NEW LYRICS FROM DOMINIC

TEMPTATION DOZES

(Am --> C x 5) Third fret jazz chord -- 4 E chord -- F -- spoken ending

Temptation dozes with the roses who grow salvation in snowy meadows that yesterday shan't know

so I stare at frozen skies where herds of strangers arrange the changes that the angels can't grow

as the anorexic starve away to blame the sunrise that blocked a five-eyed nerd who flexes a toe

and slurred words shed blurred time like rhyme to hurl hedonistic crimes at absurdity’s foe

where winters hinted about the withdrawn myths & worlds that trick devout birds at a wordy snow

but hurtful understanding didn't continue to expand the trinity's tree to please the free-flow

and as the amber sand expands to fight the banned world's stance to chance the pre-loved below

the freedom guaranteed was but because of a seedy sea of empathy free of words and lemon-curd gateau

sowing egoic hurt to slow the finite night where saviours replay to chance the dance of an unheard banjo.

Ambivalent apocalypses tormented wherever the abandoned went

with atomic artisans apostles fermenting a small percent of a segment

and the automatic angles accelerate to prevent a presented present

although slowly but surely the sudden strangers sullenly circumvent

talking of the chosen flamingo who framed the frozen men in a tent

reframing the mythical width of the diffidence their yesterday sent

as armies of angry-warehouse-ants work for a situational pretence.

 

The sound is behind by mind and that's a puzzle you confined

but the daily grind chimes like a wakeful hustle that isn't mine

thankfully there was a swanky prayer my fish didn't wish to refine

and I can only tell you that my dishes get better with time...

.... you didn’t know it because you slowly knew it was already done

and at the final wonderment he lost the desperately costly fun

after the tundra thunder cost the boss the secret setting sun

without the peripheral hindsight igniting the thunderous one...

... but maybe she had given up respecting me

or maybe she’s too busy reflecting the freeze..!

!...but she reared my ears to hear jealousy’s dynasty

until the rhymes of time stole back my soul’s keys...!

I hoped things could last but so did the wood & the neighbourhood grass!

Your hope for a clear forecast broke the ceiling of feeling like it was glass!

I stand up and it falls -- I had to work for it all.

I knew the ego is a fool so my tale was not tall.

(Am --> C x 5)Third fret jazz chord -- 4 E chord -- F -- spoken ending

THROUGH THE BLUE

I used to love you so damn much the hunger of what I am kind of amused you too.

Your touch pasted mindless numbers and your tongue tasted of royal cashew.

Your soul spoke many myths and controlled my goals with brash bowls of clues.

You seemingly broke my dream which woke another ‘me’ inside a lover’s shoes.

Hell may well make today an enemy, but I pray the rain’s refrain remains true.

When I held your hand, at last the past screamed a sweet semitone.

And so if the inanimate has soul, let me be a rolling stone.

But if you were never with me, then I have forever been alone.

And I'll let my pointless dreams crystallise a sweet joint unknown.

I grieve what I cannot perceive so receive the love that God chose not to show.

You never ceased believing in fate as we navigated to those great unknowns.

And soon the leathered moonlight spoke for the night and woke up forever’s foe.

I’m not sure if that heaven is hell’s sworn enemy, or how the grass might grow.

Moments seem to swell in memory now, yet I dream only of what I don’t know.

The world conspires with us or against us as we try to face it.

But if there’s really nothing to win, then why must we chase it?

If the future happens today, can tomorrow ever really erase it?

Feeling on the hill kills but still nothing will ever replace it.

Though I didn’t accept every word I heard her say, April’s fool became May.

The world had no need until the greedy God dreamt up His bottomless buffet.

The brave saviour suffers the same tall tale that the chainless call a cabaret.

It’s okay to fall into cliché but try not to let your complete unique decay.

If hell gives ecstasy and yet I forget living memory, I shan't stand in the way.

She held my hand, and at last the past screamed a semitone.

If life is made of soul, then let me be a fast-rolling stone.

Forget pointless dreams that don’t appoint a joint unknown.

If she was with me forever, then I have never been alone.

C G

Am Em

C G

Am Em

A C

A G

D D7

Dm Em

D D7

Dm Em]

DEFTLY BREATHLESS

Do the government learn from every essay?

Laughing is not the opposite of crying

for the water brigade fires you drying.

Which body is the CIA going to burn today?

Ambulant sounds reignite the patient lying

warring the daughter who is tired of his sighing.

Why would Soothsayer rely upon a new way?

The same flame sought the bought artefact

as if the blame game taught her to react.

Was the court case based on a Jesuit jay?

The longer texts examined tarted art sinful and slack

before cohorts taught you to see more white in black.

She nodded at me but I was looking the other way.

Why would you want a straight to change into a gay?

Is this all you won from me in the universe they play?

Was my true body a perfectly hedonistic new oddity?

Does the strange odyssey make this mystery shoddy?

Are you gonna insist that I see things you way again?

Or do you think I remember all you had to say back then?



LUNAR COMPOUNDS

Lunar compounds soon surrounded the tunes of new men,

consuming towns of prose detailing our walk back to them,

possibilities freed by snails and frail roses grew in dew den,

failing to transpose the prose detailing trailing the true pen.

But when my art departs from the heart-attack awe and zen,

I then speedily forget the wars the tweedy lea me to condemn,

filling mayhem’s hill with dreams of mythical forgetfulness again,

yet still loving yesterday in the same way I did back then.

Though both oaths broke the end of growth like the snowmen,

I know not the forgotten razors and rotten saviours slowly begot them,

so let us transcend the labels of friendly foe and shot gem,

as forever leaks green dreams and hidden seas of hot phlegm.

But infinity freed the incredibly inedible trees from which its artistic words came,

happening blurred awe reborn to restore the absurd heart-attack game,

repairing the startling artefact fact of happenstance’s dance to fool the vein,

warning hearts to dwell upon sheltered walls to stall the sane all the same.

And if the resplendent heat sweetened each completionist leaf,

we may yet reach yesterday’s mythical beach of sunset grief,

whose feats sweetened the defeatist forgetful head of relief,

as the blue news courted the caught thought chief,

and next thing you know it you owe him no beef.

He could have afforded more happenings an’ visions shambling,

but more fought to contort sunny thoughts and wizened ramblings,

balancing the blackening skies that reprised blue-moon happenings,

impeaching preachers whose hyperbole eyes surprised me saddening,

differential unknown stones slowly teaching the sheik sky slackening

grappling with frosty mosses & costly losses & hyperbole maddening,

shining the eyes that the diplomat compartmentalised hyperbole gladdening.

They planted wondrous tunes within the thunderous moon few knew,

slipping into dreamy extremes of beginnings that let me forget you too,

grave-meaning saving the cave-eyed brides regretful inside the blue,

guiding sleeping heathers and speedy forevers hiding from a past forever,

weekly snogs and seedily free songs both longing to last together,

libidinous treasures embossed in songs of grass and grass leather.

Although the unknown owed only the bliss stoned,

this was but a lonely trust to the kisses that this loaned.

…her fed line led mine here to dread the dead rhyme,

and so my heart nearly resigned in time to wed thine!

LIKE ALL THE OTHERS

When was it that you went? The postcards have been sent.

No thanks to the government for the cinnamon they lent.

My tongue don't fund fondue; to fondue it will not relent.

My rations spent in passion, they borrowed my lament.

I wasn't certain I'd see you, though Jesus' lie was meant.

No thanks to the imagination whose pranks were spent.

No thanks to the warriors whose love appeared as a repent.

No thanks to solitary, the excitement of the release, the rent.

Where was it that you went? I remember head in the tent.



THE MOON WILL STILL SOON RISE

Brother our sisters are the twisters in the skies

There’s much to resist but not a lot to realise

The touch of destiny is another compromise

The crux of everything hides away nothing’s lies

Papa wipe the existentialist tripe from my eyes

The sun’s alive and the moon will still soon rise

I ride the feelings that are hard to summarise

Energy may live forever but the body still dies

Mama fate isn’t hateful but it forsakes my art

My souls wake to goals never too late to start

I want to stay forever but still be a tiny part

Can’t you shake yesterday’s ma off my heart?

 

NO THANKS

When was it that you went? The postcards have been sent.

No thanks to the government for the cinnamon they lent.

My tongue don't fund fondue; to fondue it will not relent.

My rations spent in passion, they borrowed my lament.

I wasn't certain I'd see you, though Jesus' lie was meant.

No thanks to the imagination whose pranks were spent.

No thanks to the warriors whose love appeared as a repent.

No thanks to solitary, the excitement of the release, the rent.

Where was it that you went? I remember head in the tent.

It started out like all the others:

she chased his stars to their ends.

He thought that they were lovers

but she knew that they were friends.

When the men posed like mothers

then his eyes grew a new camera lens.

She knew that forever wasn’t above her

but was still too true to make amends.

And so when the sky outgrew its covers

the road to heaven became full of bends.

It ended like the story of every other lover

when neither could pretend to be friends.

 HALFWAY TO HEAVEN

Halfway to heaven, I forget to rock the gate and lock the door.

Tomorrow’s help weighed heavy to sell sorrow to selfish helter-skelter awe.

Halfway to twenty-seven, their startled cartels sold them even more.

On levels where I revelled, the harlot hearts sent mine a war.

Halfway to twenty-seven, yesterday was reminded to refine the law.

On levels that they devilled, I sent reason to refine this sleepy shore.

Halfway to heaven, you might realise that I must have loved you more.

Halfway to heaven, I realised statements like this must rust to the bore.

Someone knew for true what the sun and rain became.

They threw up a tall tale that the high heart came to claim.

I finally grew into the one ‘the fun’ stalled all the same.

But what has begun must eventually call an end to every game.

Even if they lost the toss to cross the day the night might repair,

spiteful revelations placed there to fight the sprites’ stare,

as if to save a spacey word to requite the heights right there,

and though I requited grace absurdity to write this trite prayer.

Although the unknown owed only the bliss stoned,

this was but a lonely trust to the kisses that this loaned.

…her fed line led mine here to dread the dead rhyme,

and so my heart nearly resigned in time to wed thine!

BEFORE FORESET BECOMES ZOO.

Deodorant, dyspraxia, dispersion theory, offensive singularity, Gantsa rock was forgetful & empty & vacant or ancient & blue: I knew that you must have know you knew too. Empty, no more déjà vu. Utopia married Eurasia. You tore the whole document apart. We stood no chance at knowing the totality or the truth now—life isn’t terrible for me at the moment but that’s because I can afford to get cocky-.. Rainbow Village sheltered sent me censored by new or by past- the cat on the phat woman’s man’s lap chanted cant at a nuclear sell.

Alone together they forever reminisce about bliss they were trapped to tell. Their self-made clan can only damn the map’s retaliatory sappy smell. Another lover’s mind trapped a factual map devoid of sick and of well. Perhaps yesterday’s trapeze actualised a purgatory devoid of all hell. And I lost the withdrawn tall-tales that stalled my failing yells of blue. And that whacked the death left of the fact that employed shelter too. And I think that’s because I told you that I didn’t mind and neither should you.

The self-made man damned the other’s retaliatory slap down the well and her lover’s mind drew a factual map to deafen the true act they sell but perhaps yesterday’s trapeze reductionist purgatory devoid of all smell

and whacked the death left to deafen tall-tale fact employed to shelter

the withdrawn yawns that resigned to the mind actuary that felt her.

Somebody else forgot they understood the shot self

and her after-laugh sheltered yesterday in sinful stealth

as the fiery gates compelled to compute numerate health

where the frightening welp bartered with the knight’s elf

and the pharmaceutical movement of mental wealth.

The singularity zone can be obtrusively infinite. It seems less plausible that you can leave it once you are begotten by its mechanics. The most blessed way to attempt to abandon the singularity zone is to try to escape it. Instead of waiting for them to work me, sometimes I wait for… this probability doesn’t cover up the truth with resentment but the eventual theory ass regards to the asinine stunt that five-ears pulled might escape the plausibility of the bracken’s religiosity.

CONGRATULATIONS (YOU HAVE ACCIDENTALLY ERASED A 15 MILE RADIAS! THIS ISN’T WHAT MADE ME INSANE!)

I dissolve within my crappy thinking

and win a happy spell of drinking

because happenstance was what it was

they picture the clue and then pause

and that’s why they hustled me empty

unrelated to the sinking ergot ceiling

tripping into empirical logic or thinking

-DJF 20 Tuesday January 19:26

I try to dissolve the thinking

and then I win what I am drinking

unrelated to the sinking feeling

abated by the blinker dealing

unrelated to the ships sinking

tripping into the empire of sense

waiting inside the Texaco fence

that can depress you until your tense

LESS HUGE PARGAPHS. MORE HAIKU PROJECT.

“Forgetful sells well but why not stealthily renew the health of your relationship with your feline friend, Tonnan?” asks Kleopatra. “

“The absurd truth is that this book wasn’t meant to be published, though it might matter if you are witch or herd… but if your soul is the author of your own destiny, it’s better to believe in the past. I hate to spell this out to you but forgetfulness is a malady. I think that it’s possible to understand the impossible once a day or even once an hour. Eventually, the craving for something slowly leaves along with the egoic song of the gravy carver. I think someone tried to sell something to someone quite long ago, though. There is no real reason for awe. Awe seems like a government gift or some great gate to some wonderment projected to help reality become relevant to every soul who seeks to actualise the absurdity that we started discussing as if to palster delusion onto these,” Xinx replies.

“Yep… it happens a little like that but more like this…the rememberies reach their natural conclusion and you have to face the fact that we are alive for almost every millisecond of our lives, even though it is better to make a decision as regards to the truth that our bodies own our brains & limb s & all.”

“Please alight on Mushroom Mountain if you wish to take the skyline to Fire Forest,” says TwoHead. “As long as the crimson snow heats Fire Forest, we are able to attain the middle value, which means that the paradoxical civilian should stop treating their self to the testament of time.”

The mighty night-skies are right to climb down the snowflakes that walk down the stairs crafted by Nature. Am I right in saying that Mother Nature cannot split the difference between the split-personality of Paradise City’s technological bid? As President of Paragraph City, I am aware that there must be some kind of middle-ground. Why not understand the empirical value of a changing present as regards to the fulfilment of a purpose?

personality split-personality might help

snowing crims. The crimson skies seem to carve their own conglomerate fact, even though I suppose that every sort of apocalypse is a highly localised event for those who experience it.

“You are a defective, not a detective,” The Dragon Deity warns. “It doesn’t make sense to expect everything to happen at the same time. That’s why the surroundings around me are sometimes liable to... how can I say….burn like an inferno.”

  breathless fact.

Somebody else understood the shot self and her after-laugh sheltered the health of the fiery gates that compelled numerate health to where the welp bartered with the knight’s elf.

as the fiery gates of heaven como

They damned the retaliatory fact

and her mind drew a map

she sat on a fat big black cat’s lap

as the time suddenly elapsed

but perhaps her trapeze was a fact

whacked all that was left of his act

next to spots bereft of deathless fact

Somebody else forgot they understood the shot self

and her after-laugh sheltered yesterday in sinful stealth

as the fiery gates compelled to compute numerate health

where the frightening welp bartered with the knight’s elf

and the pharmaceutical movement of mental wealth

Interior. MAN and WOMAN sitting next to each other on a white sofa.

MAN: I never saw you here before. This your first time here?

WOMAN nods vaguely, averting her eyes.

MAN: I thought so. I come here a lot. They gave me these on account of my stubbornness!

MAN withdraws a set of keys from his breast pocket and rattles them excitedly, chuckling loudly for a couple of seconds. WOMAN looks unimpressed, raising her eyebrows.

WOMAN: Better not get too tangled up in our own fantasies, Winnie.

MAN (frowning): I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, Minnie.

WOMAN: What happened to Donald, anyway?

MAN: Fuck you, Minnie. Fuck you for asking and fuck you for knowing what the fuck happened to Donald and still fucking asking me what the fuck happened to Donald. I’ve opened my ears and eyes and heart to you and this is how you fucking repay me, fucking asking me how the fuck Donald is?

WOMAN: I was just asking.

WOMAN stares at MAN’s nose for a few seconds. MAN doesn’t respond, staring vacantly into the audience.

WOMAN: Sorry.

MAN sighs and stares at WOMAN’S nose for a few seconds. WOMAN doesn’t respond, staring vacantly into the audience.

MAN: I’m sorry too. I haven’t washed since Thanksgiving, my breath tastes of stale coffee and I can’t remember the last time I saw another human being. I can see why you might find me undesirable.

WOMAN: I don’t find you undesirable. I just don’t desire you. There’s a difference.

A pause.

MAN: Not really.

END 

SECOND SCENE

WOMAN: Who are you talking to?

MAN: Just wait and see. We were not contractually obliged to correct irregularities. There are far too many qualifications in that word, ‘equality’.

WOMAN: Do we start out equals? What is woman and man? What is black and what is white? What is male and female? Has the truth been murdered by irregularity?

MAN: Yesterday would have been a good time to forget about today, thirsting for the foremost. The truth is that probability doesn’t owe sense until it weighs happenstance. Take that waking truth and realise that there is a middle ground between baking hot and freezing cold.

WOMAN: Just wait and see. They aren’t really trying to contact irregularities.. are they? There must be irregularities because that was what brought us here. ’Only an irregularity would understand the new day tomorrow disguised as today’, as my friend used to say.

MAN: That weighty principle would that be misunderstood, too. Yesterday would be a good time to forget today, actually. The truth is that probability doesn’t make sense until it weighs equal with sense.

 if they have to say it to me in words I can understand

then I'd rather dream of infinity within a helping hand

before the war-torn are reborn without scorn in the sand,

you know I might not requite her again...

though she presented a mention show then...

I find the mind of pure sympathy

backed by the purity of melody

when we were free and woke up to see

the trinity even every plenteous oddity

before I even wanted to speak a word

as feeling warred with the real absurd

and yesterday divorced crazy mazes

as the world forced me into lazy dazes

before the always wars unfurled

restored a maze of doors of worlds

opening past the last glance of a girl

whose passive dance lost you to her

protection reigning strong like a purr

in the kingdom where we were made to belong

coffee drunk high in the cage of the sky

where beautiful wordless angels fly

and I realise that it's not time to quit

as sin submits to the equity twit

thirsting at first for a different place

and then trying to tie its diffident lace

chasing rainbow roads to their slow end

where mathematical code erodes on lend

sending a blessed message translated to transcend

above the singular wing where other things hate

letting not the manager arrive with a price of weight

sedating the bandage of the one all too late

slowing before the police of weight

race yesterday's unmarked plate

where we saw the day break to reiterate

the companion that the alumni sedate

when I prayed for another of you three

as yesterdays faded the parade free

and the grave forgot to wait for me

conclave infamy rotting a new infinity

of the geek who studied yesterday speak

who may be a comedic poet at his peak,

whose speech widowed every week

and I rely on your well-spoken deep

but poetry shows our sin to sleep

within the deeply bleak mystique

into which the meek try to keep unique

as if they knew blue love seems so cheap

bemused above a blessed flow to the deep

and I curse the name where slow-dreams leap

into the forgetful game which you knew to sleep

for you were true to me and bled heavenly head of the flower

on the end where you proposed to eleven dead on the hour

and I shared my experience with the warhorse free and true

realising that you might have been watching me see you too.

and as you waste away the new day

avenues of numbers pray for a new way

and the purple haze needles the hey

before steeples repeat the decay

of the day in may where many numbers play

people praying for the slumberous to say

the powers of evil are destined not to waste

the towers where smokey steeples encase

the retaliatory hope that you grace with haste

now because it is the end of this pretence poem

oh why not show him how to praise the slim hymn

now you know about how doubt grew the thin hymn

Well I tested my love and it was farer than the sane

Love becane pretty unfathomable eventually

I can't relive memory so it is you that I blame

But my memory holds my own ecstasy's keys

I writhed a little in my bed and then writhed a lot

And the roof collapsed leftward of my body

Still, I craved solaced but that's not what I got

For the truth did not relapse, least for me

I humour the past sometimes in my head

For it makes me feel bad and good

Of course there is some penalty:

The law has changed its remedy or it should

There's a woman who resented & loved:

Shows it's hard to tell the difference

She reinvented some new anger in me

So the lament didn't leave me smitten

Well I believe I'm addicted to something

And that something is not a ring

Whatever you perceive in this poem

Remember that now it's just a thing

TEACHER TIFF WARNS CLOUD

“The development of language is one of the greatest intellectual triumphs in the history of mankind. In practical terms, language is a means of simplifying and communicating information. To this end, each word functions as a perfunctory pointer towards either a physical counterpart or an abstract concept. Your ‘melancholy’ may be different to my ‘melancholy’, but our understanding of the word is similar enough that you know what I mean when I say ‘melancholy’. Through the scientific use of words, however, we can perfectly describe how the Universe operates.

In your essay, you pose the question: ‘how do I know that anything outside my mind exists’? You postulate that you must be alive unless your actual ‘life’ will begin after the ‘death’ of your body. But words were not designed to encourage such paradox. Because I have met people with intellects far greater than mine, and because I myself believe I am ‘alive’, there is no logical reason why you also shouldn’t be ‘alive’.

I have to wonder, Cloud: does everybody but you ‘get’ it? That’s not a favourable outcome for either side. As for your essay, I smell bullshit. If one extends your thought-stream to its natural extreme, stationary ‘objects’ may operate on an oppositional or parallel wavelength to our own sensory perception… human beings may not possess the sensory organs necessary to process the ‘aliveness’ of the parallel worlds experienced by ‘objects’ such as dust & rainbows & milk & chairs & squirrel faeces. But what your brain correlates with a state of ‘sanity’ seems to me to be a dream created by your vanity. In your essay, you seem to leap randomly over fences, drifting from one immense philosophical illusion to another just to justify your conclusion:

You’re correct in saying that solipsistic egotism and a diminished sense of the truth of ones’ position as many living individuals in this galaxy may be the root of all insanity. But it can be also seen as a direct result of the alienation that living in society sometimes entails. The morality of society should be decided by its people, but not to the point that we devolve into a state of collective insanity. My world exists regardless of whether you can see or feel or hear me. You don’t have to take my word for it: ask The Voice of God. He and I are estranged at this point because of what He deems my ‘redundant oversexualisation’ of His dreamy masculine tenor. But you should trust the advice given by the Voice of God: He knows nearly everything.

Sometimes when I wake up after a short nap, I feel that I’ve been asleep for a thousand years.

I asked The Voice of God: Does Time exist?

The Voice of God replied: Do the mechanics of Mother Nature make it impossible to go backwards in time? Is it possible to halt its continual gradual forward thrust? Time is for The Living and not The Eternal.

I asked The Voice of God: Is our life theoretically one moment? Is birth like death? When we die, are we not reborn?

The Voice of God replied: The existence of an infinite number of multiverses with an infinite Infinity of souls is possible at absolutely any point in our infinite Eternity.

The Quadratic Quantum Theory is a 2-million-page piece of science-art-writing that describes how the whole damn multiverse-infinity operates atomically. They say that every existentialist who ever understood its essence became so detached from each moment they’d ever spent on Earth that they soared upwards towards the Heavens like a reverse parachutist. You can die in the purgatorial playgrounds of Paradise or remain in Rainbow Village and ride the sweet nomad lips of Heaven upwards. Perhaps there is not only one Righteous Path but an Infinity of possibilities.

The Quadratic Quantum Theory evidences the truth that there is a collective ‘oversoul’, some divine spirit that we are all part of, which is an equilibrium for everything. This is one matter I dare not offer my opinion on, for I don’t wish my earlobes to be phallically punished by The Voice of God. Some art can make you overly paranoid. I know this because I work for the government. But you had better believe in Infinity.

God needs to believe in you and me because God knows that we can become so lost that we are freed. God rolls the dice of our souls. God puts a price on all our goals. That’s the end-toll of the clock upon the whole. That, my friend, is rock-n-roll.

You want my advice? Don’t go to Paradise City. All your daydreams may come true. You may think that that’s what you want, but I know that you don’t.

ammer Watts Assesses The Situation

Some seek truth with a humble mind

Am As the week kills the ties that bind

G Waiting for fortune to help them find

E A desolate refined ideal for mankind

C As new unfamiliar feelings all unwind

G Turning a boulder's poetry into prose

C Some pay heed to one that’s blessed

Am With a crest etched across his breast

G But it’s he that leads this lonely quest

E Into places you never would’ve guessed

C When it’s he that is bequest to those oppressed

G Unless each suppresses what she knows

Some try their best most hurriedly

To resist the ballet dance of society

With acrimony they fall to one knee

And pause until they can clearly see

That we are all free to hold a key

Because it is up to us what destiny we compose

Some doubt politicians and their pouts

As birds sing till their lungs give out

And huddled masses shout about

The concept of a some man of clout

Who can stand to flout his doubt

Without wearing any Emperor’s new clothes

Some voyage together, some cry unseen

Meditating, using night to set the scene

For a liberty that may not ever mean

That all that is and was and has ever been

Will be locked up in some absent routine

And caught in between fifteen scenes of no repose

Some venerate a tuneless choir

As half-beat lyres cry amid the fire

Others conspire to face the buyer

But in a broken, unspoken desire

They wish hatred upon those hired

To become the makers of these capitalist shows

Some hold half of infinity in their hand

They hesitate, awaiting some command

But beneath the dawn they understand

That some of us need a helping hand

As unplanned shams fail to expand

Into brands of propaganda that will one day be froze

“Acting as if in accordance with the actuary actualises a self-belief that some may say persecutes the individualistic Hebrew that screwed the northernmost trinket, I travelled eastward as if to cheat the clouds that still weep for the killer moonlight it departed at last. I fell through the news and into these helter-skelter blues where the renewed faith bartered with unchartered names. I overthrew the game twice but the clover surrendered to the niceties of life for the war against the blue has caused the penultimate penalty that personifies the knife to the charts that tore this war-torn hero animating the Ground Zero that became the promises you unmade, sequential sequences steering sanity to a superfluous bluff. I had it tough, too, but you seem to renew the sacred dream that left the true esteem that evened I & my self & the sky shelter that helped the arthritic hell that caused arithmetic hell, dreaming of the truth that evades the realisation that you already knew as the heady hedonist that resists the conquests that you twist, a brave evangelist enlightening the gate and the way to the cave where the obsolete defeated trinkets that no longer exist; I had fun with hundreds and I petitioned the tradition that relinquished the heralded herpes’ fission as if linguistics relaxed to attack a whirlpool of girls who tooled forgiveness as if to school the forbidden armistice that hid you in the mouth of a backwards kick lamenting the repentant yard of the black fool who attacked the fact that the tools schooled hopeless reasons embarking to the hopeless seas that leave a plea invisible to the magic dividend of the tragedy whose majesty symbolised the trial that you beguiled as if a boyish smile coyly wished by the fishermen stranded east of the land where beauty portrayed the even sky as dutiful praise reliant on the comatose sleep that kid the hidden alibi of the midnight sky. I’ve accepted your belief in relief but I can’t yet cook the forgetful nooks or the quintessential lie that beggars deep relief as I afford the landlord truth that messianic messes bless as if to circumcise an irreligious movement that mirrored the hieroglyphs of the saddest music no man can hear here. The cattle-squads battled against the sequential and I can even the truth of fictional actuality if it truly backed the fear which established the eye-sight of equality street meeting its passive defeat, some circus devoid of purpose, lurking in the dark before a spark pollutes the mute clown to refute the realisation of the mirror that I celebrated some twenty-five years ago, as if promisers enlightened the plight of the mirage that one or two of you were too queer to escape, someone saluting the possibility of the freedom marchers which ultimately dominated the dream of money that the funny men revere, some corrupted reason bleeping the transactional do or die or try slowly to escape from the perspiring snake that wakes up the sudden silence that ultimately reveres the queer sequence that my life held as if a deer, contemplating the purpose that contorts the grown warts that home bought, connectivity relaxing as if a tax that the madmen had again as if to steer the unknown privilege that said you liked me after the laughter had bled some sequential science that left the buyer as if to conspire against the fire that tricycles blew irrelevant farce over departing cards of the heart, and he who wished to eclipse the sullen speed of the pity that the cities rarely heed, except for a spirit in limbo jamming in the rain to the train that the iambic metre defeats the competitive grudge to which the judge alluded, confused by the passage of time, ultimately resigning the refined mine to the pinnacle of time, nudging a reliable death onto all that the diplomat left, bereft by the shat death that money embeds within the hedonistic truth that was unavailable to the android realism that co-operated with the infinity of women and men yet again, silently surrendering to the circumstantial truth that led me to the Head of Forgetfulness in Historical Heathens that spelt the smell of youth to the grounds that Helen slowly inspired the choir of fireless animalistic happiness that took a crap on the happenstance of the dissolving retort to the crowd loaner who stoned the shroud of the unknown as if to relinquish circumstantial evidence to the hedonistic orhapnic epiphanies that let see the misery you set free because I was relinquishing all of my love and hope to the remedial reason that relinquished the fishermen to the freed cod-wars that nodded off to the orphodonist spelling seasons to spell all reasonless intent as if some heaven sent ideal to forgive the meek feelings that conceal the reckless defeat that beckons the surrogate sands or more than the lesson embedded within the head that beckoned the complete the heaven that trinkets alluded to in the great guillotine of the bore that redenied the gravy navy east of the south where they released the porcupines off the laborious infant infinity that received Thomas Beckett to believe in the rare sin compared to the beginning where they stole the infinity that paroled the nurse’s glove, fishing deep into the sea where I sleep without a definable vision that relinquishes to the ideal times that chased the poker fission that brokered love, haunted by the enemies of envy and uncontrollable freedom, as if the word enough seeded conundrums of needy seeds that defeated all need for love. You or I are as about different or as diffident as you or myself or I, so I wrote this petition to keep the world in its cheap seats… I do apologise for my brain-damaged idylls and heroic morphine multiplications that once spelt the end of the night and now commence the petitioned offense of the trident animal community that you bought to be sold back to,” I say.

“Alpha slept the omega bet that Eskimos wept by the sunset’s threat. Thankers prank the tankers that stank, walking the plank to talk to the sequence of rank, wanking the rhyme zone that sublimed lost time to the level that they sold to the cold winter tune, drowning in a sea of legumes as if freedom bartered with the artificial charter of greed, suddenly confused by confrontation news, chewing thoughtfully on the food that thoughtless parents bought,” replies Naked Protest Singer 142.

“Hah, yeah… you could see it in that way as regards to the epiphany of silent sound if that is the truth to the sleuth and yourself, the truth uncouth as the cards that shed the deadhead lies, as crazy as the maze that depleted those who compete to subscribe to the paper of I,” I reply, feeling as if I am the only communist in the building working for the capitalist buck, growing angrier at deconditioned angel immediately. “Something described the dumb singer they lied, decrying the sleuth on the fountain by the factory that delivered the selfless surprise to capitalise on reliable eyes that refute all mountainous lies, sparking the light in the heart of the artless treat that you competed to own, excusing the blue talisman that true men fail as if to ridicule the impoverished truth that you have no clue who you are working for, so I feel that the feeble truth upgraded to a downgraded diamond key that classified me with the mythical memories that strangely revolve around the philosophical way to tame tomorrow’s sorrowful weight to reiterate the place that found the soundless yesterday.” I say.

“Dawg, you were the worst driver in existence,” she says. “No wonder you accidentally did ambiguity’s homework for a surreptitious reason that barely involves the Milky Way’s interpretation of Bethlehem’s chartered diss to our parents – yeah, a lot of us forgot about it and relied upon ourselves and the changing times to grow up.”

I took a dapper crap on happenstance’s play, reiterating the fate that my heart followed my brain as if to calculate the sane totality that the rain rarely slayed, comparing relevance with the mythical amplified sounds that nearly deafened the spears that reared impossibility’s gate, forsaking the explorative maze that left me unfit to submit to the catatonic phrase that quit the always daze as if a categorically blazing the compound under the ground, working to shirk the twerps that allowed the cowards who threw the truth as if it were representative of the iambic spell which the big bird in the café hurt as much as the touch of your daughter’s eye-sight amid the hidden apocalyptic kid who lip read the deadening heavens which said that the teenage witch sold to buy more bread as if to allude to a higher purpose that rendered history invalid due to the establishment of some cocky code that eroded the sentimental repentance that the totality of the soul road to as if to summarise some surprise sunrise that compromised at the sunrise that totalled the surprised nun who wished my sheltered home well before abducted by the cacophony of truths that read the deadhead infinity monkey as funky as the muttering butterfly who pursued me back to the conservation cave that Brazenhead established near the confines of Mana Beach to surprise the bride who beseeched the laws of the church accidentally, as if the past were an ever-lasting apologist that forever’s clever tethers sold as if a pilot to some Trinidad equation that supposed the mathematical truant of truth told the hypocritical meter of happiness, clued to some new truth that summoned a hundred lines of sugared sweatshop, working hard for the robots, working hard for the forgotten dead, working even harder to save my own soul.

“These egoic tunes are not going to save you,” I remind the buyer, finally. “The Owner would not be happy with such slapdash Crossroad Conundrums, sprung from the well-strummed heavens that hell sung about all those reckless nights of abandonment… yeah, there’s no reason to compare destinies because destiny is about as pre-ordained as the reflexive texts that I sent you so as to vaguely remind the bloody heathen that bust the combustion onto the compounds of reflexive awe that restored the win-lose ratio as if to catalyse on some retarded incident that the quirky sands refined like a grand of false-promises broken by the aforementioned harlot… might I remind you that you can reread these books to extract a fact that guided the believer’s piety until I myself understood that the totality couldn’t be helped by the angelfish swimming through the kelp?? If you ask me why my short term memory is appalling, then you misunderstood the fact that the whole world surrounds you in its prayer, even if giving thanks confuses the wooden bewilderment that scolded the female player who one the 1 who won.”

“Now that’s what I call show-business,” says The Empress. The clouds weep with laughter, delighted at the fact that this world is not indebted to some stranded ordeal next to the olive branch. Outside the curtailed ride where I jumped up and hit my head, the pilgrims’ eggs nutmeg the systematic reason of rhyme, making me fully realise that some kind of minor fault inspected the elected heathens, the circumspect fowl that the mirrored majesties found at the bottom of the lake where retrospect detected the selective texts that I wrote for someone else to reflect the self that necessity grew until the freedom fighters shoot the brew that time’s passages rhymed with the castle that Purhimarto realized capitalised on a storm that cordoned this section of enhanced dignity before the probability of the caution that overrated the sudden freelancer of fact who wished for fission rather than a cfomplementary night at the movies curtesry of the empress aka your majesty brought to you by sleeping green beans and futures predicted by the string story that dissolved the cobweb and the daddy longlegs that witnessed a great beginning further away from the yesterday that time deemed erase yet again because nothing controls nothing and something controls something – some infinite acidic conundrum unrelated to the skittle factory, ye who thought himself better than me shall suffer horrible consequences for you are the lonely phoney one who accepted the great big ribbon for some polite blue syndrome, confused by the totality of the livid clouds who weep as if to celebrate some maddened ordeal that eventually left the garden party alone to atone for some purple people who left me famished as a way of disguising that you are the parole system using the parole system to beat you… I guess you had to not know about the slow river heat as if to defeat the happenstance that fried the fornicated halloumi to stone your deal back to the feelings that you robbed unrighteously as if to attribute sex to the feeling of belonging, pikka chicken testifying to the grenade guns that circumstance eerily summoned to the video game anthem that played during that college vacation, hidden learnings transforming tempo into time.

Because your authorial fission warred the tour-division of the one act happening,

more fought against wars and blessed the courted thought of a vision shambling,

but as the boss of slow crossed himself to make a loss of the coin-toss grappling,

then the difference you knew to know lost subsequently cost the balancing,

grappling with the frosty moss of costly clues and the blue moon's blackening,

but the reactionary sides forgot not to grow trees like the people you see maddening,

refined factions of skies reminding me that inaction can be kind as free travelling

yet the surprising skies shined like eyes to surprise the hyperbole slackening.

Eyeing revived ships and crackling trips whose baffling tips slipped into the rambling you:

I forgot not the gamble the public made nor the grave ship the graceful saved too!

You dismantled the enchanted moon planted deep within the blue moon's tune true:

they supplanted reviews with the blues and a cute fruit cued by the forever you never knew.

Sure, I slipped into sleepless dream but the warred truth seemed to demeaningly tangle,

More requited the gamble of night than two days away where I led you to forget an angle.

Though Forever’s differential simplicity dwelt in shelters you used to cook,

grave-meaning saved individuality’s cave eyed inside the bride of the brook,

beginnings hidden within surprises forbidding rising truths smitten nooks,

as if taught by the rain where you fruitfully complained about beauty's books,

or wrought difference learning men cooked into burning thought by hooks...

the bold taught cold thought and brought images near:

if you fear her judgement, then hold your grudge dear...

there's masculine mystique that some women steer,

surviving the sweet nudge that defeated touch's tear.

I was lost to the herd like the forestation of moss' elaboration,

duly freaked by a scandal seen of words that dream imagination

but I was corrupted by the thought that diplomats contorted until mindlessness entered into me too,

mind bound to the truth of the pound as if to help find a youth of sound helplessly forgettable and new, tossed as thy iambic wisdom tooth the sleuth found the sunset and the regrettable blue, belonged to none and neither yet instead letting my own homegrown head reset the hedonist to regret

The Dandelion forever thought that he was freed by feeding forevers, and they feed her herculean lines to supersede the weedy tethers, needy-wine-song feeding the speedy-fine-wrong to seedy weather,

thinking sounds drinking coffee-rounds to pleadingly sever whatever,

but you embossed the lost coin toss to shot seeds of being together,

mind blinded to frosty losses & greedily costly libidinous treasure,

the green—

5 added 14 to 29 as if a meaningless guillotine for a bench magazine… lost inside the guillotine of a frosted scene by the obscene and the green.

The homegrown mountain petals flow down to grow the forgiving heart of living art, where cares sought stony fountain folk sought laughter to grieve her unknown chart that caught the lonely & smart upon the heart.

The stony fountain sought laughter after bartering giving chart.

“Hello, hey, what’s up! I found your winning to catalyse sin and the self. Yep. Hah. That's that. Let's forget about selfhood and become indebted to thinkers and the well?” read the sign.

Now my stubbornly slow fingerprints newly know how to grow smart the hopeful scowl traces of avenues chasing through to show her heart. The homegrown mountain petals flow down to forgive living art of its heart where the stony fountain folk sought laughter to grieve her bar-chart. The stony fountain sought laughter after bartering giving chart.

But halfway to heaven, there’s a gate and there’s a door. Before there is peace, you must learn to win the war. You die a little death and then you cry some more. Halfway to heaven, your soul starts to soar. Halfway to heaven, you wake up from you sleep. You keep all you can in a transcendent leap. You feel so damn happy you could almost weep. Halfway to heaven, happiness does not come cheap. Halfway to heaven, I forgot every name. I realised that we are not all fun or the same. Halfway to heaven, you learn of the son and her lame. She finally knew for true what the one became. Halfway to heaven, you realise hell couldn’t be a kiss. Halfway to heaven, you shan’t feel any specific bliss. Halfway to heaven, you can’t afford deals with the abyss.Halfway thru that night, old feeling warred this tryst. Your dead-line led mine to dread rhyme, but my heart nearly resigned to refine my whine to leave my mind behind yesterday’s grind.

Though Forever’s differential simplicity dwelt in shelters you used to cook, grave-meaning saved individuality’s cave outside the misty lights another book, hid within green surprises surmising the beauteous truths rising within its nook, as if taught dutifully by the rain where you caught the library that I finally shook, as you wrought the mindless cooked thought in favour of the burning brook, take a look in the mirror if you fear her judgement or if you wish to hold a grudge– the feminine mystique can only handle so much and only supply an infinity of touch… lost like a mossy herd freaked by a scandal seen of much.

I don’t know if I lost faith in the cost of dynasty right there, but the recent revelations show that the boss might care, an early graceless prayer there by the grave nightmare, as if to save every relevant word to requite right there, as if amen were the only real word to requite prayer again!

We walked round the city, talking of the states who forgave freedom’s simplicity. The pitiless pretty crowd followed proud lines to war piteous nuns of serendipity. Loud music blared around the needlessly sea-sick repaired the freed feed under the sea. She symbolised freedom to me but the thunder led me up her supercilious tree. I knew all I could do was forget destiny’s infamy that regret carved with its sweet infinity. I gave it to her and forgave the maze of the dynasty right there, though recent revelations show that Big Boss might care. I shed the hedonist prayer there where they wed in the saviour’s grave nightmare, as if to replace the wordless to requite the herd right there, as if amen were the only way to yesterday’s haughty nightmare prayer as if they care that you were scene even though the herd thought that I gave bliss to you to save this.

Me? I wasn’t looking to cook something terribly specific, water buffering daughtered mares only to feel critically hit, daring to drive the epiphanies you carefully doubted, some truth the changing times barely shouted, revitalising the blind tissues whose glue gleamed, asymmetrical visions of feeling you steamed, as if to bind the trained brain to dark blue streams, as if the apocalypse froze the heart of arty teams, something as rusty or as bust as the original conception, internal themes, always blazed at the peripheral reception, the coils of the rebellion signing the suggestion of the times, enlightening the daily prophet to some kind of completist rhyme: in two minutes the fading message was accepted by the detective, and the trilogy freed three people of their defective need, as if it recognised the mirrored August prose-poet within me.

“Enough of dogged games of aimlessly nameless flamy foggy forests,” I Xinx says. “Why wouldn’t the heartless want to reach to clutch some cosmically charged mut as if he alone could rush to the blushed burgeoning beast of some oblivious supermarket? They lived there in the cold for years, waiting for something to happen, hoping for some nicotine to save their souls, flames surrendering to the endless hypocrisy and the people who knew that I couldn’t do everything for everyone again, resulting in suddenly selfish by the wishful stubborn symbols carved upon zen-dealers and the crazy stubble they penned to end laughter that chained conspiratorial crazy brains to pain the lazy membranes that lay me deep in yesterday’s membrane so as to influence the passage of the hour to empower the daze that refrained from massaging the message of the mammals who guide the meaning to the mammoth mountainous mounds beyond the yonder.”

The clock behind her villa, vanilla skies advertising some kind of divine comedy unlike mine, immediately seems quietened by her proclamation that wizened the surprised eyes of mine. Perhaps the instant probability of infinity’s causation resigned to the troopers who knew that the computer was a simple way to actualise the beginning. Maybe I forgot that yesterday highlighted some patient’s goal to parole inhumane warfare and restore the oversoul to renew policy’s stolen hindrance or some goalless guerilla warfare so as to slowly sow some kind of patented feeling whose feelings gave the quest giver an absolutist context that you reoffend because of my accident and not its actuality. Somehow the coward knew now to be shackled by the strange infamy of the dignity that they were slowly & knowingly granted, as if to supply a supplementary differential to a difference within the boundaries of the past that forever seemed to dream of some everlasting conundrum that left everyone but the free stunned & broken & useless as if the planted muse of a legacy imbued with clues as to whose assertion threw the new naked totality of some sacred blue artifice hung on the highly-strung artifice as if to break the bird-guide with the inside oblong sky-song that remarked about the doubting trout who swum down sun-down-river's ablaze with the personality of the solo soldiers whose news bemused abashed hundreds of long-term flames whose song learned to blast the ancient muse of fiery homegrown blues, which actualised some circumstantial tune that incessantly new filters to the point that the house of ghosts regained a flickering sense of humanity. Where was I back then, then?? Wondering about you? Perhaps.”

“Let’s off Machina Palace and buy a caffeine to send us to sleep,” she informs someone else, screwed by the selflessness of solace & regrets & other forgetful clues that reiterate the fact that the past might not have forgot to leave the youth for last. I don’t know why the Amphetamine Palace & Snow Villa caused the Citadel to contemplate Sheep City so long, but the Court of Retardant Contortionists weren’t wronged by their liveliness and that might be the only reason that the Citadel of Thoughtlessness invited you to forget those who suppose that the prosaic meanderings of this fool who absconded from the true beyond the yonder as if to invite you to reiterate that the night-life stole white-strife too black-trite to back-knights appearing to steer the cooking book tree close to the polished brown floor that restored the purple people to purgatory & its apolitical paradise, requiting the elongated barber with voodoo within the inn who sells tales of tranquil elephantine whale-theory and failed democracy to those whose snow petals craft heavenly suspicions of severely steered purgatories whose story alludes to two-minute haircuts administered by self. The tales from the spiritual garden perfected answers provided by chanced windmills until the voodoo knew you too by the internal boss foes at the crossroads.

“Let’s keep things clear,” I say. “Tell they how I’m near to the rear of society’s smear but how they now steer the here until today appeared to fear the requiem they hear, though your lies summarise the silly lines of the hillbilly who realised their artifice is art for the smart. But if you can’t catalyse the surprise of the capsizing alibis of the eyes that can’t surprise the start and you know I shan’t resign mine so I know me only as a lonely poem to depart the slow man from the tart. You fear you near stranger societal veneers yet you steer your parachutes to graves where the angel cupid still rears your ears. Yet yesterday may yet buy the truce of your used lie as if truth were dearer than the wisdom that the centrality stupidly steers. You’re nearer to the tears that pour down from war-torn banquets that map the beauty of the clouds too proud to weep tears but I hope the penultimate trap of a happy life frees you from catalysed strife standing on the capitalised compromised piers. Ye who made she feel like a baby was quick to enslave me beyond the concrete dreams that tricked the seams of the feat that streams gave me before the heated greens demeaned the grave that cards overwrote to denote possibility that freed me needless as if to quote an infinity that only blasphemed me until the thrills became more lonely as if to stone me into impossibility of the voodoo at the inn who sold tales from the spiritual garden to meet the perfect title at elephant castle next to the whale theory of failed democracy & snow petals, but what if that wouldn’t be good for society?”

f you know me too well, then I will push you away.

I don’t care what you say because hell is yesterday.

But the policeman yelled and said next stop is bedlam.

It’s too late to die because I’m already dead as lamb.

There’s no time to itemise or hunt for who I am.

But I'm headed to Louisiana and I shall go by tram.

I can forget; I swear. I can let myself care.

I am here but I’m not. I forgot what I forget.

The sun sets over mystery, and history too I bet.

Silence reigns truth and everyone gets wet.

I’m going back down the alley I used to smoke in.

I’m listening to the blues in the clothes I woke in.

But my heart is dancing to its own Theme Song.

And my soul is a mute and mutes are rarely wrong.

I’ll fool ya straight to the ocean and back to the city.

I’ll school you til I’ve learnt all I can and that’s a pity.

I can forget; I swear. I can let myself care.

I am here but I’m not. I forgot what I forget.

The sun sets over mystery, and history too I bet.

Silence reigns truth and everyone gets wet.

I must have written a thousand love poems or more.

Now I realise there’s not much left of love to explore.

But I’m evolving my communication and sex appeal.

Some feelings run so deep that they’ll never heal.

I’ll be her secret soul mate for as long as she likes.

I can't swim anymore or ride your odd pedal bikes.

I can forget; I swear. I can let myself care.

I am here but I’m not. I forgot what I forget.

The sun sets over mystery, and history too I bet.

Silence reigns truth and everyone gets wet.

As for the reason that fibber actualised a radical ribbon to denote the improbability that reiterated the resurgence of a physically pompous mosquito plant, the festival tents emerged to radiate a timid possibility that grassed the navigator that freed the possible reality that written word sold the truth of water agents and hyperbole to neuter the lies that disguise the underground hippos to react the resentment of longevity and that’s why they blow me dry then run away. That is the technicality that shat the bearded beaver on Blizzard’s computerised map to confuse the causation that made me smoke a stalk that reminded the policy that racial amalgamations are an unnecessary way to realise that wikileaks stole a medal to catch the finite snitch up to catalyse a corrupt alien resource e regarding internal voices and key notes to allow the republic to disrespect the fallacy that says that my old friend kidnapped a government cause to remind you that laser tag was invented before Facebook. There’s no reason that Mark reminded me of the word park or car or harlot & they realise that I have been understanding why infinity was a bad idea because the USA can’t but should ban guns yet apparently unbeknownst to every armour unit around the game didn’t finish and that’s why they have no clue as regards to why literature is an impossibility if you only forget the reality that the speem donor worm snob throb mob confused the lost causation. If you have to know, you never knew why people constantly kill me with words before the birds learned to spark fluent English due to the confusion the deluded trappers existed to remove the nuclear reactor because there was no need to watch it. Even Jessica blessed the working man and that’s why the riddle confused the music with sound, because I don’t like you in that specific way due to your hired brainiac that nearly stole the idea that removed the entire crowd sponsorship and that’s why I impregnated the chief in a separate location to this one and that’s why I inhaled every reality to impregnate the jerk that you made me perceive as the smartest person. That’s why it’s impossible to kill me at the moment. The group can’t invite me back because the group stunned sophisticated crowds and even lonelier ones. I am nearly broke and that’s why the IRA know extremely little about me and that’s why rhyme isn’t a big joke and that’s why the God set the ocean on fire but unfortunately for you there is always someone down the road attempting to murder someone else. The dead deity knew that you were so spoilt and that’s why I still like to think about losers as some kind of trance acid that hid the real reason that 50k is an awful lot more than most joints are worth due to the communist capitalist culture commodity that combined crazily to emerge on some hidden speech that let me know why there is no reason for you to edit the speech until interview the racism of the democracy that the blonde tobacconist actualised to arrest the lone technicality that I can’t walk very far anymore. If you ask the pharmaceutical company again, I will remind you that mindful meditation shouldn’t be an organic sexual mating ritual but you know it was even though the conservative idiots snitched the racial rollercoaster that hired the goat to pretend the ending was because of some Battersea bagel that actualised the normality of this incredible confusion. Technically, AI is a robot and that’s the real reason Walking Doctor Tonnan became lonely & lame because he opened a dialogue about the Romans that confused the font comics arose to patrol to open a declassified debate that ended the wars to regret the magic bribery that never worked for me in the first place. If you ask me, this wasn’t written by magic because God murdered his own son to save his own son and that’s why I don’t want to think about the word love. The reason that I snitched is because Luisa broke the rules so many times that she might as well be locked up even trough anger inspired the rebel cafe down the road from your house. My favourite number of the day is 52891. That’s why your house is so far away from mine, even though there is a starry avenue that forgot why this isn’t a rotten status up day, but the card games are so easy to rig that I am not interested in gambling or gaming particularly and that’s why the probability stoned everyone temporally because you made me imagine about some job that I always had anyway. If you ask me why I am fired, your response wouldn’t make any sense because people aren’t what you want to think about and that’s why I am not extremely interested in the intelligent reason regarding the internet’s toll because I am poor and then rich and then poor and then rich and the cycle only concludes when you inform Restralardin that the senile snake stole souls on accident. There is an technicality that I have been hunted for an unethical reason and that’s why I am wondering if there is a good reason for everyone to resist the technicality that everyone forgot that a new deal is struck every Monday because my body stinks and there is a stone circular that told you why my soul was a linear emotive reality or a meal deal to invite the darkness to premeditate the light. Maybe the question regarding that technicality alone consumed the flume that the regular impersonations gradually divided the captured clans to con the diplomat when the framed lame became so radical that he starts forest fires just for laughs? That’s a possibility that you can’t take for granted because of a matchbox that told you why the times can’t change if you wish to keep me as a friend or enemy or public servant or slave or love.

ain’t the far scarred

when your dislover sat

like herded word shat

by that diplomat cat

painting poorer visionaries

black to white like some trite king

who knew it wasn’t right

to quickly paint purgatories as if to dismiss

fainting stories you authorised as if to enlist

some Asianic pact the Chinese ones did resist

like some lisping academic who unfunded this

salting years and tears in the brain-train kiss

intelligent enough to correct this act with that

diplomats defecting to relax reactionary fact

holding tight to describe soulful slacking this

myths jumping numbers as if they were only his

trying to die clean as if hysteria had cited its cyst

meaning waking up wishing to break the snider abyss

co-operating with myth as if to habitually miss

and the energy that warred your talking paranoid sis

scared shitless as if you knew the true you was welcoming him to this

after suing the landscape and igniting the flame

as if I can’t help my new wife escape her own name

nor regress to the stony violent world they knew as lame

unfurled by the worldly mystery guest all the same

framing the war free of continental blame

to slate diplomats according to Asianic pact

hating just enough to correct this fact with that

the lucky new-kid truth starved by the backing track

holding tight to describe the matter that let you lack

everything unforetold

exchanging something

to gain forgetful favour

with the regretful saviour

I told you about

because I was joyous life

that enjoyed overcoming strife

depressed runners and the fife

nodding to Godot ceremoniously white

as if dark eyes were the mighty light

even though coloured vision isn’t trite

before Jordan warred my birthday right

as if to say his heyday beckoned a price

and I replay to see the greying naysayers

pray that I require yesterday’s players tonight

but hey the university education wasn’t free from every other feeling because it still feels like a zealous appeal against the reeler deal… how does it feel???!

I regret that life can’t be joyous every day, even though I no hearted the impossibility of being depressed when attached to the scarred war of hardcore men who again reach to prove that the only thing we knew was that I marry some strange point in time and totally let you ply with my ego because of the shush flaw.

You're here but the fear of society's spears made me forget to remember your eyes

And I'm tied to your tongue but my thighs grow so numb when I'm done with become a lie

Believe it, conceive it, we've been there and we grieve it and we heave on another diguise

The world promised you pearls but that didn't unfurl and girl that ain't no surprise

Know that when the going gets easy, everything flows like a bow's until you are carried home

But it's slowly starting to seem I don't know your heart and it's starting to show so phone

Know the ego's no foe but we all grow with each low so please won't you know you're never alone

But if you intend to spend each bend pretending then you'll probably just end up on your own

You didn't ask for my crutch yet I wilted at your touch and such trust made me feel real

You had secrets to conceal yet I gave truth a call and its youth was your pleasure's seal

Though even tomorrow's poorest pen could still not rend all the sorrow that I felt

Love's cool remains passed through my veins and my hidden heart started to melt

When we were small and in thrall of it all of the walls didn't seem so very tall

But now that we've grown it's hard to disown the thoughts that they taught us in school

Yet if you give up trying you're already dying though your hours of flowers may not fall

And if you give up your purpose and abandon this circus your birth was worth nothing at all

If I'm the paragon of Egypt, then you're the Queen of all Kings so please don't head for the grave

Deep down you know it so why don't you show it instead of carelessly bedding your head in a cage

Maybe you dealt with thugs in pubs as I took drugs in mugs and had sex in tubs and tried to behave

But if I am a cat and a dog then I'm a druid yet your movements are so fluid you must be some mage

My friend the end is sky so let's not pretend and one day we might both ascend so sky

And why not be saved by the beauty of the human parade before trying to cry goodbye

Believe it, conceive it, we've been there we grieve it and then we heave on another disguise

The world promises pearls and one day they might unfurl so wait at the gates for a surprise

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NOSTALGIA FOR CHEDDAR (DANCING ON THE DESTRUCTIBLE)

Today, I caught a rat on my river-boat. She looked straight into my eyes. She blinked furiously, as if she were pleading for cheese and then death. I decided that she could only be honored with one, for I do not gift strangers for I am not a man of material means myself [though I left a 50p tip for my cab driver, for we didn’t say too much to each other & that’s the way I like it].

There are many times of cheese. Cheddar and brie are the only two I can remember at this point in my life, for these are my favorites and to be honest I don’t like cheese very much. But you can look up cheese on the internet and you will find many types that can be consumed for your pleasure. I wonder what the different cheese sounds like when they are hit together. I wonder what all the cheeses of the world, mixed together, smell and taste like. Sometimes I figure the federal government put colorings on the cheese to make them look more attractive. It’s a conspiracy that hasn’t been perpetuated by the Simpsons, for Marge is the only attractive one in the Simpsons and I think that she is a black woman in disguise. Cheese is blue. My girlfriend alleges it. Blue cheddar alleges it. They both allege it.

In the museum of cheese, a man on the microphone starts to sell rare types of cheese. There are signs around him enlightening the onlookers as to the resonance of cheese in modern day society. I buy one slice, go home, make an omelet and cry, for my girlfriend has left me due to the fact that I stopped believing the cheese conspiracy. As for the real reason we broke up? I don’t know. The cheese conspiracy? Both the cheese and she still allege it. We’re friends, now, I guess. They both still allege it.

I suppose love is a battle, especially when photographs are being taken everywhere. I don’t know about sex. My girlfriend, once, while we weren’t having sex, said she wanted to die a virgin. Why, I ask her? She raised both eyebrows. I don’t know, she said. I just don’t think it’s fair that some animals die virgins, she said, and I don’t think I’m better than them. I sort of agree with her. McDonalds is corrupt. We both still allege it.

ADULTERINE

Adolescence is a hard time. It was awfully sad. I didn’t think about much except for my pen… Isis were starting to bomb. It seemed like everything was going wrong. I was still a teen. It was dark. Sometimes it is very difficult to separate dream-time from reality. It really depends. This isn’t because my memory went wrong, but it’s because my enemy is pleasure sometimes. I have a pleasure-plain complex only my girlfriend understands, but I doubt she understands it any more, because she doesn’t think about it, for we broke up and I doubt she’ll ever read this, unless we get back together…. I’m a changed man, I swear, I only like pleasure, now, but I like to cure other people’s pain too. What does pleasure-plain complex mean?

Once I went ice-skating. I fell over. People laughed out loud. I don’t think I had been ice-skating before and they were all very good at ice-skating. Come to think of it, it’s probably because I broke my leg a few years before that. There was someone I loved ice-skating too. I had a dream the other day. I don’t know what happened, really, but I remember the ending. I woke up and it was raining in my head. I still don’t understand it. I don’t think I knew the woman. Her breasts were tiny yet huge to me. It didn’t upset me. In the dream, I went mad. I think it was a comedy dream. Who knows? She spoke to me in my head. She alleges it was a nightmare. It certainly wasn’t wet. It was a nightmare. We both still allege it.

I went cold turkey again. It was a particularly usual day. Nowadays I smoke about 8 cigarettes a day rather than the average 15. It’s helped me lose a bit of weight. Even the doctor noticed. I don’t know why, but I had a doctor’s appointment booked the day after the night I accidentally wounded my eye. He prescribed me eye-drops. I don’t know why. I think of my first book. “Take what you have gathered from coincidence”. Bob Dylan sung that and that was ignored my mind until now. We both still allege it.

The problem with the ice-bucket challenge is that it wastes water. Or maybe I’m too dumb to understand that water regenerates in the clouds. But… for someone who has been thirsty for some minutes, like a lot of Africans are or were or will be. I don’t know why, but it didn’t quite leave my mind. I figure they knew I was thirsty when I was in hospital when all those spooky videos were up. I still allege it. I don’t know if anyone else is with me on this one. I’ve asked a few people about that and though they don’t allege it, I’m sure one or two people I’ve met have talked about it. I can picture it now. All three of us allege it.

I got bored everywhere, so decided I’d find a lover and wouldn’t leave. I grieved after she left me, but only once I prepared my mind for another and that was after she heaved. Too bad you can’t pick your misery until it’s hurled in your face. There’s no place to escape; it’s mad but the grass-snake is as guilty as the glad-hugs I didn’t know or need to fake. I’m maddened by the angel-dunce, treated like a woman with all the friends I could desire. But they conspire against me as I ash on the traitor’s eyes and what a surprise I’m not in love with her. The witness to the shenanigans are fatigued and I shaved it for two but both gave me flu! I can remember every life I’ve led; this is the worst and the best… there’s the paradox, I suppose. I’m married but I’m nearly ready to rest, but it seems the creator has finite skills of jest. Both IT and I allege it.

I’m very depressed. People still allege it was my fault this story book was created, but I blame the parents. Some of mine were deaf to words, all of them younger than me in some aspects. The problem with the photograph is that it freezes one and one is not always aware that one may be looked at. Me? I don’t know why I put so many photographs in my first book. I suppose it was because my dad told me to. Even my drugs consoler said there should be more photos. Photos depress me entirely, except for when a being needs to remember the personality of someone in a photo. Often, though, that truth doesn’t make sense, for there are only certain amounts of personality that can be garnered from a photo. I don’t know who you are… cold as a prayer… I’m not paid to write this book, but I am talking for a reason. I have suffered a lot. Part of the reason I am slow is I have drunk a lot & lost a lot of brain cells as they forced me into a suicide attempt.

Well, she treated me to a new dear hell and the fishy traps that I did smell sort of amused me to some angle. But I tried to strangle myself the other day & lost a few more brain cells on the way but I did not fall into the trap they dangled. For well I know it was man who fell and so the lap-dancer still asks and tells for reasons that are unbeknownst to me for I worked for my own infinity until the cunts burnt me. I was four or five; I don’t understand it anymore… both broke the law… it was a travesty but I do not believe in her majesty of somewhere.

I’ve been stalked by the baddies. They never had me. Once I got slapped by some jerk who wasn’t very glad for me. But it made me sad for a while and it hurt the back of my brain. They pain an angel… so I said it… even the rich and poor blokes must edit. It’s obscene but I will die and cry alone like some of us do for this and every life is on loan. I’m a junkie and I’m punkie as the mirror dancer is a fool and I refuse to return back to school for they only teach rules and the blues burn my heart and mind. Embarrassed by own greed and lust they read my dreams and so now they’re bust but it was not out of need that I acted. They perverted my girl and the conversely the weed made me zealous and I know I didn’t act all that jealous but my verse was only missionary for the few who dared to bare with me.

The Cat: Zanarkand?

Me: Pimples? Shoo the lie.

The Cat: Oh, me?

Me: Yes, sacker.

The Cat: Oh. No.

Me: Oh. No.

I stick out my tongue at her. She almost smiles at me. I get paranoid. I am good… go figure… eternal return is a myth, for I have never written such a story in my life before. I get paranoid by people telling me to go back. It’s very annoying. As for the girl, who is now my ex, I love her fucking back…. sometimes… when I forget…

At the tube station I contemplate my life. I’m… uh… not necessarily the best guide to this planet, nor am I the funniest, but it’s sort of… a complicated old dream of mine, writing a book. I’m not happy. Far from it. But I enjoy being by myself and writing to you, whoever you are.

What’s my favorite food? Whatever my favorite food is because I like to cook but only certain food. Banana, milk, flour, scrambled eggs, sugar. That you can eat and you could be set for a long time, depending on your species. I’m not sure. I still haven’t worked out how to break a coconut yet. It involves hammering. I just found out. From who? The internet. The internet was born in the mid-90s, curiously soon after my birthday. The computer games made me dyspraxic, creative, bored and forget a hell of a lot about the material world, which sometimes can be a good thing & a bad thing.

My real mother? I never met her. Not properly. I don’t know where she is. She is somewhere… dreaming… probably… I don’t know… she… I don’t know.

I kissed a woman at the age of 15. A woman kissed my cock at the age of 16. I explored a woman’s body with my eyes at 11, by some asshole who invited me to. He was older. I knew their lie. There is no forever. I didn’t ask for it. I believe they read my art-work at that time… I would be developing my musical programing much later. I do have an ear for music, but I don’t like my voice. It’s sort of painful to listen to. Sure, I can do a falsetto or a deep gravel. I don’t know much about the middle voice.

“No, I don’t like grass.” is what she told me at the gym after some girls sniggered at the poem I wrote, which I now loathe, for it was in actuality a life that I gave away. I mean, someone had lived that poem… to be honest, it was probably because I wanted to make people jealous of me for no reason. I got bored. I got jailed by my hormones. I even got jailed much later by the real police. In fact, I’m not even sure if they were real cops. I’m reckoning they were… uh… some kind of idiots trying to police a slave-angel that they trapped by accident.