. she was 19, i was 21, and i guess i was the first boy who treated her decently, allowed her to slap me in the face and stood like a copper statue before her... she wouldn't have made it at university among all the English yuppies, being pregnant... turns out, she might have opted for the Juno (the movie) route... all i know is that she graduated with a masters in anthropology... she was up in Edinburgh, i was back in London, roofing with my father doing the Scottish Widows HQ and then some other project, trying to weave myself into a managerial position in some roofing company... but then? the psychosis spiral... oddly enough - no hammers, no hearing voices wielding a hammer running down the street naked... contained... walked into a church near King's Cross st., lay on beside a the side altar, pulled the cloth from the altar, and wrapped myself in it... then heard singing, had my iPod with me... turned it off... turned it on again, turned it off... the singing still echoed the church... got up, put the cloth back onto the altar and started running around the church aisles... then a great wind dispersed the singing... what kept my sanity? well... given that i was smoking marijuana and fasting? one word... sátān... the whole 40 days in the desert? cut short... in a concrete desert... i phoned my then ex-girlfriend to meet me at this spot outside the church - right across from a royal mail HQ - and i remember the words: can you bring me bread, and water? nothing... on my own then... no... that sort of experience is no cause for jubilation, there is no ******* euphoria: you're talking about ******* it - in my case? thankfully that's only metaphorical... and i'm not buying the psychiatric *******, the easy way out answer: ooh... but youz ver in a church... what?! what the **** are these people talking about? sober people are allowed to have these experiences? well, really?! so why so many of them are negating or doubting intellectuals?! negation is the new doubt... somehow i managed to fend off the atypical munchies routine while smoking marijuana while walking in public... never bothered me... i was a reggae ***** at the time... notably Israel Vibration, Stephen Marley, Damian & Culture... & ***** and the Maytals... cliche, i know... but **** and rap?! seriously? gangster whatever the hell that means... i've just read an article about cultural appropriation... so what has the Jamaican Rastafarian culture have to do with Old Testament prophets?! JAH... they're always singing about JAH... it's a ******* yak! yah! a german YA! cultural appropriation my ***! it's Jamie Oliver's **** sauce! ****'s sake! yeah, right, Bambi on Jamaica smoking a silly one doing the reinvention of king David's psalms... no cultural appropriation there... nope... none... nothing... nothing wrong with Alpha Blondy singing about Yerushalem... nope... no cultural appropriation.... nope... none... nothing! i mentioned these bands to my Jamaican **** seller... big on the Illuminati conspiracy theories, i liked to listen to him ramble... hardly a Charlie Temple paranoid... loved his ox tail broth, his grandma made it for him... and a pretty daughter, but no mother... eh? his Thai ****? i'd prefer the shorter span of a tobacco high... where? near my old high school, Canon Palmer R.C. - now a ******* academy! whoop! whoop! sound the klaxon! you don't experience what i've experienced and start a cult with *** ****** in mind... like **** if you think you do... you... lay low... you puncture the existentialist exodus from Cartesian doubt - namely outright negation - and you wait for the revitalization of doubt, namely the pop culture variant of belief... doubt is, oddly enough, a variant of belief... and belief? be a leaf... just remember you were once attached to a branch of a tree.

yeah...

        a catholic school isn't
exactly a Jesuit school...

but being asked questions
about abortion
and euthanasia

   aged 15 or 16?

in real life?
  you short-circuit, glitch,
become ronin -

    the personal life, details?
too messy...
   she tells you she's taking
contraceptives,
   she's ends up self-harming...
she says she was abducted
and held for ransom,
she's a russian citizen,
her ex-boyfriend is still
hanging around,
  a son of some Russian oligarch...
you've only dated for a
bunch of months that do not
even make it half a year...
you don't mind condoms,
because... hell...
you'd love to see her wearing
latex...

     you know, the usual bits & bobs...

voodoo...
    for some strange reason i woke
up, and the ring finger blister
on my left hand, made by burning
out a cigarette on it
started bleeding:
  close to the bone -
and look! you get a slot motion
of your body recovering!
  no disclaimer concerning
the pros to what sharp objects
women do, by cutting...

but you know...
      asking a 15 / 16 year old
about his opinion
  about either abortion
or euthanasia?
  bad ******* move...
           at this point i'm thinking:
thank ****...

what does it even mean,
when a woman says it,
she's not exactly point-break
on Cartesian logic...

'matt, i think i'm pregnant'
'well, you know what you should
do, get an abortion.'

mind you... i am a citizen of a country
where abortion is legal...
hell, it might have worked,
*** was good, she could
reciprocate that sentiment...

oh, but if there is a kid at the end
of the tunnel?
i **** sure hope he doesn't
contact me, like a kid from
a ***** donor clinic...
      there's something malicious
waiting for him for me
to add about his mamma -

   aligned?
oh you know... *****, Henny,
  Diana and the Egyptian...
   go Charlie go!

                  please please keep
your name... we need a Charles trinity!

so yeah... Roman Catholic school...
****! oh right, outer east end of London...
Paddy central...
               i wonder...
                  but i'll never know...
the Polish Catholics are leaving...
               good on 'em...
          (yadda yadda, yeah yeah, for them)...

i'll never know...
   am i angry?
               i listen to Byzantine and Templar
chants and drink to a well earned
excess...
               sometimes the odd Bulgarian
******* to hug...
    
oh right... that one last time?
i didn't forget my genitals...
   i did an uncourteous lax of etiquette...
****!
           now it makes sense!
i forgot to trim my ***** hair!
(mumbling out) ******* eureka.

People, they just ain't all golden, not at all.
Not even silver, magnesium or copper.
Maybe zinc, because it tastes like ink and it does your body good,
but you never get enough, even though you know you should.
But had I the means, and the ends were understood,
would I be zinc? Would I carry the common good?
Would I feign precious metal? Or am I nothing but wood?
I met today aluminum, he said, "I'm bad luck."
"I know it," I said, "You're out of your element."
"My melting point is 660.2°C!"
I told him my name was Kristian Huselius,
but that turned into a testament.
"You're just lucky you aren't a duck," he said.
"Maybe, but I find I've got too much will."
"You can't spread will on bread, my friend,"
he said, much to my Brazil,
"but lucky for you they make contraceptives in pills."
I didn't want children anyway, but when Boron arrived,
I was feeling less than sublime.
Boron said, "My name rhymes with '*****'!"
"No kidding, Boron," I replied.
"I can come in both the dark crystal and brown powder variety!"
"That may or may not be true," said Aluminum,
"but at least I benefit society."
Oh, yeah, he said it, he went there.
"I value correctness and propriety!" Boron shrieked.
"And you can be flimsy, squishy, and weak!"
I wanted no part in this, so I meandered.
Not too long after, I met Helium.
I told him my name was Carlton Deandre.
"I don't believe you, mealworm," he bombasted.
"You're gaseous," I said, "I wouldn't put it past ya."

A woman who dies in labour,
In the pains of pre-delivery
For no reason but poor midwifery
Is a martyr and a true martyr
Than religious charlatans,
For she has only died in heroic
Defense of life and its perpetuation,
She is better than you the user
Of contraceptives in odious fit of
Family planning frivolity,
With condoms and the stuffs
Weapons of your ****** war,

She is a true martyr
To allow live sperms to meander
The valleys and fountains of life
Without dodging them shrewdly  
Through wiles of science and tech,
Sperms and ova when in a duel they are
God’s intent of life, and human lives
Alack, suffocating them is heinous
A sin as big as murderer
Or a terrorism of the Twin towers
Or a **** agent armed with gas poison,

Let them, the sperms enter the walls of life,
Minus fear of deathly virus, let them enter,
They intent to give life naturally, Godly,
And if they have Aids, then you are
A martyr who died in support of life
Against the wiles of the evil one,
You are better than him that
Masturbates to waste the *****
Of life, God’s grand purpose of
Them to be the first stations of life,
You **** them, you commit ******,
Genocide, massacre, macabre,

Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the **** of the Magazine Wall,
  (Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,
           ****, helmet and all?

He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green street he'll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
  (Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy!
           Jail him and joy.

He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare's milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion's reform,
  (Chorus) And religious reform,
           Hideous in form.

Arrah, why, says you, couldn't he manage it?
I'll go bail, my fine dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys
All your butter is in your horns.
  (Chorus) His butter is in his horns.
           Butter his horns!

(Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt
   on ye,
Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!

Balbaccio, balbuccio!

We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken-pox
   and china chambers
Universally provided by this soffsoaping salesman.
Small wonder He'll Cheat E'erawan our local lads nicknamed him.
When Chimpden first took the floor
  (Chorus) With his bucketshop store
           Down Bargainweg, Lower.

So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous
But soon we'll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery
And 'tis short till sheriff Clancy'll be winding up his unlimited
   company
With the bailiff's bom at the door,
  (Chorus) Bimbam at the door.
           Then he'll *** no more.

Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island
The ****** of that hammerfast viking
And Gall's curse on the day when Eblana bay
Saw his black and tan man-o'-war.
  (Chorus) Saw his man-o'-war
           On the harbour bar.

Where from? roars Poolbeg. Cookingha'pence, he bawls
   Donnez-moi scampitle, wick an wipin'fampiny
Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface
Thok's min gammelhole Norveegickers moniker
Og as ay are at gammelhore Norveegickers cod.
  (Chorus) A Norwegian camel old cod.
           He is, begod.

Lift it, Hosty, lift it, ye devil, ye! up with the rann,
   the rhyming rann!

It was during some fresh water garden pumping
Or, according to the Nursing Mirror, while admiring the monkeys
That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey
Made bold a maid to woo
  (Chorus) Woohoo, what'll she doo!
           The general lost her maidenloo!

He ought to blush for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher,
For to go and shove himself that way on top of her.
Begob, he's the crux of the catalogue
Of our antediluvial zoo,
  (Chorus) Messrs Billing and Coo.
           Noah's larks, good as noo.

He was joulting by Wellinton's monument
Our rotorious hippopopotamuns
When some ****** let down the backtrap of the omnibus
And he caught his death of fusiliers,
  (Chorus) With his rent in his rears.
           Give him six years.

'Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children
But look out for his missus legitimate!
When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker
Won't there be earwigs on the green?
  (Chorus) Big earwigs on the green,
           The largest ever you seen.

   Suffoclose! Shikespower! Seudodanto! Anonymoses!

Then we'll have a free trade Gael's band and mass meeting
For to sod him the brave son of Scandiknavery.
And we'll bury him down in Oxmanstown
Along with the devil and the Danes,
  (Chorus) With the deaf and dumb Danes,
           And all their remains.

And not all the king's men nor his horses
Will resurrect his corpus
For there's no true spell in Connacht or hell
  (bis) That's able to raise a Cain.

Multiplication, Tabled
by Michael R. Burch

for the Religious Right

“Be fruitful and multiply”—
great advice, for a fruitfly!
But for women and men,
simple Simons, say, “WHEN!”

Keywords/Tags: Christianity, religion, procreation, multiplication, fruitful, multiply, overpopulation, abortion, birth, control, contraceptives, ******, pill, creationists, global, warming, climate, change, pope, Vatican

All this criticism, persecution,
Hatred, scorn,
Thrown towards us,
Two women,
Two men,
Immoral relationship they say,
Against God's word,
That's not the way He wanted it,
But one woman, two men,
Two women, one man,
Nothing's wrong with that,
16 year old teenage girl sleeping with the married man,
Nothing's said about them,
And if something's said, it's done in whispers,
Rumshop or evening gossip,
But me,
Harsh words are thrown my way,
No one cares about the tears they cause,
But when the woman down the road slept with my ex-husband,
I deserved it because I did not do enough to keep him,
They say,
But when I had a one night stand with the woman from the other town,
Words were thrown my way,
Why?
Because when I have ***,
There's no product formed from the substrate,
Or because when two products come together, there's no reaction,
Othan than multiple ******* caused by erogenous pleasure,
Or because I use toys,
And you need none,
Or is it because God made Adam and Eve,
And destroyed ***** and Gomorrah,
But he did not make Adam and Eve and the next door neighbour Steve,
And last time I checked he was on the merge of destroying Nineveh.

You say we destroy the definition of marriage or family,
But the contraceptives you use contribute to Global Warming,
Which sounds better?
A home started by a relationship like mine,
Or an Earth that's on the merge of dying?

They say,
That relationships like mine add nothing to society,
But relationships like yours cause fatherless homes,
Contributing to prostitution and gang wars,
Or multiple abortions before the age of 25,
Talking about my acts of erogenous pleasure causing no reaction, no creation,
But relationships like yours cause abortions,
Destruction of life, right in the middle of creation,
You call it abortion I call it ******,
Termination of life,
So who's the criminal?
But because of the sexuality placed upon me,
I'm persecuted,
I'm scrutinized,
Verbally abused,
And people like you are easily accepted,
But don't forget,
I'm the product of a heterosexual relationship.

Systemic chlamydia correct.

Cervical chlamydia dissimulate.

Asymptomatic chlamydia doubt.

Nonprescription contraceptives own.

Dangerous medicines convert.

Artificial contraceptives stand.

Lethal doses swim.

Other coccidia discredit.

Usual immunizations perform.

Standard doses admit.

I’ve got a lock and key, what you got? You got a door,
                                      a shrapnel embedded cupboard
      Curiously covered up that there is, do you want go out?
      No I got a boyfriend, but I do have a few contraceptives
Or I could show you my funny parts and we could plateau on the platonic
Abstinence is on par with networking
                           Oh shipwrecks of relationships, your waters never looked safe, your shoreline so rocky,
                      but your sail, if you see what I’m saying. ******* that wind a high-inducing pitch of a stank
                                                                          You took me to the foreign lands and never brought me back,
                                                                          a souvenir got emailed. Which I have just picked up, it’s actually           rather beautiful,
especially if we picked it out together
It is a bullet and that is rather cliché in the expectable in this sense of the world,
but the copper lining is exquisite, insert random bit about consumerism
                                     Then spin a bit around voyeurism, then mention the outcome of the movies,
                                                                                  the moving bits. The back & forth where it all starts
But like I said, you want a contraceptive? Or maybe just a sock? How about a **** addiction?
This really isn’t a discussion we should be having,
                              I don’t like arguing about these things and I’m a transvestite and rather think they don’t apply
                                                See the bit you said was babies and the bit I said was from the bible
Jesus and Black Moses, walking down the street
Preaching for the freaks
Then the bit you said was more like, I don’t know what I’m saying, I mumble and moan
And think about *** and college and loans and the bit that really stuck out was
  
                                   “Babies, they really just freak me out.”

i don't have a conspiracy theory... i just have an encyclopaedia of adverts... western intelligence is squandered on pub quizzes and trivia knowledge shows... spies are like magicians, although a spy's audience is a bunch of journalists high on tarantula venom, quote: (uh... what's going on?) take any stoner to speak that bracket.*

when my parents were eight, they were still
blossoming in a natural environment,
using the inherited tongue like a hammer:
here's the nail, here's a plank of wood,
now hammer that thought of yours in.
aged eight i was thrown into the deep end,
having to learn a new language, as somehow
unlearn my mother's tongue, i didn't budge,
i kept it scheming, rather than subconscious,
i didn't repress it... thrown into the deep end
i didn't become like most migrants
"assimilated", i.e. losing heritage... i kept it
(just in case)... now the chameleon of me
is about... suit & tie... then tracksuit bottoms...
no little russian kakashka (little ****)
would dare **** me, all the information i have
is useless... it's too personal...
i was supposed to be the rebound guy...
she sort of faked using anti-contraceptives...
i ended up a boomerang after seeing all
the possibilities of education...
that's the thing with the west and education,
it, just, doesn't, work... because all the menial
jobs have been exported, the west is sort
of puzzle-box tied in terms of hands able,
with hands actually disabled...
this excess outpouring of poetry is one sign,
the obvious one, excess poetry as deviation
from a chronology of illiteracy and books left
in the shadows and dust and crematoriums...
you tend to write poetry when you're either
illiterate or haven't read much that's on offer...
read the least number of books, then you get
to write poetry, simple as Victoria sponge or
bechamel sauce for a lasagne, motto being:
just keep stirring that flour into the frying butter,
just keep stirring, then slowly keep adding
onion bay leaf nutmeg infused milk slowly...
just keep on stirring...
western society likes bureaucracy, by way of
exporting the ideal that's democracy,
but it's so ******* n'ah! keep slang as an expression
of encrypted onomatopoeia, keep slang
as disguised nouns in onomatopoeias...
russians love poetry, hence they tend to send poets
into the gulag... in western society they
take poets to be raw meat and send a dozen flies in
to **** sperms into it, to clarify:
pornographic actors get paid, poets don't...
O masters of this glorious sphere, what will
this Eden Project prove? a third eye that's Voyeurism
en masse? when the blow-over fringe was running
for president i just said (no, no hindsight):
i wouldn't laugh... imagine a female pope!
women are not supposed to wear the Kippah...
western society in crisis; today i was watching the
film Cleopatra (1963) and there was so much dialogue!
take a movie from 2015 or 2016 and the dialogue
you get is: TNT BOOM BOOM BOOM!
CGI that's a fake of pixels being arable for the original
intention... the great decline... it only too one hit...
one ******* hit... and it ended up being a K.O.
you'd think they'd be able to take more... but Islam
became a Mike Tyson... *******... take one more hit!
what you're seeing now is what's called
the paradox of treating democracy as Utopia,
democracy isn't Utopia (Churchill said)...
but this is the unravelling, treat democracy as
the sole expression of utopia and then watch when
something alien hits it... one smack and you're out...
treating democracy as utopian politics is false,
too many self interests and too much bureaucracy;
or i can example my father for you...
two Lithuanian labourers employed by a company
****** up his drill... they weren't electrocuted
(the drill was wet), because if they were
the effect of electrocution would be like that of
an electron cloud the glue of keeping the proton
and neutron nucleus intact, the thing electrocuting
would be like a crocodile's jaw snap, you wouldn't
be able to let go... instead they became Lithuanian
vandals... smashed the thing... and what about
being self-employed and having his wages cut
once in a while? self-employment is the norm in western
societies... because the boss of BHS took a big fat
pay-cheque for a yacht with Kate Moss on it
while employee pensions went down the drain or
into Hawking's theory of black holes colliding...
zero hour contracts to match up the statistics...
western powers are mad to export their ideals...
i wouldn't trust them with a water-pistol,
and you know why? they'd just want an Iraqi to
wear Nike trainers and eat a Big Mac.

The words I speak are unpopular, unwanted and uninvited
Oh Lawd, pray I not be misunderstood
But then if I am, that too is okay
For I speak not in the vulgarity of this regime
This regiment armed with ******* extensions calling me a renegade
To insinuate that I am dangerous because my body speaks from a position of anarchy

As though anyone was what they looked like
But then again, I am dangerous, deliberate and afraid of nothing
Praise the Lorde, the Audrey Lorde!
**** what I look like!
I don’t care that I look like I was hit by a speed train at the bend
I don’t care that my hair sits on my head uncombed and unruly as though it owns me
Because then if I do I will let you **** me over again, did I say again?
But if you can’t figure me out here please accept my apology for not being obvious
Take from my hand words for your Language Acquisition Device
And devise for your ilk ways of seeing, new ways of seeing me
This is the end of normal, arm yourself
Here an extra pair of eyes
Now drop the pretense and straighten the frown on your face
To act like ‘****’ is too sensitive a word to your senseless sensibilities is hypocrisy
The problem is, I said it and I ain’t no Rick Ross or Lil’ Wayne or some other brother
Whose ‘****’ comes to you as an endorsement to objectify women
To call her everything: a *****, a ****, a ****, a *****
To call a woman everything, but her name
And when you call a woman by name you mean to shame her
Assata Shakur, Angela Davis, Wangari Maathai, Martha Karua
Kingwa Kamencu, , Audrey Mbugua, Wambui Otieno-Mbugua, Sojourner Truth
And this is the truth, black women have not even began to be resentful
of the rise to power of black men but there is a problem
A certain school of thought crafted by Slave masters on the colony
Teaches Black men that for them to be strong black women must be weak
Fallacious reasoning! This here is a product of gross miseducation
And Black men have not even began to unravel their role in the empire

Their counter-revolutionary exertion of a “manhood” that tells women to step back
As though to break off from our colonial oppression, never meant the total involvement
of every man, woman, and child, every-*******-body
As though for us to get here didn’t take the breaking of a woman’s back


Women whose labour terms in developing political consciousness were cast in stone
A time ranging from I-can’t-see in the morning until I-can’t-see at night
O Lawd bless Malcolm X
So this is your to do list for every man
Every man who acknowledges 'Wangu wa Makeri' and Bi Mswafari
in the same sentence with no sense of irony
Every woman who joins in the patriarchal laughter of our television
making fun of the nameless woman in 'Budalangi' begging 'sirikal' (Government) to help
As though her pain wasn’t real and the state hadn’t ignored her, three floods later
Please do yourself a favor, stop laughing
and teach yourself something on capitalist oppression
Stop laughing at the propaganda being pushed around as the truth
About men having *** with cows and hens because it will not be marked in history
that in two thousand and thirteen Kenyan men became intimate
with their food, pets and *****
And stop wearing Christianity as a beautiful coat that covers  your hatred
Because I don’t care how many verses you have memorized to make your hatred effective
For you have a verse to pull out of your pile of cards to justify the way you treat women and gays and Muslims and atheists and people
You see the truth is if Jesus came back to the world, you are the type that would still **** him
Because Jesus was a rogue, a rebel, and a revolutionary who refused to conform to any laws
Your hatred, judgement and self-righteousness must disgust him
because you are the worst thing that ever happened to my poetry
Stop condemning women for abortion and teenage pregnancy
as though there weren’t rapists and ******* priests who still oppose the use of contraceptives
Stop passing down your hatred to your children and other people’s children in the name of Jesus
So look yourself in the mirror and imagine what would happen
Imagine what would happen if we were to be honest in this conversation
and for a minute tried to speak about love as though we invented it
Take off your prejudices as though they hang on your shirt and again,
again and again ask yourself  ‘Who am I?’
And when you take to the streets before you tweet jokes that humiliate real people
Please stop, instead, try to talk of the revolution of love
Like our mothers did, and their mothers before them
And when you raise your hand to hit a woman STOP!
She has been beaten before and your hand shouldn’t touch her the same way
Keep your hand mid air and in that breathe ******* thank a woman

One
I'm sorry.  
Of course, you'll never know it.
I'm writing poems to a ghost by proxy, 
Gone before you even had fingernails or looked like a
Tangible thing and not some alien parasite.  

I heard once
That a soul can't inhabit a body
Until it takes the first breath of
Oxygen into it's lungs,
And if that's the case,
I'm sorry I stole the taste from you.

Two
I built a monument for your martyrdom
In the city of my thoughts, somewhere
Between the Relationship Trauma District,
And Motherhood Gardens.
It is a bronzed sunflower held in a mangled fist.
Your older sister takes me there in her laughter.

Three
You have to understand,
The man that put us both in this predicament
Didn't know how to keep his hands to himself
Or know how to fight his own demons without drawing
Someone else's blood trying to shadowbox with them.
How could I choose to potentially
Give him the opportunity to ever draw yours?  

Four
I'm sorry that we were careless,
Played Russian roulette with a loaded pistol
One by one slid five bullets between six chambers,
Haphazardly I spun the cylinder.
Placed the barrel to the roof
Of my mouth for good measure
Pulled the trigger, heard the faint click
Of my future, and then it was his turn.
I didn't think through the repercussions of
Lying in a grave before it had even been dug.  
Sharing blame and co-dependency
Intrinsically fed off of each others pain,
We entwined and made something out of hatred,
And I'm sorry that was you.

Five
Even now I hear myself say these words and,
It sounds selfish parading itself as selfless
Why didn't I say no or protect myself with
Contraceptives or just not have *** with him?
******* adoption, HELLO?
Or at the very least swallow.  Right?  
Right. I blame myself a lot too, there's really no
Reason to tell me things I already scream
At myself about inside of my head.  
Or is it my mother's voice?  I can't tell anymore.
She had a lot of opinions about you,

Six
There are so many hoops I had to jump through,
Contortionist poses to assume, to do this.
I'm sorry it's the most flexible I've allowed
Myself to be in all my life.
But,
Do not think I didn't mourn you.

Seven
For  years after I will run my palm over my stomach
And feel the concave of your absence inside of me
The less than, The empty
A hollow cavern that crumbled bit by bit, eroded by
Wave after wave of guilt in hightide
During a tropical storm,  
The malestrom that howled within now
Only taunts me anymore, with a constant hum,
The echoes of the pitter-patter
Of a light rain. The heartbeat I only heard once.

Eight
Would you hold me in a different light
If I told you that despite
All the darkness surrounding how I feel
About it, I don't regret the choice?  
Lamentful, burdened with
Would-haves and could-haves
But rooted in affirmations, knowing full well
That the heartache would have been far worse
For everyone in the long run,  

Nine
That I feel like I saved you.
That I feel like I saved both of us.
I'm sorry.

Ten
Sorry.
The word  falls from my lips like a void purport
To a forgiveness that I will never receive.

please,                           p'ooh bear,
oh but i did man-up,   "      "...
i thought it was a bit
******* to have a woman
by accident drop
a baby into the equation...
so i would stay attached
for her faults...
i have faults of my own...
but playing the gamble,
of throwing a baby into
the equation,
i.e. faking taking contraceptives?!
i already said i was willing
to explore the realm outside
the ****** with a latex suit...
i "manned-up"...
took to self-imposed celibacy...
what sort of woman
would impose the *******
strap-apparatus,
thinking you're the perfect
father material like that?
never a problem with
prostitutes when it comes
to wearing a ******...
odd as it might sound:
quiet the responsible woman
masquerading in the role
of *****...
      go figure...
       the more liberated
as also the more: making
pretenses...
       no fuckie-fuckie when
no mañana...
come tomorrow / a today?
here's the dough...
   manning up...
so that's...
when you get a surprise
pregnancy...
and... she's russian,
you've acquired a British citizenry...
and...
there's a transnational
moral debate to be had?
it's the moral deposit of
arguing pro-life
    when... better stick to
the cosmopolitan cocktail,
for the: fun & shakes...
  ****... less trouble with
prostitutes when it comes to:
well... no ******* would ever
attempt to, "by accident" fall
pregnant...
    and i can regenerate
only ******* twice a year...
or once... depending whether
or not i remembered to trim
my ***** for ******* etiquette...
sure... no "thrill of the chase"...
but sure as **** "things"
are transparent...
      some of us also thought
that...
going to a catholic school,
we'd settle, marry,
and **** in full grip of
the matrimonial oaths of a wedding...
you impose the rules,
some will rebel...
   the way i see it...
the entry of Islam,
the whole orientation around
the introduction of Islam
in Europe...
  they probably know,
what i already know...
the gap...
        the fertile gap of
ideological filling...
        whatever Islam is trying
to do, i already know what
is behind their impetus...
the fact that so many Christians
haven't read
the nag hammadi library...
   i've read it...
Islam solves nothing...
   it doesn't bridge or fill the gap...
between orthodox writings,
and the "heretical" writings,
unearthed from Egypt in 1945...
Islam doesn't feed the hunger
in me...
what does feed me...
is the entirety of St. Thomas' Gospel...
the fact that the four canonical
gospels,
are a Greek reinterpretation
of the tetragrammaton?
    once upon a time it was called
religious indoctrination,
the Janissary Dogma...
brainwashing...
so little has changed...
science simply calls it, cloning;
daft, defiance, unto death...
mother death...
let me see beyond
the feminine bias...
   i might have a mother,
and i might see a mother in
women, but i have no consciousness
worthy of such acknowledgement
of said stature...
      mother death:
    i am to complete my
entry into your womb,
come for me...
     when i am,
all but undeniably most eager,
as un-expecting;
because why would i give
a cherub's cherry's load
of *******' worth of my life
to the glorification of woman?
women give birth to women
as well as men, no?
hence?
                   mother death...
who...
               becomes fertile...
                from a lived life,
impregnated by
   the ******* insurgence of
a plethora of pain...
  mother death...
            a womb,
the complexity of a universe...
and all die, certain:
a woman, as i,
a man, as i,
                     unto mother death,
like kosher salt additions
of exacting a pain,
a life, a pinch,
            and their names,
lost, upon the additional
scrutinies of droplets,
into a vast, yawning sea of time.

64,500 words have never meant so much.
Read enough books and you'll find your out of touch.
The rest of them can't know what it's worth.
They don't read enough.

I've been meaning to reread A Brave New World.
Something haunts me about the ending.
Between slaying lions for loved ones and belts of contraceptives,
I've taken on a whole new perspective.

*** without love,
and love dismissed with ***.
In high school I thought this world would be best,
but all of a sudden, it's happened too fast.

I used to relate to Bernard,
with his inferiority complex,
but now I fear I'm just like John;
one day my feet will swing from the north,
to the east,
south,
and then west.

Just stop. Dont waste your time growing your mind on my perspective. Its similar to the colective after getting contraceptives from the medias aggressive deceptive since childhoods progressive attentive. I didn't learn anything newer than you. We both got ******* by the driver of our nations fire. Shot of ***** included to help believe the deniers when they said those kids weren't killed because of their suppliers of judgment handed down thru People, Cosmo, or Enquire. We turned a closed eye to the horrific mess just to have the light of advertisement dance its color over our flesh. We dont want to think less of ourselves after all, ego cant handle anything being its own fault. So, lets blame blacks, gays, muslims, mexicans, trans, asians, preteens and their abortions, little people, disfigured fighters, mentally handicapped, single moms, single dads, the homeless pulling all nighters, the blind, the deaf, the suicidal, the bulimic, the anorexic, the institutionalized wild, the lost kids orphaned, illegally imported, Native Americans, Indians, anyone close to the Mediterranean, or from an Island in the South Pacific sea, anyone that looks, thinks, breaths different from me. Which should be no body, but you don't seem to believe so. You can't see that deep inside, our souls are made out of substance brighter than gold. You only see flesh with that closed eye. So open it and discover the lives behind. And if you think I spew only lies then go back to the beginning when I said stop reading and quit wasting everyone's time.

Leong squirms up to me at breakfast, in the cafeteria.

“May I ask..,” she said, looking around like a secret agent getting ready to make a dead-drop, “what contraceptives do you use?”

I thought this an odd question from someone who just broke up with her long-time boyfriend but, hey, I’m an open book.

“Isolation and despair,” I replied, which got me an eye roll.

“You’re never serious!” She admonishes me.

if i were to pray to god... i don't think i'd would
tease his boredom -
     in islam the adhan: the call to prayer is
heard in the heavens... but the prayers aren't...
the church bells are heard...
perhaps even when a choir of castratos sings...
but never that ******* of credo mumbling
and "confessions"... it's not teasing the vanity...

well... yes... god... nothing too personal...
       it's hard to imagine anything of nothing...
the sober, scientific, objective: ex nihil...
        out of nothing - i'd wish...
then we'd all have the properties of stones and trees
and a that sort of adapted consciousness
of: never born with legs... with will...

to me: something from nothing...
      the sober, mature, scientific approach...
yes... but i don't think about a higher power...
i think about an invigorating force...
                    something to propose momentum...
something that concerns us to debate
whether free will exists... but enough of that...

there's still work to be done in the garden...
all the stumps are out...
          had to come the day where i'd heal
the earth by letting her breathe...
    which involved digging her up...
doing a pancake with her... then getting a fork
and twisting her into little pieces...
about half a meter of decent earth...
before the clay would appear...
in clay... you won't be finding any earthworms
at these depths... half to a meter in...

well... who needs to go to the gym...
when you can garden...
it's a bit like... if you ever ****** wearing
a ******... and when you haven't...
the only real ****** comes when...
    you send some mail of would-be sputniks...
shame though... if...
she is lying about taking contraceptives...
for that "one and only" moment of life's tick
list...
                   fizzle fizzle out past...
but a few hours spent wearing gloves...
and it's numbing... when working with earth...
sure... you're using a shovel
a fork etc. -
but when you can't feel the earth...
it's a bit like that ****** sensation...
         should it matter to a man not circumcised?
hardly... it's enough of a bother to pull
the **** thing back and choke
whittle richard's heard into a proud plum...

but then to feed the naked hand to the earth...
one of those many other substitutions
for the hide & seek zenith of ***...
   in a shower... pouring water...
onto the neck and just above the occipital bone...
a less protruding occipital bone...
well... designation?! ******!
wow... just like that... i can whip-up
a venom... it's carboxylic acid mingling
with some ebola leftovers...
                                                    ­      em...
preferred temp. of the water...
approx. 4 - 5 degrees celcius beneath room temperature...
not cold cold...

"not enough ***"... or no *** at all...
         learning from the octopus...
                               8 things planned...
           i planned that trip to the brothel...
a little bit too late...
now there's the garden...
                   and there's that period of evening...
can it just be as simple as...
a glass of scotch... some pepsi max...
some jazz: but not too much - i don't really want
to think... blues would be great...
but it has become a period piece...
              like a jane austen adaptation...
a belgravia... something from charles dickens...
something simple like:
alice in chains - man in a box
down - stone the crow
danzig - 1000 devils reign...
                            
                 so yeah... god... prayers...
i still like to attach thought to what would...
better be a tongue for a brain
or a brain for a tongue and at least 7 aeons
of silence...
                    prayer or mumble...
i can't see no advantage...
  i'd pray by crying when finding something
beautiful...
i'd pray by dancing and screaming
when finding something more than the sort
of beauty that'd mobilise my heart to
quench its thirst... needing my sweat...
more than my tears...
and i'd pray... by walking into a dark forest
at night... strip half naked and scream
and growl and return the beast to the father
of the night... force my mouth into
fallen leaves and turn this mouth of mine
into a snout to forrage for mushrooms...
once... near Harlow - Essex...
i did just that... upon the break of dawn...
took a bottle of bourbon with me
and ate... a lilac coloured mushroom...

    how did i end up walking from Romford
through to Harlow in the night?
i remember i had about 6 beers...

prayer... yes...
       well i was "praying"... for an unusually cold
April...
my fridge is broken and it's not making
any more ice-cubes...
it would be super handy for me to be able
to leave a bottle of scotch and a bottle
of p' max or c' zero on the roof just
outside of my window...
   walking up and down the stairs come
the ungodly hours of 2am: i really don't want
to rouse the cats...

cabbage - plastic - playdough -
       some flour an egg a tbs of oil and water -
to live without... a categorical impetus -
other that: in times of the most dire needs...
to explore the endless avenues
of what can come from:
an absolute informality of language -
a metaphor and apostrophe
followed by a colon -
                            
      a fusion of impetus - this current climate
of gardening and what's... probably
the justifying what is happening:
not much... besides...
        
                               i wouldn't be thinking
of *** being on the menu -
wordsworth's celibacy -
                       japanese girls attired
in mannequin bodies with porcelain eyes
and... that skin of unblemished tinge...
something had to be forever uninviting...
or better still...
              it had to be leveraged...
other outlets had to be fathomed...
                    nothing of what might be bemoaned
should the crux of dragging ghosts
and regrets all chained up: into
dreamworld and some other circus frenzy...

to rub ones hands ferociously against
bricks before the luxury of touching a body
was revelled in.... it had to be...
*** and disney...
                          then the distillation process
of culmination could homage me...
as... allowing a flow of water...
or whiskey turned into lemonade when
the erotica of taking a ****
was like all the genital parts included
for her treating the unshelled oyster to queen's
cringe...

a... oddly weird cooling... a very... cool april...
anything to stop this...
it always sounds more **** when it's
an epidemic...
pandemic is hardly something to get all
hot and bothered about...
                                 god's sneeze...
                          and all that omni-
                                            prefix litany...
it's truly the most secured claustrophobia to
think of: gifting to later be grieving...
when at best: the magical finger tripped
up schumacher when skiing...

     or... some other spontaneity...
                              if ever some hegel...
i hardly think i'll live to read the phenomenology
of spirit...
   i've skimmed through the lecture notes
that inspired marx: the philosophy of right...
lecture notes... not even aphorisms...
not even maxims... lecture notes *******
a marx and...
     i'm not even going to bother...
claustrophobia...
dealing with both the marxist ideologues
as is the case with dealing with darwinist ideologues...

no god for a sense of:
no imagination... as long ast the facts can be
distributed and well regurgitated...
does it matter?

all that i can pour into "its" existence is my thought...
humble i, bring a stone before the altar
of the pyramid...
that i know of the "other" pronoun...
in greek... that's: θ(ought) i?!

by then it's already too late... the key has already
been inserted into the lock...
and has been turned...

                    margaret cirko, 35...
               $35,000 dollars worth of fresh food...
gone to waste... in pennsylvania...
and here they are... keeping me on a schizophrenic
leash!
i guess it's true then:
the madmen will lead the blind...
perhaps i only have one eye left in me...
i just watched a morse code wander the sky
that had to be feeding something my
unconscious could desipher...
the facade of consciousness that bears
the burden of the foetus and the stone stood
ground... my eyes didn't melt from
the exalted...

                    but i'm starting to think...
really? the crucifixion is... the epitome exit?
for a demigod? what about...
left hanging on a meathook...
                     for days... with the insertion
under the chin...
or with hands tied... having ultra-******
performed between the coccyx and the ****
when pretending to be the candle imitation
while the hands are tied: screaming the toll...
for the entry into gamorrah...
cherbu honey cherub honey for the old man
magritte: charon... das ist ein kamin!

no?             the treachery of images...
hold me stochholm syndrome prone when it comes
to... the treachery of words...
outside of the realm of nuance, ridicule...
and the thesaurus...
outside the realm of those that
will not clear the way for etymology
to replace archeology...
and of those who will not worship slang!
slang the... not the emoji hierogylphic statures
of: to escape the skeletons of
within and the past...
to turn the O(micron) into a ******* smiley :)!

hegel: master and servant...
    well... anti-hegel...
the parasite... and the host...
          the master is the parasite...
call it the fruition of 1960s intellectuals dabbling
in buddhism...
or... who is the master?
the master is apparent right now...
the middle-men... of work that can be done
from home... so...
what's the need to... commute... to subsequently
and "somehow"... "work"?
arbeit macht frei... "this" and "that"...
that's... work?!

   if you can work from home...
now... currently... how much of work is exacted
to pretend to be the architectural imprints
of power dynamics - verbiage:
and verbiage is all you're going to get!
i know the peacocks when i see them...
peacocks will verbiage tinge this sort
of "logic" as they'd call it...

macht frei... arbeit...

       a terrible slogan for the people who will
nonetheless butcher the meat...
skin it, prep it...
            but then we have...
i don't even know a windowlicker or a ******...
stupid or just evil...
        perhaps just a ****** frustration
"oops"...
             or one of those never to happen
celebrated abortions...
a margaret... cirko... 35...
honestly... the crucifix?
   i'm thinking... meat-hooks and pikes...
less worth for a worth of emblem when supposedly
left hanging...
more like: a dangling tooth...

that what i think of when and otherwise
schizophrenics are blamed...
for when everyone takes it: supposedly:
more easily...
                                       this is not something
a psychotic person would do...
nor a windowlicker ******...
    dumb evil...
                        woman evil...
           you almost wish to lacerate that sort
of behaviour... to the point where...
she wouldn't be able to squat to take a ****...
no... seriously... we should take better care
of your down syndrome retards...
given what the: glorious free spirited man
has to offer: anti-government blah blah!

she should be put in a cage... for
baboons to spit and **** at...
   and she should be given a diet of...
how's that caugh?
     good? phelgmatic? roughage?
good... eat your cough then!
             and locked up... like the myth
of the beheaded cockroach living for up
to two weeks and finally dying of starvation...
i'm guessing the genesis came with...
andrei chikatilo... or that batman quote:
perhaps he's wondering why someone would
shoot a man... after putting him in a prison cell?
brain head: tick tick...
  but the old ticker is still working...
this atheistic mr. ape grand finale of...
                                christine chubbuck...

brain dead ≠ the body is dead...
Kafka: stab at the heart...
what idiot took pride in hollywood when
distancing himself from suicide with
brain injuries...
oh sure... the brain dies... so much for all those
cucumber people of the comatose worldview...
all those... on life support...
looks like the "last clue":
the "labyrinth" can exist in a pickle jar...
switched on... and off...
at long as that... butchers' meat retains
it's... rhythm...

retards... widnwolickers...
does someone with down syndrome "suffer"?
personally... i think they're very much oblivious
to their afflication...
it's not about burning witches...
it's about... stamping out an egoism
that would hardly think about...
retaining the last dripping of water...
the last crumb of bread...

          if i were a ******...
i'd be keeping a down syndrome hulk...
like in mad max: master blaster...
hell: keeping a leech as... pretending it to be a tatoo
seems more worthwhile than...
all those save africa hunger ******* worth
whacking slogans...
   did margaret cirko work for some sort of...
save africa and hunger...
                                          charity?!

if­ my words aren't trivial... compared to what she did?
then money: does indeed grow on treets...
let's pluck some and cough into a bundled
up ball of $1 banknotes!

and... keep it rollin'! rarely will i lose my temper...
but some things are worth forgiving...
repenting over...
hell... at this point every other albert fish...
and every jeffrey dunham jr.
sounds more appealing to talk to...
at least either of them... wouldn't be found...
a marathon distance's length of having
just wasted $35,000 worth of food...
in hell: keep to having cain's offspring
as your company...

i really don't know what... "it"...
of any sensibility of man...
provided the ***** and the vacuum of body
for a surrogate: clearly there was no mother involved...
perhaps she's the first child of
that wunderbarpakt
of der: zweivati?!
                     she's the first child of "surrogates"...
she is the first child of two *******
homosexual partenting schemes?!
makes you wonder...

again: lasso an oops of the cut-off where...
this becomes... virus isolation wasn't enough...
people had to designate themselves
into making politics out of everything;
again...

police! police! the thought! oh god!
the words! oh mein gott!
  police! police! ****! he's gauging out mein augen!
he borrows some german! natz-tee!
i used kinder words governing wood...
i did make-up a replacement to
the ritual surrounding tequilla drinking...
i called him a black cracovite...

slick lick of lemon? you sure...
you're smoking a cigarette...
you're agitate... some ash lands on your hand...
you lick it off... that's your new salt...
you're in galicia... which is not silesia...
you don't have tequilla you have *****...
you lick the ash off your hand...
down the *****...
oh ****... where's the bite?
you're not familiar with lemons...
but you are familiar with peppercorns...
so you bite 3 to 4 down...

there you go... a translation of the ritual
associated with tequilla...
the black cracovite... *** lesson number one...
or no *** lesson number two...
they have their precious israel...
don't they?
i best give my... incantations...
again: is that a transliterate chasm...
of finding enough syllable pauses
to read some deutsche?
perhaps... when translated into
english... and retaining their chemical
names...

                hyphen as conjunction...
to better read: ol' wolf says...
carbo-xylic...                     de-...
               of many more deeds to come...

Solomon will not arrive in time...
and there was no sort of David in your time
of reign: since the last one...
to begin with... but you do have...
clarification as being the inspiration
for the creation of the Mosad and the ***...
so... cuddos... bravo!
let's hear a ******* encore!

sorry... i can't have them "jumbled" up...
the dead sea scrolls refer to the end of the old testament...
the fate of isiah... the courtesan prophet...
disembolwed... cut in two...
that's one...
the dead sea scrolls are not...
the nag hammadi library... that's two...
josephus ben matthias... the false prophet...
egypt... and from egypt...

this wound is most certainly bleeding...
put more pressure on it...
the more chances of negation...
esp. from the scientific couldron of the society...
the dead sea scrolls are not
the nag hammadi library...

it echoes in the claudron...
of but a single eye shared among...
6 plucked out...
to deafen the wind that combs the woods...
and the branches that find flutes
in their hollowing out worth... of...
rattle...

                   i always wondered...
gloryhole *******...
         the imitation *****... beig soiled in
all that.. would be sponge-leeches
and liquidated butter?
        the **** of all worth of ****
with the extending umbrella *****...
and... the business of ******* was not
to sell the frolicking ambitions of...
merely a 0.01% of the... base attentions
and wants of... the nymphomaniacs?

look at us... lowly... poorly equipped peasants...
bowing before a Elizabeth Bathory...
how feeble our needs to attain
to merely warmth... to counter the cold...
to merely hunger... to counter crumbs...
how feeble our wants...
oh my pardon oh my rotting mind...

               what sort of theatre would allow...
what we digest in private?
i'd love to see ***** be made more... public...
it doesn't need to be this solitary endeavour...
just like...
this revision of grammar by the transgender
lobby... gender neutral pronouns...
what about fwench? where nouns
cannot be: gender neutral?!
what... then?!
    a chair is a male...
whether or not a chair is male when a man
speaks about it...
or whether or not a chair is a female when
a woman speaks about it...

this... transgender communism or attempting
to revise grammar...
sorry... no... can you revise
1 + 1 = 2 instead?
i'd gladfly give up my prowess in arithmetic...
i... won't be, though...
so easily swayed off the throne
of grammar...

  this isn't even my ****** ingrained
language... it's acquired! why should i care what
the natives and their...
sacred siblings of the holocaust of sanctity
do with it?!
   watch me...

                here's me... gladly giving away
the reins!

             of the people: for... the people!
a true democracy... one voice lost among the many...
and the many... voices...
somehow focused upon that one...
lost in the wilderness... somehow...
for no reason... being heard...
i'd call 20+ a class dismissed...
which is what Pythagoras had...
hey-zeus' devil's dozen of 12: him included...

thinking big is beside the point
with what's apparent... when starting small...
i dismiss the value of large congregations
of people...
outright... nothing is ever said...
while everything else is merely overheard...
i want to measure the size of my foot:
i'm told to weigh my liver
and my moral quest!

even among poetry...
this language is so... formal...
there is null of a concern for a cipher...
everything is just so... "required"...
ignoble and numb...

it's hardly a rhomus: darlin'...
nor a pola dotted bohemia ****...
so what's it; dear honey ****-squeech-p'ooh?
oh... one of those...
daddy issues?
i have mommy issues:
never stopped me ******* ******
like a trojan cohort...
or the devil... with vampirism h.i.v. worms...

or a bit of the smiths calling me deaf...
whenever you started plasyinf 65days of static...
because... me and you and the romance
of radiohead's kid a...
anything: the bends... and the chissick wonderkid...
o.k. computer with windows '98...
but not... vanilla sky and kid alzheimer's...
type 0 negative...
                    
         i'll ask again: what's 70cl of whiskey
to a juggernaut?
                       a sly slip of the tongue...
a lick of this sort of concentration
of a waiting ice-cube... brother:
it better start melting!

                    in my head: there is a god...
but there's also an iron maiden...
i can't can't... oh yes i can...
make them into a matrimony!
   there's reaching the clasy of London
beneath half a meter of revised soil...
there are... these earthworms...
these phoneic brides akin to...
you cut one in half...
it pretends to be the dead:
the brain and the Brian that's all mouth...
to think... the digestion of sand breeds
the oesophagus that's waiting to be
blopd tinged...

       retards recovered: come treefingers...
or hugging... a birch tree...
as suggested by a... later than usual...
self-employed cabby... all from radiohead's kid A...
no... not from 65 days of static...
that sort of pristine retardation is
reserved for aliens and angels...

we do have to make it inclusive that...
margaret... cirko (35... pennsylvania)
is one of "us"... good god that sort of a "riddle"
with people having made it necessary to..
"opt out"...
god forbid living among such retardations
to be claiming the stature of faking
normies...

               waking: optimistic...
                here's to me later on bound
to limbo... and shy conversations about...
what's not to have shy conversastions of...
kept... cushioned and proud and...
sly and: workaholic.... insomiac...
but never... alcoholic enough to spawn...
the lost remains of the brute of silence...
the truth-sayer of the toothache...

this... best kept in german...
     diese taubheit...
           diese schattenlos mondlicht...
diese: gebet auf mitternacht!
                                      all this... under a shroud of english...
for... a... toothpick of german...
the zeppelin... and the blitz...
all... for the made thespian... pristine...
to sharpen the edges of hollywood...

      für einz! ich war auf zweck!

"misplaced" german... always the first...
even citing it...
fiddles with details of leather...
and boots, and belts...
and all those unconscious b.d.s.m. fetishes...
and long live evita... and argentina...
and fascists in brazil...
israel: the wall: palestine...
      
i love it! what's to be expected?!
a cosmopilitan... that's what!
*** and the city feminism...
pride on oats regret!
if i see anything less...
i won't be listening to ststic x's
black & white...

and in came
dragonlordfrodo tv...
and...
the confederacy of dunces...
literally...
word became, flesh...
**** the polish-Catholic
sputnik...
which sort of reminds me
of 1990s Irish gags...
apparently Donald
Tusk is going to be the
centre-right messiah
(since... the right,
in Poland, is grieving,
a wake of... lottery
of Gemini and Siamese:
god the gambler)
whenever he leaves
baking chocolate cookies...
or whatever the hell
they do, in Brussels,
among shuffling
pieces of paper,
as if, they really were,
tonne bags of gravel...
alas... the unbearable lightness
of being...
she had it all, the swans, the lake,
the myserious feminine...
but not before my knees
oustretched...
alimony equivalent
to paying homage to...
an orphanage...
with nothing more than...
the width of a rubber,
or invested in trust,
with female pill contraceptives,
and the unexplored
sleeping latex *****,
even she could have explored,
replacing the ******.
oops... and: never again...
etymology of cenobite?
   celibacy...
so much for etymological physics..
big ******* boo hoo in a vacuum...
*a sunbeam followed by a moonshadow...

The nun's dream -teaching contraceptives-
a nightmare to me
The killing drum of biology
Terrible, unavoidable, troubling

(You'll never go through this
so what do you keep spilling ****?
You don't know the pain, the need
this nightmare you'll never live)

I can't believe - this is my life
A shaking fear, and a predictor in my bag
Everything spins, dizzy stomach

Me - a mother
Me - crying, smothered
by the rhythm my body dictates

This is your punishment - you should have never went there
kissed his lips and let him use his hands
You should have never played the sweetest dirtiest game
You should have never said "Yes" to him
You know - this is what happens to bad girls
I say, whispering, to myself
This is the latest doom

And now the sky is clear - with this proof passed
I went through this - another poem, another invisible scar
And now I smile - it was nothing, nothing at all
And now it all seems over -I'm back

I don't think y'all know
Shut your mouth

A week shy of eighteen months
constitutes the difference in age gap
between yours truly
(me - no longer that lithe lad,
with washboard stomach and narrow waist,
and the Herrin, a once slender sylph
at then one hundred and five pounds -
ideal for her towering
four foot eleven inch frame)
born July 6th, 1960
within the environs
of Philadelphia,* Pennsylvania
*derived from the Ancient
Greek terms φίλος phílos (beloved, dear)
and ἀδελφός adelphós (brother, brotherly).

Our initial encounter (of the third kind)
took place circa nineteen ninety four
on a warm summer evening
at Summit Presbyterian Church
6757 Greene Street, Philadelphia, PA 19119
and about two years later
both of us fêted as groom and bride
by fellow contra dancers.

Gamophobia (a fear of commitment
or fear of flying into marriage)
scared the bejesus out of yours truly
upon being asked point blank,
countless times soon after we dated,
and soon shared the same sleeping space,
(no matter we both lived with our parents),
which salient question
impossible mission to answer
"I do" after being asked

about pledging my troth - no fallacy -
promising such lifetime allegiance
subsequently pricked psyche
with heady undo anguished suffering,
yet verily barely hindered me,
to spear my stiff little minuteman
into miniature portcullis,
and hence expressed nonverbal predilection
to be fruitful and multiply
courtesy seething hormonal secretions,

she tacitly assented also
to experience concupiscence
and taste figurative verboten fruit
for consensual ****** intimacy
initially found me coquettishly flirting
daring to let fingers do the walking
across erogenous zones
easily gravitating toward physical intimacy
cavalierly riding *******,
throwing caution to the wind

hence no surprise
when the then girlfriend
******* pregnant news
about a bun in the oven
and intimated she objected
to birthing an offspring out of wedlock,
thus we concurred to pledge our troth
courtesy Judge Henry J. Schireson
of Narberth, Pennsylvania.

Upon our (yours truly and his missus)
exchanging holy matrimony vows
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety four
(another poem for that occasion)
ultrasound allowed, enabled
and provided obstetrician to zoom,
image courtesy sonogram
showing fledgling fetus,
thus we pledged our troth

after spouses' womb
(approximately halfway
between her pregnancy) did balloon
******, wherein conception
delineated birth of eldest daughter
five months later, and many a tomb
morrow later she then
when these words first drafted
resided in Oakland, California.

I attempted reasonable rhyme about...
oh happy yesteryear
when newly minted groom (me) wed bride
family in attendance cried
as Justice of Peace officiated as legal guide
extolling pregnancy of she who could not hide
welcomed into the pudding club,
which matured inside
after two gametes fused and multiplied
countless times after nine months
quickly birthing embryo
baby on the way nullified
application of premarital ***,
and attendant use of contraceptives.

Clear out of the blue
thee wife asked me
opinion if wedded bliss between us,
cuz I never profusely expressed affection
no matter head over heels
puppy love found found the missus
analogous to dizzy dame gone cuckoo
until completion of third trimester –
28 to 40 weeks signalled parturition due
ha, how heretical to think

swearing off copulation altogether,
and decry repeating the experience of childbirth,
nevertheless spouse warmed up
to begetting a second progeny
upon beholding beautiful bundle of joy
receptivity to estrus did ensue
since romance long since flew
out the figurative window
impossible mission to feign significant other
analogous to brand new
alluring, beguiling, captivating... tchotchke.

All kibitizing aside, a requited love with zeal,
I attest invisible spokes supported unseen wheel
when turning sparking genuine care and concern
delivering selflessness with role of motherhood
acted as buffer against emotional hemorrhage
and received good housekeeping approval seal
more applicable to most recent
elapsed wedding day anniversaries
ex post facto after both daughters flew the coop
finding me reeling with empty nest syndrome,
whenever yours truly reviews mental newsreel,
now absence of offspring, akin
to psychological wound I did heal
no longer mourning natural course
of begetting progeny more readily
accepting their necessary autonomy doth appeal.

Though marriage in our golden years finds us celibate
devoid of that indomitable physical intimacy
with once fecund wife
both she and I get along swimmingly,
we exhibit less strife
than days of yore effulgence promulgated
to all readers unbeknownst to human life
form characterized by bloke,
whose words appeared across screen
exemplifying, embodying, and edifying
regarding beloved simian counterpart
bandying playfully sometimes
drubbing and drumming my body
while she deliberates
fluted helmeted jiggly Johnson
emulating sounds of skin tight fife.

Ultrasound allowed, enabled
and provided obstetrician to zoom,
image courtesy sonogram
showing fledgling fetus,
thus we pledged our troth after spouses' womb
(approximately halfway
between her pregnancy) did balloon
******, wherein conception
delineated birth of eldest daughter,
and many a tomb
morrow later she resides in Oakland, California.

I attempt reasonable rhyme about...
oh happy yesteryear
when newly minted groom (me) wed bride
family in attendance cried
as Justice of Peace officiated as legal guide
extolling pregnancy of she who could not hide
figurative bun in the oven which matured inside
after two gametes fused and multiplied
countless times quickly birthing embryo
baby on the way nullified
application of premarital ***
and attendant use of contraceptives.

Clear out of the blue
thee wife asked me
opinion if wedded bliss between us
ha, how heretical to think otherwise
since romance long since flew
out the figurative window
impossible mission to feign significant other
analogous to brand new
alluring, beguiling, captivating... tchotchke.

All kibitizing aside, a requited love with zeal
I attest invisible spokes support unseen wheel
when turning sparking genuine care and concern
act as buffer against emotional hemorrhage
and received good housekeeping approval seal
more applicable to most recent
elapsed wedding day anniversaries
ex post facto after both daughters flew the coop
finding me reeling with empty nest syndrome,
whenever yours truly reviews mental newsreel,
now absence of offspring, akin
to psychological wound I did heal
no longer mourning natural course
of begetting progeny more readily
accepting their necessary autonomy doth appeal.

Though marriage devoid of physical intimacy wife
get along swimmingly, we exhibit less strife
than days of yore effulgence promulgated
to all readers unbeknownst to human life
form characterized by bloke,
whose words appeared across screen
exemplifying, embodying, and edifying
regarding beloved simian counterpart
bandying playfully sometimes
drubbing and drumming my body
while she (commandeering
certain orifices of her body)
emulates sounds of fife.

He tried loud out
Lacking editors
Too many contraceptives to pay for ya
Suckered, tubed and topped
Too many blinds to see why she writes to him

Gold Star Bodied Russian Prostitutes
FAULT Germany's Life-Long tables
Jimmy friend's soccer Sunday Glory
History and set them afire thought:
Future Protestants of Color Hot-dogs.
Christian Factor Blue Media French;
Real broad Latin-American Book
Medicamina the face of a report
at the first interrogation before
the German school of physical
devices and all my sweetly groomed freaks
smoke from the left, google search
number of searches google search
for joy number of "sleep police
hairdresser above animal garden
tongue, the tongue 400", lady, lady
golden man UCF circle assembly
meeting NDI knowledge of robots
dreams true color is not healthy
intermediate heat dies dance
memory is stored ediaoblemy
Mexico for the country saved Russian-
Chinese security soft and easily
declared KomiPenitochi ART.
the strong smell of sneakers' clothes
in general lethargy; clever mystery
game of Hassan's blood sister
of the island, the island, the town
of crazy mothers, Mary, Mary,
the star; a star is a mad part of the day
upon rusty bits of elk, of the explosion
was caught up the sand of the public,
your own lips the temples of the womb
of the Church; seahorses in the garbage
and from Rome was of noble birth
Price list of flying, Tacitus, horses,
angels, and to the walls of Ireland's
album, it was committed to the histories,
South Africa, Diribah, previously done
in remembrance of me in Istanbul,
the Africa, the crowded, the trees-driven
approach, in addition to the in the cold
rain, so the glory of the number of detail
about the list of their secret places
for parents to see the plague of beginning
la mortal, genus Felis, genus Felis, genus
Felis, genus Felis, genus Felis, genus
Felis arculoremsem ultricies, the plague
of the western fields and chat with the
guys, right, text time, the light and the
light leisure time, leisure, leisure time,
were yearning for something, the holiday
entertainment in the merry knocketh,
they may straightway in the affection
of the audience, as it is the fear
of them on the fire of the spirits,
that were at Jerusalem, shall ye worship
the Father: the Father, and the lips
of my desire is more to me on the third
day, wheat is not to be able to *******
to. The belt is a great defeat for the hockey.
Damage. Damage. The number of loss.
Protocol. One of the buildings opposite
oak. We lift them up to offer the Gothic
buildings in the oak tree. Moors lively
examples of your purchase, starting
with the powerful images of broccoli.
Smell of alcohol use, they lose big push
wall off the second delivery of Mercury's
surprise of the night, cold sweets or
Violations of shame away. Of the Games,
dignissimadipiscing nonsense,
contraceptives, while the heat
of the Technician is and where
in the tree view of the swimming
time of Gangsters of the city,
the clergy, and of gold, his school-fellows.
As a young heart. It is good. More
than 160 poisons connect the moon
to the moon, and the taste was heard
in the blue sky. The real truth
is the operator of the call to death.
The first reason for fear rations
of your work, unemployment,
unemployment, unemployment,
unemployment, unemployment,
free of charge. *** parties in the country
with wild flowers and palmistry shows
the fate of the fire or the fluid motion
in a good lunch enhancing the courage
of the exorcist and the third victory
of the figures of absolute power
that are still on the shelf.

The Road to Global Void

We haul water in a sieve,
Hide our “money” in a shell.
We’re the finest fools that live —
Centuries we've squashed the Self.

We teach children to consume,
Trust the monsters — let them in.
And to dodge our looming doom,
We must lie — first out, then in.

Truth’s been buried far too deep,
Mind castrated, barely thinks.
Hard to tell what truths we keep —
Frankly, no one gives a... blink.

Truth disturbs our fragile sleep,
So we toss it out instead.
All around — a trance so deep,
Asking questions? Use your head!

Hardest ones bring hardest hits —
So we work, then eat and nap.
Thinking hurts — so silence fits
Better with the mental gap.

Even mind became a sieve,
What it held — has drained away.
To the Global Void we drift,
Few short years — and no delay.

Digital the cage is built,
But we’re chewing still, unfazed.
Chewing nonsense, full of guilt,
As the world dissolves in haze.



---------------------




Into the Void we proudly crawl —
No truth, no thought, just feed and fall.



---------------------




With hollow heads and mouths ajar,
We march to Void — and call it "smart".



---------------------




Truth is banned, and thought is crime —
Chew your chains, you're doing fine.



---------------------




Brain’s a sieve, the soul is sold —
Welcome to the Void you told.



---------------------




Truth is poison. Thought’s a crime.
We rot in sync. Right on time.



---------------------



The Only Cure

The "impossible" comes true —
While the "possible" is ****.
That confuses mindless crews,
GMO-brained hypocrites.

And they ruined what was pure
For a slice of "happy" pie.
But that "happiness" is poor —
Just inflated ego’s lie.

Only Creative Fire
Reaches what no hands can grasp.
— Will it bring the joy you hire?
— Just more bait for shears to clasp.

And they shear the sheep with grace —
"Masters," "gurus," conmen bold.
Piles of crap in one bookcase
For the "super-beings" sold.

Self-reflection. Pure creation —
Here’s the only honest way.
Ditch "divine" hallucinations
And the lies that make you pray.

Look within — that’s where it shines,
Not in cults or mystic frauds.
Truth through art will **** the lies,
Fuel your soul to walk through odds.

And that Distance, far ahead,
You will find by inner light.
While the world goes mad instead —
Sick with greed and poisoned might.

A new world shines for those who go.
All the rest? Into the pit.
Signs are clear: the rot will blow.
Cataclysms come — to split.



---------------------




Create or rot. The choice is clear —
Truth burns fake "light" and guru fear.



---------------------




No gods, no guides — just look inside.
Create — or join the deathly tide.


---------------------




Introspect. Create. Destroy
Every "truth" they sell for joy.



---------------------




Your “truth” is rot. Your “gurus” lie.
Create — or crawl away and die.



---------------------




No inner fire? Then stay the prey.
The filth gets cleansed — one purge away.



---------------------




Pray to frauds and chase your fate —
Hell is full. Create — or wait.



---------------------



The End-****

“Divine retribution”?
That's ancient lore.
Now it's pollution,
Filth at the core.

Truth gets dismembered
By soulless beasts,
While frauds are remembered —
The cult of thieves and priests.

**** is the standard,
Thieves rule the hive.
We’ve sunk past bottom —
Hell is alive.

“Punishment”? Really?
Too soft a name
For what surrounds us —
A sewer-flame.

From birth, they rot us,
Mind turned to dust.
Tools of the thoughtless
To herd and rust.

And if you fight it,
You're “mad” or “wrong”.
“Freedom”? — just gaslight
Dressed up in song.

There is no people —
Not when the soul
Rots in the steeple.
That’s the black hole.

No more pretending.
It's far too late.
The system's ending.
The **** is fate.



---------------------




The soul is gone. The lie’s the law.
What’s coming now? ****. Voilà.



---------------------




No truth. No light. Just rot and debt.
The end is here. Enjoy ****.



---------------------




You cheered the fall. You fed the fraud.
Now drown in **** — the wrath of God.



---------------------



Hypercomplex Connections

Nature shoves it in your face —
Those hyperlinked and ghostly ties.
But lies have locked the human race
In loops where even thought now dies.

Brains degrade below amoebas,
Though we call ourselves "the peak".
While microbes show us cosmic schemas —
A chance to glimpse the truth we seek.

That test — where matter's sealed away
Still alters life without a touch —
Could launch real science into play…
But monsters fear such facts too much.

Should such "obscene" things reach the mob,
They’d wreck materialist control.
Worse than bombs — the facts that rob
The World Fascism of its goal.

And facts like these are not so few —
They point to mind and soul as key.
Man could become a god — it’s true…
But slaves must rot in entropy.

Ugly theories rule the herd,
While thought is crushed and dreams decay.
To think is sin. To ask — absurd.
Let’s build one Global Madhouse, eh?

And CowID proved the very start
Of this descent into the pit.
The maggots won’t release your heart
Unless we rise — or all gets split.

For lies now **** like bombs with brains,
And twist all speech into a noose.
They amplify the toxin-rains —
And turn the truth itself… to puce.



---------------------




Nature’s lies choke every mind —
Truth’s a threat the fools can’t find.



---------------------




Science crushed by fear and greed —
Slaves rot blind, consumed by need.



---------------------




CowID cracked the sane’s last gate —
Madhouse waits — it’s all too late.



---------------------



Difference in Propagandists

“We don’t sow, we don’t plow,
But proud we stand, and how!” —
A Soviet joke, but true in part,
Propaganda’s poisoned art.


We’re not proud — just spew the lie,
Drowning in the ******* high.
Later comes the bitter cost,
Now the cash has blinded most.

We lick ******* just as well,
As Soviets once cast their spell.
Closer now these butts remain,
On them we stake our endless gains.

Media rules — the **** rejoice,
All obey, no rebel voice.
But few dissenters still remain —
Their fight is weak, a dying flame.

So let’s cover with a copper ***
The filthy lies the “new plagues” brought.
Start a war of endless lies,
Truth will drown — no compromise.

We know the End is drawing near,
Lower all mankind in fear.
With the newest, nastiest spin,
We'll drag the world down deep in sin.



---------------------




Propaganda’s lies choke the mind —
Puppets bow, no truth to find.



---------------------




We lick the boots that hold the whip —
Doom’s parade, a sinking ship.



---------------------




New plagues spread on lies and hate —
End is near, we feed the fate.



---------------------



Shitfall, or the Widespread Poisoning of Reason

Mentor — sphincter of the shitfall,
Dumped by **** with no regret.
Hard to shake it off at all,
If your mind’s a broken net.

So many coated, crawling things,
Poisoned by the books they’ve read.
From them crawl the wicked stings,
Spreading venom, striking dread.

Ideas hit like bombs, but soft —
Quicker than an armed attack,
Reason poisoned, cast aloft,
Fools just laugh — can’t fight it back.

The whole world’s under siege today,
No marches break the toxic spell.
Awareness grows, but bit by bit,
Unity’s the only hell.

These are recipes for truth —
Trash all offers from the dark,
Smash the **** that breeds uncouth,
Stop the filth that leaves its mark.

Stinking propaganda reigns,
A diarrhea gang’s foul breath.
Trust the fiends — become the stains,
Smeared in filth, a walking death.



---------------------




**** rains down, minds rot away —
Trust the ****, you’re filth, no sway.



---------------------




Poison spreads through every vein —
Fight the filth or drown in pain.



---------------------



The Sawmill, or School and Its Programs

The sawmill’s set to grind the mind,
Cutting talent, dull and blind.
Are these programs made by brutes?
Or by soulless, broken suits?

Their goal — they hide behind “care,”
But chaos spreads through thin air.
A scattered mess of pointless lies,
Grows more blatant in our eyes.

The world’s in “care” — CowID’s proof,
The verdict loud, the truth aloof.
Maggots set the test in place:
The mind’s a madhouse, lost in space.

Exceptions rare — but not this verse.
The spokes of Samsara’s curse
Are fools and psychos, weak and base,
Who bow to fiends and lose their place.

This theme is theirs, the beasts who bow,
Few sane remain — and none know how.
The sawmill’s fruits — these dumbed-down crowds,
While mothers send their kids in shrouds.

To **** the mind, school leads the way,
The same old game, day after day.



---------------------




The school’s a sawmill, minds get sliced—
Killing thought, the future priced.



---------------------




Brains cut down by rotten schemes—
Dumbed to slaves and broken dreams.



---------------------




They grind the youth, the soul’s denied—
Samsara’s spokes in brainwashed stride.



---------------------



The Haze

The Haze — hell’s monsters know full well
How to keep the slave in chains:
Fears and lies, their endless spell,
Claiming fate controls our pains.

Artificial woes — their prime
Method to control the dumb.
Drop you in the rotten slime —
Lies enough to overcome.

To herd the fools, the ages run,
Send all kids to schools to breed
Dumb cattle, dumbed one by one,
Propaganda and dull deed.

But if the Haze should fade away
By a quarter’s light and grace,
This hell would crumble, melt, decay —
And vanish without a trace.

Yet to reach that quarter’s dawn,
From babe to marshal they must grow.
Still must shake this hellish spawn —
Strike hard to break the toxic flow.

A jolt, a shock, might weaken haze,
In some hearts a spark can light.
And that spark might break the maze,
Help the near ones see the night.

How to shake? Counter-prop,
Communities for real.
Though monsters gather, make a mob —
People outnumber fiends for real.



---------------------




Haze enslaves with fear and lies —
Break the chains or doom will rise.



---------------------




Monsters rule with twisted art —
People’s strength will break their heart.



---------------------



Propagandists, Zombies, ******* at the Trough and Negative Selection

Rubber contraceptives
Spew nonsense on the screen.
Fools believe these palliatives —
No escape from zombie scene.

Crushed beneath the gray biomass,
Reason’s remnants fade away.
All the ******* count their cash,
Holding this foul world at bay.

Politicians, petty clerks,
Schoolteachers, cops in shame,
Minds are holes, their skills are quirks —
Not men, but excrement’s name.

Exceptions rare as shooting stars,
Random in this cursed crop.
Selection’s negative, scars
Mark every generation’s flop.

Monsters rule, the fiends conspire,
Hiding deep behind the stage.
Giving orders to expire —
“Downward spiral” sets the page.

Contraceptives, *******, drones,
Obedient, zombified slaves —
Their judgment hour will be known,
Despite the fiends’ dark waves.

Not history’s court will try,
But gods will rise to cast the line.
Their verdicts fierce, no room for lie —
No cheat will stand the test of time.



---------------------




Zombies, ******* guard the trough —
Fiends run deep, but truth is tough.



---------------------




No escape from lies they spin —
Judgment’s coming — end of sin.



---------------------




Fiends in shadows pull the strings —
Gods will judge these puppet kings.



---------------------



Time of Change

Change means lies and brutal cheats,
Dumbness, fear, and empty heads.
Demons ruled, now their pawns and beats —
Around us, fascism spreads.

The devils ruled this world before,
But gathered lackeys — fat and warm —
Resting midst their tea and more,
While plotting schemes to harm.

Not enough to launch the war,
CowID’s just one vile tool.
The **** will lie forevermore —
Their deceit is cruel.

Fools believe the ****’s commands,
Doing all to get their treat.
Snap your fingers — they’ll obey hands,
Ready to attack, repeat.

Devils told the **** to build
A Digital Camp’s grim gate.
Rushing fast, the noise is shrilled,
Dogs bark loud — it’s all too late.

Look close — those dogs are many,
Noose no longer needed here.
Bites are shallow, yet uncanny —
Slow decay draws near.

Slowly body, then the mind,
Will be broken, torn apart.
Change means those dogs are assigned
To tear our souls and hearts.

Don’t submit — betrayal’s grave,
The Reaper’s Master won’t forgive.

Nonsense: comes an old hag,
Scarier than all before.
If your life’s a sieve and drag,
She’ll shred you to the core.



---------------------




Change is dogs that bite and drag —
Reaper’s scythe will cut the rag.



---------------------




Demons ruled, now pawns attack —
Time to fight or fade to black.



---------------------




Lies and fear spread all around —
Stand your ground or be unbound.



---------------------



Writings and Priests

Catechism of lies — a crisis
Brews for souls in holy guise.
Reaching hell instead of heaven,
Fools’ own hell, self-made prison.

Those who trust get filtered tales,
Only “worthy” truths prevail.
Piece by piece, they break and twist,
Madness served on logic’s list.

Feeding faith in fat old priests,
Mediators? No, at least
They’re not gods but greedy liars,
Spreading chains and dark desires.

Satanism cloaked in dogma,
Buddhism lags, but still a coma.
Chains on soul far worse than skin,
Fascism creeps deep within.

Infiltrates the mind and heart,
Masked as love, a poisoned dart.
False plagues shown — only a few
Not beasts — but **** through and through.

Schools, priests, propaganda’s grip,
Serve the will of power’s whip.
Blindly slaves bow to their rule,
Freedom’s path now choked and cruel.

Seek your path — inside, alone.
Doubt, explore — make it your own.
If you find heresy or pain,
Blame the journey, not the gain.

Few will find the shining sparks,
Diamonds born from spirit’s dark.
They will blaze with mind and soul —
Miracle to make you whole.



---------------------




Priests lie thick, the mind’s betrayed —
Seek within, or be their shade.



---------------------




Chains of faith, a dark disguise —
Break the spell, unmask the lies.



---------------------




Few will find the diamond’s light —
Fight the darkness, claim your right.



---------------------



Flagging Wolves with Paperwork

Document flow —
Nonsense by the ton.
Often more than real work’s show,
If you’re a crafty one.

You can fool the ******* who
Plot to squeeze you dry —
Taxes now the sentence due,
No escape, no lie.

Tax larvae watch the flock’s moves,
Born to feed the fiends.
If you’re smart, it’s torture proves —
Your life’s a game of means.

See it clear — your work’s in vain,
Only films grow rich and bright.
In real life, it’s endless pain —
Darkness, ****, no light.

Best case? Raiders swoop and claim,
Many deals and dreams they steal.
Profit gone — it’s just a game,
Lost along with zeal.

Such is business in harsh times,
No salvation in the fold.
Fools trust hope’s deceiving chimes,
Less watch — and woes unfold.

Know the sack, the prison’s face,
Learn the lesson — not the mind.

If your mind’s beneath your soul,
Only then your years are gold.
Spend them wise, let spirit guide —
Then you’ll never be the fiend outside.

Not being fiend — an art, a fight:
Grow your mind, but serve the Light.



---------------------




Buried deep in paperwork’s snare —
Fight the trap or stay the scare.



---------------------




Taxing wolves with paper flags —
Break their chains or live as drags.




---------------------




Mind beneath the Spirit’s light —
Only then you win the fight.



---------------------



Life Worth Not a Broken Penny

“Jump from the balcony” —
Does that thought appear?
No greater harm than that,
Life’s price is cheap and clear.

Life itself is broken...
Here’s the bitter truth:
Fear and lies have shattered
The soul of ruthless youth.

The ******* love submission,
Serve the Darkness blind.
Media aids their mission —
Drowning all mankind.

If you’re not glad, they’ll call you
A villain, a disgrace.
But aim your spirit upward —
Don’t live trapped in this place!

Prepare your mind for Spirit’s height,
Though fools push you down.
New fascism’s creeping night
Spreads dumbness all around.

The rabble swarms and lingers —
Smart ones hide by day.
Minds falter in the darkness —
Signal lost, astray.

But not from balcony leaps —
That’s cataclysm’s doom.
Spirit realms await your keeps,
Or dumbness’ tomb.

To fly or fall — your choice, your fight.
The ******* march, your last stand’s near.

Only in struggle will your soul
Be saved from hell’s cold sear.

Listen only to your soul —
Or else you disappear...



---------------------




Jump not down, but rise instead —
Fight for soul or face the dead.



---------------------




******* come, the last fight’s near —
Only soul can conquer fear.



---------------------




Life’s cheap now — but spirit’s worth
Can save you from this broken Earth.



---------------------



Who Won’t Obey, Won’t Eat

The Party said, “You must obey!” —
The Komsomol replied, “Yes, sir!”
For fools, a joy, a grand display —
Submit, or starve, that’s their stir.

If you won’t wear the yoke and chain,
Quick, join the ranks of dissidents.
To the masses, you’re a bane,
To the Party, foe’s your stance.

Few dissenters meant one thing:
Too many fools still roam free.
Now the time of presidents’ king,
Submissive ****’s decree.

The fiends showed all their nasty face,
And brought about the CowID.
In the Land of Lies’ disgrace,
Shame itself refused to be.

They say, “Get jabbed, like olden days,”
To keep from selling out your soul.
Fight the evil’s wicked ways —
This war is real, it takes its toll.

Reason’s battleground’s everywhere,
Fiends prevail with sneers and might.
For the ****, people’s just their fare,
And their lies feed endless fright.

They lie to spread the fearful tide,
A war of shadows, death’s advance.
Shake off this world of dust and pride —
It’s sinking fast, no second chance.

Listen close to your own soul —
Everything else is stuffed with lies.
As always, rotten’s called the whole,
Goodness hidden in disguise.

They open Overton’s gates anew —
A window wide to doom and dread.
Tons of lies bring close our rue —
The end is near, as prophets said.



---------------------




Obey or starve — the Party’s call,
Dissent means doom, you lose it all.



---------------------




Lies pour down, the end draws near —
Fight or fade in growing fear.



---------------------




Soul’s your guide through darkest night —
Stand and fight or lose the light.



---------------------



Melancholy and Creation

To banish sorrow — futile task:
You must master, not unmask,
The weight of gloom, the silent stress,
And serve creation — no regress.

Melancholy’s natural bound
When shackled deep in chains around.
So break the lies, the filthy grime —
Use sorrow as your verse’s prime.

If you’re a writer, many ways
To shade the meaning through the haze,
While lines still hold, avoid the fall
Into the void of empty thrall.

For painters, harder still the plight —
Čiurlionis caught the light.
Today you drown in world’s decline —
A lyre may better shape the line.

With music, troubles run much deep,
For fools prefer the pop to keep.
While wise minds seek the films profound,
The mainstream drowns in cash-bound sound.

Cinema’s the last resort —
Monsters craft the mainline sort.
Without the coin, all turns to rot,
In poverty, all dreams forgot.

Gather sorrow, burst in flame,
Overcome disgrace and shame.
In these last days, rage will blaze,
Endure a little, end this phase.

For cataclysm will define:
No more tricks, no sly design.
Give your last to sorrow’s keep,
Leaving hell with steps light, deep.

Sorrow squared, even cubed,
A symbol harsh, though not subdued.
Better harsh symbolism’s face
Than craven fools who sell disgrace.

***** a monument to grief,
When hell is left behind, relief.
In distant spheres of spirit’s flight,
May joy await beyond the night.

But here in hell, just filth and spite —
Melancholy is our fight.



---------------------




Sorrow fuels the artist’s fight —
Burn the darkness, find the light.



---------------------




In hell’s grip, only rage can save —
Break the chains, refuse the grave.



---------------------




Build your monument to pain —
From the ashes, rise again.



---------------------



Time to Die

It’s time — the hole squeezes tight,
Not SOS, but “save our blight!”
The world’s accursed — dumb slaves bowed
Before the Evil, crushed and cowed.

No chance to rise amidst the Lies,
Total they reign — in media’s ties.
Born in chains from earliest days,
Ruled by **** in wicked ways.

Targets set for fiendish beasts,
They act for profit, never ceased.
Overton’s windows, bars abound,
Everywhere, traps tightly wound.

Relentless fiends impose their reign,
For those who feel, the world’s in pain.
The hole’s no place for minds that think,
Amongst the fools, the edges shrink.

The hole — a home, a prison’s lair,
Where slavery’s bleak and foul despair,
Where crudeness, nonsense rule as norm,
And Spirit’s swallowed by hell’s storm.

Cataclysm will choke the breath,
But souls preserved through chaos’ death
Will leave their holes and rise above,
To Spirit’s spheres, to light and love.



---------------------




The hole tightens, time to die —
Save your soul or fade and lie.




---------------------




Slaves bowed down to evil’s call —
Rise or perish in the fall.



---------------------




Cataclysm ends the game —
Only souls survive the flame.



---------------------



In the Dungeons of Darkness

“Would you be so kind to ponder:
What good would be if evil vanished?
How would Earth look, all light laid bare,
If shadows fled from everywhere?

For shadows come from things and men —
The shade of sword, the tree, the hen.
Would you tear Earth’s life away
Just to bathe in naked day?”

Mikhail Bulgakov once said —
“Master and Margarita” read.

Gray is measure without end.
Darkness through that gray will bend.
Enough to chase the shifting shades —
Only Light can break these shades.

Nonsense all that shadow’s cause,
That Light kneels to shadow’s laws.
Such equivocations bind —
They ruin reason, blind the mind.

“Dialectics” drag the throng
Down to madness, weak and wrong.
God’s spark won’t depend on fuel —
If in Heights, all’s light and rule.

Heights within the inner space,
Tyranny pushes disgrace.
Purest Freedom crushed and killed,
By the lies the dark has spilled.

Foolishness and foul decay —
Fate of generations’ sway.
What can save? Awareness true —
Or be lambs led to the slaughter too?

Ten percent must see the dark —
Evil fears that glowing spark.
If you don’t fight — all’s lost,
Pay the price, no matter cost.

Awareness, enlightenment —
Battle’s light, the true ascent.
Hell’s chains break if many rise,
Alone, just death’s cruel surprise.

Cataclysm will level all —
Soon enough, the final fall.
Beauty born from empty page —
From the end of evil’s rage.

Beauty is pure Light, no shade,
Those who kneel cannot persuade.
Little shadow? You’re just **** —
Spirit’s heights where shadows numb.

Spiritual realms exist —
Light their base, their sacred gist.
Only Light — from where shadows come?
Shadows dwell in Gehenna’s home.



---------------------




Shadows bind, but Light breaks free —
Only fight brings liberty.



---------------------




Darkness grips the fool who kneels —
Rise as one, the Spirit heals.



---------------------




Ten percent awake — the key —
Evil’s end, our destiny.



---------------------



No Prospects

Time has tested — no prospects found:
The mob oppressed, no end around,
And nonsense rules with iron fist —
A world consumed by ceaseless mist.

From childhood shoved, the lies take hold,
A blunt, harsh tool for fiends so cold,
To spread their evil far and wide,
Where good and truth are pushed aside.

Few minds remain — the sensitive rare,
Earth’s hell revealed by CowID’s glare.
Most hide in holes, amass their shame,
Await the dark that none can tame.

Dragged from their dens and driven out —
To camps where night devours the doubt.
What dawn? A slaughter as before,
Lies lash like whips; chaos galore.

Now world prepares a “newer way,”
Bleeding hope with fear’s cruel sway,
Their plans enforced by fiends’ command —
But sheep won’t reach the promised land.

Cataclysms strike on time,
To quench the chaos, bring decline.
And souls are lost if courage fails,
If you submit to vile tales.

Salvation lies in daring fight —
Defying fiends, reclaim the light.



---------------------




No hope, no light, the mob’s disgrace —
Fight fiends, don’t bow, reclaim your place!



---------------------




Lies enslave, but courage frees —
Battle darkness, break the lees!




---------------------




Sheep may fall, but souls must rise —
War on fiends beneath the skies!



---------------------



The Terrible Tale of the Global Asylum

A new reality —
A “new normality.”
Madness’ breath has long been known,
In this dark world we’ve been thrown.

Like a frightful fairy tale,
Worse and worse, the horrors sail.
All must hear, expose the dumb —
The deeper lies, the louder drum.

It showed itself in CowID’s days:
More nonsense stokes the fiend’s malaise.
The vilest lies, the foulest cheat,
Feed fear that drags souls off their feet.

A thorn that ****** in memory’s core,
A pain that haunts forevermore.
Main threats arise — the clown, the “doc,”
Both twisting minds around the clock.

The clown will scare, the “doctor” feeds
The madness that the world then needs.
The mad world cannot say “No!”
To lies that steal its final glow.

The clown delivers rotten doom:
“Believe and bow — embrace your tomb!”
Cling tight to lies you’ve grown to love,
As puppets dance beneath above.

The politician-clown will herd,
Scare you more, then end absurd —
Disposal waits for all who stray,
In this grim global cabaret.



---------------------




Clown commands — obey, submit,
Lies and fear, your soul they hit!



---------------------




Madness rules, no way to fight —
Bow or perish in the night!



---------------------




Puppets dance, the clown’s grim call —
Stand or fall, or lose it all!



---------------------



The Little Calamity

“Graze, ye peaceful, meek and mild!
Honor’s call won’t wake your child.
Why should herds have gifts of free?
Slaughter or shear them — legacy.
From their kin, a yoke is passed,
With rattles and the whip amassed.”
— Pushkin, 1823


Life means nothing, nowhere leads,
When mind’s wide space just fiction feeds.
All else devours fiends and lies,
Through censorship that blinds our eyes.

Decay of Spirit, honor lost,
By propaganda’s cruel cost,
Through schools, through colleges confined,
Where lawlessness is redefined.

If higher aims you seek to find,
Amid the masses, so unkind,
Few souls will echo that true call,
‘Mid herds too vast, yet doomed to fall.

Yet darkness thickened, pressed to end,
The CowID test did then portend:
Reason slain — the numbers low —
Few think, most wander blind and slow.

Evil creeps to total void,
While nonsense reigns, all hope destroyed.
No prospects lie beyond the gloom,
A storm approaches — fate’s dark room.

But looms a small but fateful chance —
A Calamity that will advance
To purge the chaos, lawless rule,
And free the mind from that cruel duel.

Only spirits true shall rise,
Those grazing ‘neath clearer skies.
New Hell awaits the patient blind,
Where honor, spirit, lost, confined.



---------------------




CowID’s test — the herd’s decay,
But spirit warriors won’t give way!



---------------------




Madness reigns, but soul will fight,
Calamity brings dawn from night!



---------------------




Few will rise, break chains of lies,
Herds will fall — the spirit flies!




---------------------



The Spiritual Path

“Birth is not the start; death not the end.
Boundless Being has no bend.
No beginning to its line,
Existence beyond space and time.”
— Zhuangzi, 4th century B.C.


Space, time, life, and death entwined,
More complex than priests or science find.
Trust your heart, your mind obey—
So falsehood’s veil is cast away.

Sense the lie, the cheat, the sham,
Dispel the heresy with calm.
The world asleep, unfinished god—
The “learned man” a wretched fraud.

He seeks the spark divine in you,
To **** it dry, replace with rue.
A myth of blood, all tainted greed—
A new deceit by fiendish breed.

Beyond all time, beyond all cause,
Your Spirit’s center holds the laws.
Space? A fool’s confused array,
A rotten heap that wastes away.

Expand your mind, seek direct sight,
Logic’s limit hides from light—
Like chasing smoke through holes in sieve,
Logic serves the mind to live.

Say “No!” to filth that fiends create,
And inward turn to contemplate.
Answers found inside your cell—
Fear will vanish, break its spell.

For those who yield to fear’s embrace,
Are lost to lies that paint false grace.
“Salvation circles” each fools’ claim—
Social plagues by any name.

Throw out all “ideas” — they serve
The fiends who plot with cruel nerve.
Reject all theories—foul decay,
Tales that lead the soul astray.

To Infinity they’re blind,
Like fools who study dung they find.
The Path is hard; there is no rest—
Else wild darkness claims your quest.

Reject the shameful world of lies,
The Horned Fiend’s deceitful guise.
Space, time, life, death—on this you’ll see,
Or doomed a fool to Hell you'll be...



---------------------



Spiritual Path — The Hard Truth

Birth ain’t start, death ain’t the end,
Boundless Being — no pretend.
Trash your lies, obey your heart,
Tear the fiends and falsehoods apart.

Logic’s smoke through holes in sieve,
Spirit’s fire’s why we live.
Fear? Obey? Then you are lost —
Truth demands a savage cost.

Throw their “ideas” to the flame,
Fight the fiends who play their game.
No easy path — or darkness wins,
Choose your fight, or Hell begins!



---------------------



Fascism in the Land of Lies

The bigshot’s bronze — a ruthless tyrant,
Diamond sharp, a sly defiant,
Worth his weight in gold, he starts
The trouble brewing in our hearts.

By fiends’ relentless pushing force,
The lying media charts the course —
They’ll “explain,” lead fools to toil,
To slaughter, camps, and endless spoil.

If you’re not vermin, you’re erased,
The **** remains, a wretched waste.
A new Führer drags the crowd,
To Hell’s abyss, he leads them loud.

It started in some grimy bar,
******’s march to soul and scar.
Not flesh but soul’s the prey they seek,
Fiends rush fast, the spark to leak.

The double-faced Führer now,
Shepherds dumb sheep to the plow.
Everywhere war’s shameful stain,
CowID’s legacy of pain.

But times run out for tyrants’ reign,
The world’s gone deep into the drain.
A digital camp, a sick mind’s lair,
Built by monsters, thick with snare.

They play democracy’s farce,
Lulling reason, dimming sparks.
They build fast — but won’t complete,
The sun will bring their swift defeat.

Nature fights these mad demands,
The sun shines bright across the lands.
Countdown starts — the days unwind,
Hiding deep, the fools confined.

The verdict harsh will soon descend:
To Hell all fools — no chance to mend.
But those who stood, who did not kneel,
Will find salvation — spirit real.



---------------------



Fascism’s Endgame

Bronze tyrants spark the flame,
Lies and terror fuel the game.
Fools march blind to camps and pain —
Hell awaits their endless shame.

Double-faced Führer herds the sheep,
War’s foul stench runs wide and deep.
But sun will burn their cursed keep —
Nature wakes; no madman’s leap.

Fools will fall, their time is done.
Only few will see the sun.
Stand or kneel — the battle’s run.
Spirit fights; the dark undone.



---------------------



Fools of the Wheel

Boy, you point your finger high —
Priest says: "God rules the sky."
Endure — deceits abound,
This poor world’s lost and bound.

Only lies can hold the place
Of “stability” and grace.
Primitive lies, oh God —
Learn to laugh, boy, at the fraud.

Madness reigns, or you’ll break down,
Lose your mind in this ****** town.
But here’s the catch, the cruel deceit:
“Normal” means lies on repeat.

Few chances to stand apart,
In a world that’s lost its heart.
These “all” in decay’s embrace —
Just squirrels running in a race.

Squirrels caught in sickness’ grip,
Addicted to the endless trip —
To forget the Wheel they spin,
Strained and trapped, can’t live within.

Want to LIVE? Then seek the way
Out beyond this fool’s display.
Only rot and nonsense dwell
In the Wheel of Samsara’s hell.

Enemy spins the rim with spite —
CowID’s test revealed the blight.
The wheel broke loose — it’s falling fast,
Cataclysm will end at last

A world that teaches how to break
Your neighbor — Satan’s cruel stake.
Through Overton’s windows wide
Cannibals creep, with lies as guide.

A megaton of toxic lies —
Wheel, roll on! Toward your demise!



---------------------



Moments of Enlightenment

I remember that wondrous moment,
When I dared commit a “transgression” —
Forsook my fears, my false submission,
Rejected lies without concession.

To fools, it seemed I’d merely drifted,
But loneliness became my friend;
Creation’s spark, my soul’s great blessing,
A prize that never seems to end.

Moments of “serene passion” fleeting,
Then endless floods of frustration,
Washing hope in ruthless torrents,
Yet fueling my rebellion.

Like a hermit, turning inward boldly,
One true value guides my way:
No fleeting moments, only yearning —
To grasp the depths where truths still stay.

We dwell within that darkest bottom,
Those wondrous flashes — mind’s deprivation,
A common sign to serve the seeker,
Forget false hopes, discard temptation.

What you’ll find? The truth is hidden.
But at least you’ll die with honesty —
That final act’s what’s truly golden,
Not blind submission to hypocrisy.

How you die — that’s what matters most.
The sold-out blockhead fails to grasp
The soul’s salvation, twisted reason,
In crooked minds that endless clash.

Mind beneath the Spirit’s guidance —
That’s the norm, the sacred law.
But Hell devours that holy pathway,
Leaving few whose minds don’t fall.

The madhouse grows worldwide,
A camp constructed, brutal, grim —
A red cross on a white flag slashing
Civilization to its limb.

But they won’t finish — fate will break them,
Final cataclysm will rise,
A wrathful reckoning for evil,
For genocide and devil’s lies.



---------------------



Flash of Truth

I broke the chains — fear thrown away,
Lies shattered — dared to stray.
Fools see drift, but I stand strong,
Lonely path — creation’s song.

Moments blaze then wash away,
Hope destroyed, but mind won’t sway.
Spirit guides, mind obeys —
Few survive these darkened days.

Hell’s gate cracks — the end draws near,
Wrath for evil’s reign sincere.
Final strike for lies and pain,
Madness crushed — true light will reign.



---------------------



The Question of Responsibility

Distortions of existence —
Not mere life's resistance.
Darkness, Death knock at the door,
Only fools believe in more.

All around — just crooked tales,
Spewed by lies in massive scales:
This they call the “media” —
Ruled by fiends of hysteria.

The Horned Fiend, no doubt at all,
But who’s to blame when fools will fall?
Idiots feed the darkness’ game,
Media fuels the flame.

To sell your soul to fiends with cries,
“Just like others, conform or die!”
No sin worse in history’s pen —
The curse of all the foolish men.

That’s why no life’s left to build,
Amid the lies, the truth is killed.
They build the Digital Camp’s domain
For empty minds and hearts of stain.

The soulless throng — for them, just death.
The homeland, world — now fleeting breath.
Not a shooter, but the mark,
If you kneel before the dark.

No choice exists — resist the lies,
Fight the filth till daylight dies.
To dwell in muck is not to live —
Stand strong, resist, and dare to give.



---------------------



Simple Feelings of Alienation in a Wretched Hellish World

Since childhood, you have clearly felt:
Not right! Not so! And all for naught! —
This world’s a wretched load of crap,
A soul’s disgrace, a mind’s collapse.

But plunge yourself into the rush,
(The hell of mere survival’s crush) —
You’ll soon forget that simple truth —
By now, in many ways, you’re bruised.

Your soul shrinks tight, your mind’s undone,
Shattered, torn, and coming undone,
For here the dullards set the rule —
Soulless fools, the world’s cruel tool.

A fiend controls it from the shade,
Hidden from the fool’s weak gaze.
**** drags the world down to the pit,
With practiced commands — “Attack! Commit!”

That fiend will tell you who’s the foe,
This monster’s trick to keep control.
Fools march to slaughter, toil in vain,
Bound to despair, wrapped tight in pain.

Only few refuse the march —
Remembering the simple arch.
Rejecting lies the fiends have spun,
Escaping hell’s oppressive run.

Return to roots — to simple ways,
Though paradoxical this phase.
Like bearing crosses, hard the road,
While fools around you fight and goad.

Simplicity will save your soul —
A balm that makes the broken whole.
And beauty will return once more,
Though brief — before the final war.

For dogs receive their last command,
And then comes Armageddon’s hand.
If from your youth you’ve clung to filth,
Meet your end with steadfast will.