conradconrad

an afternoon with edvard estlin c.

. a pre-scriptum to some i had hanging from an afternoon: invested in - chores and cooking... like the good "demon" that i am in "hell": ha... h'ah... and thinking: i need stilettos! or imitations of... to deal with this nagging plantar fasciitis sore... or at least imitate a stiletto... and i'll need shoes that don't exactly look pretty but can allow me my diet of 3 hours and... 4 miles of walking as if "born yesterday"... or circa... then this mini-podcast... and the sentence... love ennobles... what?! it must be coming from a people living across the Elbe or god knows how far west... of a people that came to be known by Ptolemy as... the Veleti - a devolved piece of ass should you be looking for 'un... anyway too many interludes of history lessons the raw narrative is required... i mean... love... ennobles? from where i come from... and... this will fucking chime supreme with the protestants... it's a lesson in tease... rather than trolling... it's: it came as the maxim of sick jokes... arbeit macht frei... i see no worry in redirecting it into: work ennobles - PRACA USZLACHETNIA... pity for me that i wordsmith and no: ah'hoo! ah'hoo a spartan's top 300... look... i can pick up the pieces from where we left of... we started off with a bad joke: it's necessary to give these words a presence... arbeit macht frei... and then... when hearing... such trivial codswollop as: love ennobles... ennobles what? poets dying from either pneumonia or over-flirtatious exasperation: should they profess that dear sacrifice of rhyme? work ennobles - ARBEIT VEREDERLN... if it wasn't for this bashing a blank / blinking canvas... i'd be oh so exasperated already...

on a terrible quest: a queue
                  of cues:
                       just when the poets
heaved a splitting tongue
of a god: a polylingual prodigy:
some pseudo-thespian
and a really: otto the vegetarian
barbarian came and stole
its shadow its synonym for heart:
its mojo its fire...

        somehow once again:
it's sensible to meet ol' edvard estlin c.
in the afternoon -
the house no longer requires
chores...
but... hell... new shoes are
in wanting - no two thumbs
can solve the "riddle" that's
                a plantar fasciitis sore...

a welcome return to smoking:
for the poison that starves
the part of the brain that supposed
extends to both soul
and mouth and lungs and blood
i.e. breathes -
        it requires an originality
testing - by faking suffocation: fully...
but never you mind:
not to the zenith of pack-a-day
and next day phlegm hark shooting...

on a different quest -
   a queue more or less -
for that one b'aad b'ah'ah'd result...
eye of the bull-whipping trot:
drag a frankensteinian
dollop of custard / clay...
                          
                   begin with: holamador...
move into philosophical territory,
i.e. grue: whereby grue = gr(een) +
                                   (bl)ue...

seek alternatives: grellow...
                                    grack...
         ­                       blite: ah... the end
o grand imaginary words...
well... not unless blight sums up
the... hoarding enough truths to sum
it up with a lie...

      bluellow - holamandor -
     no... bluellow ypres -
                    movobrut -
                     hey presto!
        yet another... googlewhack...
holamador atticus...
truly: the house is on fire...
            but rather: someday...
      they will believe the clown -
just when they were singing
that god-awfully horrid simon & garfunkel
lamentation
         is the theatre truly dead
dangling conversations -
well...              but for all their wayward...
parsley sage rosemary and thyme...
couched in our indifference:
the ocean roars: but never lullabies -
of those lives well spent...
            and secured on: no loss...
a poem that's poorly written...
never acquiring a public ear:
always that sighs of critical adjuncts...
all the comforts of the well-intentioned lives...
i'd hardly want to prime
arithmetic through
a rubric of curtain lacey and laces...
a life lived as a livid anaesthesia...

  some might call it necessary for a candle
vigil... i call it:
hearing that song
in my teens...
parsley sage rosemary and thyme...
finicky thinking me...
   no tomorrow as blessed as:
this body is this exceptional parable
and a breath...
i will gladly entertain eternity
without a mouth a eat
without an anus to take a shit with...
but i'd very much like
a mouth to speak with...
to resurrect the body is to have
to debase the soul...
to resurrect the body is to still
retain all the cul-de-sac prompts...
an ejaculation is not yet treated
as a genocide?!
really?!
        
   someone might therefore say:
i'm a classical english liberal!
i'm a marxist!
i'm a libertarian...
   i tend to shy into gnosticism...
but i acknowledge
the hebrew demiurge -
after all: all my letters and my words
are to salvage my two-bitten coins'
worth of passing along the styx:
i envy the meticulous arithmetic
of a count that's still: timeless
and illiterate -
               charon-o-sire...
tired wood of the strict obligations
to bypass the coming of tides...
         this pluck of the thick-nugget
and nudging that can come to pass
along as Thames...

   love... ennobles... i have not heard such
horrid load of bollocks as ever have i:
and i still count myself as mr. yesterday
and about to be born...
work ennobles... i can digest that...
i can believe that...
           but for love to ennoble i would...
have to first test my virginity
against a harem of execution...
the more sex i might have had...
hell! if the gods required a prized
bull: i imagine love as being:
this solitary event of sir-fuck-a-lot...
and a harem of... and a batch of offspring
for base: meat...
           otherwise: milk 'em!
milk 'em!
how horrid it must sound...
when you can encounter
the tongue that industrialised
and perfected such eventualities as
to... thereby... counter: with: choicest
wegan...

   fit for a fiddle - this violin as a summaning
of a beard and a sherlock holmes:
there be a chin! there be a chin!
i've become exhausted with love
to the point that
it must have become necessary
to disbelieve: having children will
somehow justify a furthering of
life further...
never are you to borrow from
history:
not with children are you ever
allowed such plucked of the choicest...
sanguine...
                furthering of endeavours...

i must have always minded
the franks as pseudos in stitches...
i looked at the history...
then i borrowed an inconvenience
of the present...
i had trouble sharing a bed
with anything beside a dog...
a cat was too fickle
a woman too impossible...
can we just pass the ordeals
of sex and return to our own
respective cenobite chambers...
each to each other's iron maiden
allures?

    mult estes guariz!
   the past is unforgiving of me...
therefore i will be unforgiving of it...
i will have it bleach me...
burn a tide of memory for me
to swell with...
                          i hope to feel ghosts
of a people decrying a conquest of
a past with:
not not not this generic son...
this will not do...
i happen to be no more
than a sieve... and an odd-rotten
half...
a cauliflower head on
the altar of the guillotine!

   god we told i will never yet have
myself invite a cyrillic alphabet to rape
my eyes with...
i will do the sensibly english...
that i will trace a greek sentence and letter...
that i will have knowledge of
the glagolitic and what ancient
rome knew should the croats be reminded...

that there are these crusader songs
and some variation
of anonym still..
they will sing the byzantine clerical
chants...
i'll sooner succumb
to the byzantine chants:
or what's leftover greek
than have hushed discussion
from the rites of the pagans...
i don't exactly wish upon a people
a certainty of some / a now...
a pseudo-history...
that it must be kept... reins! sensible!
atheistic... secular...
materialistic... pseudo-frankish!
i need germanic paranoia!
i need gay-lords of the weimar sooths!

in the distance i hear: my own counter...
but because trans-rights do not...
'and that's bad...
that i have an eager audience...
with what i might call
having exhibited a rubber-ear...
a stretch armstrong...
    ms. and mrs. karen dotty ditto
is no likey?'
   too bad for poet cum womanisers
cum freelance feminist: politician-poor...
tic tic tic: poo tries: p'oh gets...
savor the goal-getters
the fed-breeding rabbit 'ibbit ibin: said:
mahmud ah sa'id... asthama...
            i'binz'binning'it mahammud:
  big laden with burning tires
and 'n' even bigger:
croak of forgotten iraqi shit...
but of course... the saudis are all
yachts and fucks us sillies in
the amnesia pools of muscovite whoring..
don'ts you's worries...
the pristine anglo-saxon prides of bride
are... kept in a vernacular slumber...
untouched by the slavs or mongols...
awaiting their first pakistani poker hand-over...
don't worry!

    we hear what the greater manchester public
has to digest... and we pretend to...
filter thoroughly: a way through...

gender neutral pronouns...
like the royal and windsor: one ought...
via: I R: gerbil!

toothpicks anonymous...
pickled scratchings and...
turds flung as far and wide as... a sunrise...
never would it shine a sour
sunrise glee: a squinting lemon:
because i made it a guarantee...
this London-Babylon would
serve me... its own... delight of...
not giving me... a tooth's bitten
cushion of doubt and a purse of lips
to: keep up exaggerations...

i'd still mind the crusader songs...
notably...
those of a teutonic persuasions...
aiming north...
against lithuania
and the crown protectorate p'oh'lack'lack:
land a lease will you!
but that doesn't matter:
i could have come cross
a pseudo-lithuanian girl
and she might have said: she did...
you fucked us over...
kisses on the eyelids...
the eyebrows...
i almost pretended she was
a bulgarian prostitutes...
'you fucked us over'...
as if i was a fucking russian!

        i fucked me over...
the three partitions of poland were a:
i fucked myself over:
myself being: i am also a non-extension
of the... aristocracy...
ergo? a pseudo-lithuanian girl...
a marxist custard-fudger...
a: say caw! caw! when seeing
a crow... croak...

it's all very much debilitating...
seeing this zombified:
stress-relief imitation...
fail a.i. / n.p.c.
                       i have a real concern for
my plantar fasciitis...
it's not a grand ghost limb vigil...
it's more: there's that birch
i want to itch against...
there's that oak i want
to count creases and wrinkles over...

- in that i can't just inherit a past...
i have to pay a tax for it...
i am taxed with the past
and: as far back as 2 + 2 = 4 i am plagued
with having to inherit it...
"social construct"?!
what... this is a society where
i don't exactly know my neighbours?!
this is a social construct?!

i am taxed with a history...
gladly or otherwise:
i don't inherit it freely...
when i was in russia i was asked:
by a cousin of the girl i was fucking:
who won the 2nd world war?!
i replied... the russians did!
as you would... i don't think he knew
she was being fucked by a polack...
i should have asked this rhetoric
question...
and who were the only two
peoples who have ever managed to
sack moscow?!
i don't think he would have replied:
the polacks and the mongols!

well then!
of all things i am dying to expect!
to be translated into french!
i don't know why...
perhaps reading "too much" milan kundera...
or how: i really did want to
fuck off from these isles...
try out Paris: i did: it was so becoming
i could have translated 2004 into 1904...
etc.
     on the outskirts of this greater: less
of Loon'don...
i heave no heart for either
the land of my birth or
the land that i inherit...
tongue alone: to that i pledge my soul...
but i don't feel a need
to include all those born with
it: inherently native...
a priori guised... non-schizoid / bilingual
as sharing my sentiments...
curiosity to them un-abounding should
they freely do so!

me freely lifting exercises in how
and in what way ukraine exercised its rights
against the crown...
such ancient history such freshly arrived
at grievances...
it's almost impossible to write in english
and mind all that has come to pass
with an english colonialism...
it's almost as if: those who have acquired
this glorious tongue cannot speak
their own cul de sac truths!
to the agglomerate gallows with them
of a colonial past!
i cry for this tongue...
i don't care for the natives...
the natives can simply fuck off and
learn nuances: traits:
a second tongue...
honest to god in the depths and in
the highest: retards could retain
knowledge of spanish in chile!
i cry for this tongue being so
accommodating...
it's unlike its horrid uncle and
auntie barons of fwench or germanic altwurzeln...

i want to speak it... i want
to think it...
     which is hardly a welsh or a gaelic:
"accustom"...
which is odd... although if i were
a minority...
and polack was the tongue
of geopolitics...
i were velsh i were kashubian:
i were old prussian...
but i want to speak this tongue...
i want to speak this tongue because
i come from a pauper legion of
european nationhood:
french pansies...

                              what?!
if these former colonial peoples knew...
what it felt like: being inclined to be:
invited as: without...
an a priori gimmick of the commonwealth...
pressure from ol Berlin
and from: the muscovite...
i would gladly double my gains
to sell my soul forgo my gains...
speak this tongue and speak it doubly...
that i still retain relations with the old...
had i to be born on such sights...
not yet not yet...
the project for globalism still
doesn't envision the base
individual brick:
globalism requires a bilingual
building block...
i think the ruling elite envisioned
this fail-safe with...
the project: lingua franca...
and how it failed...
for globalism to work: thoroughly...
one can't expect a plateau of
bilinguals...

         with creases of the most welcoming
of a pair of eyes:
to tease a similitude to borrow
a lips from behind a concept
of disguised visage...
     this my lot of the best riddled
rotten...
            nowhere near king...
republic and the h'american sway..
            
prowing upon the tenderness
of plucked brows...
i pretend to leisure...
then i suppose to gesticulate...
then there's that:
clamour for applause...
that the world doesn't get smaller
it just has to become
redefined... with colloquial...

i no bred my own
and towing: an alienation
of "in-breeding":
this satisfactory...
            call clarity call death:
new! macbeth! macbeth!

           come that lambeth...
                           an eerie irk of a formidable
shadow loom and loot...
a greeting tongue of whisper...
a gracious tongue of winding blown: through:
horned deviances!
i crown myself defacto:
lost to borrow a crown's
worth of france!

this exile of primo ego...
                 this grief this first tongue learned...
this harnessed last of all
possible tenures...
               how i wished to escape
this gravity prone soviet -
this magdeburgian oath...
     this late berliner to the party...
my macbeth my tired sorrow...
a song of ditched woe to have wed:
assorted choice of gowns!

       i heave here this temple
of a grave... a macbeth best roused...
no epitaph... no salt...
for the pleasure of the earth
to come angle-able...
sieving if not mere lifting, me...
toward a towing... crease...
mother, father...
this soil of argued brick...
this sand that could fortune me
with as little as paper...

    this swelling of the sun...
this... necessary inquiry into night...
this shadow that readied itself to
bloat...
        this anguish of woo: to have to
relate to a grip of vox...

by now the afternoon is dead...
life has become...
a deviation from
all that's expected come the urban
suckle...
beginning from the Faroe Isles...
this lacklustre borrowed grief...

how i tend to mind 2am...
how i will sooner carve out crisp o'
tongue a' tonne...
this sooner alive...
thus this sooner dead.

Comments2

  • Trenz Pruca

    Wow. Loved the bits they shine like the sun striking crystal.
    e.g.,
    this exile of primo ego...
    this grief this first tongue learned...
    this harnessed last of all
    possible tenures...
    how i wished to escape
    this gravity prone soviet -
    this magdeburgian oath...
    this late berliner to the party...
    my macbeth my tired sorrow...
    a song of ditched woe to have wed:
    assorted choice of gowns!

    I will need several reads to parse the wonder of the whole adventure through history. Good job.

  • L. B. Mek

    you will scare away a lot of readers by the simple scope of your ambitious efforts and the bold authenticity of your brave - self-defining remarks,
    still though: it is their loss, for you hide unquestionable gems amongst the rough aesthetic of your writes,
    brilliant effort!



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