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Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
.some sort of variation: the written and therefore... read... past and present making case... not so... easily... digested... and / or... marketed... when... encapsulated in a video... format... the written and the... much later... read... almost a colour... a pristine relief to masquerade... some sort of purple in a deepening plum of cherry... and giving it a name: burgundy... then again: that's also inquiring to ***** the "matter" with some plum... since when burgundy arrives... it's no maroon... hell no: concerning... fuchsia... burgundy and maroon are not... colour-statements... less... fluorescence... less... all that... otherwise... bothersome... haze and "jazz"...

i tried to sit through: mozart's magic flute...
being broadcast...
locktown: down down down...
          and somehow not out...
what's the half-terrible song
by falco...

   best known when cited by:
bloodhound gang....

i tried sitting through...
this... when genius meets "genius"...
this... one-time when german
took up... concerns for...
their expression of humour...
  the opera: singspiel... opéra comique...
the gods were somehow...
laughing: then... but fickle as they are...
i don't buy into either the joke
or... that... there's a somehow...
or this being... the classical:
           best kept: ortiface...
               rock me amadeus:
                 - 1782: marries constance...
     - 1784: mozart becomes a freemason
      - 1791: mozart composes the magic flute...

when did mozart compose the marriage of
figaro?                1786...
   the hidden depth of elevating
laughter...
        it's the magic flute... though...
but then... all this...
    verb-with-a-past-participle...
    to speak with a "future-past" presence
of a continuum:
              
  i tried sitting through mozart's magic
flute...
           but knowing the history...
this... wasn't... an ode to... the freemasons?
the magic flute is supposedly
magical than... first come first served...

papageno and the glockenspiel...
don quixote and the arrived at...
conquistador windmills...
                  
   i tried to sit through it...
i had to nip off to the bathroom
to play a game of "chess"
and *******...
because... as one has to...
check one's blood pressure...
check one's blood sugar level...
one just has to... *******...
whether there's a lover to be minded...
or... the taboo of *******...
or: inverted choc burning
the yeast buns via the oven
of ****!
                     this solo project:
this dodo project:
was always going to be...
an... irritating foundation stone
of: this is all modern...
the critique too...
hardly anticipating the norms
to be... antiquated and victorian...

          perhaps i couldn't sit through...
mozart's magic flute...
because... i just couldn't...
sit through... that sort of german best kept
secret: humour...
            
opera and the staging of humour...
i can somehow understand the...
solipsistic... autistic focus for stand-up...
comedy...
        singspiel... whenever that was
important...
           stand-up monologue humour
contra: the swizz cabaret...
        some variation of uncle voltaire...
and opera is her...
              loot...
   and all those... teasing at opera:
within the confines of: the suffix:
the opera-and-the-tics!
              
                kommen (sie) die stunde,
     die tag... die jetzt...
          eine jahreszeit...
                       besser gekleidet...

even when not living up to...
lye-v...
              canned laughter...
it's so vell Under's'tOOd...
          the jokes comes with a zeppelin...
and truance...
irritating sound...
the sound of a shattering of mirrors...
an irritating sound...
the sound of... biting fingernails...
an irritating sound...
    eating a ripe fruit like
it does resound...
performing oral *** on a ******...

            company on a tube...
relic of a journey...
  steppenwolf...
                 hessian bride... my most...
lacklustre improv. of retaining...
privy...
           commentary for...
thoese yet to be woken by...
           the... awaiting lost appetite for...
soap opera...
   clinging toward a kept...
routine... like brushing one's teeth...
which... opera per se...
isn't even... remotely... part of;

high-brow injustices of...
                          how will that make
you: yuppy-up...
leverage... a plateau... once more...
for me?
Jay Jimenez Mar 2013
Im so awkward
Like I catch people
catching people catch me
Staring at them people
And I pretend like I don't hear them
Saying ***
look at his tattoos
and all he ****** does is smoke cigs
And longboard
I see that in their yuppy *** faces
*** we got so rich and cool
And lost all your freedom
******* and your shrimp platter
and your ****** puma im gonna burns calories on the tredmil
Of every day rich life
My tredmil is living paycheck to paycheck
******* the world
and kissing a girl
cuz really the paychecks pay for our ways to get laid
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.that moment, when you realiße... "it's not yet another garry glitter song"... because quiet frankly... you still haven't seen Joker... you're stuffing raw dough into biscuit shapes in a make-shift Tibet... as a raw-treat... and your body is tombstone stiff... but your eyes are on fire and your soul is dancing... synonym parade... because gary glitter can be excused in the same way that: rob halford... rob halford isn't gay... isn't gay the metalheads would otherwise say... but because the song can exist per se... since... a glaring gary is no... jimmy 'the kid-fiddling dj' savile... and he's... no ian watkins... because... if you asked me... rock & roll part II is a gary glitter song? och! ouch! pinch-punch 1st of April is upon us recoil... hell no! i still read marquis de sade... only because by my standards... he's quiet decent... all he ever did wrong was use the imagery of a crucifix as a ***** when asking a ******* to peform the sado-masochistic act of ******* before him... otherwise his phallus was lost in the niqab of the bastille... his uncle though? ah! that's another matter! although: much aggrieved but somehow agreed... you could still buy marquis de sade's novella ****** in London, once upon a time... perhaps you still can... but does that even matter? i am about to get a primer about the Iranian inherent hate for h'america anytime soon... about how h'americans manage to bundle the Persians into the rag-ah-muffin crowd of camel-jockeys and easily replaced arab donors... and those poor iraqis... doing their bit...  who is to forget the phrase: turbanator? i.e. not referring to sikhs... no one besides moi... welcome to l'inglese... the modern lingua franca... and i do feel so sorry so very so very much for the natives that were beither born in Bratford or the rustbelt fly-over states of h'america... if joe biden says: learn to code! guess what i was but wasn't told being ***** from a ******* that was poland come the drop of the iron curtain of the 1990s... coming to the 2020s... me conjuring up the Silicon Curtain?! really? adverse to learn to code... learn a new language! and globalißation will "win"... internationalism already works on a bilingual basis... there's the established language of commerce... which is english... i'm sorry... i'll be kind... "you" will have to move... if not cognitively... then otherwise... i learned yours... learn mine! that's the motto... this is where linguistic nativism comes in... not borrowed time from places like h'america... not some emblem worship... just ol' lil' england... i hope this doesn't reach a wide audience... i am having to consider learning romanian... du-te dracului! that's a starter...

i've found out that, the only way to truly enjoy
a glass of red wine is...
to have also rolled your own tobacco...
and since we're talking the highest quality rolling
tobacco: golden virginia...
after rolling it... you gentle bask it in a lighter's flame
from top to bottom... to warm it up...
so you don't have to finish it off as if *******
through a straw...

that's of course if you're drinking red wine on its own...
but there's a reason why i hanged around
with a few spaniards in the past...
why i went to paris and met this two catalonian
hot-takes... who i later visited in Barcelona...
drank kalimotxo for a while getting ready
to hit the party scene...
was given my first joint in my life...
and... hello lullaby...

next day we toured the sights...
we never made it to the gothic quarter...
or the el reval...
we went into one of those shops
in a shopping mall that sell everything...
that's when i discovered portishead's debut:
dummy all by myself...
and then onto camp nou...
to be honest... throughout all this time...
i felt like a glove...
no really... i felt my company was being...
tested as to whether it could be well worn
and: worn out at a much later date...
i was, what, 19 then?

what will leave me well versed in travel,
jumping continents?
i should really add prague along the line somewhere...
the days when i would solo for a weekend
and never bother with any if at all: precautions...
i can't imagine the sort of trips
my "highschool friends" took...
en masse... and always to a resort -
say, in greece...

the joker scenes are out...
the scene where he's dancing on the stairs...
sounds good... mhmm...
oh... this is gary glitter?
the art has absolutely nothing to do with the artist...
it's not like gary glitter can get away with it...
but... i'm pretty sure he can get away
whereas... ian watkins?
in that crushing defeat of musical genres...
when emo wasn't quiet a thing...
and nu-metal didn't die out...

i'm a cheap ***: all the people are raving /
were raving about a film...
and i'm waiting for the delayed spectacle...
only recently... avengers: end game?
what a major ******...
this "self-aware" introspection into movie
franchises that explore time-travel...
here's an alternative: study chemistry
and get a hippo's ***** ready on the wet
dip... i'm guessing this is a period of time
when: the genre of science fiction will
slowly die off...
i don't see how science fiction can sustain
itself...

- which is always beside the point...
moving on... english... this acquired tongue of
mine...
if only i were so adamant as a czesław miłosz:
had i a translator's worth of shadow,
and baggage running around after me...
like a sacred cow of the Raj...
how did i learn to mitigate?
i don't know... what i do know is...
drinking and habits of listening to music...

it starts off with: listening to some
music using english...
it sooner or later gravitates toward
something in german...
after i tire myself of german lyrics...
i'm heading toward scandinavia...
chances are: i will visit "mother russia"...
but i'll probably sink into
visiting byzantine chants...
once i figured out a way to move
from scandinavian paganism...
work my way past german folk
from the medieval period...
and finally arrive at: αγνη παρθενε...
obviously i will have to stop over
some quasi-folk germanic songs...
northern crusades:
teutonic songs... or the templar songs:

da pacem domine...
pristine times! the drunk carol singers
has sung their bit... there was no rest
for the wicked...
the carol: god rest ye merry, gentlemen
was sang...
reality of the everyday happened
no day shy away from the "celebration"...
i find more comfort in songs
of the templars...
perhaps the gregorians with their calender...
but most certainly the byzantine choir...

of ancient greece and what is known...
what can stand out from byzantine greece?
except from: byzantine bureaucracy?
counting knots in the fish-net stocking
on a centipede crawling out of a harem?

my musical diet: when i drink...
i can't listen to music when english is involved:
for too long a "passing" of: enjoying it...
i grow a beard and satan mount
a throne of wood and amber...
fiddling with it like a mad maestro that
has been given 100 violins and no...
woodwinds... and this is my "orchestra"...
a beard... crux of central europe:
with the zenith on the border of the river
Oder...

i do wonder what this scenario would look like;
if the girl gambled otherwise...
the pretty-****-pick sent by my offspring...
or my full-crop of hair...
and a beard... ***** envy can hardly be
a social events on the pedestrian stage...
but cranium envy?

the diet for a session begins...
it has to begin in english...
but who knows where i'm otherwise willing
to lend an ear to?
i can't be stuck with music i can understand
lyrically...
if i can't understand how to compose music...
well i did once know how to play
the ***-ar... and worked a nightclub
for a mandolin: just to serenade a Fiona
from a window a maggie may by:
rod-it stuart in edinburgh... once...

how romantic of anyone...
hell... this is still in english?
why aren't i pulling the strings of a czesław miłosz
and not retaining my nativspreschen?
why? i love to tickle german...
i love to tickle deutsche more than i care
for speaking english, or... rather...
writing in it...
but unlike a czesław miłosz... i didn't bring
a linguistic ghetto with me...
i don't have a ****** ghetto to go to...
perhaps... if i mingled with enough
of my "fellow", "countrymen"...
much easier said than done: if you're Irish...
and the only THing you have to worry
about is... diacritical nuance...
the THing, the Θing... is an english:
what the irish consider to be a surd affair...
T'h'ING... it's a t'ing... not ******* F even
if you looked at it with a bollocking of
a microscope, either!

- and this once high-school "fwend" once suggested...
'maybe you should go and find your own
fellow countrymen'...
who the **** do i look like? paddy?
an arab, an iranian, an italian...
or some *****-cheeky-cheese-brigade of sorts?!
my, "fellow" and "countrymen"...
on foreign soil? em... allegience to who?
i have severed my ties with Poland...
i keep my ties with Poland on the basis that:
my grandfather and grandmother are still
alive... when i visit them...
i don't expect them to be into this whole:
post-nationalism: internationalism non-nationalism
globalisation gimmick of: at least,
at least the modern lingua franca:
which is the l'inglese....
because... quiet frankly? i have a stash of:
mutterzunge bubbling beneath what's being written,
with some mongrel-german and mongrel-russia
auxilliary...

ah... the natives of the english tongue...
well... it's quiet expansive...
it can go beyond encompassing merely england...
it can go so far as to tread over scottish gaelic...
somewhat irish gaelic too...
only zee Velsh... seem to be... W: whistling free
in their linguistic stand-off...
who the hell even bothers to hear
about any scottish gaelic?
there's only gaelic gaelic: irish gaelic...
and there's welsh...
scotch gaelic? huh? apart from: a wee this
and a wee that?
*******... tartan and god's **** *******
of beer and the side-trash-dish of the savior
of whiskey in a gulp of ms. amber's **** juices
from a...
one of those distilleries...
that served up a whiskey tokaj whiskey...
i still remember the picture...
a girl i was dating took the picture...
in front of her a belarusian jew cosmo...
to her left... a russian looking into the glass
of whiskey with some philosiphical insight
begging to come out...
to her right... a dog ****** with his nose
in the matter...

figures... the ****** will sniff **** out...
the russian will: peer into the glass
for some "magical" insight...
philosophy or what not...

as if insuating: concerning the "little" people
of europe...
unlike the portugese, the spanish,
the italians or the greeks: acronym: PIGS...
but i least i'm no czesław miłosz:
i don't need to move to cam'cam'h'america
with a language in tow:
for some sort of lesson of: preserving roots
for a tree...
my version is apparently:
the bad integration strategy...
esp. on paper...
why would i still retain my tongue...
on paper... in this medium...
citizen ist citizen:
bürger ist bürger ist mir!

heaven behold i have to use alt sächsisch vaterzunge
to speak to the grünschnabel...
i fear for the natives of this tongue:
esp. since hiding behind the stipend of:
the empire upon which the sun never sets...
to have to hide behind a cultural import
from h'america...
or australia... is what gives rise to these
pseudo-communist grey areas of Bratford...
or Islam-came-ah-knocking in
Rotherham...

even i have to escape this...
this l'inglese... this new frontier of...
no frontier at all: except for the skull moon...
and baggage of frohlicht!

is priti patel a civic nationalist?
well i'd be ******* sterile if i didn't say:
a babe with class any loser in
my vicinity said: a banger...
if priti patel is not a civic nationalist...
then i'm not in england...
i'm nowhere...
******* banging bunny... anyways...
and the first time i managed to ******
a black girl for a quickie...
it took just the right amount of cocktails and...
enough coccyx banging into my pelvis that...
i... almost wished for a 12" ****
and the "proper *****"...
no... really... imagine a black girl mixed with...
a stick insect... and you just so happen
to have served her up...
a genuis concoction of cocktails...
the coccyx is bound to appear...
alligned to your poor-pelvis plum-sore...
one time or another:
no ***** envy in sight...

hence my "wish"... give me the 12" cod...
and enough plump *** as that will allow...
otherwise: no...
i would still like to imagine being
circumcised via the orthodox methods:
of a rabbi... not via some over-*******...

why am i writing about this with such fondness?
em... 21... nearing 34...
i can count... how many times i've had ***...
using only my fingers...
that's beside counting the prostitutes...
which... when you forget to trim your ***** hair
and you just end up kissing for an hour...
kissing prostitutes: what a noble affair...
bumble, trumble, tumble, twitter, bitter...
grinder... tinder... don't know:
i can't remember having owned a smartphone...
or a mobile...
that ambition died when:
i was left with calls 10 minutes from a meeting
for a pint... on a bus...

that's... 34 - 21... 13 years with sporadic
casual *** patterns...
oh and that thai bisexual girl... woman...
boy... i picked up from a park bench...
we listened to some jazz... drank some beers...
"weaped"... then had a cigarette in the garden
and ****** while i was kept in suspence...
honestly: i didn't know what i was getting myself
into... it was a thai surprise moment...
sports bra... and... until i reached into
the nadir of the zenith did i find out...
phew... no pronoun debauchery...

13 years and the sort of *** life that could
be celebrated by a *******
harriet turtles of the islands of galapagos...
while, around me, in the vicinity:
kama surtras left right and center!
why would i drift toward...
scandinavian pagan songs...
byzantine chants... crusader anthems?
i don't know: it's hard to punctuate
ridicule into that sentence... ridicule and irony...
self-depreciating humor...

- 'music was terrible in the 2010s'...
perhaps... except of a ****** band: LAO CHE...
i will still be punching myself over
my sentiments...
and "they" can come and speak english
like it's "theirs"...
but at the same time... not be "english" at
the same time...
perhaps it's the north h'american conundrum
of patriotism with the old continent
sentiment "for" nationalism...
perhaps if we all speak this one
magical language...
we can still find ourselves
with unboxing cues in a bazar in Tehran...

and they were Persians before
the Arab camel-jockeys came...
and that spirit of poetry died
and the old antagonism with the Greeks:
too died...
arab camel-jockeys with their... sole book...
and enough time...
enough time to see them sitting on
an iceberg of dinosaur crude fuel...
that truly was and is a miracle...
i still don't see why the Ottomans wouldn't
want to treat the camel-jockeys as they
should have to have prospered:
since no Lawrence would ever come from
ottoman Istambul...

but oh oh: tuba büyüküstün the god-smacker
and the slow death of martyrs' promised: harems...
even a slow-to-understand man
can find his solomon and his queen of sheba...
somehow, "somewhere"...

so much for drinking some wine...
and: it's not like speaking the truth, drunk,
managed to get anyone into trouble...
perhaps the "kind" alternative?
nietzsche on barbiturates?

i sometimes wish i could be alligned
to a female sort of companionship...
without the immediate awe-struck beauty parallel
with: what's actually beneath being
awe-struck... but no...
i will have to do my best with dogs,
cats, the odd fox... and pyramids and pyramids
of stacked ms. amber bottles...

wine and the gods' anemia... or haemophilia...
i never which one it is...
i almost wish i could sentence myself
to the banal grey-ish merger of:
the everyday with a woman...
but... alas... i still have a mother...
and i'm still unsure about the times
when she's lying or telling the truth...
but, given, she's my mother...
i allow her the benefit of the doubt...
having a mother is enough to:

going down the river of keeping a woman
company: in company that precludes
having *** with her...
bad grammar or just the unnecessary word:
precludes...

it's enough to be in a company of a woman
you can't have *** with...
and quiet another...
to be in a company... you can have *** with...
this "can" will probably never
arrive at the sober conclusion of:
you "might" or... that you even "will"...
i guess the antithesis of gambling came
when prostitution wasn't allowed...
a man sought alternatives...
50p bet and all the thrills....
that... yep... 110 quid an hour would never give...
gambling and *******...
the siamese child of desolation of
Moloch and his bride: Ursula (usury)...

what's that "motto"? when the fun stops: stop?
here's a way to figure it out:
see a ***** before you start gambling...
and when you gamble...
bet for a quarter... less than but equal to / no more
than a pound...
i've started to bet on football results:
a win... and the other team also scores...
i managed to find a bet accumulator...
that would leave me off...
over 200K richer... from having bet a pound...

like i once mentioned...
the 3Ps of today's clinical "advice"...
there's the priest... n'ah...
there's the psychiatrist (you'll want to see him
first, seeing a psychologist is pointless...
he has no prescriptive authority...
he's no big pharma loved-up yuppy sort of...
gwy)...
or there's the *******...
priest, psychiatrist... *******...
i did the priestly bit when i visited
a monestary in France, Taize...
i was young and the hormones weren't kicking in,
just yet, and i would have stayed...
but i wasn't rich enough to buy myself
a place at that, kind of, prestigious "university"...

psychologists and psychiatrists...
what the tongue can't lick or taste:
a tongue can't heal...
talk talk talk... but no: suma summarum:
no oeuvre momentum...

prostitutes and betting habbits it was...
settled...
this one maroccan colt with his one maxim:
there's no water in a desert...
ever see more water than that in a puddle
in a concrete jungle?
and that's hoping for: evian...
tapeworm free water... ever?!

so much for tinder...
and so much for... ahem... adverts: ok cupid...
claustrophobic dating advice with no
spares...
if you can't pick them up fresh
from a park bench of uncertainty waiting
for that, that thai surprise?
so much for being a h'american...
and a *** tourist... in Odessa...
of Kiev... or getting milked for the bogus
*****-****-thrill of it:
to genesis the whole model escapade of:
dosh stashed in a porky inch-by-inch
leather itch of: spend spend spend!
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
the internet wasn't originally intended as the playground for the young, who have no reason to convince themselves of a need to either dogmatise proper spelling, or proper diacritical-punctuation... hálo humpty-dumpty! utter that hark like a dragon!

i have something more volatile than atoms
to construct an atom bomb and
cite Oppenheimer -
i have letters as atoms, words as minor
twitches, and language as Samael:
the death-breathing harvesting resurrector...
  i call the film *a beautiful mind

a perfect case of a beautiful propaganda
machine that backfired...
  if that mathematician who died "tragically"
in car-crash was anything to go by
with having his negation of ease hijacked,
exemplified, magnified to scare the public,
then Gabriel must have been a really sweet
soothsayer in Muhammad's ear...
   because someone with that kind of imagination
to conjure up people should have never
worked for the emerging C.I.A. or F.B.I.:
but Walt ******* Disney... to be sure of it:
Bukowski run parallels with the story:
staying drunk: to keep up with the sober-imaginative
collective: i would have done the same...
can you believe i've passed the 50h mark
on not sleeping under a self-imposed
example of what's barely a scratch of the
siberian gulags?
                   can you imagine that i...
simply had a fetish for it? imagine being awake for
over 50 hours... and having a nearing-****
audacity to not fall asleep for a minute?
can you imagine the military rigour of such
an endeavour?
   must have been self-taught and therefore, very
much indie: selling to the highest bidder.
oh please don't take my literal Monday's worth
of vocabulary truthfulness on it:
i'll play truant on it:
   i don't have people-friendly devices to keep
up with gossip, the rule is:
you can only go mad once,
you can play double jeopardy with madness...
    talk going mad a second time...
        i'll talk about recreating carnage park
in essex... you know what's scary about
that horror movie? it happens at high-noon...
there's nothing eerie about the night...
with the night i think the solace of death
and the never-ending and the never-shifting queue
of names, dates, and the ultra sensitive invocations
of faking epitaphs, i mean, inscribing things
on graves the people who "own" the graves
never had the capacity to say, in the first place.
but you know what scared me about
the film carnage park? the first horror movie
based upon Hitchcock "resurrected" -
but it was never about it... there's no close-proximity,
you actually see the culprits face...
   the idea being: humanising the man executing
moral justification by tugging the guillotine
or pushing the switch on the electric chair...
it's all about moral ambiguity,
hence the horror is all about daylight,
daylight representing the quasi-assurance of your
own judgement: and could you do the justice
by bypassing all jurisprudence paperwork?
  daylight is important in this movie...
                 nothing is hidden, nothing is romantic,
because the man in question is a ******,
he's not a torturer... the invocation of agoraphobia
is seminal! no... subliminal! Greeks invented little
fears and allowed them to be wedded for magnification
given that theatre is extinct... little phobias
create big budget exploits...
   but this is a first of exploiting agoraphobia...
       and agoraphobia could only be exploited in
high-noon... when i think of night these days
i think of the j. r. r. tolkien romance novels of
what man once had... adventure...
these days? plain talk? tourism.
                            i never could think it could be done:
but apparently is has been done...
           the ever distant voyeurism is also gone...
how can anyone be voyeuristic in an agoraphobic space?
   you're basically knitting and deforming
a large space into a pixel... there's no sadism either,
no loch ness barrage of torture methods,
only what man employes to capture animals...
   it's militarism: solo...
        the true essence of a renegade:
   antidote to indoctrination...
             exemplified by the fact that no matter what
mask you give the horror, the mundaneness of it
doesn't go away: because it's not hidden,
  the placebo horror scenario -
          we fake hiding from it... horror these days
is medicinised by fantasy... which is the abhorrent
quality of our times: over-assurance...
    our times are too self-servient, too self-assured...
too comfortable... we're championing
arrogance, calling our predecessors incompetent
*******... oil on the flames? maybe...
                       we prefer to imagine dragons than
see actual dragons among us...
                       that's why we seem to begin with
congratulating dinosaurs into having begun
   as abstract spines that the serpents of our times are...
us? to our inheritors? brains in pickle jars.
we have already started the process of pickling ourselves
by extracting as much as we could from our being
and encoding it into artificiality...
        anyone with a global invasion tactic can easily
tap into this "economy"... it's not an encyclopedia...
it's an economised unitary model readied for
exploitation for invasion...
       do i share the film's culprit paranoia?
well... i share his defence of environmental study...
but having provided the most adequate striking-point
             with the utmost drama of cyber-warfare debate
and all counters against ourselves...
            would i choose this maniac over a wall st. yuppy?
          what's that... vomito ***** vs. huey & the news?
if only i was paranoid after having watched this
movie... i'd see it spread akin to the bubonic plague...
but it's apathy that's the bubonic plague:
since it's the most effective safety-mechanism virus...
you get that docile look and try to suddenly say huh?
with surprise, but you get a choking sensation
as if you just swallowed a hazelnut.
      people get these fantasies about other evolutionary
lifeforms... it's not ******* c.i.a. crap about
      everyone working for them being called mr. &
mrs. smith... just so they can dodge bullets
   and buy milk at their local supermarket...
                      without being asked for autographs and
selfies... and have you ever seen a film critique engaging
with a character that says very little, and then
hysterically laugh, with a sense of music akin to
playing front 242's album 06:21:03:11 up evil?
      the true test of horror is music... the visuals can
be Marquis de Sade in Disneyland... and no number
of groans will do it... if the music has
         transylvania's chant of the chastity of anti-sodomites
written all over it... you're in for a knee-jerker...
the diabolical thing about this film is that it
has the double-effect whether it's watched at night
or during the day... the first horror movie that
doesn't invoke close contact between predator and
the prey, along with not even making the night
as something orthodoxically necessary to craft
                                      horror thematism.
well... plus it's a testament to existentialism
in the case of the hostage being "unrightfully"
attested in a crime... the existentialist would
simply conjure up: possible bait / excuse and
unwillful thinking necessary for his own
             victimised self-reflecting-counter-via
the reflex-of-against-self-discriminatory-collective-input...
radical­ised into a reflex puritanism:
   abiding by cohort norms was not enough
                for the cohort minimum:
                    pyramidal elevation was necessary,
               and there was no human explanation
beyond certain matters, all else was justified
in the three digressions: diabolical, angelic or genius:
the madness only came when one claimed to
hear instructions from the devil, or from god,
                        or claimed to be a geniusº.
  disregarding the two fabrics of a self,
the one prior and the one post collective-input
    regarding a doctrine needing a "self", an "individual",
nevertheless: but a pawn.

      ºthere's no articulation of god, which is why
we have no article ascribing a definite or an indefinite
nature toward him, which is why paupers reduce this
argument, debase it to the level of pronouns -
the reason why we cite a genius and the devil...
is because only angels have names...
                              even the fallen ones...
           for they have a misnomer of god, as we have
a misnomer for many a good things.
The room was filled with freak ******'s and other assorted nut jobs and then there were the folks that weren't writers.

It was a poetry reading open mic deal yeah what a wild party this was going to be but being the best of the best from Hello were supposed to be there I figured my invitation must have got lost in the mail.

You know what that is kids.
See before the net you actually had to get off your lazy **** to mail a letter yeah I know how ****** up is that?
It's almost like music where you actually play instruments  to enjoy instead of steal a loop from one of your parents records yeah don't pretend you understand that one if you under the age of thirty .

But enough with the foreplay children .
The room was packed the poets ready and as I took my seat I was shocked to find they wouldn't be serving ***** at this snooze fest .
Probably a good idea cause after teen age Timmy read his ode to his two day relationship we would all probably slip into a coma .

No worries much like batman but not as gay.
, I always had my trusty utility belt I'm kidding I just had a flask what kind of freak do you think I am?, Okay don't answer that one hamsters.

So after ordering a coffee and adding a little ******* tonic  I sat back and waited to listen to the young crop of writers read there poetry eager to take it all in yeah, right I did as always sat back and waited to
heckle the **** out of everyone hit on the waitress and generally be known as the loveable poetic areshole  of the site.

The time flew.
If by that you mean the time dragged on like we were being ear ***** by a duet between Justin Bieber    and Selna  Gomez .
It was brutal I tell you but the tide was about to make a turn for the better .

As the MC  for the event announced we have a special guest in the crowd tonight and hopefully with a round of applause we can get him to do a reading for us folks give a warm round of applause for .

I jumped to the stage the truly poetic ego maniac ***** eager to save the day or at least give it a good kick in the *** there's only so much
you can listen to of this yuppy ***** before you go insane hamsters .

The woman must have been in shock being in the presence of the greatest co writer in Hello history .
For she looked at me like she had no clue who the hell I was .

Um sir do you mind getting off the stage we are getting ready to ask Joel M Frye  to the stage.
Joel ?

Yeah sure he's a great writer and can spell and his farts smell of cinnamon and pier one or at least I have herd.
But do you have no idea of who I am woman?

She looked at me with a mix of sympathy and probably thinking I wonder if the institution knows he's escaped ?
Umm no sir sorry I don't have a clue.

I had to take in consideration this poor women probably had a smaller brain than the genius that stood before her .
I am Gonzo my sweet lady I said really slow so she could understand
cause she had a smaller brain I'm not saying that cause she was a woman so don't get all *** crazy on me sisters cause you know Gonzo loves you all like a perverted uncle .

Gonzo where have I herd that name oh yeah I know you I thought you died ?
What duh I'm standing here aren't I?

Wait a minute maybe I'm a ******* zombie **** I hate to think I'm one of those walking dead ******* although I have had *** with some ladies I swear could pass for a zombie course that was probably just the drugs I slipped them hey don't judge  I'm kidding I would never do that I do what every true gentleman does when in need.
Pick up hookers .

Hey John Joel said as he slipped up behind me like some poetic ninja .

Joel amigo how the hell are you please do me a favor and explain to this woman just who I am I mean really yeah it's like they don't know how kick **** I am .

Well Gonz maybe I can talk them into letting you do a reading .
Look this guys totally ******* nuts okay so bare with me Joel
whispered to the mc lady  who's smaller brain was truly annoying the **** out of me.

Gonz let me just work this out okay buddy .
I began to object then Joel pulled a truly ***** trick by handing
me the most recent issue of hustler magazine  .
From what I herd it had a great article in it yeah right you have to admire **** that doesn't pretend to be nothing more than what it truly is kind of like me  .  

The woman and Joel spoke for some time and I assume she had seen the error of her ways as she laughed and shook her head oh that Joel he is a charmer.

I  was almost halfway through the ****** hunt  section when .
Joel appeared again like some magical poetic ninja slash friendly dragon .

Gonz man I pulled some strings and after I do a reading your going to close the show hell I even got you your own dressing room and everything figured you'd like to warm up a bit or at least not ******* in front of everyone it's getting a bit awkward I'm just saying bud.

I had to admit Joel was a true friend and as I was shown to the back dressing room it truly tugged at that lump of coal I called a heart to know I still had a true friend on the site I could trust .

Okay here's your dressing room Mr Gonzo it must be a awesome one I thought to myself for it had a big red sign above the door man they truly went all out for me .

But much like when I learned where babies come from my delusion was soon broken in half yeah I always thought they came from dumpsters like I did.

I was standing in a alley ***** cold there were no drinks or hot chicks with there ******* out as I had been promised .
****** man I was starting to believe I had been tricked.

I quickly made my way to the front of the club to tell Joel what these ******* had done !.
But the doors were locked man poor Joel they have trapped him inside
anything could be happening I sure hope he wasn't being ***** .

I banged on the door but couldn't see anything for the lights were off
it's like the people inside were avoiding me like most my friends .

Hey I know your in there open up you *******! .
Woman with the small brain I called out.
Please if you can here me please get Joel out of there he's to good to be tarnished by your terrible readings or *****  cause that's not funny haha yes it is I'm so demented.

I sat there for what felt like ages .
and after five minutes I had to give up Joel was lost to the poetic **** inside ****** man so many good writers have been lost to such lures as these coffee shop readings.

I made my way to the local bar heartbroken seems there was no love for Mr Gonzo left in this town  .
I ordered a double and drank one to my friend who probably is reading this and thinking what the **** am I on this time .

Well it's mix of speed and bourbon but I'm  taking it a bit easy these days .

Dam you!, poetry coffee house readings you have taken far to many of my friends .
I drown my sorrows and passed out as usual and thanked the lord I had escaped with my life and Joel's **** mag I will treasure it forever my friend.

Until next time
Stay crazy kids .

Gonzo
Hello My name is Gonzo and everyday somewhere in the world a terrible open mic poetry reading claims yet another great writer .
If you know someone thinking about going to one of these events reach out and help them before it's to late
Loraine Fromm Aug 2011
I'LL GET RIGHT BACK TO YOU

Have you ever dialed a number many miles away
Knowing when the bill comes in your the one to pay
Sometimes a voice will come with a dull and caring sound
"You must dial this number if you want some public hound"

Then another voice will ask if your wanting some fat cat
So dial another number, well, we won't go into that
Then in a place of business you'll get a voice that says
"We're busy now but hold the line, we'll get back to you"

With a firm hand on the phone, you sit and grit your teeth
You curse and yell and count to ten so no one else can tell
When suddenly the phone goes dead and a tinny silence greets you
Now some buggers cut you off and the air turns thick and blue

I have a lovely daughter who's turned that yuppy corner
I'm calling her tomorrow with all my woes and sorrow
And if I find she's out, I'll talk to her machine
Oh how I hate that awful man made thing that says:

"Well hello how are you, right now I'm not at home
But if you leave a message after the beep, I will ring you later"
Now I don't mind if no one's home, cos I'll just try again
But if I get another machine I think I'll go insane

I stepped into my kitchen, there's a grin on hubby's face
And from this thing that sat there I heard to my disgrace
"Well hello how are you, right now I'm not at home
But leave a message after the beep, I'll get right back to you"

Did you guess I'm leaving home and heading for the hills
No machine or telephones, someone else can pay the bill.
Devin Tinnin May 2015
Sitting on the couch,
I had a realization.
Most of us end up sitting on the couch anyway.
No matter how often we told ourselves we wouldn't be "the yuppy scumbag with a routine life."
Then,
I forgot about it
and moved on to something far more important.
How all people think about death. Everyone has thought about the inevitable end. Period.
Suddenly, I moved up one level of consciousness.
I asked myself what do immortals think about?
What do aliens think about? The same things as us?
What do gods think about?

And now the baby's crying
And I think about this poem
filaments and filigrees
the forms from which we disagree
like stochastic children
we assemble
and then return to our solitary ways
waters flow and release waves
our hearts are safe
ten million creatures teach us wisdom
our answers are the words of vision
if we are misled will we be held accountable
and if we are dead will be held responsible
its simple really
all these tricks are for our own good
spoon fed and redundant she bled like a walrus
our elements are rusted like compliments and comets
mutations abound
since only sound
can drown out this suffering
i am impossible
and try to keep it bottled like lightning
kingdoms toppled and empires are overthrown
still the disassociation shows
in small towns and movie theaters
the life of those who live there
for once put yourself in my shoes
what is the wishing bone to do
it must break and be torn or it will be sworn at
keep calm and let it all deteriorate
what is the essence of the mission
keep calm under all conditions
with wet hair and a coat
with microfibers that don’t float
with puncture wounds in our souls
with diamonds on our thrones
music is meaning
its bleeding
its keeping you company
its a rope
its a boat and an anchor
its food and shelter
its blessed health and favor
the flavors of love
grief is among them
stems from childhood abandonment
settlements form and we are drawn
to our own entanglements
smart phones are dumb
and sam’s club is for yuppy ****
lick these roads with your tongue
smack the floor with your feet
greet the earth like its cheap
we preen and pry
for the prim and proper
but still the water runs dry
never happy enough to cry
smudge the essence
of love from the wall
demand the feelings of space to call you
next time we will run
with drums pounding
i am unsure of myself
can i withstand this pain
why must i remain impassive
fragile like elastics that have been stretched beyond
i am burning in my skin
turning inward and becoming thin
smite the eyes that invade
depend on nothing and no one
sometimes we are safe
other times i am afraid
what a way to exist in this prison
realism scares me
takes me away from the realm of fantasy
bores me with details and causality
sadness is everywhere
have you ever cared
for yourself
or another
surrender and become like butter
a tiny offering
a musical dream
simply whispered to keep you clean
his agony is her pain and suffering
what a mess is all this tumbling
humans digress and become unnecessary
i am sediments from long ago
the tired road has no shadow
the smirk on your face is a waste of time
so remove the lines from underneath your eyes
besides why are we here
is it only to be in fear
I try to steer clear of neighbors with knives
suburban cannibals and housewives
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
my neighbour is having a solitary moment
with a wee bonfire in the backyard...
don't ask me... i watched his father trim the grass
a few hours ago...
maybe he's burning that...
or... whatever the reason... it's in the corner
of my eye... and the flame is big...
and small enough... that.. if warranted...
would make a great... theatre of soliloquy...
i'm yet to see a shadow enlarged
and gesticulating that it's talking...
with a raised arm... the other arm playing
the gratified ballerina when the applause comes...
hand entombing the heart...
      i'm yet to see a skull hamlet & co.
             "moment"...
                       so that's my neighbour...
i'm perched on a windowsill sitting on a folded
leg...
           and trying to crackle my throat
like a perched crow...
                the jay bird is of the same family...
        it's a crackle... i'm pretty sure the bird becomes
its new: "revised" distinct when bound to flight...
it's very hard to find...
boredom and existential exhaustion as...
synonyms... however back you look down the
entymological route...
   i couldn't have scribble: if only...
     i couldn't have scribbled this out of...
borne from a compliment to make "boredom":
a necessity...

          perhaps i am... existentially exhausted...
wouldn't you be?
if i were drinking some kalimotxo...
               or 20 beers... there would be an incremental
effect being felt...
which is what makes drinking a fun:
a social... something to borrow from:
"celebration": disinhibition?
                           only because of this one series
drama: sharp object... which made...
led zeppelin somehow "cool" again...
   in the evening... which didn't make it to...
the: the best of - led zeppelin double **** album...
either...
           so my neighbour is having a bonfire...
and there's nothing eerie about the silence...
esp. when there's a humming...
a fire is talking... but it's not the sort of fire
most associated with pine needles...
pine cones... and ancient oak...
           so he's doing that... i'm smiling... perched...
and drinking ms. know-it-all *****...
and... that's the problem with *****:
you have to wait for it... then again:
merely waiting is not a desirable affair...
and preoccupying myself with: "something else"
for a span of 20 minutes...
       waiting for a k.o. instead getting to play
the fiddle of grand itch-maestro with...
a if it isn't a cat nicknamed by schrodinger...
then all bets are on Pavlov...
                   but it's such a tiresome debacle...
had i made a video and had it... (x, y, x) of traction...
yadda-yadda...
          all the drama: soap-opera i could have
enjoyed... an imaginary street...
with imaginary squabbles...
        but none of the very translate-worthy
orientations of minor frictions...
         the bonfire is dying off...
the fire hasn't been fed dry pine needles...
or pine cones... or merchant oak retelling the story
of marco polo and... to the fire with me:
none of this... mahagonny sheen:
i fancy... a rough stone turned into a marble-esque
sheen?
                         it might just serve
a wooden hammer... to tell the difference between...
well... my initial presumption...
should lady justice be coupled with a gorgon?
lady justice and medussa?
  iustitia (who holds a sword and scales)
& prudentia (who holds a mirror and a snake)...

perhaps if Iustitia is blind-folded...
prudence can have her mouth stitched up?

but i'm still waiting for the ***** to kick in...
and so much for "fun" trying to find oneself:
with all the readily available knowledge and...
not... not: plagiarizing...
     or "jumping ship"...

   there truly isn't some sort of worthy compenation...
the served platter: the swedish table of...
all the foods presented... and you come
and stab at the nibbles... in a congregation of
those: given the advent of eating where:
no heart or its content is of a debate-worthiness...

beside the ancient roman glutton...
and... the well trained oesophagus...
          and regurgitation... and what was once
the celebrated icon: the snake...
would sooner or later have to be replaced
with a tapeworm...

    the serpent has had its day... and marble...
time... for the lesser creature... then again: perhaps not...

in "celebrating a drink of *****":
well... so much for... hunting a mammoth...
or... sitting beside a bonfire and...
telling stories or: dancing ****-naked
and dancing...

         i see no circus(es): beside the heaps and
heaps of bread: a character "assassination"
in writing...
sooner i'll catch a glimpse of a ballet choreographer
pirouette...
than know the difference between:
spinning an uncooked egg...
an egg soft-boiled and an egg: hard-boiled...

a racing track... equivalent to...
being hypnotized by... a spinning vinyl...
because... yore! that beacon of yawn rummaging
in the background of ambience...
and refrigerator drizzle of:
when falling rain became infused with...
electricity...

- alt. to "say" shish-kebab (let's be swabian...
and... "forget" the hyphen...)
like a toothless dog...
indeed... sometimes the tip of the tongue
teases the palet(t)e... hard or soft...
but sometimes the tongue-tip teases the top
frontal incissors: teeth...

where is the concept of the: rhapsodic...
the rattle-R... the quick... imitation
juggling of the tongue against the palete...
where the breath that involves
the uvula to swing like:
"for whom the bell tolls"?

                   do you see anyone taming
a ******* coch draig... anywhere?
this? this being "this"... "vicinity" of da-sein?
there-being: there's (there is)...
          on the moon... the alpaca trail...
in el dorado... in how the zulu tribe announced
a pristine: sod it...
          if only bulls were used instead
of horses: all that grit and armour...
notably of the cataphract...
                       if only bulls were used...
but: who's here to "rewrite" history
of that already, past... and inevitable?

the terrible has... already happened...
               í hiechyd ac tragwyddoldeb!
                          to health and eternity!
chiral: no...
     cheaper: no...
              i will find the "hark"...
   chosen... no no no...
                    similar (soft) to kid...
hybrid esque...
                 that "h" is not a surd...
verbatin 'e hie'....

                Olav! Dmitri!
Igor! meine hoonds!
                  ч - cheap... ah... roaming
in and around Midlothian...
                    loch ness! no prefix to suit up
a tux into... comes as a "surprise"
with the suffix: a loch...
                       х: hardly... k, s or c... or z...
xenophone: yuppy... aye aye...

              trag-wyd-dol-deb!
  zee velsh: sometimes the added same,
consonant... nurse! scalpel...
makes way for perfecting the syllable
incision... like so... trag-wyd-dol-deb!

   the lights have been dimmed on the tablet...
the battery life's longevity: expoinential explosion...
it takes so much little electric conversion
to feed the sap of sound...
that it takes to create blinking
and not blinking: murmur:
picadilly circus phantasmagoria of u.v. -

you can be crowned king deaf...
fall asleep with the radio... when the lights
are dimmed...
       no sooner me: no sooner you...
but... i'd much prefer the sound
of a fox at night...
than teeth gnashing... frothing: idly hungry...

all and no science: "or"...
all and no politics... "or" all of politics and all
of science... and most probably:
when the priest would wear a gown...
and the vatican remained neutral...
      
       etc. etc.              beside the vote:
or: woe... or woo...
        and such is the suffix association
with:      -man...
                    that there's some sexually
pervasive: attachment of either:
wooed by woe...
or... or...           to be woed by a woo...
  the beta gang would be singing:
bigmouth strikes again in a placebo
rendition...
                 because when you want to pirate
the original: it better sound just
a little bit more than then most...
    effeminate male available...
a morrisey will do jack ****...
you have to go full-tilt hindu and back
into transgender with
                                  a brian molko...

or at least that's how i concern myself
when managing to sit through
a production of tchaikovsky's ballet...
   beside the feet: what am i looking at?
spandex... the bulge?
     like it might be some covert name
for a battle, crisp on a piece of paper:
before the puff of a battle of crisps goes: pop!
in between the fudge of marrow
and the shrapnel of bone...
              here... i find my throne...
in a memory that's at best:
an amnesia...

             and somehow lodged in:
the... would-be... renting bums of dreams...
the squaters... the dream circuit...
when... in 1973... england drew 1 - 1
with poland...
                when being... just 7 years old
from 1966... an epitome for a very befitting
ending...
a closure... like any other...
             grandp'ah once said... once said...
and great-grandp'ah once said... once said...
sure as **** the logbow men of the 100 year war
weren't english... last time i heard
that churchill "mishandled" his V...
the original V voz viz zee velsh...
             index and ******* at
the fwench knights... since... if caught...
they'd cut 'em off!

                 V-salute! salute!
                           the blitzkireg overture...
         compound! no spaces in between: no hyphens!
der blitzkriegouvertüre...
        
   "together" come "together:... the disenfranchised
speculation of... what it was like...
to borrow from the first sequence
of the 20th century...

       and pass it into... what was it like...
acid neon: blonde... the culprit of bringing
the "congregation"
   past-participle: a romania a yugoslavia...
and a poland... nerve-riddled lithuania
and whittle estonia: etc.

      that grand boag bear o' ruzzia...
             wit' its ever persistent euro-fetish...
windows! windows! we need to see!
kandinsky translated into wind!

       on this democratic canvas...
           on this democratic canvas...
einz! zwei! drei!
     raz! dwa! trzy!
                   hey presto:
               on this demokratischleinwand!
meine stimme...
   meine: boo!
              meine: ghulrückzug!
               ich: bin zu sein gehört... ja?!
  
          this grand idea of a(n) european family:
get together...
   under the banner of: der VierteReich...
                the penned scribbles of
could always replace the boom-boom-'ombs...
and the brit-thai... would sit it out:
gob-smacked into shackles
and halos and angelic wings found
in the replica bargain of dry twigs...

the english sovereignty found among...
romanian root and fruit pickers...
              and if i too weren't lazy enough...
i'd have managed to find an atom-bomb...
glued my shadow to a wall...
and started a macaques' dance of freedom
from the magpie's cackle...
#metoo!

                   the cure and depeche mode made
it under the iron curtain...
the smiths? sorry... but i'm twice as likely
to appreciate them...

     the bass rummaging from fleetwood mac's
the chain...
and the bass rummaging from
pulp's wickerman...
            
                              canys y Çymraeg!
r. s. thomas...
                 that... battle of the season...
who is to know... beside auld lang syne:
whether the scots 'ave some gaelic in 'em...
except for the orthography: the diacritical & dialect
of somewhere akin to Glasgow...

  - that "unnecessary" war within the confines
of: the proud and selected: "empirical" and by invitation:
the trope... the welsh are...
are a silenced minority... and all that would
require "us" to confine "us" to "do"...
would be...
to stop thinking of england...
as a nation...
and... australia... or h'america...
as... a diaspora...

              clearly: "they" want to be at best:
and at worst: the distinct: genesis:
valkyrie first raiders...
in that non-essential war:
if the 1st world war wasn't...
seigl pandering lizzy...
sweden wuz neutralz...

                      woz she'iz notz?
            a pwetty pwetty: cobweb riddled face
like that of chris cornell...
               glue eyed but a background all
lacking in dimension for the sort
of immediacy of a curtain! cobain...
     yes: this is me... ******* on and dancing
on a grave:
last time i chequered my patience...
i found... the al fresco museum in a graveyard...
and the 3rd party artist working
on the marble... by gesture of wind and rain
and sun...

             how: exhausted by...
you cannot write an opera in italian...
to later translate it into german...
nor... clarity! sha! shtil!
                you can't... translate syllables:
like so... from... a japanese haiku...
into a... at best... a hiatus! a european sorting
factory of minor minded details...
of: adventure when licking a seal
on an envelope or...
a footnote that becomes a peacock
and a post-stamp when... detailing the affairs
of a piece of paper being governed by:
grieving having paired with it...
the metsphor / metaphysical aid of wings...

flake me: sire...
     boxing champ burroughs and all those
lost narratives that will never make it:
market a slow attention-span;
that's already available...

                          the muse my muse...
past the bob dylan and dylan thomas...
the priest and a cardiff...
        if only cardiff could boast akin
to how edinburgh can boast about
the old town and the royal mile...
and arthur's seat... and the craggs...

and... what women want...
mereditch brooks would never become
the next: the next to what next
of a... alanis morissette...
              never becoming... or being...
but all of that: for a continued cultural presence
of being in the recital rubric?
thank god for that...

quiet frankly? the la's": there she goes...
a little bit... a "little bit" irrelevant...
when you listen to the whole album...

the trouble with falling in love...
      is the trouble of: falling out of "love"
with one's mother...
                pursuit of the details
of a foetus... and all those details
of an unread book that staged its "fright"
on a bookshelf for circa close to a century...

             welcome party! or not so welcome!
i'd love to hear more about
welsh nationalism... since: on topic...
the scots have forgotten gaelic...
because of glasgow and being: oh so all
so-over pristine & perfect...
at least the welsh! oh god...
the welsh! on these isles!

hyphen! enter!
cymeradwyaeth

               cym-era-dwy-aeth
                      cym-erad-wyaeth

applause!­ and i'm trying: so trying...
to live for a liszt and lady gaga
as a summary of the jealous eyes
thst gave birth to bitter-tears...
yeah... fame...
and the cosmopolitan web of c.c.t.v.
"fame"...
the one already arrived at...
and the one pampered... with glitches
                               of editorial staff...

gu an cuimreach!
   - the escapade of keeping strict rigour / rubric
of being fed by adverts...
to have a buying impetus...
but not... the selling / haggling impetus...
from the cheap-*** moors and
the myriad of marrakesh:
   the berber: a latin for: hard-time:
quitting-time blues of...
            there are people still involved with
the a, z, via x q and... no readily available:
ph and th...
         because they were never...
the sort of brits... about to celebrate...
being conquered by ancient rome...
and ancient rome bulimia...
somewhere "circa": the baltic sea...

               - there's a "need" to be "coincidental":
pristine the developed mandibles
and the surname akin to singh...
        or... khan...
                   double that... for whatever reason...
and call it: Wales...
and then... the english-speaking conundrum:
"conundrum"...
and at best... nostalgia for 1990s
h'americana cultural export of:
fwends...

                    then: at best...
Wales is... Silesia... but at worst...
                    Ruthenia... and / or... Galicia...
that now Masovia is...
and how the Prussians were once
the fabled lot of the germanic left-over pieces
of a people: "******" by the standard
of teutons... or... what part of the glorification
of ancient rome...
oh, right... the parts not making
the germans the antagonists...
the "paraphrase" of the unexplored...

                    that only the english...
were to be so proud of...
a much later "digest" of... to have a "comfort"
within the confines...
last time i checked... there was pride in being
graffiti riddled as the afghanistan of
the ancient period...

             the unique history of island-dwelling
folk...
that they are... and i... can write
in their lingo: as... being devoid...
of... root...
              what is the great wall of china...
when what's already available...
given the la manche...
                                                       ­                 is...      
is not...
                 such a most pristine choice
of gentleman... and all!
and all! and all were tio be advocates!
and vote bound to stress!
king and country and the pickwick society
of: loitering gimps for worth of letters!

half a face divulging shadow...
half of which encompasses a play:
a ghost riddled... humanoid loiter
of exaspersation... and none... which,
would be most available...
to loiter... for the apple of Judas and
tht clinging... #30 pieces of silver...

thus wed: las vegas english...
      loitering actors' spew:
awound an Ilfowd 'n' Bawking 'n'
Dagenham... yo popsickle
'ipe and joy-c-c / jewc...
or whatsemfwench callz: sauz...
via dat: zu-not-my-*******-zoo.. ju...
plonkers & sons. (available)
jue: not juice 'ough...
******* kite-fliers!

            talks a cokckey slang like
a cherry... and that's...
the last left-over before mr. bangladesh
    before: quckie does one speakin'
"smart" did anyone any 'ood...

'oved up a 'arry 'n' the 'etter 'alf
of the... non-essential...
sounding "smart"
in cockeny: to be made export:
"loading essentials"...
is... hardly... the right sort of
***** avenue of:
escape from cwawddyff:
you... poke you poke my eyez
out... you... better start sounding
cockney shmartz...
eh: ja: herr?!

       **** it... whatever...
elt'z and etc. this bogus party back to...
and so call itz...
a limboz partez!
12345678 microseconds til...69 pm

herewith fall lows ing lush goulash
   who doth pine  
   tongue waggin a fly wheel
   sincere soul
    whose shoe size
   measures about size nine

with pure motive to challenge
   thinking as my goal
   if drawn to language of wordsmith,
   or like this swiftly tailored/
   harried style of mine

   who wrought a jagged line
though i promise companionship
   twill be Harris Boss tweed fine
   a byte size musing to dine
with interpretation strictly
   within mind of the reader,

   which rich or on the dole
might nonetheless agree
   this post tubby asinine

mindfulness = the general under
lying sans this bloke, whose
philosophic eclectic metric,
hermetic, intrinsic...
outlook helps me access
and process reality.

toe this line to tread against da feet.

a personal yardstick as i plod
along boulevard of broken dreams,
whereby no animals will be harmed
in this life long journey before the kiss
of death, whence me cremated ashes
will be dispersed across temporal plane
from natural forces of earth, wind and fire.

Arch back like a professional ballet dancer
to stand out from other pedestrian applicants
seeking to fill my well worn shoes.

Illuminate your soul via modest
communication sans sole full insight
acquired thru being apprenticed with
storied prestigious law firm of Anne nic Culle,  
Achilles Heale, and Marathon Nike.

Keep your nose to the academic grind
stone despite temptation to appropriate
international family business and graduation
with supreme accolades from this famous father.

He i.e. slim shady forsook frivolity
per his peers in exchange a stock
reputation of gentility honesty,
and integrity despite humble roots
only male heir of a Middle Eastern
European Jewish mother and father.

They scrimped, saved and sacrificed
scarce resources to set stage for
this scion of well deserved fame and fortune.

Never forget those grandparents
whose adherence to work their
fingers to the bone (literally)
allowed, enabled and provided
this founding partner per the trio
of stalwart attorneys for underdogs
of the World Wide Web.

Match deeds with credo of obedience
to the law of the land,
as epitomized by Abraham Lincoln.

Such obeisance to a democratic dogma
will be firm steppingstones to engender
and kindle an Amazon zone of cathartic
karma from paternal persona.

Such acquiescence toward morals
of the conscience (and remembrance
of previous generations blood, sweat
and tears) will serve as intrinsic manna
for clients to clamor like an unstoppable
rolling stone to seek counsel from,
whose genuine heart felt equalitarian demeanor
a near perfect recipe for satisfaction
helping others smooth out jagged
abutments arising in their lives.

Rather than lecture and command
with a dictatorial cutthroat reign of terror
(as casually espoused in “The Prince”
by Machiavelli), this democratic,
humanistic, liberal minded torchbearer
of justice advises active listening (as
advocated by the late Jean Dole (who
eternally rests within a pineapple
under the sea), my renown mentor
from Lima, Pennsylvania), inculcating
intuitive posturing toward delivering
random acts of kindness.

This includes offer services pro bono
if an individual, family, municipality,
et cetera appears copacetic yet struggles
against insurmountable odds from
fickle finger of fate.

Exemplify by example of zeal for
underdog (immersed in catastrophic
series of unfortunate events) that money
need not be demanded before welfare
of down trodden such exuberance
witnessing an ear to ear smile of gratitude.

Rather than be biased, inclined
to be prejudiced based on cursory
observations of one or many barely
clinging to the life raft of survival,
I (as a humble human) encourage
a relationship of trust before casting
an indiscriminate eye toward those
less fortunate to live in the lap of luxury.

Luck (or the lack thereof) an invisible
yet potent additive to this mix those flush
with disposable income or exiled
to a hand to mouth hardscrabble dilemma.

Daily acknowledgement for ethnic,
genetic and quixotic claydice throw of chance
in tandem with loving support immediate
kith and kin instrumental keeping
in check bombastically egotistical, haughtily
radical degradation of fixation of values
steeped in appreciation of aesthetics,
beauty, charm, decency,
equality from gifts hoed inside.

Joyfulness keeps love moving
needling offset predilections.

Quality rests squarely upon pillars
of staying within bounds of service
to those less able bodied or beset
with untold obstacles that discourage
setting virtue (or the closest approximation
of what that means to the inquiring mind)
as precedent to blaze
a trail of care and concern.

Always maintain benevolent devotion
foreswearing greediness.

Invoke keepsake mandating omnipotent
natural personal righteousness to vaccinate
yourself against heinous, nefarious, pernicious,
et cetera rapacious trapdoors of selfishness.
-----------------------------------------------      
from::matthew scott harris

of unsound body, mind and spirit than
by all means and ways -- please ripple
lye to me, an adroitly, artistically brief,
crazily dazzling, erotically frisky, gladly
*****, ineluctably juicy, lovely, magically
noopy, opulently private, purring
quietly, romantically **** reap ply.

yes?

postscript: i in conjunction with zippy, x2c, yuppy, trippy, sleepy, sneezy, queasy, ruby, kooky, loony, jessie, inky, happy, grumpy, grouchy, ******, ernie, doobie, clumsy, et cetera plus snow white can vouch safe that the democratic party approves of thee above  message.
Jess Jun 2016
Gaping mouths and glassed eyes absorb the pixelated revelations,
breathing hallelujahs to disillusioned senses,
sinking their skulls into the pavement/,
crying
HOLY HOLY HOLY.
To the stairs leading them to a make shift heaven,
laying daisy’s to their skin and ash to their feet.
They barter the revolution to their unmoved complacency.
Self named artist that barely cover the buildings,
filling in the gaps with smoke and half-hearted pleas.
They’re burning alive.
They’re burning everything they touch.
Screaming to spite the yuppy ****.
screaming to spite the war on youth.
screaming.
SCREAMING.
SCREAMING!
Into a concrete grave with a kiss so faithful it consumes them.
Chained to the unforgiven it consumes them.
Beating the blasphemy in their gums it consumes them.

It consumes them.
Chris Slade Jul 2019
I was a sales rep in the 70s…
selling art materials to education in deepest Wales
Back in the day those in the far West were passionate.
There were tales of fervent nationalists who didn’t like the English for what they’d arrogantly done.
scouted round for the nicest cottages just for weekends.
These were early Yuppy trends.
They invited down Drusilla, Rupert, Jacintha & Giles
and other poncey friends.
for Pims and Taramasalata and Lava Bread…
“made from seaweed’? Such Fun!

There was a spate of ritual burnings of the cottages
of the weekend renovator’s pride
It was a powerful statement of the Welsh anger at those raiders from… well, the other side.
Cottages burnt regularly caught wider attention on the international news…
so, many understood the Welsh, their hurt, their motives, their PR and their views.
but it was my job to travel the principality hawking paint to primary heads and secondary art teachers
So the nationalist bar was set high. It was their home game and mine only just features
powder and poster paint, brushes, plaster and clay… But I wasn’t daunted… no way!

It was Cardigan,  Aberaeron Primary to be precise…
That was my next call.
And I stood perplexed, staring blankly at the notice board in the entrance hall.
Until recently signs had always been bi-lingual.  
I glazed over….Today… worryingly they were just single!
All I saw was  “Pennaeth, Campfa, Neuadd Fwyta, Swyddfa'r Ysgrifennydd, Ystafelloedd Newid
So… I snapped out of it and took a guess… This Newid one… Girl’s Changing Rooms!!… I flew!
Thanks heavens nobody saw me… I got back to the notice board and re-viewed the list anew…

Thank the Lord, just then, I heard female voices as they clip clopped along the parquet
I turned nervously and said “excuse me I’d like to see the head Mr Meredith… Is he in today?”
with the sweetest smile the lady said… “Mr Mer-ed-ith? Yes I’ll have word…
She disappeared behind the door that said “Pennaeth”…
“Head” I thought! Mmm.
“Mr Mer-ed-ith would like to know if you are a Welsh speaker? “Fraid not I said… I’m from Yorkshire”.
"In that case he says Na! I’m sorry I mean No. Your company should employ a Welsh speaker to sell to us in Wales".
If only I’d been able to say “Rwy'n siŵr mai'r dyn sy'n cymryd y swydd pan fyddaf yn gadael fydd eich dyn!”

Instead I said… If you tell me where I can pick up a phrase book I’ll give it a go! Diolch am eich help, hwyl fawr!
True Story
Alan Stallsmith Jan 2018
COZY CONVERSATION OVER COFFEE
By Alan Stallsmith

And I'm acclimated to sabotage
With my very own hands
Who needs enemies?
When I have me. Understand?

I craft my own jail cells
With very fine steel
I build my own graveyards
The sarcophagus is real!

Now I don't mean to boast
But I undermine well
And when it comes to subterfuge
I am the reason Rome fell

I've mastered the art
Of public smiles and covert pain
For when someone needs consoling
You know this guy is game!

I try to dress to impress
To be disguised as a yuppy
I'm the guy who cries wolf
When it's an adorable puppy

Flawless self-affliction
It's an addiction of sorts
Healthy and beaming?
Or suffering for sport?

I'll paint you a beautiful picture
Of rainbows and golden sun
Then I'll secretly torch it
And scream "What have YOU done?!"

Oh my dear friend!
Look at the time!
Thanks for letting me vent
But I don't want to whine!

This coffee is amazing
It's just the boost I was needing
It's a shame about your arms
Never leave a lesion bleeding!

I have a psychiatrist appointment
Glad my self awareness is great
At least the weather looks grand
I really hope I'm not too late!

So just remember I'm happy
I have never been better
And I brought you a gift
I hope you like sweaters!
Max Neumann Jun 2021
sugar hill, broken glass on the ground
splinters of daily folks, corners and tails
keys to the underworld, raise or fall
banging sounds in a goon's cough

fences, sirens, polish bus stop, rush hour
lol and jacob move **** crakov-frankfurt
three shops across, dem nador traders
rif mountains, morocco, global tons

meetings in melilla, jet sky armies
measuring waves in zipped packs
smuggling route barcelona, merchers
hashtag hyena minds, transformations

the key to peace is chained against rocks
blank buildings occupied by crack units
the day of dead idols, dusk till dusk
insomnia becomes a habit, well put

glaciers, paste, the andes: toxic faces
silver layer on the skin of the chosen few
96 hours are over, fifty for hundred racks
counting on the law of silence, omertà

graffiti, street art, scratchings and markers
freeze the second of youth, look back
eagerly talking are those who rule corners
doves witness gospel choirs and thorns

underworld's keys buried in sand
beach elevators take you into the past
they only go downwards, among stones
murals of sicilian ancestors on the walls

look, the last trains are leaving for good
you will never see this light again
saw, final destination, impaled yuppy
arms, intestines, flesh and bones, now

the underworld is key to bearded ones
no understanding of fear, officer
razor blades will open your mouth
bloodred letters from the ancestors
Joseph Sinclair Jan 2022
Oh, Boris told such dreadful lies,
One just gazed wide-eyed at the skies,
Astounded at support from these
Parliamentary colleagues
Who rallied to their leader’s cause,
Secure in the male menopause.

Gove, Michael, who was quite gung-**
Wanted to believe him, though
In trying to maintain his credence
While avoiding intercedence
Got his knickers in a twist
Which hardly pleased a hedonist.
But may have done so, had not he
Been faced with obvious perfidy.
For once, towards the end of work
He realised that the stupid berk
Had joined a party out-of-doors,
Knowing there was nothing worse,
But given the alternative,
Was doggedly conservative.

While as for dear effete Rees Mogg
Whose mind was often in a fog,
Though evidently of good breeding,
Slept through parliament’s proceeding.
And in The Mogg Cast Jacob wrote
“Unquestionably” – and I quote:
“The PM is an honest man”.
What brave words from a loyal fan.

He seemed to share with Donald Trump
A failure to maintain the ****
Of his supporters who only lasted
So long as he felt they could be trusted.
Thus Priti Patel with whom, besotted
He must have been, for when she blotted
Her copy book, he kept her in
The Cabinet, despite a sin
That others, far beneath her station,
To leave had had no hesitation.

But once, towards the close of day
Hearing merry sounds of play,
Bojo took his health in hand
Ignoring rules from his command.
“No-one tells me what to do”
Quoth he, “I’m off to have a few.”
“Allow me, please, to beg your pardon
And join my colleagues in the garden.”

It was not long before a tide
Of censure came from every side.
From Kensington and Camden Town,
From Aberdeen and County Down.
The premier has been found out
As if there could be any doubt,
For, after all, his lying skills
Had long replenished the gristmills.

When young he suffered from glue ear
So, what he did not want to hear
In later life, he could ignore
And simply choose to underscore
His frequent absurd recklessness
On the misfortune of deafness.

At Oxford in the Bullingdon
His drunkenness was quite well-known.
His early exploits as a Yuppy;
Flirtation then with Darius Guppy.
As editor of the Sextator
With thanks, doubtless, to his Creator
More flirtations, some quite grave;
“Who, sir?  Me, sir?  I’m no knave”
But Petronella at his back
Could not avoid the sack by Black.
Earlier it was the Times;
Distortions were his major crimes.


And, finally, to Downing Street
Where the circle is now complete,
Surrounded by his faithful lackeys,
Standing up for the Iraqis,
Risking the enmity of *******
Whose Durham trip was unbecoming,
Though not condemned at all by Boris
As extinct as a brontosaurus.


His lies have not grown any sweeter
They’ve more in common with a foetor,
When embarrassment heads his way
He simply takes off for the day:
“Sorry for this Obfuscation
I have to go to King’s Cross station
To provide a possible disclaimer
For my absence from the Chamber.”

— The End —