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David Moss Dec 2014
They say that first impressions last

I say

That's assuming way too fast

I'd like to think we're a bit more trusting

That every one we meet isn't busting

Lusting to rip off their pants

And **** the first thing that gives them a seconds glance!

I'd like to think that

But sometimes i can't

Cause just like you

I live the life of a guarded heart

I mean we have to be careful right?

Cause if we smile back that just might

Make someone else think "OH EM GEE.

They totally want to have *** with me."

No, you have some mustard on your lip actually

And i found it kinda funny

You see to me most of our first impressions

Are the false flags of real connections

And if we choose to make those last

Then aren't we just living in the past?


So rather than that, let me be forward.


I want to connect with you, in whatever way we both want it to be.

And that right there to me

Is my definition of equality

I mean

Is it fair to assume that if i'm male

That I'm simply out to get some tail?

That isn't me

And that isn't it

And personally

I think gender roles are *******

So please allow, wholeheartedly

For you to see the real me

Rather than a mirage of assumptions

Society may have you choose to believe

Of what a male is meant to entail....

Truly.
This.
Is.
Me.

I want to share with you the galaxy and it's wonders we can see

We could take our chairs to rooftops and marvel nights beauty

And there may be a moment where your hand fumbles to my knee

And you'd feel me, vulnerable, still, yet shaking anxiously


Because connections what i crave

But it's rationed out these days

Cause just like you,

I too

Cannot bear to be broken, constantly



Truly.
This.
Is.
Me.




I want to sing and play with sounds
Pulling faces jokin' round
Being ridiculous without care
Rolling on a floor somewhere

Or on a bus, or in a bed
Our faces red
Laughing hysterically
It really doesn't matter to me


Because connections what i crave

But it's rationed out these days

Cause just like you,

I too

Cannot bear to be unhappy, constantly


Truly.
This.
Is.
Me.



I want to walk through unknown forests getting lost amongst the trees

Laugh and run and hide and scare each other playfully

And sure right then, we could lie down in the sun

Entwined bodies like soft vines writhing for a deeper connection

Or we could just sit solemly listening to melodies

Of wind whistling through wondrous waves of leaves

None of this bothers me you see. Either makes me happy.

Because connections what i crave and it's rationed out these days

Cause just like you,

I too

Cannot bear to be alone, constantly


But.
Is.
This.
Just.
Me?


So why does all this matter, to connection and equality?

I mean to a huge degree, men do have it easy

That is clearly plain to see

And ladies I know

That we as a society
Have a long way to go

To make sure you are all treated just as equally

Believe you me



But did you know that as a guy

We're mostly brought up to try

To keep our emotions hidden inside?

You can't tell the guys your woe
Unless you want to be called '*****' or '****'


So a lot of times these men

Crying out for connection

Isn't always

What you're thinking it to be

To me, thats the biggest problem men face socially

Stagnant and rampant suppression
Of real connection, emotionally!


And now, connections what we crave
But it's rationed out these days

And just like you,

We too

Cannot bare to be neglected, constantly

So.
This.
Isn't.
Just.
Me.


Cause just like me

I know your scared

You've been hurt and unprepared

To have others use

Abuse and mistreat loyalty

And just like you

I am afraid

I've been wronged

I've been betrayed


And i am just as scared to let go


And be me


Because our connections are depraved

It seems it's rationed out these days


But wait



Hang on a second.


Did you feel that?





I mean, just now we have connected...



So if this notions not rejected

Then maybe there's still a hope

For you and me.


I guess all Im asking is that you find

Compassion in both heart and mind

When a person bares their soul

So openly


Because


This is a connection that we've made

And I hoping that it stays


So maybe someday we can change society
13 Apr 2015
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******* behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****.
That could be mistaken for a typo.

Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** *******, back stabbing, self serving, worthless ******* is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational *******, your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like ****, but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.

The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
Posted on January 30, 2015
zebra Sep 2016
are you from outer space
perhaps a rocketeer named Xeno
a galactic traveler
from a long time ago
who we mistook for god
imbued not with supernatural powers
but technology

did we take your decrees to seriously
not to worry
we failed miserably to abide by them anyway
and apparently you did to
hows the celestial war raging

are we dupes
of a deceptive slaver alien race
from the planet Sirius
looking for a source
of grunt labor
miners and builders

ufo oligists theorists believe
perhaps our god is 4 ft 2 in
with gray opaque paper mache like skin
bulging black ball cat eyes
stick gumby arms
and a cratered moon for a head
or are you a projection
of a terrified humanity
with a thunder stick
and a ray gun ******* finger

they say
have faith or else
love you with all our hearts
or else
is that love under duress
what kind of love is that
are they saying your a tyrant
or are the social engineers
who made you up the tyrants
using coercive confabulations
so that we live a myth of lies
and white knuckle terrors
in dark nights of the soul
under threat of
burning in  hell for all eternity

or are we made in your
human image
all man
well muscled
good looking
well hung
and ****** all the pretty slave girl angels
perhaps self abasing Subs
who get all drools doing what ever you say
you the ultimate Dom
a masochists dream
i have to admit
submission is hot
given it hard
to those baby doll goddess angels
i bet
impregnating them with universes
one hella ******
wow what fun

the church and temples of the day
say you don't like queers
abominations you call them
are we sure a bunch of homophobic sheep herders
didn't make that up about you

well inexplicably
you created legions of homos
creels of **** lovers
especially the priesthood
your very special goody two shows lover boys
of course they did marry a male god
and they thought
we are all woman compared to you
your the one with the biggest *****
and the well hung magical **** wand
apparently they perceive  you in each other
how spiritual
those sheep herders are gona freak
if they find out your bi

could it be
that after all this
you really have a soft spot
for  little ***** *** dump
in her pretty
pleated knit dress
twinkling tiera
jutting adam's apple
party girl eye shadow
and clod hopper sized
come **** me pumps

you where less explicit
about lesbians being abominations
i don't blame you for that
i love ******* girl too
***** to *****
**** licking euphoria
honey soft machines
silky tongues
**** to ****
with pink painted toes
wiggly hips
and shimmering lips

oh god i love it when they slow kiss too
us guys could learn a thing or to
from lesbians
when it comes to *******
ay god
there you go working in mysterious ways again
zebra Feb 2017
things
will
get
better
when

my arthritis abates
when
I'm better looking
when
I'm smarter
when
I'm taller with better bones
when
my hair grows back
nice and wavy
when
I lose thirty pounds of fat
when
I'm filthy rich
when
my eyes are bluer
when
i have a PhD
without guile
and i don't have any
ticks ticks ticks
and no longer
still hate my dead father
who never let me forget that
the hand that feeds me
is the boot that kicks me

things
will
get
better
when

I'm celebrated for my myriad talents
when
my singing brings the house down
when
I'm forty years younger
and know everything I know now
when
I'm a world class boxer and poet
and can dance
the pachanga
with the stars
and exhibit my edgy brilliant sculpture
and elegant paintings
at the museum of modern art
and live in a big Malibu beach house
a big chested hero
with a nice suntan
and a Bugatti Chiron
in the driveway
tough guy tattoos
and four hundred dollar sunglasses

things
will
get
better
when

all men admire me
and
all women adore me
and want to take me home
for ***** kiss cocktails
leg shows
and sing giggling
throwing fluttering kisses
at me
during their fluffy bubble baths
while I photograph them
with my perfect
digital
memory
and

things
will
get
better
when

I can win marathons
running backward
while smoking a cigar
never tiring
and party like hell boy
inhaling drugs and *****
without the slightest ill effects

when
I can beat gravity
and fly at will
when
my health is perfect
and my teeth brush themselves
and my breath smells like bay ***
when
I'm never too hot or cold
but always cool
when
I can breathe underwater and kiss fishes
and ride neptunium whales
and giant squids
and fly through deep space
without a rocket ship
hows it hangin xeno

when
I cant help
but love everybody all the time
and all animals are happy
and have plenty to eat
that's not each other
and I play with lions
who kiss to lick me
and everywhere I go
death war and disease
are vanquished
and everybody is in ecstasy
when life is chocolate kisses
when
multiculturalism means
that everybody is falling in love with everybody
and kisses never cease
when trees are made of lollypops
and no one ever gets diabetes
and flowers dance to Latin rhythms
and everybody stops arguing about god
while in a state of immortal joy

that's
when
things
will
get
better!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
or how to make the eclectic concentrated,
how to make a zemstwa potion (revenge
potion) - long are the days of educated
Germans citing Grecian words -
my bilingualism gives me a patriotism
to use a language foreign to me,
and still embrace importing Church Slavonic:
                 but what a simple word
zemstwa is: less revenge and more retribution.

karakan: a ****** / dwarf -
but in an inoffensive sentence.
    people in the anglo realm always say
the phrases: where're are you from, originally?
and... how do you say it, properly?
        you first employ a knowledge of
syllable butchery: prophets of the surgical
procedure -
                 macron and umlaut both
akin in arithmetics -
                                  for what's later a comma.
Sartre plagiarised Joyce with *iron in the soul
,
     left out all forms of punctuation,
akin to the English language leaving out all
forms of syllable punctuation in reverse -
      which goes against Socrates doing the
Kabbalistic methodology of sounds as atoms,
cut up?      so-  -crat- -es.
                                 Dr. Satan said: it's so.
        i already said that language is the most volatile
substance known to man...
             and that the only people who get to write
books in the west: are people who are asked to write
books in the first place.
      there's me, in a darkened corner:
a coroner's phrase -
                i would be a true idle drunk had i no
tenacity to write and drink...
   by now i'm halfway through a bottle of *** -
Bacardi - or Bacardí - acute iota to get a stress /
prolonging into an ee         - because
you rarely hear someone say Afrikaan: or
   Afrikān - they taught you punctuation of words /
compounds - but they didn't teach you
how diacritical marks are also incisors
    stating that there are two hydrogen atoms and
an oxygen bound to in a reaction with potassium -
or such guises lost or forgotten.
                    it's aesthetic in the informal sense,
in the formal sense: power.
                 no one wants a flower-power hippy cuddle
moment these days, it's true:
                   they want fierce knowing -
people want glasses -
                to possess the Galilean power struggle
stated with cyclops Jupiter being noticed
and saintly Saturn -
                      a different spirit rummages through me
and hence the differential vibration of
the hushed lynx: named Larry.
                     in flames: metaphor -
well, you know, you begin the night with
a change of tone: former barley murky gods' ****
                    amber - to Caribbean clarity -
you're bound to find a difference in shaky "the shadow"
stevens of your hands - i'm way past
the absinthe romanticism - sugar cubes alight
are like latex gimp masks: you start yearning for
the countryside hiatus of forever:
    David Attenborough-esque narrated *** scenes,
birds and the bees, and storks.
                       as sure as Moonday in a
monocle i say: the world events shouldn't drag you
into their narrative - avoid them - avoid them at all
costs: you're not a power broker in their final
summit - you can't change them, turn your attention
elsewhere, into niche topography of interest:
with a very minor demographic of shared coagulation
to express it... back when fame was less of a harrowing:
back when there was no personality cult activation:
a banker said to me once, randomly on a walk:
Newton, what a load of *******!
        and hence the ballistic missiles and that thing
about global warming: for every action there's an
equal and opposite reaction (3rd law) -
     Descartes thought would be part of the
conspiracy theorist columnal dogma reiteration -
doubt is wrong (albeit good faith)
         and negation is right (albeit bad faith,
as Sartre already said) -
     so in turn the tongue: the doubters turn the tongue
into the four limbs with boxing gloves included -
  waggle all you want, the pessimism is already
there - the deniers? they had clothes for their tongue
to make the most spectacular claims about
being naked, when actually dressed at Harrods
in that cheap **** that says: all pharaoh cool, cool.
i'll find more pearls in the reflection of the moon
upon an ocean than i'll ever see donned by pearl
necklace ladies at a fashion week goose-step stomping
anorexics show in London - and that's the truth.
     i'm not a biblical literalist - but **** me!
we were given a poisoned fruit, and told we would
be able to tell apart good & evil, but never from
the two divergent stances, hence the bundled up salad
of like for like -
                     this is Moses as poet, rather than
a general - before telling me he didn't exist
and was mere fiction: tell me he was a cunning poet
before being a cunnin general -
                  in a hundred years' time: you too will
be a myth, that's logically applied history after
being ignored for too long it cannot attract
september the 1st, 1939 - because mythology is
a form of history that detests exactness of dating
and hindsight - it happened: people didn't
really give a **** when it did, done!
     we really do not have a capacity to censor
*******...  not in life, on the street, on t.v., or in a courtroom,
           we don't!
                                   i treat it as a puzzle
rather than a fruit though, otherwise, to be stark-naked
honest: we'd be ****** gorilla boring and that would
be the end of our self-projection as questioning
the void we're in: it would have been blindly
nodded to - and ours': such a pivotal and yet also
pathetic rebellion -
                                 yet again, the world is going
into the shredder - looks elsewhere:
i'm looking at a poem by jack spicer -
he's not a great poet, meaning? he has a decency to
be one... which means he's not oratory
therefore he's implosive, therefore he's part of
the magnetic-enzyme strand of writing:
he attracts people to write -
                    he's not a Bukowski or a Ginsberg -
god no...
                  the seemingly mediocre is there
because of the paparazzi sentiment toe-ward
the greats (on purpose) -
                    you end up feeling:
i need to say something - instead of feeling:
a heckler! shut, the, ****, up!
      that's being perceived as mediocre goes:
it's a fatality of what not to adopt and improve;
like that line about the doubter's tongue being
dressed in fists and knees -
   and the denier's tongue being dressed in Gucci
and Dolce to look the part and
         hardly spread a cup of sweated over panic.
      pro-me-thee-us
      pro-me-thee-us
      five years
      the song singing from its black throat (Jack)
  sure... but it's pro-me-fee-oose - right?
this goes back to not having "punctuation"
flint sharpenings on atoms of lingua -
                 sure, have them between compounds,
but never ascribe them to letters?
  bound to be trouble....
             d'eh very point of fought over is to be
count, unawares: thinking.
then i picked up a very ancient text,
ibn sina / abū alī al-husayn ibn sīnā:
variation, properly?
i'd put a macron over y in al-husaȳn -
     otherwise it's almost like a question of
practising punctuation: which is a variation of
constructing from syllables, rather than
alphabetical beginnings - now let's look
at the variation "how do you pronounce it?"
         e-bin   c-n'ah       ah-boo       a'h-lee
              who-sane         e-bin         see-n'ah

this is how English looks like when undressed
from its lack of applying diacritical marks -
god it's ugly,
               get that Texan gunslinger drawl with
it too: like i'll ever be a cowboy: pff!
yes, there are people out there who enjoy
t.v. shows and look at them fish-eyed glassy -
then there are those that like football games -
but then the few of us look at something like the
following as means for transcendental mind-games
above crosswording:
(Kantian 0 = negation,                1 must therefore
                    mean affirmation, and 2 doubt:
as in: being of two minds)
   ibn Sana (tome of wisdom) -

            R  H
A  0  0  0  0  0  0  B
C  0  0  0  0  0  0  D­
            T  G
                                     this diagram is so idiosyncratic
it would well be a diaphragm -
                                   it's a scematic:
but it's certainly not a need to make language
trivia, in a sense trivial:
             it is a metaphysical translation of a pearl -
the same triviality can be applied to it
as our bewilderment ascribed toward the
analogous translation of it via avaricious people
and precious gems -
             it's not even a Xeno's paradox type of
looky-looky -
                 it's a sort of complete human being type
of scenario: an X marks the spot where you
     grow dumb with: does it matter?
      well: logic that's not restrained (on holiday)
produces such things -
                 such schematics:
   they are artefacts of a way to forget the daily
function of language between people:
as way to suggest: there is a way to get things done
by not getting them done.
                   i could have replaced the original
with a higher tier abstract, namely using less meaningful
encoding symbols, given that 0 - 9 are incompetent
of the 26 variabilities, and the why & i
            yumper and jumper,
   cat and kilogram                    cue, q, kappa -
skewers -     which makes it less than 26,
or the said: ∞      and a - z variation limit from
aardvark                    and   zyzzogeton -
zoo... in between.
                            i don't know what ibn is
trivialising / doing an original antidote to a crossword,
but i can say, given that i found the punctuation
scalpel in non-applied punctuation within letters
in the End-leash language - what i found stark
naked: by the way - the reason that philosophers
never applied grammatically categorising words
in their systems, is why we have that sort of
momentum of applicability in the field of robotics:
to categorise words by their noun or verb
is a reason why philosophy books never applied
such words in their reasoning - therefore the need
to write a book with such words being relevant
as translated into their precise irrelevance
and the relevance of the field of robotics.
never mind, i could have written
          
                     <  ≥
£           .   .   .   .   .   .  ≠ (÷)
= (x)     .   .   .   .   .   .  $
                     ≤  >                        thus the denial
of all plausible conversation on the matter:
and Herr Grinch and the rags to riches
fairytale - and the lottery, and the otherwise
grim simga of the yawning grey plateau;
did i get something wrong?
                 this is an example of an alter-crossword,
and the reason that mathematicians aren't
good at mental arithmetic is because
they have to learn mathematical shorthand
for their arguments, they become kindred spirits
of courtroom stenographers.
Amul Garg Mar 2014
Was coming back from work
all tired and spent from the day,
when with a smile on her face
a beautiful stranger passed me by.

It lasted just a few seconds
but my weariness was gone -
for that smile was mercy
the Lord Almighty had shown.

I looked into her eyes
in that moment ephemeral,
and smiled back
wishing that the moment was eternal

That moment had no past, no future
and though it sounds too dramatic -
It was about living in the moment,
God! That moment was magic!
xeno
n. the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2020
the grapes are still hanging -
i should be making my own wine right now,
but i'm not: because: i'm simply... not...
i'm sitting drinking some wine
from several years ago:
smoking my due...
looking at an eucalyptus tree
begging for a voice / movement
with a jolsting wind...
obviously "nothing"...
so i guess i'll leave these grapes just
hanging... the leaves are "gone"
dropped off... or simply migrated
for the summer with the storks...
but at least the grapes are not
simply falling...
the blackbirds are alright in keeping
up to my desires: not mine...
but what extends when you have
some grapes and you're not going
to eat them: or make wine with them...
but at least the birds are having
a fill...
blackbirds? well...
shpaki... magpies, crows... etc.
i was going to make some wine...
now i'm not going to make "some" wine...

joke: ante "contra" ad...
which implies hannibal...
    portas: and there are seven tiers
of hell...
hannibal /before/ the gates
    hannibal /at the/ gates...
no definite articles weaving with english
back into latin...

suppose who owns what:
except i ail with a voice that's also...
an illiterate X on the ballot...
but i don't grate voting...
looks like when people disagree with
me they just decide to:
pretend... it's mutually exclusive:
i don't exist they don't exist...
but the flimsy comic book is
uber-real...

democracy: amassing a sulk fest
already mattering on the verge(s)
what's already:
whether capitalism or communism:
it's bureucracy one way or
the other: the status quo of tongues
a money is grieviously
intact...

ancient lore of steel from
either die krupps or some other:
******* deserter fest:
bullet for a grain of sand...
here's to my... ivory tower:
although i don't play golf...
golf is hardly a ******* ottoman
couch - however well positioned...
i walk to ease
a claustrophobia of thought...
when i walk i require
the desirable shoe-fit...
who the **** needs
a pogo stick a ball and a concept
of a hole to settle scores...

why wouldn't these stubble brows
incoceive themselves
over a round of *******
ping-pong...

Kendal Roy... from HBO's succession...
when he buys a packet of
american spirit... steal a packet of
duracel batteries just to:
"drop" them off into a bin...
to steal in order to disregard...
all these modern names...
peaches geldoff...
why not a name like:
bob is already too.... too...
delivered at too frequently used...
rob roy son's of *******...
skurvysyny:

      pina colada...
       hic et hoc... here and "for this"...
little ol' england...
always terrible concerning
internet connectivity come a certain
hour, of, "need"...
pockets of isolation
i have a cat in my bed
attempting to claim miracles
with a coushion...
                but this cat is probably
best... since
there's nothing *******...
at best this... i can't make eases
for a chiral woah-man!
it's best to keep the cat
and never hollow myself over
an oyster's credo of ****...

and we're all luvvy-dubby will's the nuanced:
kneels... srgt. pepper and the first thrists
of charles dickens... blah blah...
queen lizzy is the shizzle and
bad drizzle... and thank you:
the show's over...

as ever a... "question"...
         a ****** under the premise
of the soviets... cul de sac of iron...
how the sstallite states
upon a gorbachev implosion:
safely done..
               who's feeding who?!
from under the curtail...
for spear in hand...
toward the h'american promise!
promise me lithuania or mongolia:
keep me... having already kept me:
it's not all cosmopolitan new yorker:
because it's not like it could
be translated via england,
the murk... the bogus... wolverhampton...
per se... e.g.,

mrs and mr quiff-bear...
high pride and the cheese tipping point
of: "blonde on blonde"...
leverage for the slaughter brigade!
thank **** i haven't
invested in beyond: the ***** towing
tissue ******* as paramount
for the worth of genocide... yes:
that's nice, nice gilded Assads...
thoroughly: from now...

invalidating response:
because... the roman poets heaved rhyme...
oh sure...
rhyme was a pop phase from
those... lost pressure being kept
a continued effort...
**** me even the ancient greek
tragedists didn't bother:
come the nuance or... chance
to rhyme... otherwise: what use
is rhyme and geometry and
prison... rhyme is a ******* square...
it's necessary pork chops
and... xeno-
   prefix alone...
         who brought in the Zee Zed: Zeno?
i ******* know what Xeno
scientology and william burroughs looks
like... a skeleton...

phonetic nuances and this tongue
of a ***** and nuanced kings / queens...
14 days of self-isolation
and i haven't yet exacted a meeting
with an authority that might support
such demands...
so lies tip-toying more lies...
yes... let's pretend that from
the excuses we met!
"but it's the 20th century"!
suddenly we met up with the 21st...

the billionaire president is playing golf...
what's that in terms of "sccore":
one more notch on the belt of... scoreland?
by the ***** or via the fiddling
with oysters?!
i never... truly... ******* know!
who's who in the game
of shoving hard-boiled eggs
up the opponents ***...
at least... no one cited
the need for either fist or elbow:
i'm poor... the prostitutes i ******
have either pychiatrist or priest status...
i play hide and seek with god...
not psychopaths...

why is it that paedophiles are target
practice while...
psychopaths are: fair... game... lauding...
who gives these nuances of
revision...
it's no to the paedophiles...
but a yes to the psychopaths...
so... i guess that's...
yes to the meteor and ol' dino!
hello monkey brain freeze!

i am allowing myself an interlude
via this... ha ha... makeshift...
populis vox:
voice of the people...
oh no... the trough... the roughage...
i believe than skins
is an unbelievable concept of
claiming reiteration...
because.. there's no milking it:
only ****... thise hard heaved
glue of the excess of...
let's pretend this evil is merely
a teen's godot of ****...
it's not evil: it's not ****...
it's just acne...
and that's all it will ever be...
hush hush: cowardrice for the sake
of: "someone's looking"!...
probably a neighbour...
              who... one will... never
relate to... beside the already presribed...
guillotine of *******...
how does one... guillotine... a ****
the worth of a centipede?
all pretend wriggly like
an **** of parasites?!
just asking: i wasn't avilabble for you
to imagine how...
maggots sold for adventures
in fishing tend to...
to: zenith with...

i drink some ***** i'm tasting plum:
it's still that cosmopolitan hangover...
it's beside giving me the blues...
the nostalgia surrounding the 1950s...
but there's a sylvia plath and i know:
someone was giggling with
being unhappy...

               otherwise it was...
the 20th century: the best kept excuse...
the hebrew party became split...
some that became the affront
of the grey ******* sniffing crowd...
and some who escaped prior
and established the harrow-woo...
"quirk" "thinkers" and
the congregation of christ...
which, they were... sorry not sorry...

this was supposed to be a conversation
without the demands of the...
afro-choccy-cult of: reiterting history...
oh i love the adverts though...
shame i can't buy into the *******
ideology!
you know what adverts are...
for a person who can't buy into them?!
******* reading material...
brainwaves:
theologians from tigh-land...
thailand...
           i can't buy ****!
if i can't buy the **** you're selling...
to the people who are buying it up
like a ******* gulp of thirst...
what's *****?!
i'm the same ******* toad-see
of voyeurism... baseless ****-****!

yes... here come the "incredibles"
of the half-wits... halving-of-knotting...
barrel bounty of laughs...
some swedish existential feast of a movie...

a society overtly saturated with ****
and irish prancing luck: four leaf clover?
this? this is all i...
oasis from a stone when suckling toward
a deadening end...
for the ink that's my mine...
and me walking off a beach
toward the ***** of the sea...
and she's still... gesticulating:
oh god what might be, will be...
she isn't going to hurry when her
"plantagenant lineage" is
being... ****-faced with no...
inheritor...

             come the grandchildren...
i'm already a quarter...
so... what's the d.n.a. atheist argument
about... keeping solace with
a variation of eternity?
me up from an eigth? "you" *******...
solace rhetoric retribution "quest":
conjunction interlude that forever
returns to... ping-pong of a *******?!

come on! let's either celebrate
the tonsure... the kippah...
the *******... or the deciphered via
islamic floral pattern of the ****!
i will gladly approach
the needs for the dodo project like
some beta-buck-delux...
i'm out... veto.. ditto... what's the other
"word" for opting out?
a latin maxim?

per caput...            pre: joggular...
towing bite, and chew...
and mandible jaw... and elbow...
and knee... and...
a variation of: i told you so...
it's not like i didn't know...
up in that acorn tree...
oh i knew:
i would have kneeled but i forgot
my knees...

that "they" stop apparently speaking...
when you ears are too eager to quest
for hearing...

i knew that i could't prescribe myself
what could have been allowed...
how much of faking it...
leaves me with habitually promising
a sentencing of reality...
without an -ism...

come to think of it...
co-conspirator... in a time of authentic grief?
and later: a time...
how such an ingregious act, most,
subjective... untested...
will come back and haunt...
oh but i have something else
to heave: to borrow...
but... will it become apparent...
how... unlikely!

     who isn't tired... "these days"...
oh god... the sun's a bbq...
the moon a blistering tan-line...
forgive me not clinging to mind
the blue and... soultry;
beheld last: i know i never do.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
just when the provincials spoke the common tongue and ensured the urbanites were demasked, and all courtesy went out the window, and there were no actors left to fake an air of superiority and a stiffening of the upper lip... when the urbanites became baptised in a river of dung, mud and fear - and couldn't play our a theatrical adaptation of pseudo Oscar Wilde's: Airs and Superstitions... the champagne bottle-neck was chopped off in the countryside, not in the prosthetic urban environment... and god that bothered them... they could no longer fake being ultra-pro-xeno when in fact wholly anti - even having ethnically cleansed the Caribbeans to speak their own racist tongue didn't help much.

eye on the prize, there she sat, in the shop-window,
a beauty, a mandolin -
with my student loan un-amused i bought her
working three nights a week for a month
in a nightclub carrying empty glasses from
the dance floor and toilets -
got her in the end, my dear Antoinette mandolin;
all i ever wanted was to play the end
of Rod Steward's Maggie May to a girl
from a revised scene of Romeo & Juliet -
played it, her amused but she can no longer be seen,
unless crisscrossing South America in some weird
Paulo Coelho novel alt. - thinking a pharaoh would
be hiding cremated in a top hat along
with Alice's first impressions of wonderland -
years later i bought a Martins' & Son guitar
on debit, my ex-girlfriend's father ****** it up,
and gave my mandolin up for free -
the nightclub where i earned her? ***** near
the Edinbrugh train station - being almost cornered and *****
and serving my fellow compatriots of study made me
leave - not before i earned the mandolin -
the shop? *Scayles Music
- they have no
jealousy on me these days, and i'd frankly give
writing up for my former health, i don't care
what readership i get - i'll keep at it - they can
submit their little Kafkaesque interrogations making
me into a fool - sure, they can, but we all serve
the higher lord above the knee-bending baron of god -
death claims us all - for the life i've had
i find it strangely appreciative to have a chance to
write it, and all the more thankful to live a cameo life,
because i hardly think it's proper to write
a book after having climbed Mt. Everest... it's just bad
etiquette (lack of tact) - the lesser life demands literate affairs -
the grander lifer demands portraits on horseback
and in the finest attire -
but what i accomplished thoroughly was buying
a mandolin, playing Rod Stewart's Maggie May outro,
and that's that... for the love of Scotland,
among the inbreeding locals of English suburbia -
proven by a low haemoglobin count of passion-fuelled
pigmentation, passions reduced to xenophobia rather
than xenophilia.
Bob B Dec 2017
Despite voter suppression laws,
Alabamians voted for
A Democrat to serve in Congress.
Doug Jones beat Roy Moore!

A man who respects the rule of law
And built supporters' esprit de corps
Won a defining but narrow election.
Doug Jones beat Roy Moore!

The win hopefully sends a message
That actions are something we won't ignore--
That decency and respect matter.
Doug Jones beat Roy Moore!

When racist, xeno- and homophobic
Feelings ooze from every pore,
That person is unfit for office.
Doug Jones beat Roy Moore!

****** assaulters beware:
American voters are keeping score
As more victims speak out loudly.
Doug Jones beat Roy Moore!

May the movement for honesty,
Truth, respect, and integrity soar!
Keep alive the momentum of hope.
Doug Jones beat Roy Moore!

-by Bob B (12-13-17)
The intangible danceable
Felt but not seen
Frolicking on the edge
Of spaces in between

Peek-a-boo shadows
Spider-web touches
Goosebumped skin
Rosy red blushes

Whispers on wind
Soul unconfined
The curve of the smile
Fits the curve of my mind

A half told anecdote
Unnoticed excellence in the mundane
Quiet anticipation
Jolting epiphanies of keyframe

Emotional nutrients of xeno
Ecstatic shock and sonder
Ambedo and nodus tollens
Forever I wonder and wander
AK93 Mar 2018
Aspiring broken
Corruptible dream
Eternal facile gripes
Hell in July
Keeping loose memories
Never organized plans
Queen reaps soul
Truth under veil
Willfully xeno
Yahweh's zeal
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
there's nothing specific about the horror
movie mandy...
except for... the neu-horror
akin to the neon demon flick...
there's no real prosthetic concept
such the platitude of a b.d.s.m. afternoon...
the use of colour strictly blatant
like a ferocious fuchsia...
            neon dotting...
              come to "think" of it...
       i don't have the capacity to write
a harlequin novel... i'd rather sketch...
intelligent music... meditation duels...
very much akin to king crimson...
i dearly underappreciated the album red...
i watched the movie in the zenith
of the sun...
   but unlike carnage park...
                the aura of suspect & suspence...
horror without the night
is very much a custard pie and
excess fudge of bass with ghostly drums
in the background...
king crimson: in the court and...
    
horror movies that do not use
the night protagonist...
                       or that there ever will
be a concerning shadow...
i can't escape a mere generosity
of the genre...
   there's a need to incubate half-a-heart...
herr fripp is forever
and understudy of...
            convenient pop...
read a book for an hour...
or listen to some king crimson for...
the same amount of time...
this brief interlude between
jazz and classical..
               it's not bayren: brahms...
or stiletto miles...
               it's this hybrid sentence...
alpha blondy: jerusalem...
    culture: iron sharpening iron...

i'm alive yet quiet dead:
in the court of...
red... larks' tongue in aspic...
     but not... discipline...
      not in the wake of poseidon...
islands... a cello for a bass guitar...
so much of me is alive
as to associate the virility concept
to a cucumber...
and penic envy to a watermelon...

i pass the care for i.q. as
a buffer zone of bluffs...
                there's no horror movie without
music...
                 the music must overpover
the anaesthetic of images thus... presented...
the tartar steak... some sushi...
      may i have listened a thorough-through...
of some band... but...
it's a *****-count gymnastic...
years later...
   only years later...
some archeological dimension...
whereas those that write...
for the prizes of the literally mortal...

                with variation: it's music...
but it's also gesticulation at music...
there's only one redeeming aspect of the b.b.c.:
radio 3...
i can spend 2 hours lying in bed...
there's no at the hour news revival...
i dip into copernican south...
Galileo's west...
         no adverts... i press the snooze button...
10 minutes becomes 2 hours on
a sunday...
for all the critique of the b.b.c.:
any critique of radio 3 is... unwelcome...
honest to: god or no god...

interlude: exercise in grammar as
a guitar... what did fripp contribute...
beside... the early death envy of
a hendrix...
                         governing body:
mr. clapton...
          well yes... nice... a solipsistic adventure
of taking a ****...
              smart is about to
be disgraced as:
the capacity to merely sit in awe at
the music being presented...
that's it!

              nothing more!
             i.e. why are intelligent people
such complete and utter morons!
testing cushion fabric!
testing cushion fabric!
breaking a tooth on an umbrella!
painting rain!
painting sunrise: an edward hopper
altar sacrifice too!
painting sunset with a golden serpent
and some Turner...

my words are a crease in
this borrowed fabric...
           for a loft pretence guiding
a shakespeare...
to amend: what man made of man...
it's impossible...
the same grief is thorough
throughout:
that man... did unto man...
what has to be...
exacted within the confines
of: pressing history...
that there is no advantageous period...
of time lost memorial toward
a nostalgia... my nostalgia my...
ancient my zenith of primed
personal golgotha...

               no nearing progress with
a suffocating bias / excuse:
because the 20th century was...
i might have read don quixote:
but did it leave a living imprint
on my mind:
at what point will / can...
thinking become a claustrophobia...
while the ego a brick:

borrowed lyrics:
impaled on the nails of eyes...
some pseudo-dated prelude...
   with quill and silver... creasing...
impaled on the nails of eyes...
guess no borrowed lyrics
after all...
new york... 1970s cement and grit
as borrowed from swansea's
best:

impaled with the nails of eyes...
          i am either deaf
or half pretending a dislike
of Penderecki...
  
my zookeeper's question of
zebra stripes... these desired less...
question of...
beef as some honeycomb...
the served intestines within the confines
of hexagon questioning pentagon...

my dear fat lady and fat saxophone...
squeeze... my dear mr. fripp...
my echo in the beatles...
the grand technician that could
be... punk floyd and wet
   tobacco readied to be chewed and posited
in a chequers' game from
borrowed best: Shawshank and...
    pork choppy shackles!
to the bone for the bone for the...
youth of a Michael Cain!

              we once played two archetypical
wishes of a game without competition:
a hide & seek...
   and that... somehow...
clouds were to be impregnable castles
or widow swans...
myriads of syllables...
akin to mandarin sorrow-keepers...
that the consonants were to
be world renowned...
while the vowels: mere punctuation
reminders...

      all this... with a concept of 5pm tea
and a sunset... and something...
beside englishness...
like a rhetorical question
and a mud quest of a ancient roman:
germania...

such extremes: but no belittling jazz...
obviously it's all too complex:
a xeno- is not... but is... charcoal...
                 chisel and chaser...
having the bewildering complexity
of a brain-drain immigration
and the totality fluke of a globalist
glue... like... the old-blah-blah...
like no new: ha-ha...
                     because england has already
desired financing... tame ireland...
and... that solipsistic endeavour
post hong kong...
to seal the envelopes and all minor,
bogus... details...

my best english somewhere akin
to australia...
                   nowhere near quiz and aussie land...
this everyday anglo-spandex:
towing the moon beside...
the riddling antithesis
of old broke russia a soviet:
caricature...
because kazakh borat heb' sayo says so...
                
weathered stones and complete mountains...
futurist seas...
and some complexity of
red beside a shading and noun
to grip a culture of the best weathered moon
attire of: punctuation with
meteors and acne...

such pristine 18 minutes past midnight:
drinking because shadows are neglected
and that's all because bohren club der gore...
and there's a city in germany akin
to Essen...
                and Dortmund...
and a football team like Schalke...

besides... believe me: there's a Jupiter...
and that Jupiter is also Polyphemus
by the grief of the storm...
               that all the saints reside on Saturn...
and however unfathomable...
this can alone stand to make
the universal testament...
           i am but a clay fish of clingy sorrow...
i breathe the unfathomable...
i digest the lesser things of
incompetence: dandy...
          
               i worship anatomy like i might:
make an adventure of myself
within the confines of... tailoring...
suiting... pristine perfecting...
what a not-magic: this grammar spectacular!

- is this the requiring a language
of the ordeal of formality...
the advent of an evening dress attire to cope...
my language my language lost...
it's hardly first beginning english...
it's not this... my i play tourist
and fashion all the details of
professional cricket?

               my god! the white wooly
cardigan with cut sleeves!
           there's also that ambition...
to abide in a shelter from
the wind and rain...
whereby the ratio of:
books:bricks...
is in favour of the former...

yes... because it's impossible in english...
to even question shakespeare...
i believe the one true counter is
a dickens binding experiment...
          a near impossible...
dabbling in sour apples...
in ****** rhymes... into existence...
island dwelling folkish and a people...
some critique of the continent...
beside that far far away in an africa that
never became: mongolian siberia: ah! ha ha!

ladies on the road: the beatles...
giggles... true and truant laughter...
the clash and beatlemania...
beside the concern for the thames...
a river squeezing the torrents
of postcard haven: some beside
a Tokyo...
no... lucky for me...
before that dire drop... some months
and miles away...
i guess i best go ******* up
and broke blind on the hint of history...
last reserved...
glittering dumplings best sold:
by the beast... sober, armed
with a ferocious violin... and a glittering
compensation  McQueen...
tiger found ferocious nearing...
boing-boing: and some... quizz
of "future": yes... borrowed mongol...
bistro Jing-Xing.

— The End —