and they made me feel like the elephant man (hey! hey the fifth cartilage limp movement!): china's up 2% on the scrooge market of investing into blah blah, while Nokia made investments into Samsung... and the Hawaiian sun never scorched people so much as the volcano of Pompeii had once: and as i now understand, some people don't understand a simple word like no.*

medieval europe was right into fit girls,
appreciating their beauty in an
iron maiden or burning on a stake,
pacified western society is into warlocks,
they have all the torture instruments
in the shape of a pill...
peacocks we can eat, beautiful humans
we need to torture,
so when medieval europe got rid of
beautiful women, modern europe
is getting rid of beautiful men, because,
like, why not? god, writing these words
almost makes me feel like a god,
a detached human being,
only three years i can count as fathomable
in terms of being competitive on the
dating scene,
all the year prior and proceeding after i find
too much of an Elvis antidote to the english
stiff upper lip... i'm having nightmares along
the lines of: so i was sitting under a citrus tree
and newton fell on my head...
i guess i invented the circle but didn't invent the
wheel...
wheel being the byway interpretation of
a circle and a sphere...
but you know how it goes... torture tactics had
to change for the cultural emblem that the crucifix
is to remain.

a. seriously! b. but seriously what? what, can't death be faked with amiable limbs and you still will be pressing for a sickness in the realm of psychiatry, you playing a double-irish game with me? oh how i began loving to hate people.*

in secular society, everyone thinks
they've been educated in psychology,
and are qualified to prescribe
medication, when in fact they're just
pathetic informants of deviation that
could easily pass, should the one concerned
by a homosexual: well! my *** is ready!
come on!

I have tried too many times
reaching out my hand with no kind returns
pulling back my hand to find
just broken fingers, scars, and burns

since no song unto poland, where sing and to whom if not scotland?! for where else my home?! but now i, in abandonment of freedom nearly grasped, in the white shadow of william's tower: residing in the nearing end of london - so that fox and crow might know my name and fellowship of un-abandoned gemini, each thought has become a memory for each rhapsody of an imagine you carved into me - yet why the madness of a Finnish lass wandering the Cow Gate street looking for a boyfriend, and why not a girl of firm root to teach me to stay put?*

i count my life a life
before i succumbed
to this ****-wit platform
of the alt. t.v.,
and there my blank canvas
was black, rather than this
white.. there i merged
nimble crab with hardy
nimble oyster... and there
the waves, and there scotland,
a dream beyond irish catholicism
within england of being schooled...
and there scotland!
o dream, o dreams! let me venture
back there! but i know you
will refuse me the grant of such
a wish... then let us ease heart an hearts
with a constant striving for labour,
and whether labour acknowledged
or disavowed as important
so that the supposedly noble-chaste
can battle with opinions rather than
with an eager man's axe to topple them!
am i too to not dream of a higher woman
keeping leverage of the women before
me watching in earnest a safe home
provided by a mule or an idiot or a banker?
but i rather dream, than be among such
rot of the oaken bark with stench
than makes me all the more eager to depart!
O Scotland! each night i claw off my face
in hope of seeing yorick, my youthful dream
of a song i kept to keep me youthful in memory,
and that platter of haggis, neeps and tatties
with a sucker of whiskey drenching the meats.

we just provide the bang, you provide the number of bangs as necessary to craft an execution of poetic extinction via ideology of supposed "survival" with executing the myth of Dr. Faust, because too ridiculous, which begs the question: so Darwin and the Galapagos turtles isn't a good joke akin to some pervert inspecting butterflies who turned out to be a ******* - because of that cherry skin buttocks?*

all this LGBT thing going on
doesn't appeal to me to
reproduce, i just can't be bothered to get married,
i can't be bothered feeding
heterosexual labour
with the end product being higher prostitution
of surrogate mothers,
you have the power to grow ***** into
foetuses and designer babies, i'm not
necessary given this passive-peace;
i'm liberal up to a point,
after that something horrid takes over...
leave me alone, get the ***** bank to be completely activated
and surrogate mothers the new prostitutes accomplish
a new stratum of earning and spending:
heterosexuality is dead...
or if alive it's what enslaves...
i'm no longer the necessary the body to provide
choice, science over-powered man,
not unlike man over-powering nature
akin to china and india,
but over-powering nature unable
to out-number nature's example of ant of termite;
oh indeed the power, and family as pathological...
enslaving nature limits our growth,
liberating nature dis-inhibits a care to gain power over
when still the earthquake and tornado and hurricane...
science is merely millimetre and a gram!
why take faith in itemisation of such nature
when satiated with dinner you take the dog for a walk
and still look into the distance without clear
dissection - because you do not dissect a living thing,
and when science dissects, it presuppose the thing
to be dead, whether dead or alive, but in chemistry
and physics the thing is either too ridiculous to be alive '
or too grand to be alive -
yet the popularisation of a biological theory
is like the birds & the bees, and the hives, and the candlestick
wax made from pollen of what could have been honey...
biologists are the nazis among scientists,
because, i mean, they're not exactly surgeons,
or medical students, are they? they're about as useful
as psychologists when you have historians
and literature students to make the healthier point of *huh?

they want to read you and not think, so too they want to read you and  not see, they hardly care for punctuation necessarily used, so who's out there to please? n'ah really, i was onto something, i meant that if the Kantian thing-in-itself was applied to the cartesian expression, either thinking-in-itself or being-in-itself is jested at, then we can explain the freedoms of disobedience and obedience, truthfulness and falsehood, and the parody of paradoxes, as highest claimants the claimants: (singular plural) choice - whereas will (plural adjective congregating into singular) is always a butterfly fluctuation of measuring an exactness akin to dating and remembering 1066 the battle of Hastings.

mingle Kant with Descartes and you get thought as the
per se* existence - splitting into either fact of coining
phrases or robbing someone: no doubt (existential
good faith) and certainly no denial (existential
bad faith) - mingle Kant with Descartes
and you get the twins
cogito ergo sum mingling with noumenon,
and thus somewhere along the line
you get to see the membrane of the zygote,
like the thought behind a criminal life
where the life is unexplained because the thought
of such a life is "easily" accessed,
so too in reverse, i.e. being a councillor
or a clerk makes such thinking easily explained
for the prop of the life lived "easily" justified via
the person trading tomatoes or lamb shanks
to keep you unthinking in a bureaucratic role.

i must have a **** taste in
art should i be getting
jealous of the readership quota
for some of these poems...
mm ha ha!
edit me as anti-vindictive
and simply over-baking the buns
in the oven of my eyes
as if the ones not settled
yet beginning to rise -
the sea in the seashell - and
every other paranormal easy,
explanation of parallel assortment.

he sits all alone
in a smoky dusty bar
in a twilight zone of his own
he counts the neon stars

he isn't anywhere
and he isn't going anywhere

he sits by himself
as another day passes
like the bottles on the shelf
and the empty glasses

ι'μ σεεινγ
                         αν ωπτωμετριστ,
           ανδ ναι, α γρεεκ;
i had a cyrillic (
   с-у-р-у-л-ьи-ч?
    celery... celeriac kayak?!)
           optometrist
once, but it didn't work
                              out;
back to celeriac kayak canoe...
    the explosion                  
                                of acronyms
and emoticons [        :)    :(    ;)     :'(       ]         
                        in the english
language sparked         the frustrating
                                chaos          
                      of optic carousels.