for those yet, imagining themselves alive...
i "kwa'ight"....
quiet... quite...
         acquitted...
if there's a rock to be lived
under:
i'll just be the rock... i once had a faint
notion that i was alive...
i had what might be congested in a summary:
a thirst... a willingness...
summary and all those
broken things... "things"...
within the enraged solo
projects of solipsists...
self-"betterment" up a cul
de sac... has... infiltrated my
breathing: crease... count in german:
eins zu zehn
jeden do dziesięć...
   kurwa jebana mać...
poor traffic... thd ******* blinkers are
on... a turning right done awry...
ein(s)... one... jeden...

eine ein eins jeden raz one
zwei dwa two
drei trzy three
vier cztery four
fünf pięć five
(pięść is a denotes a fist... a faust)
sechs sześć six
sieben siedem seven
acht osiem eight
neun dziewiendź nine (nein nein)
zehn dziesięć ten....

mind you...
be drop the pointless diacritical marker
on the iota... we'd see more "punctuation"
markers: where, otherwise: we wouldn't...

i congested myself with counting
in three languages to somehow...
ease-up...
ten? informant: he / him!
ta? informant: she... shimmy(?!) her's...
hisses of his'...

i will not bring the Iberians into
this discussion...
what's left, though? scraps
of language and language policing...
******* and bells...
twang... death to the ditto... blah blah:
bleach and mythological blondes...
scraps i do one job good for you...
most... better... will not trace lineage...
no smear...

          t"they" never think less of
the Yugoslavs... i'm tired of being a punching bag of a people...
of all "people": the Irish not 'ard enough to
challenge the English have to find...
come the Soviets come the Nazis simultaneously...
looks like integrating into English society
didn't allow me to forget...
this zunge doesn't erase the ******* blows...

rich, though... no surprise that the Reesh
would squander and throw their *******
potatoes like monkey **** at...
oh i guess: shelved "life"... peoples...
if i were living back among my brethren...
i don't think i'd be living at all...
what would i do with not being
agitated concerning... minor... qualms?

the ******* leprechauns... priests...
are less than the english...
but are somehow tier above the pollacks?
it's no offence when it sounds proper...
in a foreign babble...
dzida...

          i'd just ask the Eire son...
so... ahem... where's your ******* Celtic?
gone... non-existent?

aon, dhà, trì, ceithir...
   còig (what's wrong with co'ig?)
sia,
seachd, ochd... naoi... deich...
so the grapheme CH = X of greek origin...
a ******* hark?

the Irish like the ******* Arabs...
the British did this to: oos...
it's impossible to live with these
go-to-party "solipsists" to begin with...
integrate? into... or for what?
rot? that's a-plenty...
but when some spaghetti monsters
and those potato jargon-fiddlers start
their usual **** about a fellow
european people...

it's not like the Croats or the Serbs are
ever mentioned...
they vent to h'america and youz zee...
zese irish and italliano guinnea pig-me-ups...
kwoss-eyed... you know...
best bitterest better...
inbreeding... takes a chunk of coal...
chalk and cheddar...
mustard...

  inbreeding mentality... superiority complexes...
no reimagines parmesan cheese like
it's not... shredding... old skin
off of heels...
talk stinkiny witchy with a missing R...
this massive ******* gloat of "riddle"...
that suppose: it's also a man...

       while the world... "also" happens...
these little: belittling interferences...
as if we were all supposed to be crowned kings
or queens... it's not that i'm even elevated
above these concerns...
but that i must have them...
must: if i were a king... i most probably wouldn't
even entertain the sense of hearing
on their existence!

in a society of sociopaths and solipsists...
a massive get together
of protest happens once in a while...
i get drunk and dump ****** words
onto paper...
i'm not alone in this "adventure":
yet i'm beginning to be...
more and more sorry for having
such... indigestions to sorrow over...
moral relativism is out
in the words of the choicest
of the choiciest...
   i'm looking for something beside
the superlative adjective: choicest...
the diminutive "concern"...

which doesn't exist in english...
and i can't exactly introduce it using my:
mutterzunge either...
correct spelling?
look at it... choiciest vs. choicest...
the most most choosey...
to pick of calculus exponentially incremental
details of observable shifts...
the exponential aspect of detail...

how many of the Irish still speak
their Gaelic...
apparently there's a Scotch version
of the tongue...
but... the Scots will not speak it...
completely submerged in their union...
they'll just exfoliate in how distinct
they are from a Loon'don'er
speaking the same language...
you could probably rewrite trainspotting
using that linguistic language
embedded in the dictionary
of:

   how i met your mother, the mute...
/ (haʊ) /
       / (aɪ) /
                 / (mɛt) /
               / (jʊəp) /
                               / (ˈmʌðə) /,
                        / (ðə) /          / (mjuːt) /

i wonder... and what if we started writing
like this? proper... phonetically...
like linguists?
the side note of /(x)/ though...

the written word is doubly ambiguous...
to the point of no return concerning
the sufficiency of its practicality of use...

ʃeɪk  ænd
                ˈʃætə...

if i had the time and *******' worth of
writing a poo'em like a linguist...
if i had more love for the Irish...
sowwy... all love spent on the Scots...
from these Isles at least...

sheikh who? shake your: *****?
that's ******* fwank zapp'ah...
      
but it's not that... i have qualms with
the Irish over the stature and seriousness
when occupying the "underground"...
i won't rap: god forbid i...
"**** someone": my catchphrase
wouldn't be:

allahu akhbar... it would be that teutonic chant
of: gott! mit! uns!
if that Norwegian hyper-smart terroroist
chanted those words...
what words? these words:
gott! mit uns!

   but around these isels...
you'd think there might be a sense of solidarity...
among the catholic irish and the
catholic poles...
but no... tępy ajrysz...
  blunt-irishman...
                  one side arguing for the other sides
dislodging of "i.q."...
same with those spaghetti swindlers...
the...

mind you... ****** is not a racial slur...
it's actually better to denote a pole a ******
since... not kinh john: lackland...
the whole hiss-tow-stowwy...
i'm not pole: positioned...
i'm not...

    divorced from "my" people:
and the "mother" land...
                  Warsaw the last great end-venture...
keeping it up...
mawa: little old gone...
         in the hunch fabric of
lessening the diaspora approach...
you don't think i mind the missing links...
when there's a collected agenda for the purpose
of a purge of the intelligensia...
now... because only the Jewry suffered
a historical lineage of tonguies
towing complaints....

         **** it: the russian sayingly... newly invented:
**** me?! ******* too!
but in the english realm who's the lesser
******* among the polacks and the irish?
who's less gingerbreadman?
my side... most probably...
how will we ever let the 20th century become
past?
oh **** me... we will need another
war... but chances of that are...
sort-of-slim...

             no? it might begin with:
bypassing loan-words...
and how self-help gurus and famous psychologists
refrain from infiltrating lost hybrids of
focus, that there might be a clearaance to
discover society outside the realm of pop!
saavvy?
i don't like this...
psychological testimony of:
what's an alpha male?
not me... what's a beta male?
not me... what's a malaise?
what's an omega man?
everything that an alpha male is...
in that... there's an antonymous discharge
of needs... requests...
demands...

how many Irish still speak their...
diego / alfonso magic "whisker" ****?
that ******* Gaelic?
so much for aardvark "typo" in Scotch...
because it just so happens...
you speak an over exfoliation of lettering...
the aesthetically bogus: claim of...
no... no "originality":
i'm not even going to bother the higher
tier of diacritical markers to
instigate "something"...

but this whole: i'm a lesser "european" when
it doesn't suffice in north american parlance...
i'm sort of... em.... ******* bothered?
history seems to be a lesson
in teasing small-**** and the infinite
summary of infancy... last time i heard...
because the Mongols never made it to... "x"...
because the Turks never had ownership of Vienna...
because it took both the Nazis and the Soviets
to make me bow...
in England? the invention of snooker...
tennis... football... rugby...
bored people... obviously...

how: else: woudln't you have capacity...
need... to invent so many coliseum...
distractions to mind: and take seriously...
if you knew: you were an island dwelling folk...
and you staged your pride in not being
invade-prone...
a bit like the whole of east London's
pakistani-land...

wake up 40 years from now... from...
little bengali land...
the Pakistani grooming gangs of the supposed...
while i'm getting more and more irrritated
by paying for ***...
having Bulgarian ****** pretending to be
Romanian....
you see the grit in my use of teeth that aare never used to
nibble and conjure...
a "drying of bones"?

i will complain about the Irish as i will about the
tail-tan'ohs...
******* spaghetti slurppers...
we of the same European origins and the same
brain-drain... because the anglo-saxons
fiddled out a mechanism for...
a "coming together"... of...
a people... just like germany was confederated...
into a federality...
wow!

  the pope receding... on paper...
the Irish make complaints against the Polacks...
the Irish demean the Polacks...
nice nice... here's to me equipping myself with
Haitian "nouns"...
you, *******... ginger: knuckle-fiddle-numb...*****!
what Celt wishes himself to have
a Cyrillic ancestry?! almost all...

have your little i.r.a. memento...
       i'm only concerned about
a pomeranian, conrad... quest...
aren't the czechs / hungarians locked into
that... posit of being: without an access to
a "window"... hardly... that the baltic...
already is... Samaritan....

porsch monkey: among the slurrs... "poet"...
pshek in... denotative lingo...
it's a: thank you...
i call you worse:
    karot... burak... syberik....

thankful though: it's hardly a slur...
king John was known as lackland...
given the shrinking of the Angevin empire...
thus "we"... shrunk to the duchy of warsaw:
a satellite of Napoleon's ambitions...
then the Warsaw Pact...
pandering to the Bolsheviks...
blah blah: now more pandering to
woke ha-ha-h'americanacancan...
the mythological blonde: always on my mind...

the first words in my language
they managed to speak and they somehow managed to
call it a slurr... and polish: paul-leash isn't?
pole position, heading north?

say strawberry in ******?
TRU-S-KAWKA...
     paul's on a leash of nibbling on the quarters
and halves of would be barons of pandemonium...
we were teenagers once...
and once upon in an Ilford mall...
we bought compact disks...
rival schools... fugazi...
coal chamber's dark days...

  those where somewhat architecture days,
though...
you can't make this **** up...
you probably have had to live it, sort of.

- otherwise who can't forget the flight of the Jewry
from the area...
once there was a makeshift synagogue on
Coventry Rd.,
now there's a 7th day evangelical war band
gathering pulpit... source...
i was expecting a mosque: in all honesty...
it's a common suggestion:

now first comes the flight of the Jewry...
the whites are somehow 2nd...
but as i explained to my mother today...
i feel sick in a monochromatic...
homogeneous society...
i went to Cheltenham once...
to hussle my own self-published book...
i felt ill seeing so little minority
representation...
it's not like i'm brainwashed...
but among these minorities in Loon-dune
i'm a ******...
back in Warsaw i'm a feral animal...
among "my people" i'm zero-punkt-zero-nic...

the vagabonds of the world decide to congregate
in Loon'don... for some reason: ulterior or
altogether "other"...
the world has congregated:
is this still about the English having their
nationhood infringed?
perhaps from a perspective
of the Midlands... Birmingham...
but over 'ere...

funny that... i live in England...
but i probably interacted with more Irish
and more Scots than the supposedly
demographically first...
i probably encountered more Pakistanis too...

so what's the difference between
a Samaritan and a Sarmatian?
you're running? i thought i ran...
i might run... who's running?
is it raining?
is that... ****'ite iconoclasm?
sign me up...
            
but living among the Irish who are
not living in Ireland...
a tired old bunch... sometimes...
it's hard to fathom their identity crisis
since a whole swab of them
spoke a zilch of Gaelic...
it's like with these over-impressed
succcess stories of "integration"
from olive-pound land /
****** copper...

the parents want to integrate...
that **** backfires...
the grandson retains the tongue
to his grandma to speak
back to her her native...
yet his... "in-between"... "integrational english"
becomes a sick joke: stereotype...
almost a cul de sac accent...
the sort that has to breathe into a phrase:

oi oi! bown and bwead!
  em... bone and bread?
how does that work?
i guess it must work "miracles" from places
where the ingestion of gelatin is
foreign... transcending "foreign":
too alien to compose...

yes... detailing the promises of pork, pig...
the most economically sound
animal: beside the hoofs...
you can utilise almost... "almost": all of it...
one way of the other...
an animal that can never be a waste:
unless you're into dabbling into a cannibalistic diet...
plus... lamb... lamb: *******: stinks...
the aged lamb...
plus... how would you herd pigs...
pigs aren't herded...
it's a theological anger at...
camel-jockeys being unable to... harvest
the only potential of farm-food... via the pig...
pigs aren't herded:
i've only heard of a herd of pigs
and that's when there came a time
to treat a trough like an array of teats when
the porkies were 'ung...
is it a despised animal?
a despised animal because:
and the devil reimagined himself as a pig?

so god looks like a mythological blonde...
the devil looks like a piggish minotaur...
why this demise of pig?
why this gratification in the islamic mirror
of words looking accessible: i.e. dog | god...
my all mighty: allah: blah-lah...
fork in the road: are we 'appy... "now"?

but when you live among the diaspora of the Irish...
you'd sort of suppose... what's the gaelic for green?
now that the internet is here...
i can find out for myself...

why demean the pig? was the pig created by
the ******* devil?
or is this one of those Abrahamic ploy-toys...
rigidity structures...
to leave you surrendered...
go against anything else: beside the pig...
it's such an economic model, creature...
you can utilise almost all of it...

not all of us were born Afghan sheep
herders... savvy?
that eating pork is somehow signature
of inbreeding and s schizoid tinture...
wh'ah?! i lost the TAU along the way...
o.k.?!

it's a waste of time having arguments
with... oh forget: rag-muffin'...
inbreds... i wass thinking about ***...
i picked a spot... Rotherham...
Pakistani grooming gangs...
oh... right... here's a lollipop... here's some dosh...
i'll get a hard-on with a girl who didn't mature
into prostitution wtih a crack-******* 'abbit...

chances of me ******* low i.q. is like
zilch then? i imagine the tirades...
the knife-insinuations...
**** a barrister: **** for life...
settle down: solve **** concerninng:
immmovaable objects:
the sun still has "egotism" to rise
and call it tomorrow...
and her ******* own too: to boot...
imagine that!

why go after the pork 'n' pie?
why pet a dog?
why pet a cat?
     i've already mentioned...
sometimes lamb: just stinks...
lamb kidneys?
STINK... SCHTINK!
but you also can't keep pigs
in an environemnt where you also use
camels instead of horses... no?
no one is talking about this...
because... it's probably too obvious to have
to stress this ******* argument....

came the Ottomans... the Mongols...
the Soviets for a while...
came the Nazis...
why weren't we the people who championed
each other at snooker...
why didn't we invent football...
tennis... cricket...
rugby... i don't want to blame the English
for their race...
but they have been privileged in:
intra-"whiteness" terminology...

what English soldier ever stood ground
on ****** soil?
i've heard of ****** pilots having dog fights
for the battle of Britain...
how the enigma machine was not merely
the work of Turning...
etc. etc.
gravesend: i'm here reduced to "biasing"...
yet i'm giggling at the remote prospect
of "gravity"...

i have clues to concern myself over...
ownership...
          a hierarchy of a cascade...
time follows time...
this solo project of "individuality"
was never going to... "work"...

pending...

   connlach dearg...

    but the welsh still speak welsh... no?
i guess that Carlsbeg moment of:
probably the best'ly integrated people in
the world... the Welsh are...
they still exfoliate in having a punching bag
of their tow-tongue...
unlike that most, supposed... oppressed people
of the... anglophonic world affair...
the Reesh that speak no ditto of Gaelic...

who are, you, you people?!

MY IRISH ROSE

      In the corner of the pub I stand and raise my glass
      and ask the folks to drink a toast to my Irish Lass
      the one I left behind - the one with the Irish smile
      the one I left behind - the one with the Irish eyes
      so raise your glass and drink a toast to my Irish lass
      cause hopes and dreams of love and life they all go by so fast

      she said oh Jimmy please don't go - you know I love you so
      I kissed her lips and held her tight she was my Irish rose
      then packed my bags with hopes and dreams and off to old New York
      and left her waving on the pier my rose of County Cork
      I said someday I would return and marry you my lass
      but days and weeks turned into months as years went by so fast

      In the corner of the pub I stand and raise my glass
      and ask the folks to drink a toast to my Irish Lass
      the one I left behind - the one with the Irish smile
      the one I left behind - the one with the Irish eyes
      so raise your glass and drink a toast to my Irish lass
      cause hope and dreams of love and life they all go by so fast

      I thought someday I would return with pockets full of gold
      but time has not been good to me I'm a penny short of poor
      it took me years to find my way back to County Cork
      to try and find my Irish lass but she had died the year before
      and on her stone the words they read - forever Jimmy boy
      I placed a flower on her grave - god bless my Irish Rose

                          By Vincent J Kelly (c)2000
                             from the song My Irish Rose
                                   [email protected]

Thank you fighting Irish,
for standing at my side
and I will do the same for you-
as I share in Irish pride,
it's time for every Irish heart,
to come out from where they hide,

We have come amazing distances,
from oppression at our throat,
and we wear some real
deep battle scars,
in an Irish fighting coat,
as we sailed in ships from an irish loam,
as we sailed
in freedom's boat,

All we came -
to this place
yeah we all came the same,
an our happiness-
it was the goal,
in our knowledge
that all hard work pays off
well so knows the diamond
from the coal,
and happy is the little fish,
finding comfort in a shoal,

An it's tattooed on our skin to see,
on an Irish skin so fair,
and in every Irish freckle seen,
it marks connection that we share,
an I don't have to guess at all,
how much my Irish Brothers care,
it's never too much to measure in,
the familiar things we bear,

The same for Irish sisters too,
and all of any other race,
as we are all connected true,
in all the light and colored face,
the color of your skin does not,
provide one with their grace,

We all can be some
Boondock Saints,
like my badass Irish kin,
we all share our connection deep
down below the earthly skin,
to think that what you do -I do
if you do wrong,
then I too "sin"
an we should not be fighting here,
if we join hands-
then we all win,

So I send an Irish blessing
to help you on your way
an I know that you don't need it
but I hear the bagpipes say,
that we have still much work to do,
before we all can hear it play
so as I get down on a bended knee
and again this morn' I pray,

And yeah some hands
were made for fightin'
all defendin' Irish wing
well I hope St. Christopher
he stay with you
until the final ring,
and bring a comfort
to your heart anew,
the kind that only real love bring,

I hope it finds you well
and happy -
an you be contented with your life
an I hope that all are grateful,
for every child, man and wife,
the best time to count your blessings
is when you're knocked down hard
with strife,

So I am sending you my Irish love
I sing laughter
- living mirth
to spread the seed so wide,
an defend from hell
on  Earth,
returned we are to innocence,
returned in death from birth,

I pray for all a peace to come
that one day all will know
just exactly what it's all been truly worth.

Ma Cherie © 2017

where did i meet her?
where did i...       meet her?!
i wonder:
as i find christ the historical
not the mythical being
the individual too
and i wonder
upon the death of the Pope in England
like the birth of the Queen in the Vatican
i guess we are tanking
engines and minds
and i was once a child among nomads
of the world
and i am not a citizen
of the world
like a Cosmopolitan Greek said
so some Ancient Greek Philosopher
i am the Nomad of this World
Citizenry comes at a Price...
i can't remember his name
but i was called in the dead
of night
how did i meet her
reading the Dune Saga
watching youtube Polish cinema
trying to fall asleep
i think i meet and met her there
no wait:
i still sell it
as i met her on a poetry
website
but here the lowest low
the Firs Supper
Table
and what upon it?
one candle
and one glass of wine
white
and i was at the last supper when
i tried to talk St Juda(s)
out of it
i was the singular-plural possessive
and the the plural article
there is a third article in English
A- -THE- -S

             the last time i had straight
gin was yesterday and
she loves talking to me
and Martin Luther King Jr
is a train hurdling black hbistory
forgotten
the drown trodden the conspired democracy
of the ordeal gave us
the work-outcasts...
and there is great ordeal in the Lung of London
but this circus of the individual plight
i met her elsewhere
and i knew
who wrote what
i said christianity had to employ the devil
at the table....
whether before the ordeal
or after:
come the Resurrection
the devil was invited
to Lay Judgement upon the Death of Juda(s)
for so many years
that in English my Polish
and my Polish my English...
Glass Glee
Gloss Toss McGuire Irish Pope
we need an Irish Pope
we had a Polish Pope
we had countless Italian Popes
how about from Puerto Picco
aims fat *** at the throne
and says:
i'm an apostle: so i heard
MAtthew the Apostate Apostole...
who wrote the book of the illiterate
or perhaps grafitti artz... fartz...

i think i met her on night shifts
while going on a date with her
in...
Vatican City and Surf the Tides
of the Thames:
***** thoughts of the water...
i implore you:
there is champagne in this water
and some wine
but i think i met her there
on a date to the cinema
i imagine that
if all the Nations under the Banner POPE
and that under banner PRESIDENT
TSAR=PRESIDENT
and DRAGON-ONE-PRESIDENTE!
Al DENTE!
1L Ll 11 ll 1l l1
7 carrots: two gems...

           the :idea: a "form"
came upon a high of conversation
but we need an Irish Pope
and if no Irish Pope will Arrive
we will have to forget history
and the arrival of the Polish Pope
so clingy to his throne
i'm shaking until i will be done...
the first Pope in Retirement
then the Pope DEath-Crusader
south American
and imagine looking at the fueds
of the King of Kings against
their respected kingdoms...
and crowns i still see:
in the gob of the gargoyel govlket
gobldet
goblet
       fire etc. tutti frutti!

                        we need an Irish Pope next
i said to the Irish girl Yvone
and i was like?
you want to poison out the false priesthood
of the false prophet
then take christianity
and think it ANTI...
take the same items and spin the world
against them...
christianity is historical
therefore it is open to universal narration
therefore if i... rock the ******* boat...
i am catching more fish!
imagine the illiteracy of the writers
of the gospels:
no: they were written for them
like the Quran is the best religious text
of Femaleness : familiarness:
death sentences Us from I's...

in the orbit of IOUs... in orbit:
what has been resolved
you
and
me

you and me
what has been resolved
that death took a mirror
and labyrinths were spawned:
but you can take christianity
at your peril
there are still so adamant of the truth
behind it:
i said: it was HAwaii...
so not really America:
more like... Polynesia... i want to live there..,

the mere thought of ***** would
have torn us:
that rash you think might be everyone blushing
i spun the wheel
and came the Catholic Politics
of a Pope that's Queen King and President:
if you think about hierarchies
and the modern world
and you think about Tibet
you think about the Vatican
when you start thinking
about the West, culturally, verbally...
      society's elder...
when Journalism throws you societal scary norms
and in the same newspaper
echochambers
you allow newspapers enough date
and people employed in PRINT
like Whitman journeyman printer
i wonder for blood my ink inked tool?
just think yourself the Anti-Monaco
mind residential of the the Vatican City of the
Celestial Ground Workers Uniform
something or other:
you find yourself in the Vatican democracy:
the Pope just died....
are we having elections?
are we looking for the... BUDDHA...
not that i am competing:
but from the Man-Child antics...
and to which count (0,0)
of (0) negating-negation
the res per se... oculus pro oculus...
the octopus:
i wonder how this theocracy is unlike
the monotheisms of the orient
of the people
you don't know how
Cambridge was founded?
in Ocford
over some bad wine at the tavern
and the murderers of Oxford:
intellectual Luciferean triumphant...
i say that's how Bologne Rolls...
maybe a car... twice a donkey...
there must be
an Irish Pope
just to give this last breath
this last gear
a dying thread...
it needs a last goodbye
it needs a death "our father"
and it needs it political...
like how the President of the United States
St Peter blindly listened...
so maybe some old ***** died
and Charlie was less playdough and more
playwee...
    but all this clarity bust:
and dog just falling asleep counting chickens
clucking
and how many dentists would mind
to change the arithmetic
the Pope is dead and i was almost dreaming
it and when
he ventured into prison, overcrowded...
on a wheelchair
you know the myth of the old elephant
when walking from the herd
and dying alone
and nailed into one...
just the Irish Pope would do after the South American
i think Europe needs an Irish Pope...
it had the Irish American KKK JFKKK
so we now need an Irish Pope
who will be ASSASSINATED
like the POLE ALMOST WAS
when he undermined nCommunism
and i think gave Capitalism a PArasite PRism...
the dark state of the people
living in England as ghosts
the Welsh, the Scots, the Irish...
and what the Hell was
first the Romans
then the Anglo-Saxons
then the Vikings
then the Normans
and then whoever we thought defitting
and perhaps there were some of us
alligned
away from the ruling class
and their paupers and their underclass
and there's me thinking
about living in England
and especially London by demographic
i'm thinking
that i'm living among the Welsh,
the Scots and the Irish
and that Englishness is a playdough
doll of thought
when you have people who cite
their origins with Alrfred's and Rocks in Sword...
because i must be living
on an Island
that's stricking a role Alphabet:
Afghanistan:
i allow the res extensa:
in the mundus-extensio
and the world happens and i enter a stage
of the world-happening
world-happening: dasein imploded...
wiederkehrendereignis...
zufall-passieren
happenstanc­e-happen
and there was talk of the French Pope
whoever is elected Pope
will have to confide with the Anti-Pope
who in my sight of history
and i believe in history
i believe in tomorrow
history dictates so
that the next Pope will have to be
of either IRissh or French Ancestry...
i believe so...
i was ast a football match but
all throughout i was thinking about it
and my wife believes in the belief of christianity
yet i believe in the historical world and time impetus
christianity is:
as something that transcends religion
in that it can be a lived experience
therefore:
the gospels were written by the devil
who asked Thomas to doubt
the devil was still alive licking Thomas' ear
asking for van Gogh St Peter
and what happened to Juda(s)
when the Empires crumbled and dust of a thousand
became a fleck and diadem of sand
in the unit of one...
i was still the tongue
in the ear of Thomas
when you sat at the table
with my glass of wine filled
and a candle
and how stagic a deliberate magical act
did with reality in images
resonance disruptive
like i called them:
the devil's dozen
and if there was a man, 13th:
how could humanity sound so shallow
but if illiterate Muhammad
and unlike Socrates the illiterate
from low society
image Christ not being a friend of the low people
but a friend of the high people
and the trouble was with Translating Socrates
into Christianity:
because that's how it happened
the metaphors of the rich bleed
now that the rich are so numerous and over nothing
because that's how time will
become Auschwitz-Golgotha...
but imagine if in those days
the exceptional people were illiterte fishermen:
literally: and no sophists...
who would not convince people:
oh my day and night so literal now!
imagine...
literally but christianity's images
of sophistry for mortal gains does not
give guidance to thinking
beyond that brief ordeal:
because it can't be translated
how much i want to chew on ****** and bite some ***...
but i protest
reality is less of a hell without
*******
reality is less of a hell without
*******
reality is less of a hell without
*******.

interesting!!!!!!!! i like Irish kindd of a decor your suggestions please
ChatGPT said:

An Irish-style decor in the Badrinath-Kedarnath region could make your place stand out beautifully! Here’s how you could blend Irish aesthetics with the Himalayan atmosphere:
1. Architecture & Exterior

    Stone & Wood Construction – Use local stone for walls and dark wood for beams, creating that classic Irish pub/lodge look.

    Thatched or Sloped Roofs – While thatched roofs are traditionally Irish, a sloped wooden or slate roof would be better for heavy snow in the Himalayas.

    Rustic Signage – Hand-painted wooden signs with Celtic lettering or Gaelic-inspired fonts.

2. Interior Decor

    Dark Wood Furniture & Paneling – Classic Irish pubs and lodges use rich, warm-toned wood.

    Fireplace or Wood Stove – If possible, a fireplace or a wood-burning stove would add both warmth and charm.

    Soft, Warm Lighting – Use lantern-style wall lights and yellow/amber lighting to create a cozy, old-world feel.

    Bookshelves & Cozy Corners – Small library nooks with books on Irish poetry, mythology, and local history.

    Vintage Irish Posters & Art – Guinness ads, Irish landscapes, Celtic knots, and quotes from Yeats or Joyce.

3. Color Palette

    Deep Greens & Warm Browns – Classic Irish pub colors.

    Muted Gold & Cream – For warmth.

    Exposed Stone Walls – Gives it an authentic, cottage/pub vibe.

4. Restaurant & Bar Theme

    A Celtic-Indian Fusion – Irish-style pub meals with a twist of Himalayan flavors:

        Irish stews made with local mountain lamb.

        Traditional brown bread with Himalayan honey.

        Irish potato dishes with Garhwali herbs.

        Mulled drinks (spiced tea, warm fruit punches) for chilly nights.

        Whiskey-barrel decor even if you don’t serve alcohol.

5. Outdoor Seating & Atmosphere

    A Garden or Patio – Decorated with stone walls, wooden benches, and hanging lanterns.

    Overlooking the Valley – If possible, place it in a spot where guests can enjoy misty views with tea in hand.

This would give travelers a warm, nostalgic Irish pub/lodge feel, but in the middle of the Himalayas! Would you like a small Irish bar (without alcohol, just the decor) as part of the experience? It could be a cozy tea & coffee bar instead! 🍀🔥

< br>senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu senryu St Patrick's Day St Patrick's Day St Patrick's Day St Patrick's Day St Patrick's Day St Patrick's Day St Patrick's Day St Patrick's Day Irish Irish Irish Irish Irish Irish Irish Irish Irish Irish Irish Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland Ireland haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku haiku funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny funny

i love irish music with its reel and jig
i just love to go to an irish gig
paddy plays the fiddle.  **** is on the flute.
sean he plays the pipes in a bright green suit

folks they gather round when they begin to play
to the irish music they jig and reel away
dancing all night long as happy as can be
to the irish sound that makes you feel so free.

with its melody that reaches to your soul
warms your heart inside makes you feel so whole
puts dancing in your feet takes your blues away
makes your body move makes your body sway.

dancing all night long at the irish gig
with a good old reel and good old jig
to the melody and a happy beat
as you feel the rythm moving in your feet

i love irish music with its reel and jig
i just love to go to an irish gig
paddy plays the fiddle.  **** is on the flute.
sean he plays the pipes in a bright green suit

with its melody that reaches to your feet
as you dance away to the irish beat
takes your blues makes life seem so bright
to the irish music you dance away the night

SCATTERED IRISH THOUGHTS

Leprechauns with fairy dust will sneak into your dreams
so make a wish then go to sleep in the morning you'll believe
but a *** of gold you may not find by the morning light
cause life itself is the only gift you'll ever need to find
and by the midnight moon the Leprechauns you'll hear
they dance and sing upon your roof and drink their mugs of beer
they sing about Killarney - Donegal and County Cork
the treasures of old Ireland they protect for evermore
and if you catch a Leprechaun three wishes and no more
or Elves and Dwarfs and Unicorns will be knocking at your door

and an Irish man can drink alone but alone he'll never be
cause a pint of beer and all his dreams is all he'll ever need
for an Irish man can spin a tale of times long now forgot
paint his words in metaphors you decide what's true or not
and in the corner of the pub they're singing Danny Boy
sad songs the Irish like to sing but live a life of joy
and an Irish lass may smile at you with her emerald eyes
you'll swear to all the Saints above - ya think ya went and died
the Irish welcome one and all and they'll make you feel at home
but a part of you will never leave once you've kissed the Blarney Stone

                                       by vjkelly  (c) 2011
                                  [email protected]
                               from the song SCATTERED IRISH THOUGHTS

Sitting in the Irish home of the man
I had traveled about a fourth the world to see,
Eating the dinner that had been prepared, by his Irish wife, at their table.
Eating, just the three of us, together in their Irish home, with the Irish grass
Growing outside. Their Irish son, just home from being abroad for over a year, came in
Said hello, told me welcome in coming, told stories of his time in Africa,
And Australia, telling it in tones a little less loud than normal,
His mother and father
And me, at the table, drinking Irish whisky, and Italian wine.

Tiredness took the son, and left us there alone,
Left me there alone, to listen
As the father spoke, in tones so gentle, and feeling quiet, as he told the stories
Of racing cars, and travels to Africa, and Egypt and Israel, and the boats he took
Across. There was food on them, beautiful produce laid out, fresh fruit, and breads
Salmon, bagels, fresh tea, cakes, and everything good on that buffet.
Till that second day, when the buffet was laid out exactly as the day before, and the
Third, and the fourth, and the boat lay in for supplies somewhere in the Middle East,
He managed a crossing to the shore, off the boat, away from the buffet.

More wine, around the table, his wife glowing and seeming to be more than happy,
My hands feeling like they were laced with lead, the drink finding its way in, and he
Being from Ireland, told the story, how the King of Ireland, way, way back in time
Lived there, on his property, rallied his troops there, and told them all, he was to conquer
Those from the North.  His voice in a mere whisper now, the clock making its rocking
Click, much louder than he spoke, and his Irish blood  through his veins, he told
Of the Kings’ run, through the shallow part of the lake, around the enemy, which
He conquered handily, and kept southern Ireland clear and fresh, and forever separate.
These last words, came in barely a whisper, all of us leaned in, all of us, in Ireland.