sometimes a private message on the sly
outlasts a poem,
i'm no quack - my prescription list
if a bunch of theories,
i can't the Hippocratic oath even if i wanted to,
which also means a theory here,
or a theory there can't hurt -
it's levitating as a chanced choice of consideration,
in terms such stated, there are
the questions of consolidating the problem
socrates faced as to how confront a unity
of particulars and universals -
well, a mathematical impression
with the prime expression of division would be
a start, a comprehension of units
akin to millimetre, centimetre and mile
would be due a referencing to.

i hardly know what to call the cartesian
subsequence equation -
sartre tried to invert it -
let's say that thinking is an *essence
and being is existence -
drag in newton's causality and einstein's
lack of causality - i do believe
descartes is pivotal in terms of causality
and what existentialism suggested
via sarte: that existence precedes essence
or vice versa - causality i should think -
but if the itemisation of space
as divided enduring placebos of millimetre
and centimetre with each point
as the Freudian id to divide is loosely estimated -
i understand Sartre's argument when
being a revisionist via Descartes -
existence does indeed precede essence -
you learn from your mistakes -
first can existence example itself
before thought (essence) begins its learning process -
indeed it can't be otherwise, intuition
does exist to a cloning zenith reached by animals
who're only vociferous via the medium
of onomatopoeia - ferrous sounds -
but among men there are more enzyme-related
processes to create the Enlightenment from
the Renaissance - the latter an artistic progress
the former the scientific -
study chemistry or physics and philosophy becomes
a playground - biology for some reason
has too many octopus tentacles attached to
obvious things - mutations of Chernobyl to mind -
and history, **** sake's the stone age and the
17th century will deviate far between on the spectrum
of analysis - there is much more bureaucracy from
the 17th century than crude cave drawings from the stone
age - i'm hardly saying it's not plausible
but the time-scale leveraged with boiling a cup of tea
is the worst kinds of distraction - scout's honour,
cross my heart and count to 20 in under 10 seconds.
anyway, for the majority, people are hardly
innovators, a few can claim to be a pure res cogitans
(a thinking thing), since such a being would require
an id scale of division, not necessarily a scale of division
akin to the majority of people, with their
9 to 5 working days, monday through to sunday,
january through to december -
with the latter list of exemplification we're talking
about a res narro / a narrative thing - alt. include
res transloquor (a thing talking over -
a loss of etiquette when talking over older people)
etc. -
           since i find that thinking is primarily
about innovative feats - but most of the time what we
call thinking is actually narration -
a book never written, an idea never materialised -
and the existence of the Buddhist "mindfulness" /
simply not thinking, a full cartesian sum embodiment,
akin to driving a car, a bike, whatever you like.
or i could have written about the news review
articles from sunday: the boo! that's Broadmoor,
the lush living conditions in blocks 2 & 5
and the squalor in blocks 1 & 6...
names include the murderers:
jonathan lowe (aged 52) writing a letter about
the Ritz hotel like conditions in 1898,
croquet and cricket, tea weak beer and gambling,
tobacco luxury and servants via the lesser
fortunate inmates,
william chester minor's addition to the inaugural
edition of the oxford english dictionary (ex-military
surgeon he was),
chippendale bookcases, bathed once a week,
shaved three times a week,
(now you can understand my fascination with
Ezra Pound) - thomas harry a would be assassin
of the p.m. Gladstone of 1893 walking about
the asylum gardens mentioning Gladstone's
last plea with a smile akin to the eager buds of
may appealing to harry's sense of "remorse",
a dutchman who attacked his wife with a mallet
pleading to renter the lunatics' Ritz circa 1895 -
a jack the ripper suspect amongst them -
dr. richard brayn hardly ***** burroughs' dr. benway -
a madman had never so much luck under **** brayn -
but the less fortunate remarked:
'my name is T Perkins, i have been murdered here,
by those that know not what they do,
because they have ether in their heads!'
i'd guess ammonia to add to such a confession,
or skunk ***** to mind the least.
thomas cutbrush was the ripper suspect.
jimmy saville wetted his ***** in the female wards...
can't complain with ******* adolescent girls
why complain about ******* crazed chicks -
Michael Meyers in the room? i thought so,
democracy is the ideal export, people know
jack the ******* by compliments from the toilet's
perfumery as described: strawberry scented,
mm hmm - Kentucky tattooed on my left buttock's
cheek. but boo! a.k.a. Broadmoor is closing,
pristine lunatics on the street - mind you
in the news review they had an article about
seymour hersh - what he called
dum-dum and darth vader of the galactic empire
surround fashion trends of 9 / 11...
joy uu bushy and st. francis cheney -
prior to this poem looking at russian sables in
fur farms going berserker over the size of the cages,
a lynx rummaging in a theory of geometry
walking out lemniscate treading on its own faeces,
and i felt good for the jews
not wearing leather on Yom Kippur -
in their orthodox black attire walking into a
synagogue wearing trainers -
yep, lived next to a synagogue for several years,
a flat above an estate agents...
but of course weddings and mazel tov a rekindled
happy event!
scurrying like rats in an area not allowing pride -
apologies for the comparison,
but Gants Hill wasn't exactly Golders Green,
well the Hanukkha did stand proud at the roundabout,
but then the social project took over
and subsequent evictions proceeded -
Bangladesh came over - and half of Pakistan.

The night falls often, as she turns her back,
Her sun casts shadows, bleeding radiance.  
A second’s brevity is ignorantly understood,
And starts fleeting with her turning face.
Staying clear from the certainties that elapse,
Emerging discordant, in escaping lights

Seeking escape from the elegance in symmetry,
Contemplating, while never forgiving.
Bursting obstinate in all her resentment,
Childishly, the world darkens to hysteria.
Seeking another devilish eye, shining radiant,
Stopping only to gaze at the gleaming dazzle.
Coughing out promises in insincere words,
Wielding her in with an illusive wind.

The veil is cast; diamonds piercing inwards;
A stage of indifference is stubbornly forged.
Resolute, unaccepting to anything unpleasurable,
Desperately drenched, and intoxicated in search.
Walking endlessly on aching legs,
Gasping in and out of the houses of decadence.
Comparing insanities with estranged figures,
Unwillingly enraging the growing distortion.

Ceasing in exhaustion through misplaced exits,
The doors lead only to the roads that circle.
A giant sea appearing in recklessness,
Lost men and women, walking deranged.
Then the bodies tire, turn and fall,
Sinking in loss and fading remembrance.
The veil detaches, seeking the vulnerable,
And she struggles to break the anchor pulling down.

With another gasp, she suddenly awakens,
She stares at the sun, and fails to forget.
Overcome in a daze, which causes her to cringe,
And then paralyzing her every attempt to change.
She sits idly by awaiting subsequence,
A different night? another wail?

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6 of 184

Majesty's Thereupon
COUCH ALLENS
Apr 10
to j_blayze2002
Majesty’s Thereupon

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‘One-Litre’-Imagination Drills….’

PORTAL MADE INSURANCE GAZETTE  ' SPEAR EARNS...'













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well, ****, me, it's like being awake
for about a week... minding a *******...
ONION!
dos' doss
                a'tt even qualify?!
the ****'s the rest?
   a **** all peel?
            come 'oney, 'ome sanctimony?
                    your crew?!
'ucking scouse: your m'ah-f'ah
a *****-schoot...
      your mam'aha complete ****?!
so y'eer mam'ah a ****?!
             good to
know...
no i know what
                  to **** in public!
*******  ****** industry 'abric!
          you don't get
away with slav
playing
out the **** blondine boy!
                   yo, *******,
rat racing ****-****
         riddle a ball-sack
  attempt at a 'ackney pristine!
     piece of doit!
ever e'ten
    raw onions in         liver'poi
          and not at eton *******
whimp-e-mister?!
                   m'ah
nye-i-ever...
  maroccon delight!
       god to love the arab incubators!
little people do
                such marvels!
clean windows...
take out of garbage... talk ****...
       a society like
a ******* mirage!
      and am i the one to fear death?
can't see it coming,
meaning:
   can it come much sooner?!
white boy a shrimp feeding
factory...
sometimes the odd
toiling shed, and tool...
you ever manage to see
a cow being towed into
A SLAUGHTERHOUSE?!
        no?
              you haven't exactly been
born... have you?
       you know what's funny...
gypsy prostitutes...
they're not sure whether to
associate with romanians
or bulgarians...
                can't tell the difference...
but i have one clue
   incission: blyat' suka!
                                        pizdetz!
these women are certainly not
either romanian, nor bulgarian...
                but they know
one word equivalent of using
bulgar...
                                        jebać pizde!
in cyrillic...
                becauase arabic tongue
translates back into an orthodox of
the fathom of body?
                                   nice to know...
that a bowtie isn't tied
according to such grimace of:
expectancy...
                     or anticipating
                        a welcome drought...
      to later attire donning a tuxedo...
but that is but a half,
and hardly a future...
               and what truth is,
history regurgitates as
                   nought... with the nought
being a tomorrow...
         and the subsequence
of history,
              being a far removed yesterday...
and yesterday,
   being a history,
   with a tomorrow
                           that simply can't exist!

as neither did dinosaurs...
       with crocodiles...
                     but then:
                     again...
            who among arab minds this
to be more concerning,
than the perfect eyebrows of
an arab woman driving
a car....
              and whatever buzzfeed
ushers out from its *******?!

in terms of ontology: all is permitted,
given that so much is left,
dangling upon a damoclean
                         thread of a single
horse hair...
                            of the unexplored:
ontology is a waiting game,
with what, already is,
   a fixation on the constraints
of: ex simiae:
                       hence my approximation:
**** similis...  
    it's still a desire to preserve
a base, an origin story transfixed by
the use of fungus...
      accidently swallowed a mosquito:
suddenly grew a ******* pinocchio...
and somehow, slyly:
fixating on keep the libido
                                     momentum...
that's crucial, that the momentum is kept...
yet i wonder...
     racism:
                       poland vs. senegal was
the first game when the rams bothered
to clash horns...
       oh i can be crytical when i see it
through a lense of: crypto-nationalism...
unlike the romance of the noble prize
being given to Milosz...
            economic migration background:
i'm not allowed to romance about it...
there's no "grand" furore to mind,
no expectation,
           and certainly no: bending the knee
of the hosts...
  ****! from calling them natives
i'm starting to think in american terms
of hosts...
                  given i'm an alien "body":
                 more or less a thought, prior;
but that was the first instance of
deviating from playing out the sport,
poland vs. senegal...
            ******* europe versus a people
who know of europeans...
                            belgians and the congo...
slim afro beauty that she was...
no wonder...
               could almost say the *******
came when i felt my frontal pelvis
bones was sore after she
                rammed her coccyx onto me...
but outside the realm of serving
seductive cocktails while playing
          cedric 'IM' brooks'
                                     satta masa ganna...
no, i'm just curious about
the dynamic, behind a word such as
racism...
   and language in general...
           who are the people who use
a first tier definition of a word?
          i'm sure language is as loose as
well oiled spaghetti in imitation of
a pit of snakes...
           and yes, the linguistic atomists
(akin to myself) who care to mind
                          diacritical exceptionalism
in uttering a micro-seance
      prior to a syllable... notably via
ü (the classical umlaut)
               and what could become an
applicability of orthography in english:
with, oh so many examples in need of
being addressed:
             namely: from pout,
               came pút,
                                pool
                           ­             (pül),
                and the disguised vowels
of english: putter versus a patter...
  the subtle elongation of the A
  in a: pāt on the shoulder...
i already know that my suggestion is
too impractical to be ascribed
a subsequence with a towed effect
being ascribed...
           but at least there's the observation,
in the open.

  with this one particular word,
what is it: from zenith to nadir,
  or from a nadir to a zenith?
    definition 1.
             first, or           definition 3. first?
vocab. inheritance tax...
or just mindless fronting concerning
the affair?
    
is it a priori:
   1. a belief or doctrine that inherent
  differences among the various human
racial groups determine cultural
or individual achievement,
  usually involving the idea that one's
own race is superior and has the right
to dominate others or that a particular
     racial group is inferior to the others

or 3. hatred or intolerance of
               another race or other races                 ?

seems rather contradictory that
there could be such a priori complexity
to begin with, to be inherent...

zenith / nadir
                   a priori / a posteriori
dictum would suggest
  that: definition no. 3 is a priori...

while definition no. 1 is a posteriori...

    which also allows a psychological
dimension and
    the Freudian-Jung dynamism to
"explain" the proton, neutron, electron,
egg shell egg white, yoke,
               sclera, iris and the pupil
dynamic invoked by the psyche-dissection
into compartment
of a consciousness,
                    a sub- and an unconscious...

definition no. 1 can't be a priori:
it's too worded to make sense of
what an a priori statement looks like,
i.e.: 1 + 1 = 2.

an a posteriori statement?
               given that 1 + 1 = 2 is an a priori
statement?
                                    √-1...
   ­  lo and behold!
             you get a letter! as substitute to
the meddling in numbers...
     and then from i, to iota,
                       and the concept of a pronoun
in english (gender neutral) you go...
                              wunderbar!
                ­       ja...
because you can begin with an:
a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i...
                  clearly there's a priori
favour, to subsequently allow
a loss of explanation with a 1 + 1 = 2...
inheret bother:
      because when wasn't
         arithmetic ever akin to spelling?
the frequency of the letter-usage
compared to numbers?
      
              do you call the mann unable
to count or spell:
at the same time blind
            and deaf, synonymous?
what definitions behind a word
do you use?

what tier of a word are you making
                           allowances for?

using tier no. 1?
        or using tier no. 3?
   how can you even allow
an "ambiguity" of secondary tiers
of red...
               given there's no celtic ginger...
and shouldn't tht belong among
painters who can actually
see past the writer's daltonism,
  or x-ray in teutonic schwarz und weiß...

   a sch't'ern tongue:
          among, platzieren ziegel von die rot
                von Marienburg...

what is the dictionary "ambiguity"
of red?
            
            one subsequent definition is:
BLAH!

               so we've established word
that acribe to tickling a thesaurus
ambiguity...
    but sure as **** there are some,
rigid, orthodox, words:
that can be used, un-acriptive
of a challenging authority
wishing upon it a counter-usage...

  i was born a pollack,
i acquired english:
            god forbid i don't die german!
hence all this crypto-nationalism
*******...
      i am a crypto-nationalist,
given that a nation is a cryptic,
quasi-noun suffragette...

             ich, werden sterben ˈjərmən!
point being: i'm hardly welcome...
        but death is hardly
a grieving mother,
               rather, a welcoming *****.

i've "said" enough,
  question is...
                                 have i drunk enough?

people fear more being the conscripts
of death,
time aeons' worth:
becoming the patrons of
being the disciples
of "life, outstanding",
within the focus of:
                        succumbing to
                         the mediocre;
however many metaphors...
people are so afraid of death...
that they cannot deem themselves
worthy of having to suffocate
from a life worth an
extension
in the labours of comfort...
ageing...
               the retired man?
don't expect him to read
much books...
   so...
              really?
               i am tired...
of digressing,
of making fun of young men...
who... somehow,
decided to succumb
less to a female body...
and more to the insipid libra...
  i too wish i made favor
of the female body
beyond the book...
no...
            no...
   no really...
      i wish a twice more burden
of books...
to forget that infantile
scouting dynamo of
wishes...
            had i the fruit
that would have bloomed
prior to having to excavate
the perdominant
dynamo of subsequence... ?
    no...
1960s sexuality:
the end...
             and the subsequence?
i thought that the heavy nought
of a heart of a Shakespeare...
doesn't translate itself into
a market's worth of Ovid?
no?
so i was wrong then?
good to know!

.                      from a zenith to a nadir...
   from what i pecked at with eyes
rather than a beak
of the night sky... and its strange "occurences"...
did i fall to sleep...
and while sleeping: scream in my bed?
i rather: but more clearly... don't remember...

of all that i have read: my body should
be covered in tattoos...
of only words...
         but i don't want that...
                    in the obscure regions of art:
roving stars are sometimes the norm...

      clearly: i can't overstate this "fact"...
it's oh so normal...
                 am i to suddenly doubt whether or not
i looked up at the night sky, prior?

beside the constellations...
now... it would make more sense to go about
my daily: routines, chores... worries...
if being alone wasn't alone enough
to get to know what the neighbors have planned...

i can't exactly wonder when looking up
at the night sky... stars are not supposed to me...
i look up... yet another is "wandering"...
before the great interlude...
i saw a streak of them...
                  must have been over 20...
moving on a skew... equal distance apart
between each...

i once saw a bulging cloud of smoke...
and a firecracker of fire make a smiley streak
into it...
            some people have looked for this...
connection... to a demiurge or otherwise
wandered past it...
  i did read some gnosticism when i was still
a teenager...
which you do... when you attend a catholic
school...
  we were obliged to think that...
the 1960s psychadelic revolution didn't happen
in what became... outer east london...
we were to be the new ukranian irish
about to sniff glue...
   no... drugs weren't on offer...
at least: not the good drugs...
           as long as we fully entombed in a body
and would become: necessary bricklayers...

i wouldn't mind that...
but i'd like to have a sensation that my brain
at least allowed for a labyrinth to be made
available...
rather than a sponge-suckling of give-me-give-me
propaganda regurgitation...
i could stand a chained body...
but a chained mind?
      something's got to give...

on the sly... while the deities look on and say:
say: final! this liberal vs. conservative
debate has to end...
        we'll sort out the arguments with
a placebo dialectic...
        we'll send in a virus... settled?
no... of course it's not settled...
nothing is ever settled in a democracy....

i "rant" while a bukowski gets away
with writing "poetry"...
                 not enough rhyme... not enough:
"scope"? not haiku enough?
            
    i'm coming back exhausted from watching:
what shouldn't be taking place...
someone suggested: you sure they're not satellites?
can you see... a fridge on earth from the orbit?
same ******* question!

hell... if it was the star of bethlehem... sure...
the major... the inquisitive barber shop pundits...
of course the shepherds... and the three wise men...
i once had it funneled into my head:
blind faith... good enough that it's not
bad faith built upon negation...
or worse still... give me this greyish layer
of "will"...

             i only ever had two choices to begin
with... given that there's an: "immediacy" of subsequence...
two choices... which later drift off into a spare
universe of a juggling-act of "what-ifs"!

i know that i don't know:
i'm alone and i'm just too tired... mentally exhausted
to be truly scared:
if i am... i tend to scream when i'm detached
from consciousness...
asleep...
       but stars should be moving...
with pointers of a whole load of them...
and some in constellations...

         "looking for answers": well... wouldn't you
believe that i'm looking for them, too?!
leave me with a rottweiler puppy... give me 5 years...
you'll get a rottweiler back...
but it won't be a puppy...
  it will be a sentinel beast...
  
******* me one more time as if this is normal...
that stars... have been given
a sudden clause: to move... roam...
      on the sly i have heard of people having noticed
this... but oh sure... the science guys
have placed it on their first in the priority
list of events...
but not like this...

        not when you're probably the only person
in the vicinity looking up...
to see a constellation of a Δ roaming across
the sky... and you're down below...
at a UCL event... a student affair for replicating
a catwalk...
you're in the courtyard near the UCL dome...
smoking a cigarette... looking up...
no one... does... that?
everyone looking down... with horse blinders?!

you can't be allowed to look up at the stars...
what else is there to look up at
when daylight comes?! the lure of the azure
of light piercing the oceans and providing
that solipsistic blanket of blue
that's called the atmosphere and: myopia for
the day-to-day inconveniences, chores...
and pests of bureaucratic details?

i can't turn this into a goose that will lay golden
eggs for me... a patent or a franchise...

i've heard a choir, a descent and a grand wind
that didn't begin to express words...
a muslim woman revealed herself wearing
a niqab: wtich first impressions...
i just stood rooted in stone...
before an image of joseph merrick...

none of this is supposed to make "sense"
of an ownership of eyes...
or ears... or touch of scent...
this tongue would be better suited
to epitome a bark... or a growl...
a snark: the chess of events from circa 2007
have already dwarfed me...

               what good is secular psychiatry
with any of this?
     any mention of an omnipresence in the variation
of a virus: a footnote of god / the demiurge...
otherwise back into the confines
of: ex nihil and... 'to have to believe in my, self'...
belief... in... a... self...
wrapping up a rap from a baboon's ***...
self-determination...
what else is it called?
               the autistic "paradox"...
                        
                              wreckage sought by the seas:
lie beneath... no calmness of the waves...
or ageing perpetuated:
by the onslought of wrinkles...
      creases to the page...
ink blots or dying from the exposure
to weathered pages: turning into a tinge
of a new-born chick...
clucking for... the glutton to choke...
and subsequently sing an aria...

                  yet this... drinking mania
and a phosphorescence of insomnia...
                              
   no one questions the coming of the tide...
since... no one was ever to question
the tide per se...
       a tide without measures...
is neither a coming or a going...
               perpetuated: the latitutdes
of impregnating change...

               where's by paragraph?
where's my sanity project paragraph
of prose? where is it all...
this: bothering over...
minor turned into major event
schematics? riddled with orthography
and not once citing a pursuit
of metaphysical architecture?

  where now... or what of: now?
          i don't like being sold back the oddity
in the stars...
  that it's somehow mortally normal...
      i looks for the spezials in moi...
i can'ts see any...
    this mediocre blip... well... with all
the hierarchies in deposit: and place...
who would... fathom a "besides" worth
a hierarchical translation?
no one these days is to be evert infected
with the protestant infection
of: the ***** karma of predestination...

protestant evil of the lutheran peasants...
what's: karma...
in the guise of predestination?
this is: unavoidable...
this has been given a priori superiority:
without my knowledge...
or an ear's or an eye's worth
of inkling to hear ot simply see?

take the concept of buddhist karma...
then take... the protestant predestination...
all pros are quits...
   there are no propositions of grain,
guarantee or gamble...
    it's all very much:
what you see is what you get...
if asking for more...
suppose you to be no more than a common
beggar...

            works well for the folk
stapped to a king's dept...
when it comes to being entertained at court...
i.e. notably, being presentable...
e.g. being well, attired!
my louis: the ******* 14th...
harem boast... and some dear-lady...
much later... much much later: vuitton...

                    the virus that becomes the sieve...
here's the bandwagon:
climb onto it... words are spare...
and with what is spare...
       look out for the scarcity....
                         because...
                 "we're" about to rattle some cages...
and gesticulate with stones
via a juggling them:
    interim...   cackling... rats... pretending
to be shoes... or rather... magpies!

Notion 'A'
Adding the brass of the day
Altogether a wish we found in a malaise
A court of excelling need, with a moment to say

Notion 'B'
Begun in a willowing voice, hard to see
Subtle bolting skies, with a tooth to turn and seem
Beguiling presence is a world's forte, meant any and all anarchy

Notion 'C'
Contrary to devil's of chaste, and a demonstration of haste
Causes of virtue outrun a valor's sight, like embarrassed keep
Cold silence in place of heard fact's, of poise and pleasance too fast

Notion 'Subsequence'
Surreal, the voice of constancy at the beauty of dependency
Safety in proverbial numbers, versus the common amends
Sakes alive and rekindled, will surmised gaiety show true, the seen?

Parts of my brain killed themselves as a survival tactic and I had no idea why. I woke up one day and I was less than myself, parts of me missing with no subsequence. I know I will grow again but I will never be the same. There are nights when things I cannot even remember, paralyse me in tears and fears on my bedroom floor. These are the nights I realised I was wrong about where the monsters lay, I was lead to believe they live underneath our beds. To my surprise, they are the ones who enter our beds; uninvited. I am jumping from breakdown to breakdown. It’s like playing the floor is lava, just with my sanity. Sometimes, I am struck with full awareness of all my adolescent traumas and a lifetime of wounds cut me all at once.

Dropsen nyan zegasef ul
is in rising

into subsequence
maybe consequence

Hence up blends
this is hesitance

nyan  takes up residence
all a sizing