Buried alive, beneath the rhetorical lies.
Of a thousand broken-prayer beads.

Surrounded by all of my....
False hopes.
Fake friends.
&
Some, hornet priests
who are exorcising their own demons.
On a ******* fueled ****** of sadism in it's own right.

On the dark side of the confession booth. This is nothing.

But a divine
waste of my time.
I'll see you all, in Hell.

I want to beat you to death with a blunt object.

I want to grab one of those high-end fashion mannequins by the ankles and bash your ribcage in.

I want to sharpen fifty pencils, bind them with a rubber band, stick the lead ends in your mouth, and punch the erasers.

I want to strap you to a bed of nails and then strap that bed of nails to the hood of my car so I can watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps in a mall parking lot during an earthquake.

I want to burn your dog in front of you, mix his ashes with gunpowder, melt his bone-shaped name tag into a small metal ball, load it all into a musket, and shoot you in the face with him.

I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash and then somehow not survive a small fender ****** on the way back from the hospital.

.i. if Kant could have his von Kleist... well... who else to juggle juggernauts if not me? as a task of redeeming that poor soul who succumbed to the terminator of all poetic ambitions, with his systematisation off-the-page, as eccentric and punctual as a sunset on a sundial at 16:11... and in case either the spring of sunrise, or the autumn of sunset... but so many hours after exacting a sunset... that gluttony of the eyes to stare at it... 16:11 is the zenith of a sunset in november the 15th... much prolonged when warmer... supersized sun when setting in summer, and all that whiskey-copper wiring for the eyes to stare at it: oh for goodness sake, who really cares for Ikea likened assembling of words... we're not putting together a coffee table, we're looking for Darwinistic entrapment, we're scared of the aeons and yawns... we're trying to create a Darwinistic entrapment saying what segregates us from apes! that's how anti-Darwinism works - if they can easily call you a poet and a technophobe... then that hardly makes you a merchant with a Quran... to encapsulate the language of our modernity we're doing everything against writing the onomatopoeia of our beginning... monkey ooo! monkey ooo ah ah! or a gorilla grunting and then snorkeling... we're encapsulating our language more and more... because beginning with ape and then looking at history, and then looking at the consensus of the contemporary: Darwinism's greatest enemy is not theology... it's history... Darwinism and history are not compatible... oddly enough Darwinism and theology are compatible, simply because they are dynamically equal for the case of furthering both arguments in debate... but Darwinism is an odd starting point to argue, given that physicists argue from the perspective of prior to dinosaurs, prior to all things formed.

how can i begin this? it will leave me having to
write it for two days,
the anti-narrative sketch first, then filling in
the gaps sober... just to get second opinions...
i might have to cook a quasi-Hungarian borscht
and fry up a few potato flattenings to a crispy
yum... first the narrator comes in to describe what's
in store, a bit like a translator comes in and says
of Joyce: that's Irish... well, yeah.
               hence the italic preface...
as some would say, the person who wrote these
sketches worked quicker that an algorithm in asking
and also quicker to copy & paste the required
atomic encoding... e.g. ч and ch
                   э and euro and epsilon...
      once upon a time there was nothing prior
to Copernicus, then the somersaults came,
    h ч y        what coordinates where?
    well of course perfecting the encoding of something,
if things weren't stated awry there would be
no optometrists either...
                  it's not hard to read, it's hard to
remember how to read, given that being literate reached
the omnipresent velocity, the new powers had to
include some new power struggle...
mingling Latin and Runes, Greek and Cyrillic...
     and the proto-Latin of additional diacritical marks...
they exposed the entirety of humanity to literacy
within the framework of post-industrial society,
after hitchhiking a ride on the 19th century donkeys
they suddenly had to reveal their power-secret of
being literate, and by the account of women:
corset bound and bored in salons...
      but something else appeared that didn't really fascinate
them: that over-complication of Latin with
punctuation marks above letters: or diacritical
distinction, crowns over letters, subatomic particularisation
of once favoured: universal applicability...
as a narrator? i have to make a complicated
introduction, the sketch lends itself to do so,
it suggests that not all writing can be as simple as
a nursery rhyme, not all writing can actually
    **** memory, not all writing desires being remembered,
not all writing can be remembered,
                in the mediation of the two chiral opposites
there's fiction, which is suspended in an armchair of
pleasurability... but on the opposite side of a nursery rhyme
or a well versed poem? writing akin to arithmetic...
  something truly painful for those competent with
lettering, but not really competent with ten digits...
      as a narrator who has already read the sketch,
i'm trying to not write a "filling in the gaps" to the sketch
like an art-critic might do to a painting deviating from:
brushstrokes were employed. well... d'uh!
variation of italics as in transcending the pause that
implies a condescending variation of taking a pause,
also excluded are: dot, comma, hyphen, semicolon
and colon.                         dot-dot-dot is not joining up
the dots: it implies a variation of how to anticipate
a punchline: drummed: tu-dum wet snare!
     i am actually a narrator who is trying to find
that other part of me that might digest this sketch properly,
     and return fully competent to pick up another
sketch... if ever there was a narrator in this sketch,
it has to be me, after the sketch has been scripted,
and i am left to suggest a need for a dot-dot-dot connectivity
of the strokes of the pen...
i warned myself: do not overdo the introduction in italics,
you know how picky people are...
whether pickled pineapple of cucumber...
i swear Turks invented pickling chillies...
         oh look! an inflatable gazebo filled with helium!
no one's laughing: only because i didn't mention vegina.
narrative puritanism? you get distracted a lot...
but this sketch is really a thesis for narration,
all i have to do is find the antithesis of narration in it:
an actual narrative!          it stretches for ~30 pages...
   well that's me turned archaeologist with a Grecian urn
with a snap of the finger... because that's how this
sketch looks like: ancient -
                         but understandably modern.
              so .  ,  - and ;
        were racing... out came the world record
             9.58(0)         the full-stop is the bracket-bound
0... i.e. it actually happened: hence the pinpoint...
or in Formula 1 a timed nonsense of ave. m/ph
     noted to three decimal points: 130.703...
                                    or chicane cha chicane cha cha!
as said, this is an actual representation of a narrator
encountering this sketch: so before you lose your head...
i've lost mine!
  look at the correlation though!
we've gone way past atoms with the atomic bomb
and encountered subatomic particles...
    we're not going to get beyond subatomic particles
because we're going to encounter the already apparent
reality of obatomic particle: namely our bodies,
   the perceived ******* (ob- is the antonym
                                                  prefixation of sub-):
             that's were the microscope adventure ends,
    and this is parallel to cutting up a second with
three decimal points, as the safetynet suggests:
                                                              π / 3.14;
yep, the obstructive - hence we can't spontaneously
combust... but then again Goethe's Werther did:
  out of love... down the spiral: you sweet little *******.

~ii. i'm actually too lazy to write the sketch and fill
in the blanks... so i'm going to fill in the blanks as i go along,
  or that's what's called the rebellious stance of narrator: mmm,
work in progress, could you see that coming?

ii. a beer in between glugs of whiskey - runes
combined in the ******* / sigma, variant of agliz or
the rune-zeta extended toward a dark shadow of the rebirth
of Ishrael: zoological enclosure; sigma *******
sigma ******* sigma *******, sigma *******...
rune-zeta... we cannot say there are ******
mathematicians and poets akin,
not then one optic encoding states
     a b c d e
         another states f u þ a r
yet another а б (ρ) в г
  α β γ δ:
for worth of gamma into a trill only because of
   a wave, that's ~ approx. on the side of the letter
   e.g. г & r.
   or rho upside down? what the ****?
did Voltaire write this? reading Candide,
i hope he ****** did!
you the problem is pixelated paper? if you know
how you enter a deciphering mode...
                    but you require a personal library to boot,
all that dos formatting,
                       well there's formatting in the humanity
outstretch of this white medium too...
after it isn't all ******* white when all the psychiatric
pills are white too... i have really found something better
than the Bermuda Δ...
       Greek, Latin, Cyrillic and Runes...
i could say neo or proto otherwise,
but i still haven't unearthed the sketch, that
is probably puzzling the Danes, with Cnut on the forefront...
                    but the arrangement of numbers is universal,
but it's not universal, given the particularity of
how language is encoded and why some people are
richer than others...
            but it's still a beer between glugs of whiskey that
makes more sense...
i said, retype the sketch and go to bed...
and i figured: that's probably the wisest of all possible
events stemming from this...
    that's ~27 pages of notes to retype... and i'm already
in a disclosure mode as to expect what's to be jargoned...

p. 1        cкεтч       /      σкεтχ
   necessity of                        (acute
a-       -the           (ism)
is that of language structure,
          only from the use of one's language does
a deity present itself: from within the noumenon
ground work, not the reverse, as in from
(pp. 2, 3)
                 a phenomenological exercise in
the use of language: Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, (etc.)...
       e.g. Islam is a phenomenon,
  it's not a noumenon: or a thing-in-itself...
  for the Islamic god to emerge from Islam's-in-itself
Islam will have to prevent itself from being-outside-itself...
or overpowering other in-itself contentions
but still: to no apparent success narrative of true intention
as satisfactory appropriation and hence lending itself
to a widespread nod of approval.
  challenging space: word compounding, or the space
between conjunctional deficiencies: nod-of-approval (e.g.).

p. 2    concussion (great film, Alec and Will, 2015, NFL)
concussion... Blitzkrieg Alzheimer's....
brain is fat.... dementia = attacking proteins...
  steroids... the noumenological use of language:
e.g. that ****** is an enigma,
therefore his views will not go viral,
and he'll not become fashion trendy...
it's not individualistic idealism, it's reality.
as will die sonne satan - orbis reach more than 5K
views... so... clap clap... clap, clap.
           what i meant about the a-     and -the
and the ism is following a sentence that sort of
does away with conjunctional fluidity,
apart from the big words, i treat all minor words as
categorically conunctional... and, the, a, is, to, too...
given the sentence: brain fatty *****,
brian organic giraffe wall... ******* hieroglyphic...
           stood above the rest, rest assured.
  dementia: invading protein cells
   (bulging prune of the opportune: purely
digestion?) no thought to eat or eat itself like,
cannibalistically. the brain is fatty...
not fat in muscle for mmm, schmile and flex
for the selfie. how about a protein inhibitor?
(by now, rewriting the sketch, i've lost the page count,
it's actually p. 5 of note paged toward 27).
how about the explanation that we're living in
times of post-industrialisation and thanksgiving
feminism? to me post-industrialisation has created
a class of meaningless white-collar workers
and no blues... it's what the Chinese blues call
the Amazonian nomads: ******* happy...
no amount of crosswords or sudoku will exert
your body to do things for others...
   no amount of mind games will actually tell your
brain to be equipped with: a bunch of hyenas... run!
dementia is a result of creating too many
white-collar jobs (thanks to feminism)
and exporting the blues to China (thanks to feminism
and: oh i broke a nail, can i get a Ching plumber to
fix my heating while i get a ****** to **** me up my
****?!) - maybe i'm just dreaming...
it's great to censor dreaming, i mean: you stop dreaming,
you get to see reality, and you don't even need to
read Proust on a ricochet.
  - so we have brain as fat, and invader cells as protein...
protein digests fat... and creates cucumbers out
of people... where do the carbohydrates come into play?
it can't be at the point of a.d.h.d., can it?
     i'm blaming post-industrialisation, the complete
disappearance of the blues (formerly known as the reds,
in the east) for the whites...
or that old chestnut of: my god you're goon'ah luv it!
   to till for worth from the sweat of yer brow -
funny funny funny... to earn your loaf of bread
you will toil...
                   and toil until you are physically assured
that not ghostly / mental life can enter your world /
books... that went well... didn't it?
   i should be tilling a potato plateau rather than
be bound to be writing this epic (by modern standards)
poem...
             but that's the curse of exporting all the blue
collar jobs to China, then importing mindless
white collar jobs to the west, what the hell do you think
would happen, not the pandemic of dementia?
if you do not exert the body, and then you do not
exert / exhaust the mind... do you think
you can secure a narrative with a post-industrial
westerner on the premise of that person simply being
able to solve a crossword? well... i believe in santa
claus too... but i don't believe in him giving out
presents... because to me, in my oh-so-called maturity
that's called an anagram of satan's clause: which is a legal
term for: i can turn civilisation into shrapnel
of what's said and what's to be said: and what's not to be
said. people can't expect to turn honest labour
for the recreational run on the treadmill in a gym...
and they can't expect photocopying in an office space
to replace Newton's curiosity, and then compensate
all this distraction with mind-games...
          can they? well... they did!

poets are gagged by writers of prose,
no wonder they write so sparingly,
      they are gagged in the sense that they write
as if asphyxiated: they need breathing room.

well sure, if he can revive the Polish steel industry
and i can go back to steel plates and pillars,
then the rust belt will get a polishing also.

or what's called: shrapnel before the waterfall of
narration: darting eyes, and poncy **** all the way through...

     muse... muse...

        well, how about we take the fluidity out of language?
declassify certain words into one grammatical broth,
say words like i and they
                              a  and the    are all conjunctions?
how about that? let's strip it bare, after all: what categories
of words exist for us to primarily speak (let alone think)?
     nouns, verbs, adjectives... adverbs?
       but all those words in between are so jungly classified
into a tangle that i'm about to sprout a handshake
          of a Japanese vine grip: and never let go...

an actual extract from the sketch:

      https that doesn't recognise UCS
                   and insists on IPA cannot be deemed
       encyclopaedic

              i need runes for this! i need runes for this idea!
i don't need transliteration right now...
                but hey! that's an idea, etymological transliteration...
bugly term, sure, but the previous night i was thinking
  of transcendental etymology, as you do, likened to
carbohydrates... so it was transliteration after all...
but a dead end when it comes to geometry and Pythagoras...
      
    three words... and they are computerised (i guess you
have to buy a decent book to decode this), a bit like
buying paint in a d.i.y. shop...
       16DE (dagaz / d) 16DC (ingwaz / ŋ / grapheme of n & j)
                  16DF (ōþala / Valhalla / o / ō = oo),
in total d'njoo / d'nyoo - even i concede the fact that this
is a ******* mind-******... it's a ****** congregation of
four optic encodings of phonos... i moved away from
the ancient greek fetish for the logos... i'm looking at
the phonos... not the logos with Heraclitus et al.
               φº θ þ фª f

ªgreek
  ºcyrillic                ever see a prettier pentagram?
                      i haven't.

(false original title:
škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic - pending)

looking at the phonos is painful, actually painful,
it's like reading a book with a myopic pair of glasses:
a ******* aquarium blurry right there, befor...

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

'e'? were you: was i, looking for an 'e'?

i can say this much...
what do you get when you mix a shot
of whiskey with a shot of bourbon:
i'm moving between bottles...
it's nearing christmas eve and i'm a ripe
taoist... i.e. i better this world:
by not having the world mind me...
on the odd occasion: oh... you're still here?!

yeah... i'm still here... i have glued-to-fascination
with my shadow... i'm just waiting
for the atom bomb to relieve me of a body
but ensuring my shadow is kept intact...
as if it were a Monet signature on a wall...

but i lament... the momentum has vanished...
i don't even know why i'm so idiotic as
to presume that: from the hour 22:00GMT
to the hours 00:00 circa 00:30GMT...
something will land into my lap,
my lisp... my cranium the oyster shell
my tongue the oyster...

it will not... i can't simply **** anything into
an existence that doesn't want to exist...
perhaps lurking in a canvas of:
"lost luggage" in an airport...
perhaps "there"...
i could be excused my... lethargy...

when was this written? back in 2018?
so i was thinking about teasing cyrillic even then?
wasn't i?
sketch cкэтч or?

what do you get when you mix a shot of whiskey
with some bourbon?
a Burguandian whisker...
i am not going to sound witty...
Ron's key...

that's still a cyrillic "or"... isn't it?
шкиц: škic...

i'm... deflated... nothing "new" has come my way...
i would have thought that...
reading some Knausgård would have /
could have... invigorated me:
reading him was supposed to be my:
dialysis my transfusion!
my zombie-go-to-literature...
it has proven an exhaustive enterprise
to begin writing again:
i became too comfortable
in reading - i almost forgot
the agony of writing...

alas... a contemporary of mine...
and someone well adjusted to prose...

notably: who would have thought
that death in june - the calling (MK II)
was something to be recorded in 1985...
for one: i wouldn't...

but i did begin: back in november 2016...
begin what? to tickle the cyrillic alphabet...
which is way before i discovered my reply
to the runes... to the ancient greek...
and this... "ancient", ahem... still in use...
latin script...

that script that went into the molloch couldron
of being invested in to code...
pristine as the hebrews cited:
how many holes in it?
to write onto a canvas of 0?
q Q R O o p P A a D d g b B...
which leaves...
W E T Y U I S F H J K L
Z X C V N and M "out of the equation"...

škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic (pending):
i better rename it as... circa 2016...
that's way before i even acknowledged
the cyrillic text applying diacritical markers...
i thought them too crude at the time...

beside borrowing outright from greek...
the already at hand oddities of glagolitic,
notably: Ⱎ...Ⱋ...

it's only a single word i'm using...
i have abandoned all notions of metaphysics
in favor for orthography...
i'm not going to burden myself
with: what's after the physics...
i'm after: what's now...
in the respective tongues...
2 tongue deviations from
the original latin and greek...

what came with the runes and what
came with the glagolitic scripts...
what was ****** and had to succumb
to inter-breeding...

come 2020... i will have one clarification
to base my existence on...
pronouncing the growth of my ****** hair...
i will hope to aim at a length of beard
that will forever hide the neck...
i will aim at... somewhere to the level
of my heart... when i will then manage
to turn my beard into an orchestra's
nieche of violins when i procrastinate with it...

since 2016...
i have identified russian in ******...
i've seen it... finally!
зъaрт... i.e. żart
and the "hard sign" becoming a "soft sign"
in źrenica: зьрeницa...

i still think the russian orthography
is... as... primitive as the western slavic...

after all... зъ = ż...
зь = ź...
the balkan slavs have a caron...
which is neither a hard or a soft sign / acute...

their caron is... ч (č) or cz...
CHeaper in english...
and their caron is ш (š) or sz...
SHeep...
or the two together...
and always шч (šč): szczekam...
i'm barking...

pu-shch-air... a rare example in english
of the puщair...
but then lookie lookie 'ere:

CZACHA... skull...
ЧAХA...

perhaps this is my "revenge ****" on russia?
hey! boris the kremlin mascoot...
come and 'ave a look...
with how i disect your orthography
on the / with the language that asks
too many metaphysical questions and no
orthographic curiosities!

i'll meet you in Warsaw... given that you're
probably moving from Novosibirsk...
and i'm either in Stockholm...
Edinburgh or the outskirts of London:
Warsaw will be halfway for both of us...
you don't have to like Warsaw...
i only like it when the Ukrainian smugglers
and the Mongols appear
in the West Warsaw coach station...

smart as who? i am discovering this for
the first time myself...
i was only teasing it back in 2016...
way before i found the right sort of accents
in mother russian...

i do know that that crescent oddity:
above the ja: йa... is what it is...
if you only cut off the head in english... ȷ...
again: it's я given that most russians
are pulled toward an anglophile world-view...
they all see the window to europe...
the baltic and st. petersburg is somehow...
London... and the atlantic...
like hell it is...

i guess i feel it was a waste of time to
have re(a)d Kant, simply because:
i'm not here for the schematics...
i want to know how my thought my labyrinth
building architecture is coming along...
but with no one to talk to about it?

i found the categorical imperative most
dissatisfying... i didn't want to abide by universal laws...
poetry is already shoved out of waiting room
of the republic...
if my "poetry" is not a categorical imperative...
and it's not quiet a a hypothetical imperative...
it needs to be sharpened on a thesaurus
and some grammar...

categorical (adjective)... imperative (adjective)...
well two adjectives never imply much
if there's no noun involved...
and i'm pretty sure that... if i sharpen
the next word i'll compound with categorical-
in that hyphen construct that's only
allowed in oxford dictionary english:
since it's not: propergermannonhyphenfaustian:
i.e. carboxylic (carbo-xylic) acidity...

poetry doesn't belong in either
the categorical imperative focus...
nor the hypothetical imperative focus...

i.e. i must write a poem... to feel better...
i must write a poem... to organise my thoughts...
no! a poem is not a maxim is not a categorical
imperative! a language of poetry is not
a language of morality: it's a language
of experience - or a lack / a lackey's "sentiment"...

i need a... categorical: impetus!
it's not enough to have read kant's critique of pure
reason... it must also involved
having re(a)d the: groundwork of
the metaphysics of morals...
but i'm a democratic reader...
i need to hear the other voices...
i can't be a kantian scholar...
a snippet 'ere, a snippet v'ere (funny how
THETA disappears when making the posit:
THERE - ver!)

who needs metaphysical absolutes...
when orthography (or a lack of it)
in english... spreads open its legs...
and the tongue remembers its tongue-brain-phallus
stage of co-existence in the oyster?!

i'm pretty sure that a categorical imperative
is by no means a categorical impetus...
this had to be written,
but it had to be written in order to disregard
anything a priori... prior to it...
a poem is a shady concern for action or inaction...
it's a deviation from the cartesian crux:
res cogitans (thinking thing)...
into the cartesian levy (res extensa)...
it's an action of inactivity...
as much as it's an inactive activity...
"the rest"...

impetus is not an imperative...
an impetus sources its meaning in a per se
investement... of itself - in itself - for itself...
an imperative?
in pronouns... impetus: i want... i will...
imperative? you want... you will...

an impetus is self-dictative...
an imperative is: indicative...
someone would rightly claim...
those that mourn indicatively...
will don the right garments for the process
of mourning...
which is indicative and devoid of
the per se manifestation of mourning...
it is an imperative when compared to
the impetus to mourn -
which is self-dictative...
which does now shallow itself in
grief by making a socially agreed to fiasco
of a very specific choice of wardrobe...

basically: however you like it...
an IMPERATIVE ≠ IMPETUS...
the year is almost over and i want to break-off
the dust from the thoughts that fudge-packed themselves
as worthy of occupying the minor instance
of having to count a depth of:
not dead within the year of being written.

I'm leaving Carly's place after an all day ****** that had me convinced that paradise lay in the legs of Nate's sister wearing a unicorn onesie, and as they put on Sgt. Peppers and lay there the ****** freudian passion play overcame my capacity for archetype observation and I proceeded to walk around the room thanking everybody in that space and time for the gift of starting the **** with Nate's sister, the beat changed and they turned on me and said I needed to give her space, they all became timeless aliens traveling through time to **** and I was one of them coming online in a loop, and as long as I stayed awake I would remember and not be *****. I sat cross legged holding my friend sams hands, looking into his eyes, saying aloud we're creating the universe constructing all as the three smartest people of all time, forever throughout we died but never died, as long as we could stay awake, they all wore red and I couldn't trust any of them, I fired off mad questions and demanded to know the secrets of the universe and why woman wasn't the answer, I called up to nate to bring her down to me, and generally became a raving lunatic
      after some time of sam being soulmate and accepting him forever as my lover self same image, and also calling him ugly as im ugly, then channeling Brittany through him and countless other regressive exercises, we started inhaling nitrous gas, and the world became one stretched out moment
       and I kept calling out before, all the way up, as it were the secret spell with a handshake to fool the devil
         I thought Nate a mad spirit habituating this plane as a long gone failed hero plagued by the madness of wanting to **** his sister and forced to watch all his friends be aware of their own lust, so that pushed him into clowning, which he is an expert, that primal lust took me up and id taken a holy mandate to **** this beautiful creature and ascend to paradise,
when they slipped her upstairs they left her rainbow onesie, i felt heaven become another step remote and my faith tested, I resolved to be the last awake and never die, I walked up to the attic, and saw the light beaming from the window


            Sam dropped me off at the press grill so I could eat some grub,
then I met up with Tyler for a drink somewhere while he told me his story of meeting a guy in a skyline chilis bathroom drunk at 3 am, he said the guy was standing at the ****** but wasn't *******. Ty asked him if he was done and the guy put Ty in a chokehold with his pants down, according to Ty the cops came in and he was putting clean shots into the guys mug, he is contemplating leaving town before they can indict him for felonious assault, I told him Canadas nice but Venezuela doesn't have an extradition treaty, come to think of it neither does Cuba, but Ty is too proud for that probably
   anyways we meet Carly being a dancing beauty in a high falootin joint with string lights called Julep, the only reason to mention it is because as we were leaving a guy was bent over the rail vomiting and looking wretched he noticed us watching him as we smoked our cigarettes off to the side and immediately decided that he wasn't some kind of side show freak to be gawked at, he became threatening in the most base and pathetic way a human can, and his bride came to tell us to ******* with her father, father of the bride shaking my hand, we eventually left that scene and walked to Oddfellows where I saw Sam Cohan and he bought me a beer, good chap, we talked until I stepped toward Carly, Tyler and a fine looking strange *****
I touched Carly and received an awkward unmemorable introduction to the strange *****. She walked away but lurked and locked eyes with me as the evening rolled on
later Carly told me that the girl demanded to meet the guy who looks like Heath Ledger, a sure fire ****, so Carly is grinding on my **** and my backs to the bar and Tyler already got me a beer, and there I was, a pirate king
I took Carly out after the lights came on, and was going to give Tyler the run of my place, he disappeared into the night and I showed Carly my favorite smelling tree, a pink mimosa still in bloom late July, we almost ****** on my car, until I went back to her place and we ****** until $430, rising at noon, I left telling her we had an hour to get ready to journey to Findlay for Jim's wedding
I showered and brushed my teeth and collected my suit and put it on without a tie
I picked up Carly and set out upon the road, but made a quick stop for a bite
two deaf guys ordered in front of me and the kid working the register said my glasses were cool, along the way I was telling Carly the story of how I wore make up for the first time to a middle school dance, and she said she had to *****, I didn't believe her at first until she tried to stick her head out the window half way rolled down, I managed to get it down all the way and wet streaks of human gut waste caught the wind and splattered my window
we pulled over and I went to get her some napkins to clean herself off as I squeeged the car, she tried to wipe the window with the napkins, sweet girl. The wedding started at 3:30 and we didn't have more than five minutes to spare, she found her vape pen 20 minute out as Heather started to send me worried messages, as I was set to read a passage, little did I know that I was leading off the whole affair, I arrived and was quickly rushed to meet the mothers and have a boutonnière pinned to my lapel , the women all looked stunning and I congratulated each in turn as they shoved a program in my hand, Tiffany took me through the drill, we walked up to the stage and took our places on the bench, looking out at the beautiful shining faces,


I was the only one not wearing a tie, but thats not important, I saw Jim and embraced him with all the love I could muster, he looked at me and said that he knew I would make it, that he knew that he just had to trust the flow, and I would appear in the nick of time, the pastor threw his hands in the air and welcomed the families, the mothers lit candles, and then Tiffany looked at me and said that it was my turn, I stepped up to the Beema and gazed out over the crowd, trying to summon something clever, nothing good came to mind and so I opened my mouth and said, "a reading from Genesis" and then put every fiber of my being into reminding the room that it is Gods will that we be fruitful and multiply. I'm told I slammed my hands down for emphasis and let out a hearty amen, a man's man's amen, and turned and took one giant step off the podium with two baby stairs, I gracefully flowed into the bench having averted a complete embarrassment, and then tactfully left the stage with Tiffany after her read.   Jim looked at me after mine with a nod, and I said the word strong, that read cemented my status as a star of the party, and the mojo flowed, I was called the cash guy by the hotel, for checking in as Atlantis Grosshammer, $200 depost, we drank and danced and an old lady came to me to say that I have a beautiful soul
I thanked Jim's father for helping to create my friend, and danced around bottles
the cake was good
I told Carly I always catch the brides garter, at every wedding I've ever been. I saw Jim's men assemble for his toss, I let the men come and put myself in the mix, Jim turned his back and had a misfire,
the temptation to collect it passed all of us by thankfully, and he was set to fire again, it came to me and I snatched it out of the air, cold as ice I walked off the floor only with eyes for Carly not even saying a word to Jim, I put that thing on my head and went back to Jim threw him on my shoulders and swung him around like we were in a broadway musical
two kids playing in the street,
he said its the best moment, and so it goes

I have been in skin of wolf all my kitten life
Your sister is getting an attack, help her surrender
Your ****** is bleeding
Save the world red
Unite the blood of Eve and perform monthly
have daily routine of keeping melanated to the cleanest groom
oil your crown
oil your skin
wash your bedding
do your thing
have it your way
you are royal
you are royal
bow your head
give thanks
and conquer
                    I have been in the skin of wolf all my kitten life
                    never little
                    never naïve
                    never broken
                    a shapeshifting ******
                    with eyes of enchanting love and paws that hold power
                    of goddesses and queens before I
                    spoke myself into reality
                    wrapped with stars on my spine and the moon and mars as my eyes
I have always seen the wolf inside my kitten skin all my life
wrapped in grace some call it woman
wrapped in mastery some call god
allah
Adonai
Mother Mary
Anetha
Medunsa
surrendered to love,
fully submitted into intuition.
I am every. I am all.

I want to beat you to death with a blunt object

I want to get one of those high end fashion mannequins grab them by the ankles and bash your ribcage in

I want to sharpen 5 pencils, bind them with a rubber band, put them in your mouth and punch the erasers

I want to strap you to a bead of nails then strap that bed of nails to the hood of my car so I can watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps on a mall parking lot during an earthquake

I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash and somehow not survive a small fender ****** on the way back from the hospital

Stuck in a drinking rut
On a two week ******
Well actually
It's more like two decades
But I had to work the night shift
January 11th

Light ******

Where there is light there is freedom guard it with your life
These unquenchable rays are broadened and sharpened as a knife
By those that pray and hold these liberties as a sacred trust
Finding they are without equal to all living they are a must

To have this treasure the bold go to unquestionable lengths
The quest is all consuming for in this alone lies our unbeatable strength
Our birthright constantly in jeopardy from those conditioned by injustice
Rights were only afforded to the high rulers the small were viewed with prejudice

Take from earthen need plant the uncommon seed filled with heaven’s dazzling light
In this you have begun the cure this plague has fermented and has brought the darkest knight
Now in common hands blessed healing will flow to all who wait under threatening skies
To waste time is cruel and heartless while your neighbor waits and dies

You are called to be an army of light benders
In you is invested all saving truth you the befriended
Assailed by lies false brothers in the most crucial fight you contend
This sacred way you have been chosen trusted even to death you must defend

*******
truth pretender
parents send her
life defender

he's a ******
slimy maggot
feeling ragged
bag and tag it

hurting words
spitting herds
cheezy curds
stupid nerds

mental case
dizzy space
ugly face
**** my race

Time to kneel
grab a feel
scary tweel
innocence steal

Eat a steak
garden rake
veggie snake
life forsake

Not pretend
we defend
savior send
the end

Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend ******.

Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus
waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North".
At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress,
laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan
while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs.
Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom,
while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement.
Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises,
but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.

Rub these eyes.
What a misspent night.
I cast one die, tumbled through to light
               aimed away from
               where I left you
on a corner, towards a ******.
               ...You know...
Hung my hat
on these stupid hopes,
tried to steer us two on an icy road.
               Slid through stop signs,
               you stopped speaking.
Anyway, I'm flying out tomorrow.

Tired as Hell
switch planes in Minneapolis
On the way from Richmond to Montana
This far North,
     the snow is never far away.
               Last one through
                       the gate
               and still sleeping.

Slug this Fall
down in airport bars.
A snowbound move, but I got disarmed.
               so I aim to
         where I came from
Gift myself with what's familiar
               ...You know...
Out here there's
not a lot of noise.
A few pinned dots between the bullet points.
               Here it gets cold,
               just a few miles
from the real Continental Divide.

Head dipped down,
and shoulder leaned windward.
Take two steps, try calling in the morning.
This far North,
     some flights can get grounded.
               Not much
                between
          here and Seattle.

*Heavy coats
and fortified spirits
keep us warm between our vacations.
This far North
     no Saints to preserve us.
               Not much
                between
          here and Seattle.

She cooks her dishes with such panache and zest,
as if both are  two new  dishes for me to taste,
her dainty waist, arrested my eyes,
then the mind ******, thunder thighs,
all I want is to stick to her all over like curry paste.

The people of Canberra, yes they love it, oh yeah

you see I come here after getting ribbed by *******
And teased by so called friends
When all I wanted was to be treated like a Normy
And, yes I did normal things, like watch footy and exercise
And I also ran around town trying to enjoy being a kid
Yes, I was made to be such an *******, I hated it
Me and my brother played cricket in the park
And these two dudes tried to scare us off
I am too fit for them, but I found one city
Was nothing like that, yes the Canberra crowd were nice to me
The first word a kid I hardly knew said to me, was your like us, man
Because he thought I was cool, to his point of view
And I made more school friends, and I found this so fun
Then, I made a friend who ended up going to the Raiders matches
When they started in 1982, and we had a lot of fun going to those matches
Cheering them on till their first grand final in 1987
And we continued it in 1989 and '91 and '92 and then their last premiership back in 1994, and that was the year that I went down to Mawson, where the Raiders leagues club was, and saw the team come home, and I asked my friend we support the Raiders, how about we support the Cannons, you see we play basketball, how about we watch it, the cannons are playing well, so we supported the Canberra Cannons, who were our local basketball team, yes, we saw players like Herb McEachin and Phil Smyth, and Jamie Kennedy and Andy Campbell, and my friend saw him at a course he did, and Willie Simmons, played for them, as well as the Alabama Slammer, who did a add for Captain snooze, it went, ' the Alabama slammer, through on his pygamas, lying on his bunk dreaming of the slam dunk, yes, Canberra was on the map, but like the Raiders they stopped playing really well, like finals well, and unlike the cannons are no more, but then after the Canberra Kookaburras were popular in Rugby Union in the 80s, I think the tune went like this, kookaburras play in the ACT, merry, merry, kings of the Union field was he, play kookaburras play, and we'll win the Sydney comp, well I think that is how it went, but who cares, because later on we got a stronger team , the ACT Brumbies, they were so cool, they won two cups, but this rugby comp was harder to win, and at the same time, the best Canberra team, who won the most cups, were the Canberra Capitals, who are the women's basketball team, yes, 10 out of 12 premierships, yes they are so cool, well the capitals run I think is over, and the Raiders have been doing well in the under 20s, but last year they did well and were thrashed in the grand final, Canberra looked doomed, untill something happened to Canberra in February 2013, and that was a moment that changed Canberra forever, you see I have been following tbe Major league from the USA, and I drove my friend nuts, you see the whole city of Canberra got behind the Raiders, and the cannons and the capitals and the Brumbies, the kookaburras, and we support our local Aussie rules comp, we have the best local comp in Australia, it went national, yes, that is cool, we made mistakes with the implosion of our old hospital, which killed Katie ******, and we at least haven't got a right wing government, back in the 80s, we had no government, but back to where we're at, in February 2013, Canberra changed, yes this was the time of the Canberra winning the Australian baseball Claxton shield baseball comp, from the wooden spoon, yes Canberra us great, and we are putting some great apartments up, to bring people here to live up to it's aboriginal name, meeting place, you see I met some really nice people at sporting events in Canberra, and I don't want that to change, you see Newcastle dudes don't have a good sports following like the Canberra crowd has, yes maybe they have the Jets, in soccer, and the Newcastle knights, but we have the GWS, yes they play 3 normal season matches in our city, so we are the boys in our wonderful city of Canberra, we support the AFL, and the AFL is the greatest game of all. Newcastle local sports is just Newcastle, ours include a miniature national comp, we have the Kanga cup soccer tournament, which is better than the Newcastle jets, yes we are the mighty Canberra crowd, we are making our city so proud, we have better stuff, like sports to suit all walks of life, as well as having the best flower show in the world, called Floriade, how many flower shows have people performing songs at them the way we do, and February has the Multi cultural festival, so let's celebrate the 100 years of Canberra, we ain't shy, the rest of Australia, just thinks their the best.
The end


Sent from my iPhone

Do people ever truly lose there mind or were they always ******* bat **** to begin with?
I believe half this earth is run by insane people most of which have way to much power and far to little sense .

The ******* radio is a great example ever listen modern music ?
You know that **** that doesn't require any talent to preform just a record player and some half wit to rap along with so you can have a remix yes country music is vile enough let alone throw in a nerd that would **** if he got his thirty thousand dollar sneakers ***** once are made in some sweatshop for ten cents a pop yeah how ******* fashionable .

And remember when you had to play a ******* instrument to have a record out?
Yeah I'm so old fashioned I mean sure kids wear all the  shirts to half the bands I grew up with and have no ******* clue who the bands are but yes the world is stupid and you wonder why I drink.

Just like people who believe the world really gives a **** there having a bad day # who gives a **** Twitter is for stupid ***** and celebrities who have as  much depth as a public toilet but are far less clean.

People always read me and believe I am this nice easy going goofy drunken ******* who only lives to make them laugh and talk about ******* well who doesn't like ******* there awesome.

Hey Gonz do you like kids ?
No I don't !
Why ?
Cause they always annoy the **** out of me when I'm trying to sleep off a good ****** in the park really whatever happened to letting the TV raise them hey I look at me I didn't turn out so.
Umm well okay so I'm a little ****** up .

Hey do you ever get tired of being funny or find it hard to come up with new things to pick on?
Well just watch the evening news for a second and head down to the local bar or that gate of hell Wal-Mart and look at all those ******'s who believe they have to buy **** just cause its on sale yeah sure why not buy two hundred rolls of toilet paper  cause you never know when the world may end and the zombie apocalypse will begin .

Newsflash when the world does cease to exist you probably will to and when your starving to death or being burned alive I really doubt that wiping your *** is going to be your top priority .

And we already live amongst zombies   there called yuppies and those I phone twitter loving instagram ******* are ******* everywhere and driving while doing all this **** so pick your head up and watch out!!!

I recently was on a little road trip and while in Evansville Indiana as me and my head cheerleader were riding around the city late at night we were ran into by a young and brainless little **** who admitted she was texting and driving and as I sat there waiting for officer fat **** to arrive to give this cyber **** a ticket .

Yes Indiana it's slogan should be hey are you ******* lost?
Yeah I know I'm a real people person .

Anyways as I sat there viewing what looked like babe Ruth in a bullet proof vest hand out a ticket as he sweat out gravy I had to question with  fifty lares of flesh for padding was there really a need for the vest?

They say when you go insane it's hard to truly rejoin society .
But honestly after looking at half the strung out loony toon's that are considered normal why the **** would you ever care to be part of there brain dead **** storm ?

And since when did the news care what was popular on ******* You tube?

Todays top stories the worlds on the verge of self destruction, A man kidnapped a child ***** her for several years has five kids with her but later on that right now let's check out this cute cat video.
yes the worlds obsessed with ***** .
And you thought it was just me.

And why do teachers now all **** there students and where were these horney ******* when I was going to school.
Yeah having to settle for a ******* from the janitor just wasn't the same.
Although he did have a fantastic grip I'm kidding.

And why  do people even own TV's duh cause books are to much like work but hey remember to buy mine cause it has  plenty of pictures  yeah what isn't poetic about ****?

Yes I can imagine what the great writers from the past would think of the new bestsellers.

Who doesn't like books about gay *** wizards and **** vampires that glimmer in the light yeah I didn't read it duh I saw the movie *******
yeah you may laugh but whatever got my sixteen year old girlfriend in the mood was alright by me I'm  kidding again she was twenty one at the time least that's what her fake Id said.

Yeah least I'm not as bad as Micheal Jackson  cause I'm actually alive that is duh.
Yeah he didn't have issues he just a ******* amusement park in his back yard .
Me I'd prefer a ******* or maybe a mall yeah don't ask.

Common sense nowadays it makes people laugh and the key to humor is always truth people are all ****** up hell just look at me I'm truly insane I own my own bar I get paid to write I do stand up for free drinks but honestly would you really want me doing anything else?

Attention this is your captain speaking umm look I really  don't know how to put this but I forgot to gas up before we left so looks like were all going to die as we crash into the earth and burn to death.
Yeah my bad .

But hey I want to thank you all for flying delta and please remember the do not smoking light is on yeah sure your probably going to be busted into a million pieces but heaven forbid the ***** next to you catches a whiff of smoke before he dies.

Loosen the **** up cause your not going to live forever  .
People are so uptight afraid to say **** or disagree with each other cause we all need to think alike like a bunch of ******* lemmings.

I grew up around backwoods rednecks I lived in the city slept in the ******* street okay there's no difference in people except real ******* people aren't scared to **** others off they are who they are and if you like them great and if you don't then ******* life's to dam short to sweat the ******* and this high school mentality needs to truly get ****** the worlds messed up so embrace it .

Like me, Hate me at least you never have to guess what I really think .

Stay crazy kids cause the normal ***** of this life are usually  total closet freaks who **** hookers on the side and make bombs in grandmas kitchen .

It's a shame cause a good ****** is a terrible a terrible thing to waste.

Well hamsters until next time this has been your bartender for life with your friendly perverted public service announcement we now return you to your regular scheduled program right smack in the middle so you wont know what the **** happened cause we can nah nah.

And if I somehow offended you please fell free to write to.

Gonzo's complaint department in care  of .
105 It's called a ******* joke way .

Cheers Gonzo

I am a writer, a ****** of words. I am a pen that's skipping ink but I still continue to write despite the broken lines because that's what I'm made for in the first place. Maybe the reason why I get hurt so much is that I fall in love with words a lot. I'm in love with people who is in love with literature. These poems and letters may not be made for you or because of you but their main purpose of being written is to move you. I want you to do something about that girl who works in your favorite book shop because I don't want you commiting the same regrets as I did. I want you to raise your voice and write about the oppression or the wage gap. I want you to write about something from the deepest part of your chest. I want you to write about something I cannot write about.

But some days, I feel nothing. I could write about being in love and about the color of their eyes but nowadays, their eyes look exactly the same. I could write about sadness but sadness itself is what hinders me to grab a pen. Now, I could write about happiness. But I rarely feel this way and when I feel this way, ******* I feel this way. I could gather these words about being filled with the color yellow but happiness will say that those words are not enough to fathom the euphoria I feel in me. Maybe one day, I could explore enough dictionaries to find the perfect words on what I have to say.

You don't have to be the greatest writer there is to make someone feel something through your words. Write about everything, every emotion, and every person who finds their way to your heart. When you can't write anymore, get outside and get your heart broken. Go outside and experience an experience that you never thought you would experience. Soon enough, you will write the words you never thought you would ever write. Don't hold anything other than offensive and oppressive thoughts back. Let the poetry run through your veins and drip down your fingertips. Write, write, and write until you can't write anymore. When you can't write anymore, seek a perhaps to write about then write, write, and write until you can't anymore. Even when the poem is below my satisfaction, I continue to share it anyway because being stoic and still would lead me to madness.

I am a writer, a ****** of words. I am a pen that's skipping ink and even though my lines are broken and unappealing, I continue to write anyway and because that is what I am made for in the first place.

Limericks VII - Naughty, *****, Risque, Absurd

There continue to be modern sequels of the famous "Nantucket" limericks, including this ***** one of mine:

There was a lewd ***** from Nantucket
who intended to *** in a bucket;
but being a man
she missed the **** can
and her rattled john fled, crying: "**** it!"
—Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch

Here's another take on a golden oldie:

There was an old man from Peru
who dreamed he was eating his shoe.
He awoke one dark night
from a terrible fright
to discover his dream had come true!
—Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch

Here are some lewd, crude originals:

There once was a multi-pierced Bull,
who found playing hoops far too dull,
so he dated Madonna
but observed, “I don’t wanna
get married . . . the things she might pull!”
—Michael R. Burch

There once was a forward named Rodman
who said to his best man—“No problem!
When I marry Electra,
if the ring costs extra,
just yank a loop right off my ****, man!”
—Michael R. Burch

A formidable pugilist, Mike,
in a fit of pique called his mom “****.”
She frowned ear to ear,
then said, “You listen here,
I can still whip your ****, you dumb tyke!”
—Michael R. Burch

A cross-dressing dancer, “Dee Lite,”
wore gowns luciferously bright
till he washed them one day
the old-fashioned way ...
in bleach. Now he’s “Sister Off-White.”
—Michael R. Burch

There once was a bubbly bartender,
a transvestite who went on a ******.
“So I cut myself off,”
she cried with a sob,
“There’s the evidence, there in the blender!”
—Michael R. Burch

Our president’s *** life—atrocious.
Asian markets are all hocus-pocus.
Politics—a shell game.
My brief moment of fame—
flashed by before Oprah could notice.
—Michael R. Burch

Bill Clinton's a man we admire;
his opinion polls soar ever higher.
He gets much more flack
for a Big Mac attack
than for his ****** high-wire.
—Michael R. Burch

There is a new term, “Clintonian,”
which means, “Stop your naggin’ and moanin’.
He’s only a man
doing all that he can
to put kneepads in the Smithsonian.!”
—Michael R. Burch

Low-T Hell
by Michael R. Burch

I’m living in low-T hell ...
My get-up has gone: Farewell!
I need to write checks
if I want to have ***,
and my love life depends on a gel!

Grave Offense I

Is Ogden Nash gnashing his teeth,
upside-down in his grave, full of grief
that the term “limerick”
has been plagiarized? Quick—
dial 9-1-1; get the police!
—Michael R. Burch

Grave Offense II

Is Ogden Nash gnashing his teeth,
upside-down in his grave, full of grief
that his wit and his art
share this name I impart
to my “limerick?” Am I a thief?
—Michael R. Burch

Ghostbusters!

Is Ogden Nash gnashing his teeth?
Is his ghost rolling ’round in wild grief
that the Post would make crimes
of his “imperfect” rhymes?
Call Ripley’s—it stretches belief!
—Michael R. Burch

NOTE: The Washington Post in all its great wisdom would ban Ogden Nash’s imperfect rhymes from its limerick contests!

Keywords/Tags: limerick, nonsense, light, humor, humorous, ***, naughty, risque, lewd, *****, ******

I don’t like Mondays
I’m eating my head
A ***** fell out
And it was you
But what we have in common-
Distrust of authority
You raised your fist in triumph
And the criminal became celebrity
There’s mutual respect here
I’m invisible but you saw me
You went about protecting me
Threw me a soda
Calling out the hypocrites
In all their fancy drab
We don’t speak their language
They’re locked in a vacancy
Broken home kids need to
Look out for each other
I point my finger gun at him
He’s just been shot by cupid
There’s more than meets the eye
In this subtle rebellion
He slammed his knife down
Like an old revolutionary
Wearing colors of red
To appease my black
Nine achieves influence
In my floppy shoes
He took her diamond earring
I took his patch
For one day this basket case
Became a princess

Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy girl
Creepy, creepy little miss
You barely get by
You never cry
Or is that just some planned out lie?

Little Bubble; she babbles and blunders.
Full of wonder; she's falling under.
Fender ******; she'll blend the rubble.
Bent up rebel, don't fall under.

Cryptic Mystery.
Listen to My Story.
Get by on Misery.
        (It's a Mystery,
        But it's My story)
Listen to Misery.
        
Sleepy, sleepy little lady
Losing grip.
Don't lose your mind,
Your kind mind.
You're Lying.
Crying. Dying. Sleeping.
Creeping away.
Strife.
Sleeping away your Life

Then, night two of the ******:
That evening ran rampant.
With ounces of beer filling each skeleton bone,
Flashes of indigo, and a friendly plate of pasta.
And us Hispanics have to stick together.
We made a home in the sand pits and
On the college buses, we must have been
Going one thousand miles per hour, and
I heard from a good source that the wheels
Weren't even touching the ground.
Bruises, baby. A concussion to match.
Still sprinting through the indigo, you know,
The night sky has never/will never be Black.
Blue consumes me. I am drunk.
My best friends dragging my lethargic limbs
To and fro. Warm ***** at the apartment party -
I am in love with each of them. My friends, that is.
Riding high on all that reckless rebellion,
No matter what happens, this was, this is.
(Forgive me, but - We Are)

It was a dark and stormy night the wind tasted of emptyness of the midnight hour.
The man was broken as he viewed the ledge and as he stepped out apon it he seemed more lost than
Elton John in a ***** house.

******* stupid *****!
He threw the picture into the night as it made it's way to the dark waters below.
Then taking a  deep chug from the bottle he began to fling the bottle as the picture befor.

****** man hold on!
the man shocked almost fell he thought he was alone.
Who the **** are you!

The stange looking man who sat apon the ledge and smelled of
week long ****** and a stripper or two.
Look man dont try to stop me im jumping and that's it.

Hey amigo I dont give a **** if ya jump but if your gonna jump and  toss a bottle at least make sure it's empty ******* duh theres wino's all over the world and one right next to ya that
right now are dying for a drink.

The man like most people in the pressense of Gonzo looked at me with strange mix of
aww and **** my life that they all seem to share.
Im gonna jump and all you care about is the ******* bottle!
My good man im hurt besides ya gotta wallet to duh not like your gonna need it
besides someone has to notify the cops besides I might get a reward I always wanted to get on a show besides cops.

What?
The man said puzzled im guessing being he didnt follow  so easily he must be Canadian.
Okay okay you got me I was also on Locked Up  okay and Americas Most Wanted and maybe To Catch A Perdator that Chris Hanson what a ***** tease.

Look ****** get the **** away from me here's the ******* bottle as for my wallet here ya go but my ***** cheating ***** of a wife beat ya to the money.
So your wifes a ***** and you still have to pay sir I belive your suffering from dellusion
here have a drink with me.

The man was far worse than I thought not only a Canadian he seemed to be suffering from some mental issues Jesus was it fate that a rational man as I would be hanging out okay passed out on this very same bridge.
******* batman  cause Gonz was on the job and I wasnt gonna blow this one like
last time not that I go around blowing things.
Besides remember kids a ***** charges me I give it away now if they offer to pay
thats a diffrent story.

But enough with the foreplay hampsters.

I sat drank and listend to the mans story.
How he fell in love with this strange women who took his money and was a total ****.
Hmm wonder what she'll be up to after this annoying ***** jumps?

And when I caught her with my best friend that was the final straw.
Its all over **** life !.
So did you get this all on camera?
What !!!
Why would I do that?
Idk hell man  just thought it'd be fun to watch I mean who doeant like drinking and watching ****?
I know the Hello staff  seems to keep things running great on it.

You are are ******* mental you know that?
Maybe but im not the one wasting ***** with a kickass ****** living at home
sure ya gotta pay but dude your getting free shows its like living in Germany
sure kinda ***** but hey beats writting perverted things that no one reads on a website that
died years ago and no one wants you on much like there ******* daughter.

You sick ***** you want my life so much you can have it!!
The man shouted in his outside voice once is okay when outside but if we were inside
id really be ******.

Just have my life you demmented *******.
Really sir you just made me happier than that talentless **** Russel Brand after escaping
the clutches of the preaching hottie drag queen Katy Perry.
Im kidding she's great to watch with the sound off.

The man looked puzzled again I swear im begining to think he might have lied .
Cause he seemed  more from a third world country like  Indiana.
Hey where the hell do you think your going!?

Hey wheres my.
The man fumbled through his pockets .
Looking for these I asked holding up a pair of keys.
Hey bring thoose back right now !

Amigo sure I could  hang around here listen to ya **** and moan.
But hey you said i could have your life.
And being you wanna play man on a ledge I figure why the **** not.

You see what's one guys ***** rotten cheating ***** of a wife is another guys
kick **** party to go so later.
Wait stop please Im not gonna jump  she's a ***** but I love her .
And the thought of your demmented *** living in my house  ***** it life's not that bad please
I want my life back.

My friend ya see thats all I wanted to hear.
I tossed the keys in one of thoose corney *** movie moments that guys go to just to make the laidies happy and in the hope they'll get laid.

The keys flew through air  the man put his hand in the air tears in eye's
so happy he totally forgot he was still standing on the ledge.
And he screamed like a school girl as he fell to his death it was a twisted scene oh well.

I had no time to reflect cause i was off like a madman with a date with a ***** little hampster
Hey someone had to console this woman and who better than the person who spent those last
hours with him.
And was kinda responssible for his deatn but hey whats in the details.

Untill next time hampsters you stay crazy.
And remember when all hope is lost learn to hotwire a car and get the **** outta there.
Thanks for the important life skills grandpa.

Adios.

Gonzo has left the site.

>Letter From a *******

Mom Its me your son
don’t turn away
stay for a minute please.
Try to understand me.
You see me now
looking like the daughter
you never had.
Sometimes as the daughter
you never wanted.
But it is still me here Mom
I love you so much.
I know you think I am ridiculous
in womens clothes
but it is who I am.
I love Men
Just like a woman does.
I have a partner who loves me
more than gold.
It is a world of gender neutrality
but still I need to have a place
in your heart Mom.
I am knocking on your door mom
Please let me in
Give me a chance to love you
Don’t turn away
Don’t Go
I need you
Love
Your Son Joe

The people of Canberra, yes they love it, oh yeah

you see I come here after getting ribbed by *******
And teased by so called friends
When all I wanted was to be treated like a Normy
And, yes I did normal things, like watch footy and exercise
And I also ran around town trying to enjoy being a kid
Yes, I was made to be such an *******, I hated it
Me and my brother played cricket in the park
And these two dudes tried to scare us off
I am too fit for them, but I found one city
Was nothing like that, yes the Canberra crowd were nice to me
The first word a kid I hardly knew said to me, was your like us, man
Because he thought I was cool, to his point of view
And I made more school friends, and I found this so fun
Then, I made a friend who ended up going to the Raiders matches
When they started in 1982, and we had a lot of fun going to those matches
Cheering them on till their first grand final in 1987
And we continued it in 1989 and '91 and '92 and then their last premiership back in 1994, and that was the year that I went down to Mawson, where the Raiders leagues club was, and saw the team come home, and I asked my friend we support the Raiders, how about we support the Cannons, you see we play basketball, how about we watch it, the cannons are playing well, so we supported the Canberra Cannons, who were our local basketball team, yes, we saw players like Herb McEachin and Phil Smyth, and Jamie Kennedy and Andy Campbell, and my friend saw him at a course he did, and Willie Simmons, played for them, as well as the Alabama Slammer, who did a add for Captain snooze, it went, ' the Alabama slammer, through on his pygamas, lying on his bunk dreaming of the slam dunk, yes, Canberra was on the map, but like the Raiders they stopped playing really well, like finals well, and unlike the cannons are no more, but then after the Canberra Kookaburras were popular in Rugby Union in the 80s, I think the tune went like this, kookaburras play in the ACT, merry, merry, kings of the Union field was he, play kookaburras play, and we'll win the Sydney comp, well I think that is how it went, but who cares, because later on we got a stronger team , the ACT Brumbies, they were so cool, they won two cups, but this rugby comp was harder to win, and at the same time, the best Canberra team, who won the most cups, were the Canberra Capitals, who are the women's basketball team, yes, 10 out of 12 premierships, yes they are so cool, well the capitals run I think is over, and the Raiders have been doing well in the under 20s, but last year they did well and were thrashed in the grand final, Canberra looked doomed, untill something happened to Canberra in February 2013, and that was a moment that changed Canberra forever, you see I have been following tbe Major league from the USA, and I drove my friend nuts, you see the whole city of Canberra got behind the Raiders, and the cannons and the capitals and the Brumbies, the kookaburras, and we support our local Aussie rules comp, we have the best local comp in Australia, it went national, yes, that is cool, we made mistakes with the implosion of our old hospital, which killed Katie ******, and we at least haven't got a right wing government, back in the 80s, we had no government, but back to where we're at, in February 2013, Canberra changed, yes this was the time of the Canberra winning the Australian baseball Claxton shield baseball comp, from the wooden spoon, yes Canberra us great, and we are putting some great apartments up, to bring people here to live up to it's aboriginal name, meeting place, you see I met some really nice people at sporting events in Canberra, and I don't want that to change, you see Newcastle dudes don't have a good sports following like the Canberra crowd has, yes maybe they have the Jets, in soccer, and the Newcastle knights, but we have the GWS, yes they play 3 normal season matches in our city, so we are the boys in our wonderful city of Canberra, we support the AFL, and the AFL is the greatest game of all. Newcastle local sports is just Newcastle, ours include a miniature national comp, we have the Kanga cup soccer tournament, which is better than the Newcastle jets, yes we are the mighty Canberra crowd, we are making our city so proud, we have better stuff, like sports to suit all walks of life, as well as having the best flower show in the world, called Floriade, how many flower shows have people performing songs at them the way we do, and February has the Multi cultural festival, so let's celebrate the 100 years of Canberra, we ain't shy, the rest of Australia, just thinks their the best.
The end

People think that Dublin, Ireland's fair capital city
Is a place of merriment, overflowing with craic and whiskey,
Whose narrow streets are filled with poets and singers and also
Pretty girls with wheelbarrows selling cockles and mussels;
A city redolent with history, whose gutters run with half-digested Guinness
After closing time, and the drinkers have been hurled into the gutter
By jovial bouncers who can recite "Ulysses" from start to finish
From memory, and where the Liffey, sweet Anna Liffey, flows peacefully,
With only an occasional splash when a pedestrian topples gaily in.
                  
But there is a darker side to famous Baile Atha Cliath, oh yes,
And the following anecdote is a sad but true indictment of the evil,
The omnipresent evil, which lurks in the black soul of the city.
I was trolling along the banks of the old Royal Canal one summer's evening
With my drinking companion, my Afro cousin, Black Paddy McSpigot,
Pausing only to glance briefly at the copulating couples on the towpath
(We were slightly amused by the small crowd watching one couple
who were engaged in the athletic congress of the ****-backed whale
underneath the bridge by Rose Street, a favourite spot for young lovers),
When a terrible shriek rent the air and a horde of renegade drunken nuns
Poured out of a late night underground folk-music drinking den
(the hugely amplified noise of the massed uilléan pipes was deafening
and had probably driven the poor dears into a religious frenzy).

Seeing Black Paddy, and mistaking his gay rendition of "Skibereen"
For an excerpt from the Satanic Mass, they yelled out polyphonically
"Tis the divil himself, so it is, an' all, an' all, let's get the focker",
And without further ado they leaped on him and ripped him to shreds,
Hurling lumps of his poor, poor body into the crocodile infested canal,
Where they were immediately masticated by the terrifying reptiles
(the mighty creatures had been stolen from the Zoological Gardens
by a group of drunken Animal Rights campaigners out on a ******,
and were the toast of the town in every gay bar in the vibrant city).
I cowered in terror at the horrific spectacle, thanking my lucky stars
I was wearing my archibishop's fancy dress uniform that evening
(it was the only way to jump the queue to get into Davy Byrne's Bar).
Dear God, I'll not visit the dear Emerald Isle again in a hurry, to be sure.

whatever i wrote, found below... sorry, enjoying my *** and ms. pepsi... i know that even when i sober up, it won't make any sense to me, because it only made sense to me in drunken trance; as in? ah man, i'm here for a good movie, even a "******" movie, and definitely some pop songs when i'm trying not to give some sort of intellectual critique when easing back, and glug-glug-glug some fire-water down; all these arguments? maybe tomorrow, maybe next-week, maybe (please god!) never; honestly, listening to these arguments, actually made me want to break my "ramadam" of not jerking off... i simply hard to ******* after the threshold was breached: too few feminine vowels in the argument, after all, consonants are *******, prompt, *****... never really bubbles of pleasure, but sure as ****, logical, brick on brick, and a mile high... still, gets to the point of being tiresome that you have to move the tongues into a down-south manoeuvre; and i can, i am excluded from the biblical onan quest, since i haven't been m.g.m'ed.

so hold on,
               atheists think about god,
and later talk about god          as a void?

wait wait, too much ***...

and theists don't think
about god,
  and later turn into automaton
kneeling pawns?

****, this is confusing,
i thought that *** would
clarify...
      evidently, it hasn't...

what's confusing is the anti-theist
movement,
what's the anti-atheist movement
look like?

   ******* alice, walking through
a mirror glass...
   tricks of sophistry -
   you really can't even wish
for a fishing-hook
   to rein that word in...

oh god i'm trying...

  so:

   an atheist is someone who think
about* god,
      but states that there is no god -
well, the +? at least he's not
in a coma, or brain-dead,
  or a vegetable,
   or someone seeking a comfy couch
after the sunday services.

and a theist? is that someone who
"thinks" about god,
but states that there is no "god"
(i.e. thought) to be concerned with
the argument, beginning with:
my purpose is to gain a mercedes-benz
and turn flashy before the congregation?

no, wait, this is turning into a spiral
i can't control...
    can someone get me in touch
with mid-west tornado hunters?
   i'd love to spend a life watching
those things...
     i'm literally a convert
    after watching the film tornado
starring
oh **** me, what a great ******* to movie,
with the late philip seymour hoffman,
ever imitate the oiled-up *******
while pulling your cheek skin from
your jaw?
     sounds about the same as
chewing a beef steak...

oh right, right, these people are serious
atheists,
         but can't fathom the basic
solipsistic delusion
  that we're not living in alaska,
on our own, hunting, gathering, whatever...
that's atheism for you,
  in a society: solipsism lite...
    sure, it's a great talking ground
compared to the ritual of prayer
and the act of kneeling and singing
hymns,
    but the one thing atheism or anti-theism
(whatever the **** that means)
       will not be, is? solipsism...
  
            i can't fake either a belief
or a disbelief in a god - but i can empirically
state that i'm sitting in a room, by myself
and writing on a blank piece of
pixel "paper"...
                     that's the nearest i get to
grasping a "solipsistic" attitude in terms
of a self-sufficient self-dependence...
    who the **** will take my trash away
with regards to pencil-sharpening
the atheistic argument?

    atheism shouldn't exactly lead toward
anti-theism, that's anti-poetry, and i can't stand
by that... if only atheism leads toward
solipsism, i could understand you,
you pseudo adams...
          women will never exactly succumb to
a form of atheism that men seem to try to
make pop...
      this atheism has no potency for
the kind of pop that music can provide people
with...

wait wait... i'm still confusing terms, aren't i?
seagull 1 says the same as seagull 100...
        that's going to be hard to formulate,
given that we don't know who
the first atheist was...
       buddha? buddha thought he was
a levitating head of a god attached to
a body of a human being...
  who was the first atheist?
                        so this is seagull 100 talking
with seagull 200, with seagull 1003...
     now... now i lost the plot...
   who's seagull 1?
               ah! seagull 0!
  there's no seagull to begin with...
           so why are we talking in seagull 1's
talk?
        
so atheists "think" about "god"
          while "theists" think "about" god...
the former translates as talk,
while the latter translates as worship...
       **** me, the "theists" invoking
   the "about" is a mind-****** -
  where is he? mecca?!
            yes, about as in coordinating...
    funny though, how atheists manage
to talk more "about" god,
   than theists get to pray "to a" god...
atheists can indulge in their activity
24 / 7... theists get to only do it for 1 hour,
every 7 days... what a scary comparison...
             and when i remember going to
church, i remember the comfort of
being able to yawn during the service...
whenever an atheist speaks,
   my ears turn into agitated antennas...
        can i cite a one word quote and end this?
*losers!

As the adrenaline seeps away
In small amounts
You sit in stunned silence
Thinking of how
This could have happened.

Remembering
Just moments before
How there was chaos
Everyone on the edge of anger
Or concern
Wondering how much it will be
What was damaged
How in the world could this happen.

In the stunned silence
Driving away afterwards
You think about your life
And if it had happened differently
Your family may have lost a son, brother, sister
You think about how grateful you are
That things didn't go worse.

By: Cedric McClester

This ain’t another American Pie
Where the story’s protagonists happens to die
This is more a question of wondering why
Equal justice in most cases isn’t applied
Every time an unarmed victim is killed by a cop
Whose response to the circumstance is over the top
You can hear as the bullets go pop pop pop
It’s a head scratcher wondering will it ever stop

It’s a head scratcher
Why those headlines staring at cha
Always seems to catch cha
By complete surprise
It’s a mind-******
Why the public’s defender
Always seems to surrender
When it comes to those guys

Some prove the lie
By trying to apply a religion they deny
As the reason why
The innocent must die
‘Cos if they took a look
Their own Holy Book
Condemns the actions that they took
So in hell they’re gonna cook

It’s a head scratcher
Why those headlines staring at cha
Always seems to catch cha
By complete surprise
It’s a mind-******
Why the public’s defender
Always seems to surrender
When it comes to those guys

He’s guilty on all counts
Which logically amounts
If the jurors choose to pounce
To death with no discounts
He deserves to die
And it’s obvious why
If he’s gonna have to fry
It’s too late for him to cry

It’s a head scratcher
Why those headlines staring at cha
Always seems to catch cha
By complete surprise
It’s a mind-******
Why the public’s defender
Always seems to surrender
When it comes to those guys




(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.

By: Cedric McClester

This ain’t another American Pie
Where the story’s protagonists happens to die
This is more a question of wondering why
Equal justice in most cases isn’t applied
Every time an unarmed victim is killed by a cop
Whose response to the circumstance is over the top
You can hear as the bullets go pop pop pop
It’s a head scratcher wondering will it ever stop

It’s a head scratcher
Why those headlines staring at cha
Always seems to catch cha
By complete surprise
It’s a mind-******
Why the public’s defender
Always seems to surrender
When it comes to those guys

Some prove the lie
By trying to apply a religion they deny
As the reason why
The innocent must die
‘Cos if they took a look
Their own Holy Book
Condemns the actions that they took
So in hell they’re gonna cook

It’s a head scratcher
Why those headlines staring at cha
Always seems to catch cha
By complete surprise
It’s a mind-******
Why the public’s defender
Always seems to surrender
When it comes to those guys

He’s guilty on all counts
Which logically amounts
If the jurors choose to pounce
To death with no discounts
He deserves to die
And it’s obvious why
If he’s gonna have to fry
It’s too late for him to cry

It’s a head scratcher
Why those headlines staring at cha
Always seems to catch cha
By complete surprise
It’s a mind-******
Why the public’s defender
Always seems to surrender
When it comes to those guys

Thanks to the rapper Jay-Z
Who doesn’t want us streaming free
We won’t be able to ya see
If we wanna hear Queen B
Or that girl Rihanna



(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester.  All rights reserved.

"You're ******* your life away Bobby," screamed Auntie Abhaya in her native tongue. Malayalam has many nuances and maybe a better translation is, "lightning currents from your privates and blast River Ganga, streaming your soul away." Dravidian poetics go as such and Auntie Abhaya seemed to have quite dramatic flare. In any case, cousin Bobby was once again, drunk. Auntie Ay, as we lovingly referred to her, in her fearless way, was having nothing of it. Worse yet, seems Bobby had funded his ****** with rupees stolen from Auntie Chhaya's purse. A storm of tears she was, in the corner of the humble hut they all resided in, in Kerala.

Kerala's backwaters wash in from the Arabian Sea. Tropical delicacies abound; markets filled with fish, pineapple and coconut groves, and an array of spice that keep the main agricultural commerce of India most enticing to the rest of the world. Yet, life earnings are hard and for some hard habits easy to pick up. This was truest in Bobby's case, though he did try and try to make his family proud.

As I was only a guest in this loving but burdened home, and recognizing a family crisis at hand, I and my traveling partner put forth finances lost to ensure our safe return to Mumbai north in Maharashtra and not embarrass our host family any longer. Though we had touched a Garden of Eden, the lesson of banishment was still at hand.

A thought about our recent ******:
The oddly mean-spirited transgender
Who was a sort of dressed, but not very
Was the adorning maraschino cherry
Strange on a delicate ice cream sundae
Like which I melted early morning Monday

Once upon a time in an alternate universe not too long ago
I met the cheekiest babe from the other side of the world.
She went by Smurfette, she loved to call me Papa Smurf
and Vanity wasn’t gay, the ******* just loved himself too much.

She always sat by the window, detoxicating herself of verses
cranking out a few lyrics, scoping the city in the trenches.
Of the love we waged never wavering and waving a white flag
“I’m gonna put you to bed” were all our wars went to die.

But I was more than alive, inside the land from down under
called her Daphne the Nymph, the voluptuous Greek Goddess.
Wanted to raise little Koalas together in our Kangaroo farm
in every kiss we traded souls, in every breath we lost our lives.

And we gained them again back when the Jitneys were blue
our sweat-drenched bodies overtaken by some strange voodoo.
Every ship we embarked on was lost in the Atlantic without return
James Bean captained our vessel, holding it together with crazy glue.

In New York City locked lips inside a phone booth, it was euphoria
she was already born a Queen since she hailed from Astoria.
Our Bohemian Rhapsody blended like Cheech & Chong on a ******
her pouty lips, ****** smile, five years later how can I forget her?

Her voice, beautiful sparrow, vocal chords stone carved like no other
and yet normally speaking she sounded like the Crocodile Hunter
Soaked the landscape of her essence, remembrance without a beat
the song she wrote about us, plays in my heart eternally on repeat.