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kate crash Jul 2010
ridin' wild with the broken down trannies in zoot suits n' water pistols aimin' to capture the sun from ten feet underground i swear it's darker than my gut insides crawlin' around in the glitter and filth i caught me diseased wealth heartache and small pond fame i caught me a sugarless daddy and a stage name i caught me a gutter and a song but still i wonder  how to walk but i can sure sweet talk sssssssslither love
Brycical Mar 2015
A Sufi Cowboy
rides an incandescent star
gliding to the ground
pouring light like a shiraz
into his heart, he drinks bliss.

A Heavy Metal
Buddhist slamdances beyond
the shadow tree glades
nourishing the grass with tears--
her crying mediation.

Their eyes connecting
to echoed crystal heartbeats
of their higher selves.
He strikes a match across air,
flame kisses the dangling zoot.

Their eyes hold the gaze.
A mellifluous voice glows
from her, singing odes
of buzzing deja vu jazz
and gamboling dragon flies.

Cowboy & Buddhist
decide to share a few drinks
in the Cosmic Bar.
A series of tankas
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
Pantywaist,
This shows no taste.
Light in the loafers,
Maybe for gofers.
Squats to ***,
Who? Not me!
Limp-wristed,
It it’s twisted, maybe.

***** and sissified,
Maybe somebody lied.
*** and ******,
You’re a bigot.
Bigass Fruit,
Zoot and all root.
Tuttifruity,
Call to gay duty.

Half a man,
Sometimes better than.
Tinkerbell,
Go to hell.
Airy-fairy,
You’re just scary.
******* bandit,
I can’t stand it.
*******,
Bigass *******.

Silly queen,
Quit being mean.
Flutter-by,
Can’t pronounce butterfly?
*****,
Don’t get handsy, mate!
Nancy boy.
Political ploy.

Just some of the words
We gays have all heard
With each imprecation
The implication
Is that we are sick,
Definitely twisted,
And the end result
Is that each insult
Pushes the speaker
Further away, and weakens
The hold on a reality
That homosexuality
Is just another normality.
In short, reality.
c quirino Dec 2010
and then we were us,
with ten fingers,
equal toes, two kidneys
and our souls,
so blessed and tan
from their sojourn
through eternity.

but you may not recognize "me,"
from underneath my burqa, my crinoline,
my mantilla,
my zoot suit or naval uniform.

my hair shorn-sheep-short,
or be it 10-foot-Marie-Antoinette-tall,
there, still, do I lie,

where once we passed, there again I will be,
and with hushed whispers will my lips part,
as they have for generations,
"how have you been? I missed you."
Being a Pachuco it's in the sangre it goes through are veins through our bloodlines from generation to generation some of us are 2nd 3rd 4th generation we asked Pachucos and Pachuca how to lead by example for our future generation to survive teach them while they're young and what is pachucos all about in life being a Pachuco is having heart having Pride helping others in their time of need having a great Style when you put on that Zoot Suit having class having Style helping your fellow Pachuco or Pachuca we let our Zoot Suit do the talking we all got shine like diamonds and represent our culture we are representing our past cultures and our future cultures don't let anyone tell you that you're a part-time Pachuco or Pachuca we are Pachuco by Blood
Fah Sep 2013
[9/28/13 6:07:47 AM] Saeng Graham: on earth does not mean , they were born from the same time realm
[9/28/13 6:08:02 AM] Saeng Graham: this puts them in perspective
[9/28/13 6:08:07 AM] Saeng Graham: well - for example
[9/28/13 6:08:15 AM] Saeng Graham: my twin akemi whom you heard sing
[9/28/13 6:08:22 AM] Saeng Graham: well she's actually my younger twin sister
[9/28/13 6:08:24 AM] Saeng Graham: fire
[9/28/13 6:08:32 AM] Saeng Graham: but because we both are from 2 years apart ,
[9/28/13 6:08:45 AM] Saeng Graham: and are bOTH gemini
[9/28/13 6:08:47 AM] Saeng Graham: there's a counter balance
[9/28/13 6:08:51 AM] Saeng Graham: -
[9/28/13 6:09:07 AM] Saeng Graham: i THINK
[9/28/13 6:09:07 AM] Saeng Graham: so i think -
[9/28/13 6:09:09 AM] Saeng Graham: maybe
[9/28/13 6:09:12 AM] Saeng Graham: thata
[9/28/13 6:09:24 AM] Saeng Graham: you are my counterbalance - imaginary friend from your childhood
[9/28/13 6:09:42 AM] Saeng Graham: and you are mine - kinda like doing pulling each other up throughout time and space
[9/28/13 6:09:52 AM] Saeng Graham: ''''''''''''
[9/28/13 6:09:55 AM] Saeng Graham: so.
[9/28/13 6:10:08 AM] Saeng Graham: now we've defined that YOUR act form is VERY MUCH NOW IN THE '3D' WORLD
[9/28/13 6:10:17 AM] Saeng Graham: OR AT LEAST
[9/28/13 6:10:22 AM] Saeng Graham: your essence - is possible in that form
[9/28/13 6:10:25 AM] Saeng Graham: weellllllll
[9/28/13 6:10:29 AM] Saeng Graham: then anything is possible
[9/28/13 6:10:34 AM] Saeng Graham: SO IF YOU ARE STILL HERE
[9/28/13 6:10:37 AM] Saeng Graham: AT THIS POINT
[9/28/13 6:10:39 AM] Saeng Graham: I'VE GOT A PARROT ON MY SHOULDER
[9/28/13 6:10:44 AM] Saeng Graham: AN EYE PATCH ON MY EYE
[9/28/13 6:10:49 AM] Saeng Graham: AND I'M ABOUT TO ROCK YOUR ***** ****** WORLD
[9/28/13 6:10:54 AM] Saeng Graham: jokes -
[9/28/13 6:10:59 AM] Saeng Graham: it's double at.....jazz hands -
[9/28/13 6:11:13 AM] Saeng Graham: shot of moonshine
[9/28/13 6:11:17 AM] Saeng Graham: **** of spicy morning zoot
[9/28/13 6:11:22 AM] Saeng Graham: and some roiboosh tea,
[9/28/13 6:11:27 AM] Saeng Graham: a little bit of wine
[9/28/13 6:11:37 AM] Saeng Graham: some smutted rasberrys and age old pistachios
[9/28/13 6:11:38 AM] Saeng Graham: which hum
[9/28/13 6:13:03 AM] Saeng Graham: frightful actually , how ******* scary bryce is.. like....i wouldn't like to have my 'revenge' concocted by him...dark kind guy....nice...but dark....arty kinda dark...so you know it's the kind of super smart kinda dark......but then super emotion kinda dark too....they aren't that hard to spot....
[9/28/13 6:13:11 AM] Saeng Graham: but the bryce i'm talking about
[9/28/13 6:13:17 AM] Saeng Graham: - yeah he's all over the place
[9/28/13 6:13:20 AM] Saeng Graham: always with the bee's
[9/28/13 6:13:22 AM] Saeng Graham: and stuff
Bryce , Harlon..
tipping hats to poetry masters - from Western Realms...Naga's

:)

loves you guys x
Pagan Paul Dec 2017
.
Wine, enchilada and pickle sauce,
corks and safeties,
just like The Penguin In *******
in Ronnie and Kenny's shed.

The Idiot ******* Son
sits eating the deadly Yellow Snow,
whilst Joe hums Zombie Woof
at the Poodle in his Garage.

Dinah-Moe Humm finally gets off;
in the Dangerous Kitchen,
with the Muffin Man's ***** Love,
and the Illinois Enema Bandit.

The Fine Girl and the Latex Solar Beef
bathed in The Blue Light,
shout 'Pick Me, I'm Clean',
along Inca Roads, to Find Her Finer.

Cosmik Debris exclaims Zoot Allures!
From the fat, floating, maroonish Sofa
because the Bow Tie Daddy
sings Nasal Retentive Calliope Music.

Yo Mama! there's the Disco Boy
who gets in More Trouble Every Day,
so The Torture Never Stops,
with Damp Ankles, Peaches & Regalia.

Sam With The Showing Scalp Flat Top
dances with Camarillo Brillo upstairs,
catching Stink-Foot once again,
like In France from the Valley Girl.

And so the Watermelon In Easter Hay
rides off with the Duke Of Prunes
to the Carolina ******* Ecstasy,
visiting Billy The Mountain, and Montana.


© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)


Frank Zappa
(21st December 1940 - 4th December 1993).
Musician, Diplomat and Lyricist.
.
A tribute to a genius for the anniversary
of his death, and birthday (both in December).

There are a lot of Zappa song titles
and references in this write.
.
Rookie Mar 2015
Boop de booboop
Scloop beep boop
Brun duh dee doodee
Do doot scloop boop
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroo (roll your tongue (if you can(I heard not everyone can roll their tongue)))
Dut dut digga digga yut doo
Bigga Bigga
Doot zoot beeboop
Boop de booboop
Brycical Mar 2014
We dance
an exclusive 2 person naked in the mirror
space drum party dance.

Me w/ my whisky nectar.
She w/ her Rooibush.

OUTSIDE:
we bey to the stars
sending wild—child peace
blessings &
excited gratitude
into the air
along w/ velvet earth herb smoke
the embers of the zoot twirl and dance
un the blue tone morning midnight,
a wild-child firefly.

We take a bow for the deer
watching us in the chill of the night
under a tree.

UPON RETREATING INDOORS:
we vow an early rest—
which melted away
to a cosmic vibrating undulating
wave of cataclysmic ecstasy
into the sacred dimensions of dream realms
our light shines & combines
star bodies
closer to the whole
holiness
raining kisses
upon necks
& *******
with claps of thunder tongues
and lightning hands.
The date in the title is the start of Chinese New Year 2014
BR Grayson Sep 2019
Every Friday I sit on my balcony.
At 8:00 PM the show starts.
The dark slim dame makes her way
through the stage with shadow-like steps.
Her figure starts a Tchaikovsky composition
while I patiently sit silent on my chair.
A sudden play of the violin enters the stage,
its sober sound accompanied by a high-pitched
clarinet.

Fingers on a harp are heard subsequently,
transforming the night into a frozen wonderland.
The moves she makes are psychedelic, leaving
shadowy smoke trails to follow her body
as she slides across the stage.
Sly smile present.
Her veiled feet tap lightly on the floor with
the grace of black swan in a lake.
Nothing stops her.

Finishing her first act, she moves away
from the stage and changes the track.
Deafening bongs of a cathedral bell
overwhelms the small venue.
A rifting Fender and the banging of drums
quickly give the rise of the next performance.
The dark silhouette returns, her feet tapping
harder while she flings her arms and drops them
for a windmill strum.
Never the conformist, the star moves to the
upper stage.
She lets out a lurid scream,
promising black sensations
to the crowd as she rifts away hell’s bells
for the night.

The mood changes, mellow tones take us
to the past.
Soft vibrations of a saxophone fill the smooth air.
A double bass follows suit, signaling the rest
of the band to start the show.
My darling is waiting.
She grabs the ribbon microphone, her black
sequin dress glistening across the ball room.
Ruby on her lips, she puckers them and
blows a kiss to the audience.  
It’s April in Paris tonight, my lover knows it.  
“Duh-be-duh-be-dee zoot zoot zu.” her jeweled
petals sing while she flings her index finger back
and forth.
All eyes are on my jazz girl, she is Fitzgerald
come again on a snowy canvas.

The song comes to an end and she flawlessly
bows for a standing ovation.
From my booth, I mimic clapping hands.
The wary neighbor giving me the stink eye.
What would she know about fine art?
The silhouette makes her way out of the room,
her each step breaking my heart.  
I say my goodbyes, pickup my binoculars from
the metal railing and wait patiently
for her next show.
An odd poem/short story I wrote. Trying out new things, hope it's enjoyable.
david badgerow Mar 2015
last night when the mothership came
i slept in the trees full of night sounds and shadows
and my hair unwrapped in the wind
deciphering ancient scrolls on my eyelids

she hovered like a vulture in a clean open sky
and i awoke shivering as she swooped down
platooning over the riverbank
and i stood with my arms outstretched
at the edge of the bubbling water pit

for light years until snot icicles grew gray on my face
cringing under the great vacuum sky
and now fog whitens into morning and
i am enveloped in sun-silence
as the last three stars still flash like cities of the future

the smell of grain becomes tweezers in my nostrils
and the sun is a giant roaring furnace
burning a sense of adventure in my southern boy blood
the memory of big pale nutless creatures wearing zoot suits
escaping into the abyss from the green dawn in their classy airship

meanwhile my hairless face being polished by the wind
blind drunk on dew and awaiting salvation
lips pulling away from big white teeth and pink gums
in high song and shrill laughter
a naked schizoid of the morning warped and ****-crazy
silently dancing beckoning the universe with
telekinetic strength to bring another cosmic storm

because i am double minded in this transformed version
of myself and i will ride the electric tidal wave created
by our sweaty kiss like the sound of a trumpet
being blown as triumphant and far away as a lightning strike

i have learned to control the magic manipulate
particles in empty space and i'll ride this
luminescent rowboat under the charcoal sky
into infinity
Fah Apr 2014
Really Saeng-Fah, are we going to have another day  of  chiding your self for things you don’t need to chide yourself for

Or hating yourself for small supposed mistakes when upon later reflection were fine

Where does this tension holed up in the side of your skull escape to when you smoke that zoot or **** that man, dance all night , hold yourself close

Roll into the avenues of peaches and crème my dear girl they are yours for the taking
They are yours for the making
They are yours

             hallucinating is all we are doing .

We can not stop wrongs
The game plan too strong
Follow the half baked road to redemption, nestle in amongst the feelings of unsureness

Whistle the tune of freedom

Live well
Today –

Breathe , cinnamon chai tea steam smoke as first break fast
The day has barely begun, the growing stronger sunlight shines through window pane , hitting shutters of light brown wood,  the ****** of a wind chime plays her notes here and there  , whilst the sounds of the human created habitat plays on. The sigh of a bus coming to a stop, the crunch of a streetcar on tracks
*Saeng-Fah=My name
written this morning.
Many games ago,
When  radios reigned
And the tube had two colors,
We played tag in the rain
And threw rocks at window panes
Of abandoned homes;
Just for the hell of it!

Many fads ago,
When Afros reigned
And the Ojays made Money
In zoot suits and bell-bottoms,
We shook our groove thang
And showed them how to do it;
Just for the hell of it!

Many rides ago,
Before Beamers and Bentleys,
When GM was King
And MJ was just a Prince
Of Pop,
We did the bus stop
And didn't stop
'Til  we had enough;
Just for the hell of it!

Many flicks ago,
Before Spike did the right thing,
And Sydney was king
On the Big Screen,
And MLK screamed from
A balcony in Tennessee,
And his blood stained a nation divided...

Still...

Ductile...

Shall we be...

The object of parody...

Just for the hell of it...!?

~ P
(#JustForTheHellOfIt)
3/6/2014
Brent Kincaid Mar 2018
Rickrack, got cataracts
My vision is so blurry.
Surgery done, not much fun
I wish healing would hurry.
Zip zop, roota zoot.
Hate backless hospital suits!
Clap clap, standing ovation.
For a successful operation.

Wave pompoms, ziss boom bah
For magic modern medicine
In just one day, as they say.
The right eye is all fixed again.
Go back in a few weeks
And have the left one done.
Huzzah hurrah and yippee kai yay
And the healing has begun.

Colors I never noticed before
Are now bright and shiny.
If I had known that before I
Woulda been petulant and whiny.
But, nothing noticed, nothing lost
I am looking forward to the day
When I can see completely better.
Harroo and blinking hurray!
Yo step into my world like KRS one my gun
Blows away the sun dunned your done no fun
In the dark lurk near the scariest parks
Found my heart at the bottom of an abyss
My fist cruise through the foggy mist dismiss
Wack lyricist and these lyrics will shift
Ya back disc slowly sip the cola jack crisp no lisp
Only to ya chick who's loving it shovin' it
Like the gangsta I am eat green eggs and ham
Dont give a **** suckas cookin' like a grand slam
Keep the street bases loaded imploded quoted
From the drug bible feed bullets to my rivals
Cuz its the survival of the fittest the wittiest
Colder than the coldest im celcius minus
Three million degrees make tracks tongue bleed
Once i cut on the beat nasty movin' Pistol Pete
Bury a **** with one powerful hit ahhh ****
Yosef doing damage from mics i manage
My guns beaminsh freak a bad chica who's Spanish
Let my runs of my hands handle this
See the styles to crisp chickens run from this
Heat to a roast no need to boast none come close
To skills choppin' to H a v o c next to P
Lead by the Triples P's ***** pedigrees and prodigy no apology
For the blood sprees catching wars glee
Creed of demons sealed with nature *****
Got em dreamin' down memory lane
Simplicity black Mark Twain stain brains
I could flatten a rocky terrains strains
A mustard seed moving mountains
Sitting at the fountain of youth sounding
Off with the twenty one gun salute **** your
troops
We ***** as mobsters in black pinned strip zoot suits
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Mister I swear that I have seen you somewhere before
But I can’t remember at all
The time, or the place, I cannot recall
Was it in that hallway as you passed me by?

Was it at the concert you played at
Thought I knew who you were but I guess I don’t

The crowd went crazy as you walked off stage
Your black zoot suite and dark black shades
It seems

Like this is some weird sign
An alarm in my mind
And I just keep wondering why

So was it all just a dream
So was it in my head
I have no idea who you were, but now your dead
Like running into someone
You’ll never see again
Want to know who you were
I can never win

Jazz musician, who played his final show
And walked away through the flowered rows and I still don’t know who he was
Killed in the mist, murdered by my consciousness
And left behind by my **** forgetfulness

Like this is some weird sign
An alarm in my mind
And I just keep wondering why

So was it all just a dream
So was it in my head
I have no idea who you were, but now your dead
Like running into someone
You’ll never see again
Want to know who you were
I can never win

Like this is some weird sign
An alarm in my mind
And I just keep wondering why

So was it all just a dream
So was it in my head
I have no idea who you were, but now you’re dead
Like running into someone
You’ll never see again
Want to know who you were
I can never win
Ken Pepiton Sep 2019
Learn how to detect, contain and mitigate threats faster,  

that' why our kind studies war.



War against chaos and all it's spawn

Since the dawn

Never lasts forever.

Ever-y story's hero in the end

Wins.

No exceptions. That is the rule.

On the scale of grav-it-a-tional forces,

This muthas-hell-vier'n hell i'self



In yo face spell chick ain't nobody

Got no papers on me

I am the teller of this story in this book

And you, there, are the readers.

Welcome to my collection of clichés that click

In time to the echoes of the spheres



A.I. *******. In a gotta d'feata! We allus try umph, first.



Say you put a spell on me

Correct me if you must, but

Later, spell chick.



Now we have guests who've never known

A hatter at all, mad or otherwise.

I have known three, all saner than me,

You shall see



What I mean but

Do not fear

Fear is a terrible thing right

Here here

We need God's Grace by everyname

Any of you can think or say or know fore sure

Carries hope and peace to nullify victory.



That legend was lost but indeed did hap

Upon a time when songs

Lived the stories and the stories were legend.



So few survived the chaos at Babel and

Those few that did are t'ain'ted all to hell

One's I heard tell 'em as well

Say it ain's so. All to hell. T'ain't

Whacha thank ye know ye know



Crazy old coot pushin' her Safe Way Cart

Cat-a-corner from the zoot suit shoppe

To Walgreen's, middle o'fift n'Broad Way

Downtown LA, back in the day



Can you see that man. That really happened

Jus' the way you

Saw it.



Onliest thing is it only happened now then



Get that it's like getting' all wrapped up

In light no shadow at all

Doubt to the power of the farthest prime

Fails to fragment such light

From the outside.

Ever-y fire-y dart that twisted sucker shoots…

Quenched by the light.

Good news always seen from every perspective

Same thing, perfect

Peace full nothing broken nothing missing

Shalom

Get that, too.



Now, just watching old Mrs. Crazicuk

Makin' Her Safe Way Cross Broad Way



Famous image. It looks exactly like you imagined

It would

Had you imagined it and

Not just me I mean

I think we all are lonely for

No reason for some reason



Notice Mrs. Crazicuk's book cover

Upper right corner

JESUS SAVES in ten foot tall daylit neon

Top'o Fift' n'Hill. That's real.



I got a picture. From the internet.

(Hello Poetry don't take images, so Google-it)

Look real

close

If someday somebody explains that  

Castle Gothic crenelated thing in the back ground.  

that  



I know ain't real.

Please point out I point out  

the otherwise overlooked – image

If you ever see what I mean



I imagine there's more mystery  

than here at the moment



You see we wee are at peace  

ever-when you find us

Lying

Legends have never turbed us in such a way

As to cloud the waters  

Stirrin' mud

o' cludin' weak light to simulate more dark,  an old trick/

an angel-like message troubles the water
stirs up the muck and mire.

Jump in

Then walk home the long way



This book we're in, life we're in, what ye may call it, we say here,

So it is.

Amen.



Little people. Legendary little people survived

Babel's chaos?

Not that I know, no.
From January 2017, this is like a flashback in a Series, to a scene that happened ages ago, which led to now, by way of AI.--- I reread post posting and remembered using that picture  on a book cover you can see at https://www.amazon.com/IDLE-WORDS-Radioman-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B07F3P1Y8G/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=ken+pepiton&qid=1567484904&s=gateway&sr=8-2
Bless the mic, like Kwali, with the stings of bee, Ali
Set my mind free, brace the sanity, of life, broke a flee,
Off a dog, these wanna be hogs, love to keep ya mind, on jog,
I meditate, wisdom then some, hardly, still sip bacardi,
Or maybe, chase a tail grand Hennessy, black beanie,
Similar to G Deini, shrink haters tryna  stay above me,
Me and my girl, go together like suns to moons, consume,
By her perfume, natural scent, linked for the spiral embezzlement,
Souls touched, double dutch, break out like a Jordan Clutch,
Fadeaway, all the negativity, lift ya ****** off of gravity,
If ya try me, soldier born eyes in the storms, to stay ready,
Mind focus, sharp as a michete, peaceful but deadly,
Preach to these cats, not enough cheese for the rats,
Quick to pat you down, let off rounds, body kiss the ground,
How many gotta die, for us to be ratified, by justice that fried,
Innocent lives, still tryna find the honest hives, cried,
Many lonely nights, mocked the rain, like tears, streaming down,
The window pane, stuck at a loss, tryna focus on gains,
Refrain, from the haters still wear zoot suits,with a gator,
Fedora hats, looking in the mirror, at myself, likes who's that?
Gotta stay cool, don't let them see a break, a sweat fool,
I watch the mule, shake off of the evil jewels, know the rules,
Play it safe, ninety eight laws, of power, helped from being sour,
As I shower, drops,
Over ya head, half senile threads, on my thoughts that spread,
Miss the feds, they tried to blast, but I'm too fast, built for everlast,
Crash, dummies order of chaos, wrapped like a mummy,
Ensemble, something mindful, pass the dreadful, and hateful,
People taking too many spoonfuls, of lust, greed, and weath,
Dont ask me, why I blast back, I keep myself deep in stealths,
Ach'n (ache Ken) Existential Struggle...

(NOT by Bellini, Paganini, Rossini...
Eeny Meany Miney Moe - si,
nor the three stooges tee hee hee)

twill never end till...this oft writ trend
of mine will never end,
only when...mortality
ike'n no longer defend!

Thus...once again, (or...as per usual),
this poem iz a boot
ruminations about bout,
who else except this ole coot
at das receiving end ******
lifetime role, and goot

raw end of deal, sans docks side of
moon efficient intervention
(teachers never gave a hoot)
as they appeared oblivious,
how moost all classmates did loot

mine emotional account, viz
cheap trick super ***** ping coot
tees reviled, renounced,
and wreaked havoc as root
of all misfortunate previous

to mine existence,
as iced (sic culled) hood
reaper remained mute
and scythe lent,
while (cue in dolorous)

melody issued from
Mose Arts magic flute,
whereat serpent (also known
in political circles as
Sally Salamander Newt

Gingrich) charmed goaded,
and relentlessly needled
Eve with snake hushed snoot,
thenceforth viper got ramrod
rigid taut as jute

of course this a fallacy as
just smore hove my fruit
fully "FAKE" pre fabric hated
discombobulated trumpeting ill suit
head prevarications – more

offal than glute
tee us expulsion, donned
as invisible faux poetic
apparel clothing with astute
cheeky effects,  thus allowing,
enabling, and providing

adapt tub bull usage as zoot suit,
or as space age jumpsuit,
when I travel (with my cute Malamute
outsize prairie dog like fine home
companion) to the outer limits

of the twilight zone,
which groovy farout signals
detected by vodafone
and desperate plea made
to aliens to abduct me

(receiving an affirmative
digital binary tone)
similarly couched courtesy of publishers,
unlike the negative responses,

predictably forecast, no complex koan
but clear as day -
inducing a slight inward moan,
which figurative slap in face

finding yours figuratively prone,
hence...a recurring well known
fantasy regarding plucking
this chicken (198920) heart lee
moss see rolling stone.
I walked the straight path,
Broad wicked laughs, back draft, got the people's getting autograph,
By the poisoned, my ears picky to the sounds
That lifts me,
Bless the spliffs of a rhyme, it's so heavenly, they see it as a hellish sea,
Cuz I take the santicity, of life seriously, like why everybody wanna pick on me,
Is it because, I peep the world for what, it really bleeds, indeed,
Cant heal the wounds, that been consume, by the evils perfume, that looms,
Over society, specs nervous, like sinners in sunday service, lurkers
Take a good glance, as i romance ya medulla truth to the spiritual shooters,
Though I may be fried, and denied, but im walking like the great leaders,
Assassinated amongst us, say they love us, but I all i see is hate brushed,
Amongst us, cant talk real any more, cancel nation on the verge of a war,
Since I was raised on the battlefield, that Adolf ****** once shield,
Rookie killers tryna get time like Miller, bone chiller, vibe to the thrills of Dilla,
Perform excellence, no embellishment, succeed in all, accomplishments,
Multiple clients, we never repent to the evil that's always sent, I stitch,
Pain long ago, but no matter where I go, i go people still wanna know,
Why I rebel, i sit like jesus inside of a jail cell, i ain't scared to die in Hell,
Feel me, folks be real with me,? Where do you picture your soul eternity?
I picture my self at the mountains, blazing trees, with Panthers round me,
And a big throne, all alone my eyes glaring, bleeding the pain of humanity,
Wish they could see, what I see though the choirs sung, of the angelic family,
Link with the Cosmo portals, along with the mice galaxies, they sent me,
To level the earth, since my birth, cried once I stepped foot, on the mass,
This a new clash of jazz, flashback of the rat pack, dance to this silent track,
But you'll draw tunes, once you get caught, in the verbal booms, super sonic,
No more need for chronic, I saw the light in the dark, and vice versa,
This is an old school circa, zoot suitz witha couple of godly troops,
Still riding high in my lexus coupe, oops, I mean I'm in a daydreams,
Diary and drama of King, diseases still laying tragedy in the families,
I know what they doing, depopulate only to create, clones of humans faith,
Demonized the idea, by the time theyll realize, theyll be already magnetized,
Sights of blue beams, I told yall in the sunbeams, the hardest at dawn,
Time to get it on, one on one, microphone battle, political cypher rattles,
They playing both sides, of war and peace but I see the, death rates increase,
Along with my heartbeat, it beats to the rhythm of nature,
No weapons form against me, shall harm me, I speak from the same imagery,
Of the dead before me, they gave me these skills, to talk so eloquently,
Now Im. Sleepless, hopeless but at the same time, I'm hoping for less,
Never chase success, I just look at the rest, fighting over spare change,
Fools need to get together
How can we endeavor
Never say never flows is clever
My defense like mayweather
Turn enemies light as a feather
Still rocking zoot suit leather
Pay like you weigh
I could go all day hit em like an AK
47 somebody goin to heaven
Got girls talkin' to me like Tevin
Who better than the rap veteran
Check the grand finale
Enemies trail behind me
Like receding hair lines taxin' fines
We some mob playas
Rollin' with fine dimes style genuine
But no pony show this for the
Hataz and undacovas brascos
I buck em like a bronco
Spinnin' heads like a disco
Ball ya see me my clique
Always standing tall emcees on a gall
For my downfall
We got the business wrapped tight
Blow comp out the water
Like dynamite flows ya recite like rites
Invincible who come with a better flow
Know the principle this be oriental
Raps put em in critic-al
Condition sound the commission
Got everybody **** flinchin' wishin"
I disappear but I be the rap whodini
Make grants like a genie who could see me
Break bricks like Luigi
Super brother nasty lover
Quick to smother a mother
And any other
Dime piece that want to get they
Mouthpiece
Filled sending thrills so much ice
I could chill
The whole **** world baby girl
It ain't about diamonds and pearls
So step.off before I shoot off
A couple of rounds
And you'll be in mazed swirl whoaaa


Yeah my team come through
Rippin' ligaments and you too
If you gotta problem
We resolve em death solves em
They don't want none
With the sho gun **** I blow some
To get me ill better yet dumb
Young ignorance makes for defiance
My alliance cause riots
No matter how hard it gets
I stay hard as erected **** flippin' chips
Mute those with loose lips
My nine flips
Suckas out the scene im biohazard
My flows leave ya plastered
Make disaster looks easy
Never cheesy please believe me
My cartel makes hell
Boats on shore with yeyo
Like the government coke import
Take puff off of the new port
Sike better yet take a snort
Of blow so my visions can flow go
Watch me as I sow the game though
Got the imperial settlement
From illegal transactions
I'm.talkin' embezzlement hell sent
See my flames from the sky
So why lie and try only to die
We come stompin' like a buffalo herd
So **** what ya heard word to the birds
That try to sing get a gun sling
Slow songs and flowers bring
No happiness stuck in a reminscie
Hugs and a kiss
Greeted by fams and friends
But in the end you see the eternal abyss
Reaper comes as no surprise
Double my eyes
Once I recieve a natural high
From hittin' a cutie pie
Dom sippers never paid for strippers
Shake the game make for a
Heavy tippers
Take another sip of
The liquor sitting in my glass
High class pounds of grass
So stay chill or else
Feel my heavy brass
Ben Tol Feb 2019
Want the world to leave me alone,
Get lost in my herbal cone,
Sink back and think about things,
Sooner or later Eureka will ring.

Don’t want to be one of society’s drones,
Another animal forced in clothes,
My thoughts should be all of my own,
Dictated to by somebody unknown,
We should be free from our birthplace’s shackles,
A stranger won’t fight a stranger’s personal battles.

Train of thought broken,
As a crisp is missed and the tongue is bitten.

First moment I’ve noticed the high,
Twenty-something minutes after the zoot has gone dry,
Cotton-mouth again what a surprise,
Looking like I’ve sprinkled salt in my eyes.
Charles Sturies Aug 2017
No one looks like Bozo.

One I thought looked like Emmit Kelley without makeup but I really don't know how that is.

One looks like a humorous orderly in Mount-Sade.

One looks like Magpie, a little movie scene whom I think might have a great Native American seeing her right there in the picture gallery of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.

One looks like how you'd imagine an African-American Wyatt Earp would look.

One looks like that mafia I saw in Sport Magazine once where he was in a crowd at a major league baseball game and somebody yelled **** the umpire and it showed him pulling a revolver out of his zoot suit coat pocket.

One looks like a humorously very windy African-American man like Bill Cosby might have looked to some.

Motley Crue they're not.

Roocoo trying to trip on kerosene fuel they're not.

This group of fellows are funny without being snots.
Charles Sturies
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2021
qp
such episodes do happen...
  when i write more than i read:
by that i invoke
even the wait... necessary for
the weekend edition of a newspaper
and... all the reviews come in...
of books, of t.v. shows...
imagine: people have employed
people to ingest... digest...
ingest... digest what's on offer...
while lying in bed for an hour
i had to cling to the idea
of having enough time
to listen to an hour of BBC radio 3...
call me a snob or whatever
but this is where the taxpayers'
money is being well spent...
bbc radio 3 is a flagship model
of "arrogance": well... more or less
a perfected taste...
or not that even remotely
being allowed... to pass (with)
my breath let alone off my tongue...
i'd rather employ my tongue
to trill an R or wriggle in between
chewing a decently arrived at cut
of beef - that hasn't been doubly
butchered...
although... if my memory serves me
right... the folk in england
prefer their beef done to a synch...
well-done...
doubly-butchered...
eating among the natives
i'd soon turn to a diet of
   the Jain... or thereabouts
with that plethora of spices
and lentils...
but i would go begging vegetarian
if i were served... well done beef
all the ****** time...
undeserving... rearing a colt bull
for the slaughter and not appreciating
something either bleu...
rare or medium at the rear of
rare...
a bit like contaminating
whiskey with lemonade (when bourbon
just the trick)...
or not... or when gesticulating at
something in Braille...
reading the air: or as one might
have to... tackling the Linear B...
but there are certainly not enough
hours in the day for listening to
bbc radio 3...
for a while i thought that radio 4
had the prime status...
conversation: mmm hmm:
very important...
come to think of it...
i have got used to walking without
needing the cushioning of my fatty
brainz with two pouches of
electric-current seizures... at the snap
of the fingers (etc.)
- that the wind doesn't play flute...
well i neither **** out syllables
of trombone either...
a bizarre interlude of when i actually
read less than i write...
oh i'm pretty sure it shows...
when i write more than i read...
i start to choke on my own subjectivity,
self-importance... "autism" / solipsism...
by the hand that does
imitation ****** in the no. 3 on
the throne of thrones...
sitting in an akimbo pose
at the end of the day
when what has been necessarily *******
out has ******* out
and there's only a prayer
for a tapeworm: no, no champagne
to not be... ******* out as proof
that... dieting revisionism works...
but like my fickle memory:
otherwise exposed to that almost
diabolical Pavlovian stressor testing
within the confines of pedagogy...
(k)nitty-picky what's on offer from
history... ah... the Angevin empire...
the Capetian dynasty... culminating
with Phillip II...
Henry II...
             Otto IV... not sure...
thrown into this cauldron of time...
what's on offer...
we most certainly fill this world
to the brim...
        so much so that there's no reason
or capacity to keep up...
at a time when i write more than
i read...
an exhaustion with a self
and all its abstract *******, comes to mind...
it would be so much easier
to doodle back into reading something
"important"...
but it's not like Delmore Schwarz is alive
and it suddenly dawns upon me...
apart from reading newspapers...
the odd opinion section daily...
waiting for Sunday's news review...
lately... dissatisfying...
and all the book reviews...
  well... perhaps i'm writing more than
necessary because, simply because...
well... if the substance / topic
is oh so very interesting...
the punctuation is without "umami"...
of note: the english language is
without diacritical marks
so there goes the whole idea
of meditating on intra-verbum
punctuation / syllabary...
no... i did my stint with katakana and i'm
not going back...
i need to see holes again...
to x-ray through and onto the canvas
holes in: a, b, A, B, R, O, o, P, p, g,
   d, D... q... Q...
bring me back to seeing letters
for their sounds...
after all these letters look like
they were intended for
lip-reading...
   and most of the time they are...
quirky awry ******* a lemon almost: Q...
qp
       cute: parrot... cue moi... again...

- not that i can say i eer played
the violin...
but after a morning shower...
a day spent curating the garden
so the patio looks presentable
to the "palette" of which there
is no taste to be minded (solely for the eyes)...
an uncombed beard
does feel... less than a **** garden
kept by chance (or miracle)
of its own doing...
scratching my ***** "altar" is more
rewarding...
but, come circa 12am
and the beard is finally combed...
with its full bloom
and volume restored...
well then... the chin and the entire
jaw line can retain its
mythological status of being
hidden under this *****-galore
wonder...
a full hand of this specific rustic
is what keeps me from
having any ***** envy...
although my hands are expansive
enough to be able to hold
a basketball in one...
no wonder i prize a woman's
hands as the most ****** part
of her body...
clearly exaggerated exfoliations
of the hind and **** would
drive any man bonkers...
it's almost cartoonish but at heart
primeval / prehistoric...
what might allow me to gravitate
toward identifying an mammoth
without the word mammoth...
or a squid without the colour of
a mountain drowning in a sea...

qp... i believe that       Ф (ef, fe, phi)
are its closest "abbreviations"
insinuating "marriage"...
but unlike that Siamese coupling
of ancient-doodle-this-doodle-that
of twinning vowels (æ)
qp... did emerge as F...

      i abhor being reminded
that language is volatile...
that it "evolves" that it's an algebraic
x, y, zoot...
            confiscate one of my tongues:
for the love of god...
push me into a structure
of psychology that has only
room for one zunge...
not these bi-schizoi-duo-d(wins)...
apparently each to their own...
- because it's not even that
i'm expecting the natives to scratch
a furthering of exterior possible
with a 2nd tongue...
i'm half-way: meeting...
i'm ****'s sake all the half's need
to be passably involved for
the natives to interact with:
alias - pseudo n.p.c.
graffiti giraffe etc.

qp = ϕ
if æ = a + e...
         yes... let me return to the letters
that represent sounds...
i don't care...
mother goose, alias superior...
what the mandarin hieroglyphs are thrown...
synonym them otherwise
are emoticons, ideograms. etc.
hell... throw in the Linear B...
that whole Mycanaean shabang...
i need to see what can be later heard...
not what can be "insinuated"
what is an otherwise
simple...

my boa my 堡 (ba-o)...
my f-ort...
                    but sure as chicken crazy
******* pigeon glue
that's not a mind-****** of a su-do-ku...
for the reason that i might
love english pragmatism and abhor
the "zeitgeist" / vogue of Darwinism
like it might be a Copernican revolution...

i will not learn to decipher
Chinese hieroglyphs not because i'm
lazy but because i'm of a musical
lot... a#...
                even though i'm almost tone deaf
that's an elephant stepped on
my tongue... base my reason(s)
on an ability to whistle...
i'm too agitated to want to learn
this labyrinth of squat: x-ray...

three alphabets available on the word
go...
but it's nonetheless redeeming
to caress a bush of a beard
with a mythological chin...
all the more since i can't play
the violin...
self-                         -love?
                +
stressing my own self-
                                            -worth?
no one, beside my own toils will
write such... taming...
              beside all the lost ideals of love...
lesbians!
when kissing my teenage girlfriend in
the park when i donned long hair
like a Hindu priest...
etc.
            way before the internet was
established as this gimmick of status quo /
a Sisyphusian task-load of
bogged down in baritone...
cull of toads...
  and... gurgle... and gluttony of gurgling...
and soap bubbles...
and adventure... of skim-reading
encyclopaedic entries...

come to think of it...
reading and rereading an encyclopaedia
and somehow a revision
of a day...
come the same old spring
when in the loosening of air
come the exfoliating magnolias
that steal everything necessarily
not a vanilla mono-
                       glitch of the toast of taste, & buds...

how refreshing it must all
be: tamed, with(in) the confines
of atoms, of letters...
so far removed from the constraints
of syllables...

how "poverty" riddled
the complexity
of :
       ン   ナ    ニ    ヌ    ネ    ノ
             ア     イ    ウ    エ   オ
fudge packaging...
   might i "want" to use )( brackets...
what about an apostrophe?
to hide a surd...
e.g. gnostic = 'nostic...

   i mean... all these idiosyncratic
very latin-esque junctions
of keeping up
aesthetic practices...
    it's hardly ******* Bengali...
and even if it was...
what saved the blues (indians)
was their cuisine...
that rupture that explosion
from a standard of salt, pepper...
rosemary... thyme...
how the red (indians) didn't survive
the surge... how they admired mustangs...
how they didn't spice-up...
their bread was beyond flat...
how collectively: a breeding of man...
had to allow such curators of:
what was readily available...
left to waste... that land of the frontiers...

then came a claustrophobia surrounding
the great basin of hearth...
this spec of near impossible trajectory...
having a lace
of recurrent for a spin:
spring fresh... rekindled emotion:
once more... greater tasks for god
to contest: best nothing...
while there being a blister...
a homage to purpose within limbo...

if nothing was the mind-bending, enough...
that acting was what allowed
shadow-thieving...
from no pulpit
but i find it impossible to curate
what democracy is all hot & bothered about...
i can't find the vein...
of "purpose"...
agglomerate my first come last...
suppose there's this over-arching comfort
of predictability and
this snooze buttocks for skidding
into "purpose"...

       i'm less than agitated
by this core, defining... "purpose"...
since the purpose of journey is well
established...
but that there's also
a "well done" a pat-on-the-back
a sense of accomplishment
when laced with the "claustrophobia"
of death...
an oozing through a membrane
peeking from beneath a curtain...

     sensibly being allowed to focus
on sphinxes... cats... bonsai tigers...
because as much as i love dogs
and have, loved, dogs...
ageing the leash is a non-starter...
i much prefer an intelligence
in the eyes of something petted
than the eyes that will otherwise
merely implore: scrutiny not available...

no wonder the blah-lah muslims
implore a scrutiny of letttering
of dog | god...
in english... i ask...
all?                            aaaah...
        so who's more adhan ready?

for the sake of jumbled orange
and its jelly offspring...
at some point i might have...
most probably... encountered a completion
of rho-****...
that trilling-R-monkey...
****-similis / similis est...
         but not since the replica
coliseums burst open onto the stage
of footsie fancy...

squat... scrutiny... beside the meaning
of words...
first come the sounds....
only later... whether or not
i kept vigil over having
spelled them, proper...

any "deviation" from standarised
punctuation inter-verbum
is my own...
and as my own: i keep it.

— The End —