Be the barcode on my bra strap so maybe
I can finally be sellable skinny. Be my relationship goal,
the text to check outside my door, the 5k, 140 character post
about a teenage dream ****** through low brightness screens.
Be the slam poet screaming whiny, new written love songs
on the shareable Facebook post. And maybe I’m just as bad,
but at least I recognize when my eyes fall numb from staring
at self-expression turned self-obsession. Maybe it’s Jack talking back
through my shot glass or maybe it’s the blacklight absorbed
into my skin. Or maybe it’s a girl in a “vintage” dress just sizing out
bigger than the edges already cut out for her. Maybe it’s me
bending backwards over chivalry and **** coming back from the 90’s.
Don’t blame me for biting into the media sandwich that is magazines
and the indecision of being too clingy if I just freakin’ called you.
Cause picking up the phone is a lot more risky than the kissy-face emoji
at the end of a message. Don’t blame me for consuming
tissue paper lies designed to target my own vulnerability, or my lack
of understanding the truth because all everyone
has ever told me is just a step in the manipulation blueprint
to get what they want, or just get me to bed. I only trust old photographs,
things I wrote down when I couldn’t sleep, my mom, and the dirt
I used to bury my own reflection. Be the 50% off on my receipt
just so I know I got something off. Be the nicotine in my cigarette,
the Blink 182 voice inside my head, the joints that hold me up
where I stand, and maybe I’ll finally know who I am.

No paints and not one canvas
Nothing sellable at all
But, an artist is an artist
With art to share with all

No profit in creations
No way to sell his works
But he creates pieces of magic
With lots of different quirks

His tools are nothing special
Pastels and pieces of old chalk
His canvasses are static
They're the place that people walk

He's a sidewalk chalk pastel artist
With only digital designs
His work goes with the weather
Cracked pavement creates lines

No matter where he travels
He can work when the muse strikes
But, he has to watch out for street walkers
And folks riding through on bikes

His pictures are amazing
Where real life ends you can not tell
But, because there is no canvas
He has nothing to sell

He creates from chalk and pastels
He is an artist just the same
As those with paint and easels
He just plays a different game

Donations are his lifesblood
An empty cup beside him lies
Stand back and be awed by
His artwork before it dies.

The monetary balance has gone crazy
In this world we call our home,
The fiscal market's shot to hell
Stock collapsing like a stone.
The hedge deals are un sellable
Most banks refuse to loan
Good real estate is valueless
The roof's a "Plummet Zone".

Oh yes the suits are stepping out for air
And falling like a stone,
Termination of their worries
Beats explanations on the phone.
There's always a dependable
To help clean up the place,
And oblivion's a better option
Than awkward questions and disgrace.

Capitulating companies,
Whole nations in default
The piggy banks are bulging
With the greenbacks from the vault.
The banks refuse to part with cash
Lines of depositors do queue
And the finance houses shut their doors
Explaining, briefly, "Well...*******!"

Heads of Government meet and talk
The photo ops are really grand,
Banner headlines in the daily's
Report resolutions that seem bland.
The fanfare and the hoopla
Announce the remedy is payoffs....
And global confidence is sprinting
For the trees...In panicked chaos!

But the C.E.O's are catered for
Their future is secure,
There's several million tucked away
In the Cayman Island tour.
Unfortunate about the desolation left behind
But these things are bound to happen
When the blind do lead the blind.

There will be some opportunities,
Some bargains coming up
And the prudent keep the check book close
For when the number's up...
Of all those struggling little people
Who bravely slave away
And collapse before they realize
Their firm's capacity to pay.

So What's around the corner?
Do we hide our heads in sand?
Do we kiss our **** goodbye
And join the suits in splatter land?
Or do we bravely hoist our trousers
Hitch our belts another notch,
And convince ourselves that someone
Higher up has got the watch
And the ability to work out
What the hell is going on..
And deliver us from evil
Before the world is ****** gone?


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge.
8th October 2008

i hate technology, its automated typo system, i write one thing and then it starts playing hide & seek with me... i rarely make mistakes, but this a.i. automated typo system makes me look stupid, or neurotic in the least, i hate this automatic typo signification as if i am teaching someone!*

i love that drinking wins over writing sometimes,
like this strange neo-left asking me to top it all off
with my communist grandfather living under stalin
completely in agreement with them girlies weeping
when he stank the dog off the grave in terms of bio-tech
completion; he wouldn't be dear to the left epitaph,
he'd be like voltaire & the priest: given the devil
in the sickbed there was not time to choose enemies...
he'd be branded a ****... worded... the worst kind...
a pseudo pacifist of some sort... couple economy
and atheism and you get a darwinian exclusion
where the ants aren't oblivious to lions but exclude them
for their species so well organised, god can take
the hangover route and make the "self" less sellable;...
(economy of a species and darwinism
demands communism - exclusive economisation;
not inclusive economisation...
that's some sort of theological branch
of personification where man minds spider above
another man, etc.)...
there's no self included, esp. a (")self(") worth selling...
which means exactly that (the opposite of now)...
NO TOURISM INTO THE REALM
OF CELEBRITY LITERATURE...
WHICH IS ONLY BIOGRAPHIES....
GET YER **** OUT GIRLS!
YOU'LL WRITE A BOOK SOMETIME!
god this culture is barren, and to think i dressed up
in uniform for school listening to jethro tull once...
this ain't the same country...
it sold out to the arabs... charles iii
is a ******* traitor!
traitor!
charless the iii is john ii... character assasination
you like you did with diana...
diana's revenge... yeah i believe you
were wearing silk straps of safety and the
driver survived and the parapazzi blinded the driver:
one thing about jealousy... it has dwarf legs.
they pass into the political realm they do....
easier come easier to take on in politics...
economic migrants (we'll see about that,
your philanthrophy just took to faking flight
via an invisible magic carpet flapping its trims)...
i told you once that democracy is like inverse voyeurism...
mark the x on paper, ***** an ****** into jugs for
pale ale... excess carbonation... it turns all fizzy...
the geese marched into winter...
the swans marched right into a royal edict...
the neo carta was never crafted...
but i got the hang of the diacritic marks...
i was walking drinking a belgian cider...
C DER.... in belgian french there's an accent,
stress the c, makes the vowel missing...
cídre - not really acute i, but an acute c...
c         dr. dre, i.e. dre, c dre...
it's the acute stressor of c that makes the vowel
disappear... not that a vowel can actually
become acute... vowels like women wear
mascarra to look pretty, the consonants are
serviced for a complexity... via hebrew original...
c                        dre
not
               si                        ahem...               dre.
in passes on the pompom for expected pomp -
i can't believe it took a bottle of belgian cider
to get that across.
oh sure they can hang me... by the snout...
for i won't be able to march into a field of truffles...
but hey... big snout worthy... never mind
trying to wear leather shoes given the hannibal
treatment for tacky snakeshoe leather.
most say that difficult literature is literature unread...
there's no other difficulty in literature...
difficult literature is simply unread, that's why
it's difficult... simple literature trickles down as easy as water...
and that's why it's easily managed by what
the chinese done already, having no hollywood and
damning india's bollywood... their phoneticism
is lodged in ideograms... pictograms...
european phoneticism is lodged in a skin to number,
B akin to 8, e.g., we get rich owning ovens
televisisions and satellites... but we also own
watiers and cooks who are mechanised...
and have no richness of thought...
who cares if beijing is clouded in smog?
we have 15 more years of carbon emission to wait for
before our idealism is profitable!
ah but the arab girls will migrate to london every year
between may and august... i should be so lucky lucky
australian girl pop lucky with them shopping
in only one hot spot, a grieving egyptian's legoland
of tacky known as harrods!

So EXACTLY... WHAT... !?!
Is The... " INDUSTRY "... ?

A Place For Sheep To BLEAT... !!!!!
Or Somewhere For The Weak...
To CLAIM That They Sound Sweet...

REAL ART Is RARELY Seen...
Within The... Industry... !!!!!

Because of These Sheep...
Who Choose To Be Meek...

So Therefore DO NOT Speak...
On How They're MADE TO BE... !!!

PUPPETS Like The Muppets...
Who Act Like... ***** In Buckets... !!!!!

While Those Who Choose...
To Speak The... TRUTH...
Are Seen As Crews
Who CAN'T BE Used... ?!?

I Guess Because... ???
They WON'T BE USED... !!!

To... " Play The FOOL "...
When They've Been Schooled... !!!

The TRUTH Is It's... " EXCLUSIVE "...
To Be Someone Whose Music...

Gets To Be... " INCLUDED "...
In Being Seen As GROOVING... !!!

They're Seen As Being... " Artists "...
When They HIT Profit Margins... !!!

When All They've Done Is BARGAIN...
To Get Their Music Charted...

Producers TOO Be... " Cooling' "....
On Artistry That's Movements...
Are Challenging And Prudent...

They'd Rather Be Producing...
For Music That's Recouping...
BIG BUCKS For Sounding STUPID... !!!!!

And Artists Who Be Choosing...
To Do Music That's Proving...
That Artistry IS... LOSING... !!!!!

It's Really Quite INCREDIBLE... !!!
What They'll Do Cos' It's... " SELLABLE "... !!!!!

Setting Up Their Schedule...
To Work On Instrumentals...
That CLEARLY EARN Them Medals... !!!

For Stooping To...
... "low levels"... !?!

And Nowadays The... " Lyrical "...
Is Seen As Being......................... Dismissible.......

Because It's CLEARLY NOT...
What THE INDUSTRY Wants... !!!

So This Verse HERE Is CRITICAL...
To The Industry's... UMBILICAL... !!!!!

Because It's Chord...
DOES NOT Enforce... !!!!

Those Whose.... " CREATIVITY's "....
Made To FEED The... INDUSTRY...

If Your Art's Made For WEALTH...
You NEED TO... CHECK Yourself... !!!

And RECOGNISE THE HELL...
That Comes For Souls Who SELL... !!!

The DEVIL Has Lived WELL... !!!
Off... INDUSTRY Type Smells... !!!!

So Those Who NOW COMPLAIN...
About The Game... TODAY...
Should RECOGNISE THEIR PLACE...
UPON The... " Wall of SHAME "... !!!

BEFORE Saying What They Say... !!!!!
Because THE ROLE They've PLAYED...

Has Shown How They've ENSLAVED...
The ARTISTRY... They CLAIM... !!!!!

To Be Their... INSPIRATION...
For Making Their CREATIONS...

If MONEY Is Your PRICE... ?
For... DEVOTING Your Time...
To Creating Art That's FINE...
And UNIQUE By Design...

Then RECOGNISE The Line...
That You CROSS EVERY TIME...
You CHOOSE To Make The Music...
That You Say... KEEPS POLLUTING...
Our NEW... CREATIVE Minds... !!!!!

I'm Gonna Say That TWICE... !!!!!

If Money Is Your PRICE... ?
For... DEVOTING Your Time...
To Creating Art That's FINE...
and UNIQUE By Design...

Then RECOGNISE The Line...
That You CROSS EVERY TIME...
You CHOOSE To Make The Music...
That You Say KEEPS POLLUTING...
Our NEW... CREATIVE Minds... !!!!!

When YOU KEEP Contributing...
To ART That Should Be... "MUTED"... !!!

And RUN AWAY From Movements...
Where Art DEFINES IMPROVEMENTS... !!!!!
Because of What It... CHOOSES... !!!

To Deal In MORE THAN LOOSENESS... !!!

And Artistry That's... " Coolness "...
Comes From Being... TOOTHLESS... ?!!!?

I Guess They'll Say THIS PIECE of ART...
Comes From A Place That's WAY TOO DARK... !!!

So WON'T Get A PASS...
To CLIMB UP The Charts... !!!
And... SHINE Like A STAR....

"Okay, Blah DI Blah !" …

These INDUSTRY Farts...
REALLY Make ME Laugh... !!!!!!!!


But THESE WORDS Impart...
REAL VERSE That... PIERCES...
Through THEM And Weak Hearts... !!!

From Producers To Rappers...
To... Singers And Actors...

One Day You'll NEED Answers...
For... What You Have Done... !!!

DON'T PLAY That You're Dumb...
When It Comes To... Your Stunts...

WHO You Have... "Worked With"...
And WHO You Have.............. SHUNNED... !!!

To Get Your Art NOTICED... !!!
Because It LACKS DOPENESS'... !!!

COMPROMISE ISN'T Cool...
If That's What You've USED...
To Get Yourself... INTO...

A Game That's NOW RULED...
By Art That Now PROVES...

How Artists Have SOLD...
TRUE Artistry... short... !!!!!!

And Have Made A NEW BREED...
of Fans Who Now FEED...

On Art That Is MADE...
NOT FOR THEM But For Heads...
Who Could REALLY CARE LESS...

About... REAL Artistry... !!!!!

So... As I've Now Said...
If YOU'RE One of THEM... ?
DON'T... EVER COMPLAIN... !!!

Cos' You Should Be ASHAMED.... !!!!
of... " PLAYING The Game "...

Where.....
Artistry's Drained...................................

For What's FAKE To GAIN FAME... !!!

You're Just PROVING How Weak...
That You... TRULY BE...
By Sowing THE SEEDS...

That FEED The....

...... " INDUSTRY "......

This is the room to keep my excesses,
also broken items from chair to furnaces.
My once-treasures, though usable
find a place here- they are un-sellable.
Items like sofa and book racks
belong to my ancestors, shoes and rook sacks
of my daughter and son, now living away,
are strings of my heart- help sentiments play.
It is like my album  of yellow events
and long forgotten wins and laments.

24.1.17

there only about three songs in my repertoire as a listener
that stab me in the heart...
i'd stretch to four... debatable whether
it's king crimson's epitaph or in the court of the
crimson king...
starless makes it into the triad...
i guess i'm only focusing on a specific genre:
counting out classical music altogether, & jazz...
because: just be...          cause...
in the triad... nights in white satin by the moody
blues...
& omega's (a Hungarian band)
       gyöngyhajú lány...
   i'm probably lying... there'd be a fifth
with something by Maanam...
             i can't really give you citation on
the worth of the Beatles or the Rolling Stones...
oops...
i don't even think its the pop status that kills
it... it's that: you want to find something
auxiliary, hell: ulterior...
that terrible fate of man...
if he were a crow: he'd still invented motives
to not croak, crackle...
   if man were a cow he'd still find ways
to not moo...
              i've heard the maxim: yes yes...
you're just as different as everyone else...
so what? that's how we're herded...
what simply shows is...
how hard some try...
and how those who don't try...
end up... trail-blazing: their own little:
Robinson Crusoe eventuality...
    - what a plentiful Saturday...
two rugby matches... no football on t.v.: **** yes...
& changing the rear tyre on my road-bicycle...
700 x 23cm...
6 punctures... in the tyre...
2 in the inner tubing...
i took the wheel off... spin spin after spin
in a makeshift water-bath to see the puncture better...
Ezekiel? didn't you see?
third time, tipsy... oh look how it's easily done!
next i'll prepare a chicken for a spatchcock blind-folded!
****'s sake...
coffee, x3... with some magical liquorice
liquor... Mexican... yella... or ow...
magical... how much i love anise... liquorice...
esp. when coupled with alcohol...
& coffee...
dreary ******* day persisted nonetheless:
i didn't mind... hard to mind...
when you can finally get off your backside...
& wait for investing in a career as a steward...
for a while...
i'd rather teach English children English than chemistry...
we'll see... no chance in hell will
i be found teaching Lebanese children
an American accent...
i'd sooner teach a dog to meow or a cat to bark!
live a little...
so obviously after changing the tyre
i had to take the ol' Viking for a spin...
minding to buy some fuel for the night
in the form of ms. amber & herr whiskers...
but the breaks weren't right... too tight on the lever...
thankfully i took some tools...
knelt in the supermarket car-park
by the trollies & started to imagine a violin
in my hands... what?
fiddling... i started fiddling...

and you might appreciate how difficult it is
to make small-talk...
esp. in unhandy situations...
you're fiddling with your bicycle's breaks
a man goes up to his car with some
spare groceries  & starts off with:
you've seen that video on youtube...
this young guy doing X...
dead... such is the world we live in...
aha... sorry what the **** was that talking
about? amazed that i want to work on
my own bicycle... it's not a *******
F16 fighter-jet...
is it?
sure, currently we have such...
focused spans of attention...
such concentrated specialisations...
a jack-of-all-trades is frowned upon...
when i think of work i think of:
lifting ****, moving ****... a sort of chess...
harvesting crops...
what's the rest?
loitering... esp. concerning women in clothes shops...
not even barristers...
i mean: what's work... outside the realm of
the "3rd world" sweat-shops...
what are we, "1st world" inhabitants...
content-production ******?
what, *******, "content"?!

best not jinx it... i'll be a steward at Wembley...
i'll be an authority figure...
i have the height (6ft2) & the weight
(96kg)...
           Maanam: krakowski spleen...
6th song?
        work as loitering: isn't work... work:
lift... move... it's like the antithesis of the cruel joke
from Auschwitz... arbeit macht frei...
when they forced the people to move
a sack of rubble from A to B,
to further relent at them moving the same sack
of pebbles from B to A...

what the hell is work when so much of "work"
is loitering?
pandering to whims?
how cruel of me: there's so much excess...
not enough condoms were clearly used...
solipsistic, marginal, attention-deficient ******
of the great **** of life...
so many ******* kings among the rabble...
king of Sweden, king of Romania...
oh you see them all the time...
wake up... or be put to sleep by a bullet to the head...

i understand work via... lift... move...
any idiot's fancy...
oh sure... when the intricacies of synthesising
an ester, to make perfume...
when what's required is... pasteurizing milk...
mein gott: the current trend of...
ensuring people are fed... well... not fed:
more like...
ensuring that they don't doubly butcher a
steak... who the **** eats a well-done slice
of steak? probably someone who eats a lot
of lamb dishes... ha! the Welsh are joked
about as being sheep-shaggers...
i'd look toward the Arabs... the greatest sheep-shaggers
of the whole lot of them...
not that the pig can't be used to make...
leather belts... leather shoes...
funny god: of the Arabs... sure... the Hebs too...
it's almost like the devil played a cruel trick
on these people...
pig: b'ah b'ah bad...
aren't ***** necro-
don't ***** eat the flesh of the dead?

but Arabs are one "thing" & the Hebs another...
there's the pristine phonetic study of the
tetragrammaton...
ah? for sighs... ha? for laughter...
W for cosine... Y: the implosion & the rotation
of delta (Δ)...
the Hebrews will accomodate...
the Arabs won't...
even among Africans i can find traces of
universalism...
the Arabs, ****- -stanis... & the Hindus (somewhat)
think themselves are superior...
hush hush when imploring
the Chinese or the Japanese to enter
my realm of thought...
i already think much of the Korean Hangul...
& the Japanese Katakana...
i'm no Ezra Pound... Chinese ideograms...
western Emoji...
the Egyptian hieroglyphs...
32 letters in the ****** alphabet...
as many as there are teeth...
in every man...
26 letters in the Anglican... 6 short...
which teeth will we have, on the platter?

- i think i write these words through a perspetcive of:
what are you, scribbler?
what the hell is the rest of the fancy?
what use for a priest?
i am useless?
i scribble... is it such a sin that...
since the inception of Napster... music "suddenly"
became free? who the hell pays for art,
these day? unless it's not overpriced
acrylic *****?
don't pay for art...
great! don't have a culture...
don't have anything western, "western"...
look how the old Soviets are... giggling & rubbing
their hands in synch. with Beezebub...

AYA - WARIANT "C"...

culture is free, music is free... plenty...
enough for it to be sold...
to no one... monopolised into nothing:
into predictable curtails...
buy new shoes, phones,
perhaps some books... perhaps...

you starved the artist you somehow wonder
why... waste upon waste of migrants are flooding
your borders... will they learn your tongue:
will they... for the people who espouse
Darwinism the most: how backward thinking you all
are... since... you're all ******* dodos
given, the generosity of comparison...
not even that...
how sickening your choice...

you learnt nothing from eastern Europe...
and i wish... that you don't learn anything to begin with...
may you tremble, may you trouble yourself:
with your little hyacinth torando makeshits
of... "the bothersome"...

art for free... who would be asking for
golden nuggets! none!
just scraps! enough to have enough for fuel...
electricity...
no one is asking for ******* stature...
either we'll get to level... or...
the levelling process will come of its own
accord...
you have... ha ha... "have" a choice...
but time will tell you: no... you really don't...

AYA WARIANT C...
"contra"... :Wumpscut bunkertor sieben...
barking, up, the, wrong, *******, tree...
no need for Shakespeare... that **** is timeless...
i need something to counter the debauchery
that's currently relaxed concerning
the practices of journalism...
            ahem... sorry... what journalism?
pampering secluded ****-smeared *****...

if the ghost of Robespierre is grieving in
me! if the ghost of Robespierre!
if the ghost of Robespierre!
                  
  für die leute! für alle!
                    i'm tired of these western...
"conservative": iconoclasts of individualism...
spoon-feeding... hmm...
right now i'm least required to
mention the capacity for: a) thought,
b) tongue...
i like the option c) fist...

these pink haired: freak-oids are just
bearable... Weimar bearable...
i just can't stand being told i'm...
pointless... worthless...
that my words are no sellable...
sure... i agree... they're not...
but... what the **** sells?!

   any, worse, or, better? don't come to me
with complaints that somehow the world is...
darker...
my cat is sleeping sound...
if i had a dog i'd try to not use a leash...

this little piece of *** sells...
great... life: nothing indepth!
here you live: hereby you sink...
drown in the shallows...

groß! eisengrinsen! lachen
entstanden von: diese volk:
das spreschen dies... zunge!

i still find it a bit of a joke... Aryans?
Sarmatians were an Iranian tribe that travelled
into Poland...
Aryans... o.k., sure... jawohl...
i still can't pass up writing some Deutsche...
bad German... or good German...
i don't mind... it's not like the whole
of Berlin will mind... ha ha...

life will have to pursue its own:
trajectory...
like the life of parasites...
imps... giraffes...
van Gogh's paintings... blah blah:
a century later i might be up for
scrutiny... ha ha... people might have forgotten
world war I, or... part deux?
no? new war... Armageddon... figures...
well then... my words are ash:
  mein wörter ar asche;
lucky... no shadow present: too.

It’s like time just elapses
I’m there in its passage
But absent
Somewhere unbeknownst
Is detachment
From make this a memory
Cherish serenity
Let it define
Reassign your identity
To the Book Facing
Erased
Interpersonal
Words left unsaid
Ever dread
Irreversible
Say your goodbyes
To the moment
And look
To the future
As if
You are now off the hook
For recalling
What made it
Indelible,
Sellable
Some crowning moment
Achievement
More credible

Drink the patriotic brew
Wars have to continue
Population gullible
Hunger  insatiable
Hindu,  Muslim, Christian, Jew
What’s a lie and what’s true
Years ago I wish I knew
All depends on how you treat
Make a juicy balance sheet
For every woman every man
Put in  your business plans                
Bombs blasts are sellable
Bullets cute and feasible.
Manageable  profitable
What is lie and  what is true
Wars have to continue
Drink the patriotic brew
Why we made this world a zoo
I don’t have a *******  clue.
                            Shakeel Khan ©
                                                                                        Copyright Shakeel Khan © 2024. All rights reserved