i'm still wondering
how ray manzarek
(keyboardist of the doors)
made his keyboards
sound like a wild west
saloon harpsichords
noted esp. on l.a. woman;
as i said to one cowboy in there,
if you're going to throw that
bottle of whiskey at someone
here's a hammer and give that
bottle to me, i'm about
to **** my underwear watching
minors get addicted to the stuff
forgetting it's a metabolic trick
rather than a psychoactive need -
and you know, the way i drum
with my hands without a drum kit
is to encompass bass rhythm guitar
drums and piano.

strange to be surrounded by the heroism of the careful edit of Thespians, who can wage win or lose wars with a careful edit and the use of steroids to show the hardship of our former life now made easier - being surrounded by the staged heroism of careful edit, Thespian expression breeds in all a dissatisfaction with menial labours we could be better off to encourage as a non-victimising share of labour, and yet among such numbers of fellows we find our labours too menial, robbing us of the comfort of being as one among so many, only because we're being fed fake courage of Thespians and the subsequent fake adventures of the same profession, to only turn askance into the world and instead of adventure only seeing prospects of tourism, and former hardships of our forefathers as only menial banality.

recitation of religous mantras
seem all the more important
with the blocked toilet
of darwin's **** keeping
the foremost populist adhesive
among people reciting no other
scientific theories -
like that one about a pea-sized
dollop of toothpaste
and any more actually causing
nicotine colouring on your teeth -
dentists                  &                  money
&                             each             other
trade (tried and tested, agreeable paradox).
well currently darwin and einstein
are instructing societies in terms
of respectable talk, talk so respectable
that no counter opinion can enter,
because too few scientific facts
are given mantra status...
cite me a theory from chemistry,
cite me at least one thing
about thermodynamics...
exactly, you can't!
we might as well endear a harking laugh
of a fox and the howling bark of dog -
because the western dogma mantra is so
limited - maxims replace poems
and poems are hid whether under the
debasing blanket of lyrics that are simple
due to excess instrumentation
and no hope of singing in duo presence
of both singer and the one expecting song -
or under blankets of fictive corpses
of bored readers - as once noted and spotted:
a funeral service corporate "shop"
and in it too st. francis' hospice selling charity books.

should shiva's attainment of vishnu's peace of mind be attained and subsequently lost, shiva's third eye opens and turns the mind toward the only subsequent definition of former attainment of peace, the third eye opens and turns to warring and destruction; toward the east, Asia's Thespians are known as Avatars - if not thieving from men, then at least enriching gods.

finally! finally that i'm drinking myself to death they left me be! hooray! i'll just let the english mis-diagnose me as schizophrenic to remind me of being deported from england like a wild animal on the day i started high school! double hooray *******! by god i can punch a brick wall in memory of the day - but now my right hand's index finger doesn't bend like it used to into a fist, what am i to do? let's do psychological puppetry.*

oh but how many times
they tried my life
and grew tired of taking it
and began living in fear
among such grandiose expressions
whether in minimalist art
or grand architecture or
subjective historicity that's nostalgia,
nearing 2007 i wished to travel
to india and walk across to
jerusalem but was thwarted,
i still remember the stoner who
sat in parks fasting and with eyes
closed meditated, before, before all that
came after, a friend from which
friendship sprouted aged 13
and an indian-irish mongrel and a russian *****
with roots in both hungary and poland
almost killing you but certainly giving you
a brain haemorrhage which was apparently
a cartesian inversion of physics...
and the laughs... oh the laughs... he he mickey mouse.

i didn't want to be displaced, thanks to the slobbering pope who only became a saint because he was dying in a full public spectacle drooling on the throne... he wouldn't be a saint right now if he decided to become a pope emeritus and gave his death a privacy, no, instead it was "baby papa want a napkin or the shroud of turin to wipe that agony off, the slurred punctuation of papa's speech?"*

it made sense to confiscate crimea,
after all st. petersburg
was the out-dated "window into europe"
after being replaced by kaliningrad,
so russia's need for a window into asia minor
with the poked eye capacity of crimea;
all that sea, all that sea before us,
you can dig underground tunnels
and still see for miles across the black sea!

For over two years, every day, I've dreamt of dying. Historically, I've always hated change but I'd certainly consider killing for some now.

in england the maxim is said to be: i pathologize, therefore i am (pathological) - hence i write intellectual comedy, satire, yet still utilise canned laughter when necessary, i never understood humour as not so much what's said, but how body language primarily eases out the longest, simplest of laughters - i am the one who decided comedy had to be intelligent, and tragedy apathetic, because i didn't think, i simply pathologized: look at my grand psychiatric rainbow of an array of names to look at a shadow of the hand move behind a candle-flame! even a mongol horde could not invade england carrying thought as the explorer, the intention for pause.*

cheeks raised do not give straight rivers
of tears flowing down through to the periphery
of the face via jaw through to the neck,
and indeed when not acting,
both curvatures of mouth and eyes
are the same down-turned, such parabolas
of union, the third eye like an opening of an
oyster soft pouched thought of the lowest
union, neither intellectual union nor
heartfelt union - but as oyster shell to that
pseudo-muscle of the enclosed pearl;
tears flow with curvatures of raised cheeks
half ellipse river shapes - till the salty cool
of the content heats up the skin -
indeed the powerful avatars of asia who enrich
the gods, and the begging actors of the western world
who would be but beggars had they not the chance
to thieve from their fellow men and
live out a shortening of autobiographies,
or perhaps simply weave a myth from history -
deity actors (avatars) are hardly
what has become understood as twin-human
actors - so to enrich an eternity for the passing
memory readied with body to be given a grave
and forgetting - long ago the body was engaged
and was allowed to be given the womb of inscription,
yet a ghost of that body remained as a second life
for the lives of others, a memory, until that memory
be buried no furtherance of life equipped with
imagining otherwise can be staged for the re cycling
of an ordained body to enter and inscribe
a rekindling of the memory for the camp fire of talk,
hence the extinction of memory in almost each man
with the widespread talk of dementia:
seek fame in mythology rather than like a ****
attracting the swarm of flies that the paparazzi are.

There's Chamfort. He's a sample.
Locked himself in his library with a gun,
Shot off his nose and shot out his right eye.
And this Chamfort knew how to write
And thousands read his books on how to live,
But he himself didn't know
How to die by force of his own hand--see?
They found him a red pool on the carpet
Cool as an April forenoon,
Talking and talking gay maxims and grim epigrams.
Well, he wore bandages over his nose and right eye,
Drank coffee and chatted many years
With men and women who loved him
Because he laughed and daily dared Death:
"Come and take me."