all them nice juicy tomatoes love! ' And if you hurt someone, you'd say:
' Sorry, love! ' Or: 'I love you...love! ' It's like spice or flavouring... invisible until it's not there! '
Even if you are unhappy with what a person is doing and tell them in no uncertain terms...so...then the sentence construction is likely to be: 'Ahhhh for fu's sake... love! ' You still put the 'love' on the end of the sentence to show that it is their present actions that you are displeased with and that despite all this they still are your 'love! '
Frieda used to tell me that she loved being my 'love! ' And indeed if I didn't say it she would pick me up on it or ask if I didn't love her anymore! Her full name was Frieda Rose so I would call her so or just Frieda or just Rose or 'Frieda Rose love! ' Try it yourself...it's very hard to be annoyed with someone when you are calling them 'love.' In my part of the country even men would call each other love(in Yorkshire in England they still do as well) and all the normal courtsey and manners are extended to a gentleman as well as to a lady. That's why it's called common courtsey! This can be seen at the end of the Beatles YELLOW SUBMARINE where the guys make an appearance as themselves and not just their cartoons! John is looking worred and Paul asks him: 'What's the matter John, love? '
This time however Frieda went berserk and said 'Don't call me love...I'm not your love! ' It turned out that I had begun to dropp her name more and more and now she was permantently called just 'Love! ' to show how dear she was to me. There was not other word for her except 'love.' She was love itself to me...the very embodiment of the word. Turns out a guy who treated her real bad and cheated on her a lot would always call her love to make it easier for him to cover up his cheating. If everyone was love then he couldn't make a mistake. One day he broke his own rule and called Frieda Rose...Dolly!
Big mistake...they broke up and as he left he told her of his foolproof system of using 'love' for whatever woman he was with. She always hated it after that and until I came along she wouldn't let anyone call her that. She said I said it so differently and it sounded lovely in an Irish accent and I said it like I meant it! That day she had been thinking of him for some reason and all the hurt came back and I just happen to say: 'Do you want a cup of tea, love! '
My stepping into Shakespeare diffused the situation and we started playing around with the launguage and delighting in the words.
Frieda Rose didn't know much Shakespeare until she met me and then it was impossible...not to. just by the process of osmosis you would soak up my passion for the bard. She was just bored and didn't like him anyway but gradually she came to see what I saw in the guy...like.. wow! She gradually soaked up lots of poems and poets and became quite an expert in whom she liked. She had just gotten into the Brownings and this also makes an appearance at the end of the poem.
I brushed back her hair and kissed her on her neck just under her ear and she swooned and sighed 'Oh, quote me that kiss again! ' She was now fully in Shakespearean mode and her feeling and the language got married at the point and out came this lovely natural line. I wish I had wrote it(I only report it!) and I bet Shakey wouldn't have minded coming up with it himself. Today it is still one of my favourite lines of poetry and I still wish I had wrote it. ******* it...she had
out-Shakespeare'd me!
And so I had to write a poem to get my favourite line into it and so PASSING STRANGE came to be. I love reading it even if an audience don't get it or like it that particular night.
It makes me go 'Mmmmmmmmmmm! ' and I get a chance to say:
'Oh, quote me that kiss again! '
Everytime I speak that line...I enter forever the timeless time of that kiss and that's the only moment that exists!

philosophy: the slow-burn of experience... in one's last recollection: existentialism: out of every instance: an insistence: a preservation of the Hellenic PRO VIVO and not this morphed Roman: PRE VITRO: by sand: from dune to dune: by sea of dryness to the sea of: insurgent hills: boulders of salt: salt like chalk a rock given: enough time... i wonder why i find myself to seclusive and adamant only: by scorn and tear and moan of woman and the tenderness of a cat's lair... o harp and grunt and gurgle around the edges: torture my past last seen: of me, as me: and someone please have my I to switch me on and off on off on off i have sleep on my mind but dreams walking about and around them i place my campfire: rest: assist... auxiliary
that's:
             since the spelling mistakes: redone like a make-up video
with woman:            XI
                                 L
                                LI
                            ­          and that's a-u-X
                                      u-x-I
               ­                     10
                                       1
                                     1 1
                                    50
                        ­                                       51...

that's something special: like the devil's dozen:
matthew, luke, judas, simon peter,
nathaniel,
            mateusz konrad
mateusz konrad
                timothy uzeer
       john
                           Barthamalomew
Bart...
       Barthamoylew: loo! loo! boo! boo!

Q'y'i'y'e

                       and Kye:       Qatohha:
Kevin: *******:
must... sneeze: mustard?! Knaves! Chives!
Chimneys! Open Fields of Poppycock!

WWI: bis (2-chloroethyl) sulfide
in the fields: mustard a **** killer gas:

WWII: diatomaceous earth
             hydrogen cyanide...
Zyklon B: U-boats: Beethoven:
               Panzer: brigadier: BRZĘCZYSZCZYKIEWICZ
                                             ­   ж     ч  ы      Щ ы             ч
sgn: ЦAP

the game of football evolved:
not before my eyes
but when you're sitting watching
snippets of the Sandman
with your mother
with the skull of three mouths
and that's the Holy "the Corinthian"
Spirit to me:
Christianity can be scary
like all the Turkic furor in
Leipzig:
               with the Austrian scorer
and then the game
was on for the last 20min:
  
                 a proper football match:
Edie i love you
but i also love my father
and i also love my mother
and i know Reyla is an oprhan
but i also write
and i know it doesn't give me money
but it gives those around
me the chance to see a spectacle
of one: enamored by life
and finding pleasure in thinking
and abstracting emotions: rather than
using or feeding off of them...
emotions have pronouns
and sometimes they venture
into our minds
without brains like schizoid ghosts
of freezing winds...

Austria vs Turkey:

   not like Portugal vs Slovakia:
a beautiful match

but 0 - 0
probably the most tactical
of matches
with Prima Madonna of Ronaldo
i could comment
on the sport commentary on t.v.
i.e. perhaps Bruno Fernandez will
have a chance to get a kick
at a free-kick?

   point being: football evolved:
from a
4-4-2 or a 4-3-3
or a 5-3-2
               getting the ratios looser:

M. Gregoritsch: sign of the cross
because he was playing against a Muslim:
ahem: Turks are not Arabs
are secular bandits too

modern football formation:
two strikers is so weird: apparently:
as told by tacticians
so much so that even women
got involved and started playing
weird: 144 caps...
10 years: how many officiated games
are these women having
when men are proudest having
capped 100 international games...

like wow...

       3-2-4-1
       3-4-2-1
    
and now my own:

   2-2-3-3
                 2-4-2-1-1

  but there are some weird ones:
point being:
in the old days
you had games
where

4-4-2 clashed with a 2-4-4
game of football was chiral:
and no chiral too:

you did have 4-4-2 vs 3-3-4
and that was given to us "fans"
who played football on t.v.
and still do...
because the game can evolve
and now you have
these weird formations:

new: Portugal:
old: Slovakia:
almost the Cold War reignited...

then Turkey and Austria:
point being there's a siege
at the goal:
that never used to happen:
set-pieces and sieges of "confused"
formation no longer being so rigid
not fuseball fusball fastball:
not snooker or cripples...

obviously tomorrow
i will have to get my father an AC/DC
t-shirt and think about
an ever expanding family
i missed father's day with a present
but socks
and whiskey and sunglasses:

i just remembered that i've been
scribbling for well over a decade
and i have a trip to Hawaii to thank
me for seeking out the vampire
darkest ego and triad
but football has changed
and it's in the formation
and how games are also analysed
and should be noted of:
should their functioning in a recurrent
investment of interest fade:
so becoming deductive de facto: defunct:

blood sports of the Coliseum
football matches and concerts
of the Stadiums...
little Greece in Soho and the West End...
there's always a little Greece
and a little China
wherever Rome still remains: a whiff
of sewage and fresh air
and oranges and bay leaves...
well: no wonder Rome didn't invade
the Slavic peoples
while invaded what is the British Isles
a Germanic and Celtic and Wend
to Pict: conglomeration an Alice in Wunderbra...

the game has changed:
capacity of Madison Sq Garden: 18,000...
if i won't be able to stop
and one but one of my poems
gravitates to the capacity of Wembley:

just to love sport and be sober about
it: i can't imagine
being savage at a sporting event
having to invest in *******
like this is war
war of what? disparaging colors
of shirts?
flags: being burned?

            i have to be sober and critical
and fair and judgemental
whenever watching a sporting event
it's not a managerial investment
to the alternative to playing golf and
making deals and friends and profits...

to appreciate sport is to escape
the hellhole of bedroom antics
of video gaming:
yes: unlike those turtles of the toilet
literature 15min constipation over Proust:
but live sports is what gets you
away from video gaming...
you get to be a play-along judge:
critique: honing in on the Ethic:
the laughter at the devil with:

well i do know right from wrong!
you just worded it differently!
i spoke with the fox:
and he told me: double-sly
against you: being a mammal and all
and probably one of your lesser cousins:
i do know right from wrong:
but you said:
and you will have knowledge
of the difference between good and evil!

simple! math! grammar!
i do know right from wrong!
but if you serpent old peacock:
survived the dinosaurs: ha ha:
crocodile my Mammon and Moloch
with Beelzebub a bird beak pecking...
since: old serpents became
      hmm...

           confused woodland pigeons:
sometimes i see a confused male
unable to call to tell apart
the sexes
with the males less convinced about
flying away to safety:
no greater spectacle than the abandonment
of a pregnant woman...

it should be Shakespearean
but then those old social norms
would have had
two families waging wars against
each other...

            now so lazily: clamoring
to mean anything at all:
best confronted by the friendship of dogs
and it's just as sad to write
anything about these times: at all.

That poor little painter fellow
was a strange man.

Vincent was his name.

He never asked for mine.
He called me darling.
He called all the nurses darling.
He called the walls darling, too.

He came to us in the springtime.
He didn’t talk much,
but his paintings were quite odd.
They swirled like the world
on three glasses of wine.
They made me reach for my glasses,
search for a chair, and chug a cup of coffee.
When I looked at his work, I felt
too much like I used to feel with Charles.
When I had one too many,
and he walked me home.
We walked for three miles. I was
happy, but he left.

On Vincent’s last night, he sat
at the barred window in his room.
I came up to him, smiled, and said,
"Wow, what a starry night,"
and he just stared.

I don’t know if he was looking
at the light in the stars
or the black in the sky.

What you do to me makes my emotions shine brightly on my face.
One second I'm smiling, surrounded by your shining grace.
The simple little goodbye brings the biggest emotional tears to my eyes.
Some might say, "Wow, she's certainly an emotional thing."
But baby, for you I'd truly do anything.
You have my heart, and have since day one.
I believe we were connected before we ever began.
What you do for me is the best thing, don't you know?
I can never let your beautiful love go.
You may help these silly tears to fall,
But baby, for you, I'd risk it all.
I want to  be the one you come to when your day is bad.
I want to be the one holding your hand.
I know this love is no silly phase of time.
I feel like it's been forever, that I've been yours, and you've been mine.
You can hold me forever.
It's what you do to me that I treasure.

A new fad! Greetings, papa
I'm a family man with big intentions for identifying your discipline
a carnivore with laughing gas
feast yourself into vague sentiment
we stand like we matter
proud of what we barely conceptualize
do it because it's been done before
be it because we like our relished hot dog
melt the cheese onto that rotting bagel
again and again

speak like a willow tree groaning
ugly and underdeveloped
think before you end up in soil
rot before you know what your career choice is
it's important! to...

delve into subconscious matricide
creaking doorway is no longer an option
smash through paintings of feverish ventilation systems
architecture is not your best bet
neither is lentil soup!

Cauldrons of vehement muggers
ready to profit off your predetermined mistakes
funny thing is
you didn't need to eat that baking soda
but wow
all of you did

so what is the time constraint?
Where is the fabulous conclusion?
Meeting of the mind and body and spirit?
where we all come together, how precious
a little cramped and too sweaty on my bus
better make room for stencils and chalkboards
hey, at least they can teach!

I don't much enjoy the bass
I don't find it particularly heartwarming
brings a gleaming stick into my fossil fuels
trying to dig and bury at once
worked last time with a bow and arrow, cupid
shot him right through himself
heh...

The fanatical have now reached
critical level.
It seems to me
the sound of mind have taken
a sabbatical.

Seems to me
that there's a lot going on
more than the eye can see
I can't believe
people actually fall for what
they be saying on the TV.

Thats just insanity.
Don't the public see
that the media only operates
to create conflict
and deceive.

So take in what I'm layin down.
Look up.
See what's goin round.
Open up your eyes
and soak in the pill of truth.
The answer lies
beneath the ruse produced

The news wants us scared.
Instead of giving us the truth,
they'd much rather us live in fear.
Showing nothing but people
getting shot up the block,
and guess what,
the shooter's always cops.

Men in blue are racists,
so dont aspire to be a cop.
Spiking our blood anytime
a police car rolls up.

Police brutality's a thing,
but like with anything,
a rotten apple doesn't spoil
the whole batch babe,

These men live and die
to serve and protect you.
They bleed blue.
Pay respect where it's due.
Don't disparage an entire force
due to the **** poor actions
of the poisoned few.

So take in what I'm layin down.
Look up.
See what's goin round.
Open up your eyes
and soak in the pill of truth.
The answer lies
beneath the ruse produced

I'm seeing women
marching these streets,
trying to maintain
some semblance of dignity.
That I can stand beside,
but Kathy Griffin's joke
against the pres
I can't get behind.

Its asinine.
Now if that's feminism,
then forgive me,
but I resign.
I'd much rather
have peace of mind.

I might not like the pres,
but we got to find
another way
to move past
these difficult times.

So take in what I'm layin down.
Look up.
See what's goin round.
Open up your eyes
and soak in the pill of truth.
The answer lies
beneath the ruse produced

See,
Terrorism isn't just across the seas.
Hell no!
Terrorism's right in front of me,
in our schools,
in our homes,
blatantly happening
right on our streets.

****, it even happened
at a concert
of Jason Aldeans!
This I can't believe.
This I can't unsee.
If we stay on this trajectory,
we face massive catastrophe!

And yet we focus
on staying politically correct.
All diplomatic
while our country's
under duress.

Well,
**** politically correct!
Who these leaders
trying to impress?
We need to fix this mess!

Now,
I'm not saying
we need to kick everyone out.
No,
what I'm saying
is we need to protect
the one's with us now.

We're so focused
on pleasing everyone
on a global scale
that we forget
about the ones
in our own country
that need our help.

Like Puerto Rico,
and the Us ****** Islands.
Our supposed leaders
turned a blind eye to em!

These are our people,
and our government
left them to die.
**** like this
Wow, it just blows
my mind.

Its a wonder
we don't break
from the
unsurmountable sins
built up
from time.

What the ****'s up
with the world
these days.
We've lost our way.
And the rich
are bathing in green
while they watch
world waste away
And I'm here to say

Take in what I'm layin down.
Look up.
See what's goin round.
Open up your eyes
and soak in the pill of truth.
The answer lies
beneath the ruse produced

This country's now
a bleeding wound.
Raining blood
like a **** monsoon.

A cesspool
of ignorance,
especially now
with the king of hate
as our president.

See now,
people are divided
instead of United
hating and killing
and villianizing
the innocent.

I bet you if the ones
who sacrificed their lives
for a better nation
could see us today.
What would they say?
Not a **** thing,
they'd turn
and hang their heads
they'd be so ashamed.

And we're all to blame.
Pointing fingers
left and right
just to spark a fight.
Hating someone
based on prejudice,
now you know
that just ain't right.

You preach first amendment,
and yet you attack anyone
who you deem ignorant
just cause they don't agree with you.
They'll wreck you
just to spite you.

Force us to pick a side,
and if it ain't left,
you condemn anyone
who chooses right.

Sideline standing
I can see
Ink crashing down
So gracefully

Line after line
Letters arise
Melding into words
Without compromise

Oh my god
When will he stop?
He keeps writing
He won't stop writing

*******
HE WON'T STOP
THIS IS INSANE
JESUS ****

He's almost at the end of the page
Wow
What happens when he reaches the end?
I should've brought popcorn

Wait

What is he doing?
Oh I see

He's letting me climb onto his pen!
Front row seats!

Wait, where is he going?
The window?
No don't put me outside please
nonono

NO



windowsill standing
i can see
sun setting down
so dreadfully

where can i go
where i can be free
when all the other houses
would've killed me

It’s so good to see you
wow, your scarf looks great!
I’d like to smear lipstick
all over that face

We share our updates
and quickstep around
the last time we met
like a bag on the ground

How’s your husband?
how’s your wife?
tell me, what you regret
most in this life?

She leans in closer
whispering secrets
of times, of places, of phantoms
she's been with

We reverb, hollow shapes and sounds
remind me, what you like?
as she touches my hand

Your electric smile
those puce, cidery lips
your tongues natural flare
for unfathomable tricks
that ethereal pause
as the universe blows
stilted, coarse breaths, then you go

The secret, she whispered, who knows if it’s true
'there’s a ring on my finger, but it’s always been you'

the melancholy of hearing Springsteen's
born in the USA is still hitting me hard:
harder than i thought it might:
to give context:

      i asked my manager if he could demote
me from anything to do with responsibilities
of managing people in
little teams and have just a chill
day enjoying music:

how far i've come: i'm getting desensitized
with live music
and i've been toying with being
desensitized with ***...
regardless should my fantasy of a woman
come
i return to brushing my teeth
and jerking off like it's a spare tire...
tires... bicycle parts:
fish need bicycles no water...

but i knew there was a work around:
at first i felt i was being punished
i was given two petite women
and a man in his 60s with broken English...
then i was given an un'kle
then a Hindu toy of a half-made
i would call him the timid Frankenstein:
what Shelley envisioned in Frankenstein's
monster i see as not half the zombies
just zombies i just don't: want to understand
i'll replace the comma with the colon
piling up on emphasis...

i will not resort to the straitjacket of
the paragraphs: i simply can't!

oh jeez it was so joyous to finally replace
the snapped spoke in my front wheel:
i remember my grandfather not bothering
to buy new rubber in the inflatable
dimension of:
that thing beneath the tire...
the spoke: spokes:
tire: tiresome...
but only recently i realized i had two spokes
that snapped and they weren't obvious
but the gears changed just fine...
but every time i peddled:
the cassette was all wobbly...
now came the change of the spokes
and i realized i didn't have the right tools
no chain whip...
but then again i have a cheap bicycle
that's rich with sentiments
and it really doesn't matter how
money and gold and riches operates
but this bicycle: is hardly something to be seen
in...
the frustration of a simple task
matched with not having the right sort of tools...

so if i was not going to be demoted to
a simple role:
hey presto! a switch of team members:
i was given the sort of people who
would never be able to eject people
for bad behavior...
so unlike other supervisors of a response
team
i just said: stick together:
let me know you're together...
stay together...
if i need you: i'll come and find you...
so i let
Michaella, Hussein,
Abdul and Vishal just wander:
apparently having a hands-off approach:
they talked and occupied themselves
while i stood outside of the vomitory at 514
by the information desk guessing
whether i could enjoy the gig...

i didn't... i ended up taking photographs
of the London skyline from level 5 of Wembley...
but how does the usual work dimension turn out:
the response team supervisor and the four hounds...
me?
as Muhammad no known Abdullah said to me:
you just look and intervene:
these were not hounds: i was not the alpha
these were not my betas...
i needed a new alphabet of meaning...
i just said to them: i'll call you when i need
you...
otherwise? you're free to roam...
sure: i called on my four to manage queues
in two instances:
i noticed one Wembley official calling over
the radio:
but i was already analyzing the chess pieces
of men on the concourse...
and when i put my team to task of bending
the *****-like-behavior of people:
winding curving the queue for drinks while
other peoples might pass...

i'd rather deal with the insensitivity of corks
and screws and nails
than motivating people to do my biding
not my biding
in an environment where
women lack so much:
in an environment where women lack
so much
dealing with people and not children...
not bossy *****: ***** you just don't understand!

700c x 28 wheel...
but the cassette: i can't believe i was riding my bicycle
down hills not afraid:
like the predicate on life in America
is guided by insurance...
like we can't just live to 40 and not flake it
stretch it to 80 whereby the killer-crusher-able and
Abel... says to:
aversion to tattoos:
that mark of Cain on my right shoulderblade
deviated my: if i ever had a:
fetish for tattooing my body...

maybe if i didn't have an assassination
attempt
in hospital that inflated my heart
after choking on the bigger **** to match
a ******...
then another assassination attempt
come aged 21...
how many times will i have to be tried
for not dying yet still living:
and how do people find themselves
able to live a life only exhausted by
old age...
but not life in between
from people just custard-and-fudge-packaging
their ****** sentiments of:
whatever it is that it might (have) be / been?!

i'm missing the proper tools...
Edie ****** me off
and i'm not talking to her because i'm being
a brain-child
and she's "just realizing":
so many complications about:
oh but sure: the average man moves
from Newcastle to Sunderland and that's
that...
i'm being asked to ******* to Hawaii from
London and leave the burdensome father
and mother while: while her mother seems
to be all catered for so
that means: i'll have to go back and also
tend: but to her with child the child is
uttermost important and to me
that's just not my child
but when the child not mine
overshadows the mother the father that's mine:
where do you think?

mother in defense of the daughter:
this comes across as
well: this son in defense of his father and mother
and maybe this is how modernity
ought to look like...
i wasn't happy with being demoted
but at the same time i was given a time
where i didn't have to be:
in the end i didn't enjoy the Bosses'
salute...
he didn't play Streets of Philly and didn't
play: my mustard gas track:
i never understood Iron Maiden's fetish
for world war I account
in poetics... like that war wasn't self-inflicted
by one family...
i wouldn't call world war I world war I:
i'd call world war I the War of Incestuous
Reclaiming of the Nation
away from the Pressures of Empire Building...
World War II was actually the first world war...
why then demonize talk of hyping up
a potentiality of a world war III being staged?

slow down: you'll get your world war III
as a world war II
because world war I wasn't really a world war...
you should know
that between world wars...
there has to be a cold war
of reflection...
past cold war I now a cold war II
so it seems only natural that a world war II
is impeding like scratching my head:
is that an itch or an inch of hmm...

so i had my "hounds" roaming while
i sort of: looked different in the background...
but even at the AC/DC gig
we had ejections
came Springsteen there was an atmosphere
of: had a good time will have a good
let's all have a good time...
but i don't think much of a rhino in that...
i just don't understand
why she thinks i can't think her claiming
my father's and mother's hard work:

would i rather the flimsy supra-real love
of blessed **** best ******
with Jason, Jeff and Peter:
would i rather be loved or homeless?
after all: how excruciating the laws of men
with all their sidetracking subjectivity of
passing judgement:
while the objectivity of the law of gravity:
has: already been passed!
so there's this weird impasse:
how naive am i and how desperate is she
to tell me it's not otherwise:
is she going to tell me i'm yet another
cradle-snatched example of ***
below par for her Mantis hot-spot of hot fat
*** and i'm so naive as to think:
**** is not enough
to... oh wow!

                if this was me i wouldn't really
as much as i'd like the headache of a teenage
girl:
i'm starting to think: maybe it would be
easier to have a boy to prize and mold and
figure **** out...
but then she's all flimsy and sorry-soppy and
for me i spoke to the night:
this relationship is turning out to be
one right proper: BOGUS of BOG...
so what? no signing paperwork:
we're still going to be these loved-up teenagers:
so i'll lie about nearing 40
and you'll lie about nearing 60
and somehow life will manage itself
like we pretend to work together
but here we are:
i've worked for something and you worked
for something:
there's a disparity of what we worked
for...
and now: we are to share?
if only my interaction with you was uplifting:
but i can hardly call it that:
as told in the mantra of high-school...
i just overheard two supreme quotes:

take a picture: it'll last longer...
and...
you're special: just like everyone else!
Catholic mantra:
yet still people manage to grind
a hope for that antonym i
just want a secluded life
i can envision working with people
but then days on end with
no one in my vicinity...

              aged nearing 40
and having my 20s in a recluse mode...
and half of my 30s...
why should it become so embarrassing
so incomprehensible to think i might
want to bypass all those complications
of dealing with a person
on a personal bias: focus...

            i just don't understand the need
for intimacy... that might develop into...
what? the fear sung about
in Eleanor Rigby?
where all those lonely people go to?
into Abraham's *****...
that's where they go to!

   but it would be so anti-****** to succumb
to just good ***
when i've amassed so much time spent
alone reading philosophy
and i read philosophy to escape religiosity
and that's just a ******* mismatch...
outright off the bat...
i've spent too much time alone
to somehow crumble:
i just don't want to hurt...
turns out the complimentary party
will just hurt itself regardless...

        i've spent too much time alone
and that's just that.

no more chewing stuff 14.06.18

ending all green
all i can say is wow
love mathew like my queen
tears to don't stop me now.
did not do all eighteen
wish i had a earlier introduction
news and politics is a vice that's obscene
no finer  is any morning production.
fun and laughter was vital
helped me unwind the head tangle
viewers were all and sundry and mr michael
bit of  yasmin scot larry and joe mangel.
no more early morning
or paper news dishing
sit by the bank yawning
enjoy as i no you love your fishing.
thank you mathew wright
got a tear and deep breath puff
mr vine is a replacement that's bright
but you will always be wrightstuff.

Affixed with appellation Boyce Brandon Harris,
who helped beget thyself and mine two siblings,
and equally out of the question
to avoid remembering our (said) papa
with advent of father's day 2021.

Averse toward crass commercialization
purportedly touting the hardy laurels
regarding male parental figure(s)
allowing, enabling and providing
unconditional kudos to each and every
virile, retractile, and ******
opportunistic marriageable goodfella
poised to strike twenty four seven
three hundred sixty five days per anum.

Though less personal than celebrating
anniversary of birth
said modification acknowledging
universal acknowledgement of daddy
once accorded as
stereotypical "bread winner"
touted all across the Earth
buzzfeeding countless cooing mouths
linkedin whose gesticulating
baby fingers and toes
animated with mirth.

Special occasions accentuating
family in general or parent in particular
unleash floodgates of sorrow
demarcating onset of initial grief
(October 7th, 2020
regarding death of beloved father),
yet these unexpected melancholy bursts
punctuating the absence of
dad also generate
instances for original
poetic/ literary creativity
or reference (albeit self plagiarism)

Boyce Brandon Harris – Bright Brooklyn Bruiser
(alternately titled: Zayda born April 9th, 1929).

E'er since birth,
his daring didst not abate
the penultimate most spectacular
concrete incontestable product
constituting biological offspring
developing, fashioning,
and incubating chromosomal gene nee us,
he unwittingly didst create

encoded whence he got conceived
approximately begat circa
July nineteen twenty eight,
and hence upon April ninth

two thousand and eighteen
cometh denoting exceptional great
ness among kith and kin innate
awareness to take stock and celebrate,
how a series of fortunate events
commencing with a date
to Harriet Kuritsky
(at that time, yet to pledge her troth)

accepting storied handsome fellow,
whose constitution sturdy as "forest" timber
(definition of groom) to be lawfully wedded wife...
until death do them part)
unwittingly marriage didst emancipate
my mother, who met a awful, cruel
and terminal undeserving fate,
which tortured demise, the grim reaper

gladly, gleefully, and glibly
held her steadfast
thru death decreed grate
a permanent life sentence,
she vehemently did hate
and fiercely fought tooth and nail
(unimaginable to me,
thee sole son), how
agonizingly bitterly clearly irate

such suffering wrenched, wrought, wrung
August marriage permanently
cleft by malicious, nefarious,
and opprobrious tongue
no heroic measures, only lamentation slung
upon the livingsocial clinging,
where grief rung

every last ounce,
though thru each passing year
thy mum gone seventeen orbitz
round the sun, that shear
ring raw emotion
still persists in concert with lear
ring grimace of deathly hallows, 'ere
obstinate heart ache lessened now
since papa found bliss
in which to steer the prow
of his four score and eleven
aged ship of state row
wing (or more or less peacefully drifting)
berthed in consonant with vow
wills - a staunch spirit didst wow!

Some people think I like to eat tomatoes
They say I like all the fruits--that there is true
But to those red shiny fruits--I will always give "no's"

Just a few decades ago, it seemed odd
Everyone stuck with their meats, dairies, and wheats
But the times have changed, enemies abroad, everyone eating the food of their god

I would like to make it clear right now
I love those who eat these with their peas
I have dreamed of the round, vibrant skin--giving out a wow

I would never want to offend
Only to give my love to thereof
And I will promise to always give them a lend, to be their friend

To all those people like me
Who won't eat any veggie
Thank those today with a word of okay so their lives aren't so heavy

i couldn't learn Russ even if i wanted to...
not because i can't speak favourably of
the people: a most hospitable folk...
although: as a ****** in Moscow...
dating a Russian girl... things had to be on
a: hush-hush... i had to "pretend"
to be English...
which wasn't hard since... i have a generic
accent: if an accent at that...
only in Essex could it be know:
by an inquisitive 14 year old girl...
in the middle of the night having left a ******
party looking for a friend... instead
finding me first... walking out of the darkness
of a park to inquire: where, was, i.... from?
we sat near a roundabout...
i rolled her a cigarette...
a black cat came towards me...
picked it up, stroked it... blah blah...
all of a sudden i was a warlock while
the girl did runners... to and fro...
50 metres ahead... 50 metres back...
like she was trying to shake me off but couldn't:
since i promised her that we would
find her friend... which we did...
lying face-down at a bus stop...
i took off my hoodie attired the poor shivering
thing and... we walked to a designated
pick-up spot so one of the girl's father
could pick them up... which he did...
of course... we had to take a group selfie
before all of that...
- a strange hallucination:
i sometimes feel i have a spider crawling around
behind my right ear...
petty architect of... beside the cobweb...
for a 14 year old: i'm stabbing in the dark
she might have been older...
it's not like i didn't think about her
*******, which were: of course... pronounced
while i rolled the tobacco and asked:
my spit... or yours?
so i gave her the roll-up so she could
lick it herself...
          the things that happen in the night:
it's no wonder i find the formalities of
day so... pedestrian...
oh but you can get away with being English
in Russian... they love these people
over there...
not so much the Polacks...
       - again... to reiterate... i would never learn
that language: perhaps i'm just fonder
of the Greek writing script than i am of
the Cyrillic...
(no... that sensation of a spider behind my
right ear was not a hallucination...
a happy home is a home filled with spiders...
some... ancient proverb or... something...
caught the little ****** crawling on my arm...
dangled him on his string and placed
him on the windowsill)...
- i really have bigger things to worry about
than a discrepancy in Cyrillic that
i simply can't ignore: it has been burning
in my mind since yesterday...
- ******... oh sure i'll complain...
the cat thinks he can own the night and prowl
and prance all he likes:
that's the problem with cats...
they teach you the unattainable bewilderment of:
they have free will:
while you too, have, free will...
but it's only illusionary...
or worse... it's more than an illusion...
it's a bad... b'ah b'ahah joke...
a little h.m.v. (his master's voice) moment
in the calmness of the night:
quorus! quorus!
quo... where is russian?
i can't take credit for the name...
the breeders conjured it up...
i would be more inclined to: qua-rus...
i.e. as being: russian...
maine ****... ginger... it could have
worked... so i'm writing this to calm myself...
could this 10kg little Colossus take
on a fox? well... he is a house-pet...
not a wild animal...
its legs are more flexible... it too can bite...
but... little pockets of anxiety and
the debacle of... KBAC...
i.e. KVAS... a popular drink in Russia...
sort of: a better version of root-beer...
malty... & sweet... carbonated...
perfect for eating fast-food pancakes... with...
orange caviar...
- i sometimes walk through the garden
and a single cobweb thread covers my eyes...
i must be dreaming when awake:
sometimes... eh... most of the time
since i'm so dream-starved...
Freud couldn't make a shilling out of me:
what is there to interpret when
all you dream about it a great big...
black yawn of a void?!
i guess this brings me to the schematic:

                                   north
                                  północ
                  ­                    Ц

    east                                  ­                        west
  wschód                            ­                       zachód
      Ш                                                   ­          Щ

                                    south
                    ­             południe
                                       Ч

a "lesson" in etymology: shrapnel...
pół: half... noc: night... i.e. half is night...
i'm guessing: of the year...
but why isn't south: half is day?
po: after... -łu- is sharpnel...
dnie: days...  dzień: day...
   it's still one and the same however much
the word morphed... half-day for south
half-night for north...
  wschód (rise... an all-encompassing
reference to: sunrise) - east...
likewise with: west:
sunset: zachód...
                 etymologically?
eh... chłód: a coldness... an eerie coldness...
zombie-esque...

hell... i didn't sit down to write this...
i came for the Cyrillic letters that bother me...
i.e.
    why isn't Ц: Ч
     and vice versa - why ins't Ч: Ц?
when...
     Ц looks like... the better half of: Щ?

i mean: it seem logical, or phonetically authentic
that half of Щ
                                             Ц
would encapsulate half of the sound
most associated with my Slavic terms:
szczeka: (it) barks...
szczerość: honesty...
oh i can hide the "confusing" Z and bring out
the English H... one surd for another...
SHCH:
        sharp is szkic...
cheap as: czerń...
          i could go one step further and employ
Czech orthography: style...
the aesthetic of writing: encoding sounds...
and hide both the Z and the H
in a caron: a crown hovering above the letters C & S...
but then... it would appear congested
with a word like honesty:

       ščerość...                    no? too much baggage:
from on high...
but it's not like the English language
has any concerns for this...
even Charles Dickens dared to summon
the term: orthography to a sound encoding "system"
that didn't employ... summon...
any diacritical distinctions...
one ought to be intuitive about the excesses of:
tatters... one ought to remember THat: THought...

it doesn't matter: i'm asking the Russians...
if half of Щ (šč)
    is Ц... it looks that way!
then why doesn't Ц denote: č-chequers?!

hell... have your: Ш... i'll be... haha... "brave"
and say... it deserves to almost resemble a
crown hovering above a serpent... š...
how a Y (igrek) might behave if
asked to be treated for geometric purposes!
instead of crafting rivers!

i'm not "confused": i'm just *******!
Ц ought to denote entombed in Ч
and... vice versa... at worst!
Ц is one ******* half of Щ!

- and what is Ч: the western slavic C: it's not an aesthetic
substitute for either K or S (there's no... cedilla
attached, last time i checked...)
or for that matter... Q...
CKQ... no?
                           i clearly don't quiet, belong among
these people:
with their mundaneness practiced so well:
they dream! oh god they dream!
i'm the one dream-starved while they
dream-out their little-by-little: belittling fetishes
of power-gambling the toppling
of peaceful hierarchies...

i'm the antithesis of the celebrated Barbarians
of the American counter-revolution...
sure... i'm banging at the gates...
screaming: let me out! let me out!
i don't want to be in this custard mess
when it truly: properly... falls to ****!
i'll leave with my feet stinking from sweat...
even though i wouldn't have ran a mile!
let me out! let me out!
for man's ruin and for anything even remotely
god-as-man... give me air!
give me cognitive air! i can't breathe:
let alone think!

- i'm growing tired... more and more tired...
of plotting: nicety... along the vein
of thought of the English...
i'm just more and more salt grain
from teasing at the wound of:
perhaps i'm here as a pet project:
for "my" people...
to get the feelings associated when
the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth
was carved upon...
or a lesson in how the Roman Empire
imploded... so too..
how Britain buckled...
how Britain buckled...
fell on its drunken-face wishing it was:
"somehow"... Victorian: sensible...
sober... augur-prone...
well... it's too late for all of "that"...

it's happening: and i don't have a stop button:
quick & easy to solve the problem...
i like to drink gin
as a solo project: on the ice...
the fascist in me: is always
the fascist in everyone, anyone...
i'm digging trenches with my writing:
conjure up a better imagery:
i bet you won't...
but am i... "somehow"... this...
easy... "walkover"... prized asset of cuck?
sure... the women are rampant...
i don't mind... i'd rather ****
a ***** than a nun any other day
than... today...

we're having a debate about how
russians have encoded: poorly...
well... confusingly...
it just doesn't make sense... what i already stated...
i'm no longer looking towards America...
it's a dead... a dead & wasted land...
it's a predictable land...
it's a horrid little: my why we never might:
reach it...
culture-wise...
   some... "oops": didn't jazz die so soon?
i thought so too...
i'm looking for the peacock feathers atop
the armour of the Teutonic Knights...
the failures of the 3rd Crusade...
broken pride... escapade to an "elsewhere",
no?

sorrow, me... how i'm tattooed with
history... i can only imagine the fate of the
modern... western... secular... man...
freed from both history and religion...
i almost admire him...
i admire him: in that i speak his tongue...
i admire him...
but then i see his bewilderment...
and i think to myself...
"my" people: being so reclusive probably
have it right...
we have no colonial heritage to...
we didn't have the expediency of the sea
before us...
why do i... or my brethren get to luggage...
these jumbo-afro queries?!
i once had a key-chain that read:
the only way to tell someone to *******:
is to... tell them to *******:
in such a way... as they might be...
awaiting the: ******* transit...
so they might await the trip...
women sold us... women sold us into
this *******...
i kid you not...
            
i will not sell my heritage upon
a post-colonial bend-over past...
i'll sooner side with the Russians as i insult them!
i'll grind my teeth on stone
and spit out a *******: well-rounded pebble
than side with these... fakeries of freedom!
give me freedom! give me the supposed
bread! the songs! the... what's it called?
diabetes?!
          fat *****...

i'm one with the Kabul patrol...
i'm mad enough to try not being gesticulated at:
as being fake...
like i might cry that this canvas is not made
available to me...
ergo... you're going to turn off my water-supply...
my electricity-supply?
you're going to cancel my...
like i want to care about a dying culture
where only the bogusly: blatant rich
are... left?!

such weakness in a dying kind....
i cannot not... drawn parallels within the confines
of the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth...
i can't!
   jeg kan ikke!

if "their" history breathes through them!
    så gør mínë...
all is "European":
              ******* cotton-muffin... afro
riddled... tarts... ****-boy-ohs...
ha!

who's not... Caesar?!
            bread wins the: paint?!
what's more cooking
than what's more... *******...
drying?!
oh sure... my shoelaces definitely stink
of bacon... but...
n'ah... n'ah... you're on your
own with that pseudo-king-Solomon..
sort of crap...
me... kind Davie...
surah riddled... psalm bashing...
sort of "crap"... i need a woman like...
i a need an anecdote...
oh god...
          so 'ere one comes....
no... it's not funny...
how.. unexpected... the opposite ***
tends to... behave... without having....
white boy... insurance policies...
oh... wow!
           *******... *******.
now the bread winner: brown- boyo...
better be... the... bread--- basher!... ah... ha...
ha... his alias: also: no.