I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I wasn't a genuine friend.
I'm sorry for always being a problem.
I'm sorry for not meeting yout expectations.
I'm sorry for never learning.
I'm sorry for causing you pain.
I'm sorry for making you feel less than you are.
I'm sorry for being selfish.
I'm sorry for coming into your life in the first place.
I'm sorry for existing.

I was supposed to be your everything.
I'm sorry I couldn't be.

"I'm walking away,
I'm starting a new.
You could of came with me
but that was on you.
I'll find a new world full of colors.
New memories, new smiles.
One foot after the other,
let bygones be bygones.
You were a beautiful soul,
gave me so much magic & knowledge.
So I'm at peace now with kissing you goodbye.
I'll take the lessons yout gave me & craft a boat that will take me to new heights.
I'll love yout forever but at a distance it's fine.
I'll take back my bruised heart & stich it up with time.
The last grain of sand in my hourglass has fell.
So I was slowly walk away with a heavy heart.
I'm pushing myself forward.
It's a start.
This must have been what you wanted all along,
to drift away & become strangers to one another..to forget the magic I felt.
Goodbye."

From afar I admire you
your beauty and your grace
the way you push hair behidn your ear that has fallen to your face
your brillance..you're o so intelligent
the way you speak in class
so bold and without fear
the sparkle for learning in your eyes
that look so pure and clear
All of these things, only perceived by me from afar
I wish to know yout thoughts
likes, dislikes, and hobbies
your opinion on politics
Do you about the trees?
What is your faith?
Do you have pets?
Your favorite book, movie, food.
What is it that you are passionate about?
My dear Brazil
I want to talk to you
To obtain all the answer to every question I wish to ask you
This morning in the rain you were only a few feet away
all alone were you
But my feet, they would not move
So I did not go to you
Instead I watched my Beautiful Brazil place her earphones in her ear
We could have talked and laughed
But we didn't cause I am ruled by fear
Alas, My Beautiful Brazil
I am not your average admirer
No, not at all
But until I gather up the courage
The strength to loose my fear
I'll admire you from afar
My Beautiful Brazil

Me love agony, seen?
Me hate baldheads, seen?
Me love collie, seen?
Me hate duppies, seen?
Me love easing up, seen?
Me hate fishes, seen?
Me love *****, seen?
Me hate harbour sharks, seen?
Me love "irie's", seen?
Me hate janga, seen?
Me love kush, seen?
Me hate lagga heads, seen?
Me love mateys, seen?
Me hate nyng'i-nying'i, seen?
Me love o-dokono, seen?
Me hate passa passa, seen?
Me love quashes, seen?
Me hate running belly, seen?
Me love science (witchcraft), seen?
Me hate toto, seen?
Me love uptown goodas, seen?
Me hate vixxin', seen?
Me love wheels, seen?
Me hate da yout, seen?
Me love Zion, seen?

*Me ******' love Zion

She don't wanna speak to me.
Me mind is hidden under a cloud of darkness.
Dere's a feelin' of inner struggle.
I must release reggae.

spliiiiiff

I rise out of me bed in terror.
Me dreamt of a lonely island boy, lost at sea.
Could you imagine, no friends, no food.
No reggae release.

spliiiiiff

I'm trapped in a reggae box
I can hear me boy screamin', but I can't find 'im.
I call for 'im, "JACO! JACO, MY YOUT!"
I must release de reggae.

spliiiiiff

The room is a maze, no exit.
Could me premonitions be true?
Could me boy truly be lost?
No reggae release.

spliiiiiff

Me vision's too cloudy.
All to be seen is rat-like faces, cringing.
Their snouts snort and sneer to a reggae beat.
I must release de reggae.

spliiiiiff

The floor falls from under me.
A lizard's heavy gizzard appears below.
Crooked, sharp teeth shining tru de dark.
No reggae release.

spliiiiiff

Colours upon colours.
An indigo man stabs, then rapes a magenta woman.
Until the reds, and greens, and blues, explode from her stomach.
I must release de reggae.

spliiiiiff

I catch me breath. I'm in me room.

Safe and sound.

Jeez, what a bad trip, still?

you paint a picture with words
speaking out just to be heard
you think yout fooling me but i've known all along
your everything you say you are
except one thing
strong
your weakness shows as you string me along
i try to believe you
but deep insidee i know you are wrong
wrong about being right
yeah its a complexed contradiction
but what else should i expect
with someone that mixes fantasy with nonfiction

so mirror mirror on the wall
its about time you crumble and fall
and amidst your broke shards of glass
come to realize the past has passed

dwelling in broken memories
your drown in your thoughts
tangeled up in emotion
afriad to admit your caught
like a spider you spin your web
parallel to the cycle spinning in your head
on your worn out path you continue to tread

i dont even know what it means to be
without you
because your always haunting me
taunting me
drawing me into your cycle
its time i break free

so mirror mirror on the wall
its about time you crumble and fall
and amidst your broken shards of glass
come to realize the past has passed

turn over a new leaf
dont look back
or stop in your tracks
determine myths from facts
begin to act
like the adult you are coming to be
look from an outer perspective
begin to see
clearly now
come to think about it
i dont know how
i believed in your self doubt

so mirror mirror on the wall
its about time your shatter and fall
and amidst your broken shards of glass
come to realize the past has passed

come to peace at last
and realize
that despise
isnt a comprimise
when it comes to fate
and that hate
isnt the only way to demonstrate
your emotion

lifes as vast as the ocean
and always in motion
changing with the tide
so swallow your pride
learn how to recognize
a blessing in disguise
end where endings end
after that
begin
know yourself deep within
submerge to the surface of conciousness
and listen
to the voice within
yeah thats really livin

so mirror mirror on the wall
its about time your shatter and fall
and amidst your broken shards of glass
come to realize the past has passed

Are you tired of living in the hood?
Looking around only to see this "flawless" generation getting up to no good?
Are you tired of losing?
Have you been betrayed?
Have you got bags under your eyes because you stay up too late?
Well I tell you this, I do,
I've got a lot on my plate,
Just like you,

Do not judge what your eyes perceive,
No one wants to be judged, certainly not me,
Cos when you look around what do you see?
Do you see love? Nature? Trees?
OPEN YOUR EYES and your ears,
You need to listen, you need to hear,
I am simply a messenger,
I am not GOD,
But this world's turning into an illusion that cannot be solved,

We no longer live in harmony,
That is not what I see when I look around me,

I do not want this earth to die,
She is my mother,
Yours too and yet you peoplr don't even try,

All of you "lost" children out there,
STOP SAYING "Live fast, Die young"
Thats a disguise,
Your trying to hide this horrible truth that has arised,
But if you don't face it!
No one will do it for you!

Our world is dying and while your having a good time dining,
I sit up at night crying,

Because I remember when people had hope,
They didn't give up and they'd simply devote,

The air is filled with car fuels and man-made chemicals,
The trees are chopped made into money,
But we lose because those trees are our filters,
As important as our lungs,
But all you people care about is yout money and your guns,

I want children and so will mine,
I wish they'll be able to breathe in a world that is FINE,

Nowadays children are robots to the system,
Controlled by the media and placed in their position,
Goggle eye'd to the television,
Stuck in a generation growing up too fast,
Only to notice that we're not gonna last,

We're breathing in dirt every day,
The moon is drifting further away,
As for the chemtrails they spray and spray,

And YOU governments sit and have the guts to say,
"Why are so many children today comitting suicide?"
Well MAYBE its because they believe,
Victory's on the other side.


By Larna Kourtis
Aged 14
Peace. ***

Feel the fire down your neck
Your heart beating like a drum
Flashes of red as they fade to gray
                -the ashes sift away.

Don’t ask for comfort, here you get none
They’ll watch as the flames work through your body
Thundering your pounding lungs
               -desperate to get away.

The heat grows high; where do you go from here?
Encased in flames; you have no chance
No chance to feel the love
               -no chance to get away.

It’s ending so soon, you let you all go
Your soul to be picked over; because you don’t really care
You’ve fallen to low, to see yourself now
               -pick your feet up; fly away

And now it’s all over, as they watch you; laid bare
A pretty red dress, stained with your blood
Your body so broken, so fragile; unmarred
               -locked up tight you can’t get away

They’ll take you away, ashamed of the sight
You think of the sight that kept you alive
As you make your escape; your heart beating like a drum
               -as you run in the dead of night, run away

*Your funeral was held; the empty coffin, buried
As you nurse your wounds in sweet success
Thinking of that face that made you find strength
               - yout pain is taken away

so you know, my next door neighbour calls me over to her garden,
she notices i'm smoking in my own garden,
and she's like: come on over, have a beer.
                    so i go over and her garden looks like world war iii,
as i have said many times.
                            i once complimented her: i like yout ****
garden... she actually has a **** the size of a tree...
                                                         i'm not kidding.
and i'm there, figuring what to do, there's a guy in a wheelchair
yelling at his mom over the phone, there's the dog zoe,
all black with one white paw, and she's barking and trying
to lick me...
                        and then there's this portrait of nelson mandela...
framed, behind glass... and a black violin in a case
that the dog probably ****** on...
                      and i pick it up, and take out the violin and
try to play some sort of ukulele -
              by the way? i hate people who have a rigid language
system in place... it's a bit like talking to a 2 + 2 sort of people,
if you're starting from romford and you want to
get to timbuktu? some people write so rigid that, starting
from romford... you might get as far as dover...
               their tongues are a bad excuse for the rigidness equivalent
to a spine... but even their spines are crooked...
                 spineless *******... and tongueless to boot.
well... so i'm over in my neighbour's garden, and the arsonist kid
over here is trying to make a bonfire...
         oh by the time the fire-crew were summoned,
he was throwing a television, and a vacuum cleaner into the flames...
it began with a matress, and a few chairs...
          but he was trying to get the fire started, and having soaked
the matress with white spirit (turpentine) - it wouldn't light up...
so i suggested... you have any kitchen towels? or some toilet paper?
i mean, if you soak that sort of thin-"skinned" materials,
you're going to get a: houston... we don't have a problem: a.ok.
**** me, you should have seen the smoke...
you start off burning a matress and a few chairs...
   then you throw in a few plank of wood...
then a vacuum cleaner... then a television?
                                        i was really expecting a bang!
what i was doing was sitting on my ledge, perky like a crow
doing a sudoku no. 9018...
        sniffing in the fumes of what looked like the most appropriate
"metaphor" for apocalyptic society...
   and then the fire-crew came, and extinguished the bonfire,
because my other neighbour called in the brigade.
i guess this is one of those times when you feel the need to make
the firemen useful... considering there are... what? scandinavian
architectural "problems" with wooden houses?
  oh yeah, sure... concrerte's gonna burn! -
   but while i gave him the idea, of soaking a roll of toilet paper
with the turpentine spirit... and watched the whole thing foooom!
out of control?          we started a sing-along...
     *the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire...
   the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire...
    we don't need no water, let the ******* burn,
                                                     burn *******... burn.

Like blinds & shutters, I shutter blindly.
I'll compare thee to a summers mid day dream. Because yout hot as hell, & a bit off the hook. Out there in space. You've got me hooked.

Come into my arms, my darling. You are my
One and only, for today at least. I would never promise the future, for I
Don't want to get your hopes up.
You could be leaving soon, but i still have 2 more years.

You never know what life holds in store. something may happen in
Our lives that changes who we are. we never know till the
Up coming future if our lives may. surprises are waiting for us in every
Nook and cranny.
Great things happen to those who don't worry too much. so,
Baby, don't worry about what may happen in the
Looming future, as you start yout life in the great
Outdoors of the world. graduation is being hurled
Onto you faster than you thought possible.
Don't let it scare you, i'm still here babe.

Here is my heart
For you to take and abuse
Here is my body
For yout to misuse
Here are the sweet words
That I now know were lies
Here are the tears
From all the Good-Bye's
Here is my purity
That you tainted with your name
Here is my soul
That will never be the same
Here is my time
That i wasted chasing you
Here is EVERY single I Love You
That now has broken me
Here is ME
Here is Me
Here is me
That is nothing without you

I have thought about it for awhile
And don't care what other people say
I want to be part of yout life
This might be the only way

Don't see you as the bad guy
Not mad or angry, just hurt
Even though I know it's wrong
I think "**** he looks **** in that shirt"

Feel the electricity in the air
Can tell you feel the familiar thrill
Is the alcohol to blame?
Or do you truly love me still?

We reach at the same time to touch
Holding your hand just seems so right
I wish that I did not have to let go
Wish I could stay the rest of the night

When I have to say goodbye
It's hard to pull away and leave
I long to remain in your arms forever
It feels better than I dare to believe

Then you lean down to kiss me
It is bliss. It's too perfect to be real
I had almost forgotten how wonderful
Your lips could taste and feel

I know that you're drunk and it's late
I'm hoping that you feel the spark
And I am hoping my mouth will remind you
Of those nights we spent in the dark

Thank you for making me complete again
Giving me your love to borrow
Even if it is just for right now
I will not regret it tomorrow

Disturbed by angels in the sky

you walk through broken dreams.

The fool, he dances by your side

and listens to yout screams.


And there is no one in this town

to save you from this torturous pain,

the angels dancing just around

and spreading soulless acid rain.


In agony you cry your tears

watching storming, fleeing skies

and the darkening, empty town

swallows all the angels lies.


Disturbed by all those angels ways

you're running through the streets.

And your fool dances by your side

in this town of soulless dreams

is cheap as a bottle of wine
that I buy at the nickel-and-dime. And it gives
me a big head. What will you serve tonight? White lies

or a red herringer? Whatever the flavor your mouth
is derringer. You shoot the **** right on cue
like a professional playing pool. Eying what ball

he’ll drop in the pocket. Seeing what doll will shine up
his rocket. It hasn’t launched in years. You can’t
see it over that paunch hanging there. Maybe a joey will

jump out. I wouldn’t be surprised, myself.  Instead of
your shoes you should get your mouth polished. You could
lose a few pounds if your words were abolished. Just think of
the peace and quiet without the one-man riot.

You're like candle light,
One moment you're there,
The next. Flicker.
You're gone
We made plans on day one,
For a day of primal fun.
I was to regress,
In a brand new dress
You would take my hand,
Take me in more ways than none.
I dreamed of future days,
When I gave yout a title that didn't only mean play.
Where I would give myself to you in more than one way.
This were just dreams,
This weren't yet fantasy.
But now I am sure they never will be.

In that moment
I knew the definition of broken
Of loneliness and that of despair

How quickly the wind swept you
Off yout feet
Until before I could react
You walked out of my life

No time had I
To grab your arm
Nor mend the holes
You simply left me to my own
Removed me from your contacts
Ceasing anything to do with me

It was then I realized the error of my ways
You showed me who I was
Someone who:
- Mistreated you
- Never loved you
- Always made mistakes and never made up for them
- Was no different from anyone else
- Regarded you as nothing
- Would leave you now and find someone happily tomorrow
- Is a monster...

Yet nothing I say now
Will bring you back to be
I say ill change but when have I ever
Its cold and dark without you

I miss you already...
Am I on your mind?
Ill never forget the day
You simple were
*Gone

Nooses are nice when they're around your neck
Doctor our patient is dead
She choked on a load of pens
Words written around  her throat
Ink clawing at jaws telling teeth to let go
Click yout tongue against your cheek
Let the black bomb flow freely
A fantastic explosion of emotions would **** them all
So we dont say anything at all
No words
Not even ones that are small
Skin dips as nails dig in
I didn't lie when i said i scratch at my neck...
Flesh under fingernails looks pretty
So i dig harder
My teeth gritting
Why doctor
Another girl lost
She was caught up in her spiderweb she called thoughts
She sees herself dying and asks what's wrong
Why couldn't i be a normal one
So she puts that song on
The one that calms her down
Looks at her feet in an attempt to avoid the now
In the bath
Choking
...she drowns
Alone her already dim light is put out

Why don't you feel this like I do?
How are you not torn apart?
Don't you lie awake all night too?
And think of me all alone in the dark?
Don't you cry where no one can hear you?
Don't you feel alone all the time?
Don't you feel homeless without me?
Aren't I your home like you are mine?
Don't you crave my lips upon yours?
And my heat when you're out in the cold?
Don't you still reach out for my hand?
When you desperately need one to hold?
Don't you wish I were there to talk to?
To tell everything that goes on in your life?
Don't you feel incomplete without me?
Remember, you were almost my wife?
Why don't you feel this like I do?
How can you just turn away?
Don't yout know that I love you?
Those are the only words I can say.
Don't you know I love you?
Those are the only words I can say.

Overcome with pain and rage
You were suppose to be there for me but
You never were.
You claim to love me, but
You don't know the first thing about me.
Mom, yout internalized sexism
Has me constantly on the offence. Bombarded by the constant "reassurance"
Of my worth through the power of my hips.
No power in my lips. No power in my words.
You won't listen, you think my feelings are absurd.
Day in and day out, you pressure me and expect me not to pout.
I'm full of doubt? You want me to know the ***** things I spur between men's ears?
I am disgusted, where once I would have trusted
You. Back again with your defense of man and belittlement of me and who and how I am.
I won't smile and say thank you. No. *******.

I tried and tried to make my
Children understand-make my
Self clear but still they did not
Understand  They were on info-
Overload and I was too old to
Understand- so much on them.
Made me a little crazy mostly
Protest and just to be let alone-
A reaction to the way they said
The world is -so must be obeyed.  

Doctors  were called in and I was
Diagrosed: Early onset senescence
Senility.  Now no one is to blame
Everything is still the same- but  is
Just a mystery and cannot be cured

That we no longer love enough or the
Time to give  to the old folks at home
Never wanted to be a burden anyway
Plenty of immigrants glad to do it.
The children thank the care givers hold
Them to the standard of the holy good
Course its not so but makes them feel
Better about themselves.  We are all vested
In our delusions.  Have you heard the one
About hell being filled with execrem,ment and
There is a hmingm sound but when yout close
Enough you will hear the words: No waves...
Please do not make waves were in this stuff
Up tp our chins and you must not make waves.

I cannot breathe, the first time you ask me to leave
I cannot sleep, my knees keep trembling and I feel so weak

My stomach is pulling me in and out of my mind
I'm loosing myself in sickness and in fray
All I wanted is to be okay, till death rip me apart

I cannot close my eyes,
I'm melting inside
I kept hearing words, letters, numbers and voices
I needed time, space and the unknown

pull me back up
throw me out
throw me up
let me out
breathe in
and spiral me out
this needs to stop

I cannot breathe, the first time you ask me to leave
I was staring right back at you
staring deep into those eyes
so deep, that I cannot let this happen

How can I let this celestial beauty pass by
I want to dive deep inside those binary eyes
Explore the undiplomatic universe
I'll shoot myself into flare
Wander in every unknown galaxies
Watch the all the stars explode
all the black holes implode
Watch us our soul perform the ablation
I'll ride the Oort Cloud
Navigate every quadrant
Jump from planet to planet
And discover the hidden truth about those eyes
those psychotic and hypnotic eyes

Why would you not let me in? Inside those beautiful head of yours?
Now, I cannot breathe again, and again, and again and again
None of us can leave, Neither of us can escape

My body's starts shaking
My head is all over the place
I cannot breathe, when you ask me to leave

This hands keeps writing about a distant memory from the future

the words were:
"This is not happening,
this is only exist in your head,
those little voices are your worst enemy
and hey guest what?
your best friend.
They exist so you can live,
they creep at night to tell yout to sleep
But you're so afraid of them
that's why you can't sleep"

I got up went to the bathroom sink
splash some water on my face
I look in to the mirror
I stare at it
and for the longest time
I look at my face
and I said:
"You can leave"

To my lost love
I hope that you know
That when you had to leave
A part of me got up to go

Your honey brown hair
Yout golden smile
That cute laugh you have
Plays in my head once in awhile

To my lost love
I pray that all is well
I hope no one ever makes you cry
I'd hate to see those blue eyes swell

Although it wasn't too be between us
I know you'll be alright
To My lost love
I still think about you late at night

The thing about the river,
is it takes away your pain,
absorbing all yout tragedies
and locking them far away.

I've got black holes in my memories
from where the river rushed.
Left behind all I find
is a minefield drenched in dust.

The thing about the river,
is it gives you memories new,
fills up with a distraction
to stop you falling through.

Because millions of fragments
are enough to peice together
a distorted crystalisation
of a time when things were better.

Yes the thing about the river,
is it's not a simple fete.
It takes your childhood in hands
and plasters it complete.

- Anisah Mariah

i've done a full circle on my music listening habits, i've started listening to music i could play guitar to, oh man, that drop-D on almost all of the songs of System of a Down is mesmerising to listen to, esp. Aerials... it's right up there with smoke on the water and iron man... i even have a pretty decent voice when it comes to singing when no one is listening, it's surprisingly idiosyncratic, sort of rhaspic... ooh! ooh! i'm onto another google-whack... rhaspic alone generates only 10 results... rhaspic glue? 2 results... hmm... not to overcomplicate matters... let's just add a D... rhaspic glued... bingo! 1 search result: study number theories... great... i misspelled that first word, i was looking for something to the singing style of the dear, late, still lasting Chris Cornell... the message from Google reads:

It looks like there aren't many great matches for your search

nope... it's not that... i'm a google-whacker... it's a mild version of hacking... i like to find the needle's eye for a camel like me to walk through... because i do... and if i'm going to procrastinate it will be either google-whacking or solving a sudoku... ah... so no surd H in the word i was thinking of, i.e. raspic? ****, i didn't even realise there is a technical term for raspic: dysphonia... hell... it's not even raspic: it's raspy... oh... esp. with a "handover" from drinking to sobering up and a "hangover" from cigarette smoking... me singing is like me *******... best done so only the heavenly dead might want to see...

I.

strange occurrence at work, so i was given these nine stewards
who are a tight-knit bunch on the south stand of
the London stadium...
well... i say i was given nine, but Danni is a terrible
supervisor, everyone says...
who has ever worked with her...
she might have the qualifications to be a supervisor
but... i don't: and whenever asked i do the role...
because the greatest lesson my grandfather ever taught
me was how to deal with people,
i learned how to deal with unengaged problematic
youths by myself...
good training if you're going to go in the teaching
profession... i can see it now...
a fox in a hen shack...
obviously i'd love to have a wolf as my totem...
but you can be choosey... no wolves on the British isles...
plenty of foxes... fox it is...
and i can be a sly ******* if i really want
to be: i'll pretend to be naive... stupid...
ooh... ooh! "what's happening"?!
i know what's happening... i'm just figuring out
if the people playing games will figure out that i'm
also playing a game: their game and my own game...
i like pretending to be an idiot...
but when a chance comes and i can launch an
assault... i can be a merciless Rommel... Erwin...
i just play a waiting-game game...
it's fun... it's very much akin to a game of patience
when it comes to making wine...
or cooking a pristine curry...
like with Frankie, the girl i work with from time to time...
of all the colleagues she's the first one
i made personal references to...
she's also the first colleague i met up with outside
of work in casual clothing... i pointed it out:
a bit weird, not seeing you in a shirt / tie or a black
t-shirt...
it took me back... to the old days of...
"smooth-handshakes": i have £25 in my hand
she has a sachet of hash in her's... we shake hands in
public and the transaction is over...
she texted me last night: so... how's the "gear",
the dealer Adam wants to know...
i replied: well, i don't know... i haven't smoked it yet...
i'm all for delayed gratification...
i must have mentioned this already:
when i was younger i used to smoke marijuana to a level
of stoner, a stereotypical long-haired blonde "surfer boy"
type that an Australian girl would and did go out
with... i stooped to the level of binging on reggae music
and stoner rock and progressive rock blah blah...
an 1/8 (ounce) would last me a weekend...
then psychosis hit and i haven't smoked it for over 10 years...
a ******* invisible choir in a church
and a great wind that dispersed it... sad, sad story
(ha ha... back in 2007 it might have been
if nothing spectacular happened since...
but a lot has happened)...
but like i revealed to her: i need a smoking session
to be ritualistic...
i won't be delving into the mind that's high on hash
with the use of these two hands and a keyboard
and imaginary paper...
funny... when it comes to typing i'm very much
ambidextrous... you have to be... using a keyboard
to type... although... i once encountered
a general practitioner, old geezer... who used only one
hand to type, well... "typed"... he chicken-pecked with
his index finger the keys on the keyboard...
sure... some people go as far as use two index fingers
on both hands... me? i need to use all my fingers...
some i use more frequently otherwise i don't...
the pinky and the thumbs are especially favourite when
it comes to spacing and line-breakers and all the SHIFT
additions to a text... i think... i think i use the ring fingers
the least, mostly index, middle, thumb and pinky...
yes, the occasional ring finger: ah!
right hand ring finger is mostly used when deleting text,
and sometimes using the enter button
to give ground for a new line...

no, no one likes working with Danni, she's a terrible
supervisor, as most women when given
charge over young men,
instead of working with then, trying to gain them
she dismisses them and sends them packing: home,
not getting paid for a shift...
rifts of resentment... there are some aspects of
life that women don't understand:
their enlarged hearts are dismissive of certain
nuances... you can work with boys that
are not engaged with this simplest of works
concerning crowd safety, but you need to engage with them,
you can't just dismiss them!
i play into her thinking process that i'm
somehow her friend... she has already bought
the line and sinker... i'll keep her there...

i had to, for ****'s sake, take care of my staff
and her staff too, why?
who did she choose as a breaker,
Darwinism beckons, nature yawns...
a diabetic sick-girl who suffers from spells of standing-still
vertigo... i had to ask this sick girl to change her
function and stand in one place...
Danni? oh... she placed her in the worst possible
position... in a place where all the fans are rowdy
and constantly standing...
some people "think" they're thinking...
they're not...
i don't think they are being purposively
******* ******* but it just looks like this:
all-inclusiveness is not working out
as many have thought it might...
what are we talking about?
single men... tiger-mums in the East
and mantis-wives in the West...

how will a boss ***** relate to an unruly bunch
of teenage boys?
she won't! me? upon signing in i fist bump
or shake their hands... i recognise them...
men crave being recognisable, familiar,
constant... women? just attention-*******...
anonymously... or in passing...
men like to adapt to being recognised:
being familiar... women don't understand that
through their own self-objectification...
men are more prone to the: other's-subjectification...
a woman is self-objectifying
while a man is the subject-of-the-other...

i've watched enough people, i should know...
at a usual game i've built up this rapport with a few fans...
all the men are shouting out from the crowd:
hey! 5 bottle man!
a point of reference i should know about...
when this guy asked me for five bottles of water
from within the crowd...
he's referential point being: the subject-of-the-other...
women? ha!
they're like the solipsists of their youthful advantages
of looks... they are self-objectifying...
they are never a subject-of-the-other in their perception
of reality... they are not even an object-of-the-other
in their own mind's cravings...
could i ask a woman to dress up or put up make up
without her wanting to a priori the demands
or her own conjuring?!

but this one shift amazed me...
i had this breaker tell me...
'i'm not really sexist... but would you mind if i gave all
the female stewards breaks first,
before giving the males a break...'
i played it out... sure thing mate... you do that...
after all... the "new" gynocentric is the "old"
egalitarian movement, no?
let's see how this plays out...

              the old model worked according to: left to right...
or right to left... oh... not a spectacular specimen...
started talking me with all seriousness of
casualness... i hate my hair...
but you wear a baseball cap, mate, no wonder your
hair is matted... heard of Agar oil?
it's so much better than wax or hair gel...
but of course i didn't say it...
all the Asians with beards use it on their beards...
they carry bottles of Agar oil in their pockets to oil
up their ****** *****... i would too...
hadn't i oiled up before every shift...

sure thing mate... you do you "i'm not a sexist"
experiment by breaking the women before the men...

i'm just trying to figure out what i could possibly write
if i were in the vicinity of children that belong
to other people, how i could mould them with
the PROPER sort of ROT of explorative
tactics... hmm...

i'm getting a hard-on just thinking about it...
just the past two days i've been punishing myself
with a pleasure-delay tactic,
tomorrow i'm going to scoop the buds...
******* without *******...
my god... my hands are big...
no wonder i built up a beard-envy
and sort of forgot about a ***** envy...
the last ******* was sort of inhibited with her
pleasures... sort of uncomfortable...
half-way in and already the signs of discomfort...
big hands... mega business of jazz clapping...
well... that's life...

the KOMBUCHA mushroom people!
   shoe-g'ah!
rewrite everything in English phonetically!
come here, pwetty! give us a kiss!
smooches: yummy yummy!

but this guy "thought" he figured it out...
giving out all the breaks to the women
first, before the males...
i gave him the "substance" of "sport"...
work out? like **** it did...
one elder steward rebelled...
d'uh...
i'm taking into liking the Somali girls...
a Somali girl actually sent him back
to do things hierarchically...
from left, to right...
i'm a man... but i'm not a sexist...
seriously, mate, you're not a male...

it took a Muslim girl to teach you otherwise...
all smiling, smiles in slime...
i implored her: you know it wasn't my idea...
you know that he was just trying to get
his ***** wet in your ****:
not as literally...
she agreed with the most beautiful smile...
i'm starting to get turned off by white girls...
i'm starting to get turned off by white girls...
i'm finding the ones in niqabs and of a certain
ethnic "persuasion! rather attractive:
like one manager in the company
said the basics: black don't crack...

i'm looking at these girls and thinking:
butter melting by the power of the moon's rays...
how pretty they look...
i terribly want to **** them...
i'll terribly **** them!
these clues into nuns that Muslim women are
for a Don Giovanni...
these pretty petite Somali noses...
i bite i bite i bite i want to bite them
like cherries!

no wonder then...
i masturbated for two days prior to engaging with
the prostitutes...
i checked the proportions and non-proportions...
i'm done dealing with the ***-affairs of
stereotypical men...
i'll be ******* anything that moves...
married? not my problem!
seriously, not, my, problem!

mosh-pit carnal maggot fun!
well... if one generation sold us the patriarchal restrictions
being lifted, and what? we're to return to
a patriarchal system of "authority"...
you, what?!
i'm not going to live a life my elders lived with
full freedom that i'm somehow supposed to
inhibit, deny myself...

oh... i'm going to have the same as them: please!
no please?
then i'll **** the status quo!
simple!

the night crawls into a fruition of being limited
with being imbed....
two spiders for the worth of my hands....
i will die the most exotic pain
imaginable....
i iwlll surprise the "lost crowd".....
i will surprise the brothel...
30 minutes with one...
then as i am about to leave:
30 minutes with another...
and another... and another...
and another...

              one of those Lucy Letby trials...
only men are monsters...
my hernia and my Chernobyll
tattoo: the one she almost choked me
with... i survived...
i shouldn't have survived...
woman! agony to come!

i scratch my beard... i think: time is...
precious...
but women are very little inclined
into this dynamic.....
the world can burn!

death's trough: and pigs eat ****....
   best, kept reminder!

       well what a shift i truly wasn't expecting yout atypical
chocaletiers to come up with a game
of: broken chair frisby...
that yellow burning man pyro-technics was also
spectacular... but not even my mum would be
so concerned about my well-being as
this supervisor was today... what a terrible sloppy
mommy... i don't need to be protected
by your inability to protect me: i'll judge for myself...
******* busdy body...
i want in on the action...
    
i just couldn't wait for the shift to end...
i promised Frankie a review of the hash she sold me...
i told her:
i need to be tired from a shift,
i need some whiskey... i need an imaginary
octopus slobbering on my cranoum,
i need ***...

funny... the freely i have *** the more i'm detached
from it...
once upon a time i was all about pleasing
women... after they stopped pleasing me
i figured out: a **** it modus operandi...
time to be taken care of...
i think i'm so emotionally detached while having
*** that i'm borderline psychopathic...

not that i have any vanity project coming across
implying i might be hurt by
this condescending word...
no, rather the opposite: i very much enjoy it...

just today i stole another kiss from a *******...
she was so unwilling telling me:
you moustache is fiddly and it's tickling me...
but we kissed nonetheless...
she wasn't into ******* vaginally...
i felt growing limp at some point...
mental blockage...
it happens...
never again will i spend two days prior
jerking off without *******...
i know the "even horizon" of jerking off
and the moment when the head of the phallus
is being pierced via the ******* being
expanded: for men... anti-circumcision...
it's like being a ****** again and again: and again: and again...

she blew me, then massaged me with her long
fingernails...
oh... once she reached my cranium,
neck and shoulders... it felt better than the *******...
i was going limp... why? mental constipation...
it happens with men...
i was actually thinking about the furnace
of nothingness after *** after smoking some Afghan
hash... having grated into a cigarette on
a Rodin's take of ******* NUTMEG!

i ****, i love *******,
but i'm surrounded by people who don't like *******...
a terrible bewilderment...
to be alive is to love to ****...
who am i surrounded by? people who have attired themselves
in: progeny...
  people with children...
careless and carefree mothers of agony...

II.

i have to admit, it took me about 4 hours to wake up:
wake up proper...
each time i opened my eyes i felt myself
needing to turn to my side and fall back into nothingness
of that currency of switch-off brain
(let the body recuperate) -
a comforting numbness with a side dish of tickling
and fuzziness...
i woke up absolutely not interested in thinking...
for once... i wanted to absorb last night: fully...
frankly, i didn't want to let last night go...

O grand father time and the river that's your bride...
what a gloomy day... my perfect sort of day,
i'm so very fond of the weather of England,
more so the weather of Scotland,
island weather: my kind of weather,
gloomy, autumnal, the sweetness of botanical decay
and all the flourish of chlorophyll retreating from
the once bulging leaves of green...

wow... so that's what it feels like?
like that photograph by Richard Lam with the couple
who were knocked down by the riot police
during the Vancouver hockey riots
(Stanley Cup playoffs)...
well, last night it wasn't exactly like that...

west ham vs. Anderlecht... what a shift...
flares were thrown either side, chairs were ripped out
and used as frisbees... coins were thrown...
and i was on the edge of the tension...
me? never in a million years could have thought
the Belgians to be so triggered...
in comparison the Danish and German fans were tame...
phew...

afterwards like i said:
a magical combination of work fatigue,
an 8.2% cider and two or three sips of whiskey...
three cigarettes,
brothel... ***...
well... she didn't feel like having ***...
she felt like performing oral *** and looking
at herself in the mirror...
that's the first time i've seen it...
alternating from looking in the mirror at herself
and looking into your eyes
and then closing her eyes... a rare combination...
it's usually eyes looking at you
or eyes closed... rarely out of her own accord
looking at herself in the mirror...

and then? laying on my stomach the better part
of the evening: a massage... shoulders...
back... long nails digging into my flesh and...
roughing up my hair...
then? persuasions to steal a kiss...
yes! stole one... she was put off slightly by the tickling
of my beard...
but my god... those nails digging into my shoulders
neck and head...

another one i will give a book of poetry to...
raven hair work of a blue night in Venice...
then onto home and some more whiskey
and... that Afghan hash...
   two pinches of it being heated up... so... not much...

i just smoked a cigarette and opened my cigarette ash
tray (a jar that formerly housed pickles)
and peered in... what?! i only smoked half of the Afghan
hash joint?! seriously?!
i'm a light-weight... that 15 year break from smoking
anything has seriously did me some good....
me? last night? i was travelling across the entire
universe... i was hallucinating a darkness that was
a thinking-darkness that was heartbeat-darkness
a musical-darkness... i was travelling with the sort
of energy that could connect the dots between
gravity and antimatter...
     i was on the edge of a black hole and my heart was
dancing...
upon waking you have to listen to something
like Bruce Springsteen's Human Touch...

a touch of a woman... i'll agree with any critic:
i am a paranoid psychopath during ***...
i don't like being lied to during ***...
i have enough pornographic doubts to understand
that i don't want to be ******* an actress...
she might be a *******: but to hell with *******
actresses... even in their own words
they are asexual... prostitutes on the other hand
are closer to nymphomaniacs than actresses...

what, after the ****** revolution of the 1960s
future generations would tame the whole Pandora down?!
i don't think so... the Vietnam war had the best
soundtrack (period)... am i going to slow down?
no! but this Western Model that a man has to have a *******
horse cart and cottage to have *** is beneath me...
no! no! i looked into the Japanese model of
the Love Hotels and figured...
well... that's not getting any traction over here...
and since i'm only willing to follow the Laws of the Dogs
i.e. a dog only ***** if a ***** is willing to give...

and if prostitutes are the only ones willing while
the remaining women are interested in pair bonding
*******... i tried that... dates... clams and oysters
and spaghetti dates... cinema dates...
russian roulette of condoms and contraceptive pills...
i tried but i figured...
not even the whole dating app hook-up culture...
that **** passed me by, i was being busy in my 20s
unravelling a schizophrenia misdiagnosis
and reading up on philosophy...

                         imagine that... unlike Syd Barrett...
i descended into madness and... looks like many years
later i have emerged a pillar of nerves...
i'm calm during crowd riots,
i'm calm in the middle of one guy trying to choke
another guy to death while calming both of them...
and i can sit very calmly across 5 women that
i ******... oh sure... and i don't need that much
alcohol to have a brave heart... just a little...
and i won't flinch... i'll look all five of them in the eyes
and take my time before choosing one
of them for yet another night...
  
Western narratives morphing words like
******* into *** worker... "*** traffic" blah blah...
spoken by women about women
who actually enjoy having ***...
a female intellectual is hardly interested in ***:
true or false statement?
sooner rather than later i realised that i'm
more than just a political or a social animal...
i'm a ****** animal...

i like the idea of: an abstraction of people...
a sort of pedestrian abstraction... a quickie encounter...
a snippet of an entire other world that appears
and disappears as one might assume for it to be the case
in the macrocosm reality of time and all the people
in the world and the past and future to come...
but this... in a microcosm sort of imitating-the-host-of-god
so of way...

maybe because it's because of that Van Morrison song
Brown Eyed Girl... maybe, just maybe...
a well worn leather peeping through those eyes,
a body i could pretend to sit on
and snooze, or something like that...
it's just so much easier when women drop all their guards
and something casual can be achieved
without all that neuroticism of relationships...

i wish i learned this lesson when i was younger:
you can never love one woman,
well... you can love your mother,
you can tease your mother in a way that she feels
more like a friend than some authority figure...
and even if there's Lucy Letby when you were
born, attempting to **** you by somehow choking
you in a way that enlarged your heart
on top of the hernia and oh: if mother was in agony
giving birth to you you gave a second birth unto
yourself with equal agony:
no wonder that i turned to prostitutes for what
i really needed...
the medication of touch...

i'm not going to hide my intentions or for that matter
boast with "performance cues"...
sometimes it's long, sometimes it's short...
sometimes this, sometimes that...
but i'm sometimes a very impatient man
and i don't like being impatient...
even now: it would be pointless to merely focus my
attention on one woman...
a projected investment with Khadra that i ended
with buying her lingerie and not over-stepping
her demands to push further with 18-carat
earrings and necklace: let's be realistic...

of all the things i gave her, my bleeding heart of
poems blah blah...

point being, i just have Samuel Little and Jack the Ripper
on my mind when engaging with ***
with prostitutes... esp. when kissing them...
how could they?
**** me... not enough girls out there to ready yourself
for work in a nightclub and save up enough
dough to buy a mandolin and play it outside one
those girl's windows...

in a way i'm a loser that won...
a very limited number of pastimes occupying my mind...
reading, writing, listening to music,
cycling, walking, ***...
i replaced watching movies with the cinema of
my memory... surely if i were a bad man i wouldn't
want to remember anything from the past...
hell... if there's no afterlife i'll just relive my life
in reverse... i jump into the vehicle of memory
and unravel all that i have forgotten...
because i don't believe eternity could be spent
so idly as presented by either heaven or a hell stasis
of a realm...
i could fill out eternity given the dynamic of what
i remember and what i have forgotten
(not by choice, but by the naturally fickle selection
of memory, eroded by the pedagogy rubrics
of arithmetic and spelling, to begin with)...