conradconrad

imperial purple (łysy)

łysy łysy łysy:

ol' baldy - i.e. the moon,
you were nicknamed
by someone prior to me:

now that you're dead
i need to find some solace
again,

i look at the moon
and i remember your own
baldness -

but now that you're dead:
here's me looking
for a full stop,
or blame myself to
make strategy with
a semi-colon...

   new paragraph?
new chapter - or altogether
just a different book...

for a few days to
come i can forget about
the world more and more...

i guess you're more lucky
than most:
prior to this grand "awakening"

social engineering
             as way bypassing
man: genesis ape
through to herr robo-,

and language is no longer
a freedom:
it's no more a quest
for solace as it is:
squatting over a pit
of grammar-shizzo...

i have to thank you
for the grief: i drink less!
knowing that you will
never be able to
extend into shadow
come noon...

or that you might "bribe" me
with some endearing
conversation that
was forever littered with
your memory extract cameos...

Fork in the Fickle: alVough:
                     Dat's
       and PHilandering...
                THrice...
                 my affluent counterpart
you're a dead-op
              and why was it
ever a word salad
and not a word-spaghetti?

i can only thank you:
                soy niqab soy niqab
and she was only "there"
easing into a hijab...

someone stole my face!
someone stole my face!
the scents of autumn in poland...

nuancing brimming to
the topple: the obsolete purpose
of hands...

         hello neu-luddites!
ha'lo!
              but one can -
and all that kicking -
march of the sullen down
beaten brows:

if thought could be translated
into gravity:
for coordinating all this
manure...

            it's impossible
to live through marxism twice...
once upon a time
those slavs under the iron
curtain stupid enough:
but that "they" caught up with
impossibility of:

          deciding upon replica:
no country: new moon!
- and there i thought that
clones were supposed to be
left tender...
soulless as...
       clones are to be
made disposable?
              
believe me: sex is no fun...
but weren't clones supposed to be
this jump strategy to...
oh but the defaults!
and all the faults...
and who's here...
regime essential pushing
quasi-lovie-dubby....

          i can get a haircut:
but my teeth are non-essential...
because: beside milking the bones:
i am sure to grow...
teeth... the length of elephant
tusks!

        to eat? quiet impossible...
then again: my mouth is bogus enough
to shelter the concept of
tongue...

- interlude...
  right now? the most authentic...
whatever the hell that implies...
if i'll ever want to cry
or remember: that when you died
i threw my heart into
a stash of stones...
expected a heaving lung
and a beached whale sizzling
on the coast of france...

every time i'll want to un-pretend
to grieve... i'll probably end up
slicing and dicing an onion...
to erase a need for teeth
i'll such-and-such i.e. suck a lemon...

3 months to spare i tell myself...
grandma could have
called and cited a disturbing sequence
of events...
but the law in poland states:
she will claim your pension...

what of the money! it's not necessary,
not now not even tomorrow...
why this pressure surrounding
saying the words: i was robbed!

from now until her death:
i'll be playing poker...
i'll nuance truth
because there's no need to play
that horrid game of
teasing a nibbling layer
of the same ol' dwarfian lie...

our fishing trips... our cycling trips...
here's me: writing
inconveniences
on your chin, cheeks,
forehead... telling myself:
it is very possible to starve
bewildered looking
at your corpse...
   i will use your spine as a staff
to make dicta parallels
for the quest of eyes:
should i forget to eat
enough carrots...

truly: i'm relearning the spectrum
of lethargy upon the arrival of
sorrow -
it's not an essential "laziness"
it's just this: custard-brain-freeze:
for a brain expected there's
this heavily soaped piece
of clay-alla-sponge...

i test my teeth against
a "riddle" of ice for my whiskey
and: i'm looking for onions!
how can i turn my heart
back into a lazarus...

right now i can imagine: how cheap
it all resounds...
it's not critique-viable
it's not critic friendly...
        it's its own sorrow self:
forever lessened by
a need to stretch it into phenomenological
generic: ah... replica...
observable today, tomorrow...
at best also towing a yesterday...

- hello herr busy-body...
           for the new bureaucracy -
too many vowels... too many vowels...
          RZECZ -
and je suis...
                i just need a caron above a C...
to hide the "z"...
otherwise... out-pops a length
of the tetragrammaton...
although i'm not a hebrew...
i'll still smother myself with fuckety-fuck-fuck
prior to: and ha-shem is prior
to... all the words i can type
and typo...

  because this very least is still
sacred...
              as i now pretend to look
toward: the eastern-reich...
          au-stracht... no reason beside
a need to blink...
i've had two dreams of late...
going downstairs to drink full-fat
milk from a fridge located
in the living room...

and that very famous scene where
Moses threw his staff and
a cobra was born...
a quadratic of serpents...
eating each other...
the will of the pharaoh vs.
a merely worded deity...
a pharaoh with gods of stone...

my dear "father" the fog!
my dear grandiosity: the moon,
the fog and your shadow!
how seemingly cowardly
it must be attesting:
that i too will follow down your
route:

no eloquence: cedilla!
fenile cerberus...
           words come into my gob-shite
vacuum that suppose
peering out... dear brain...
sponge being cooked...
a never-ending new tomorrow...

- yes, this pretending to nuance
lethargy... how impossibly devastating
is this mortal certainty...
almost like...
prior to prokofiev's lieutenant's kije's suite
i had no inclination
for the BATTLE OF THE ICE...

alex'dre nevsky - hallow teutons who
found more islam in
the pagan roots of lithuanians
so close to their inkling...
the prussians they were to conquer
would teach the schwab kopf nuances
to compete with
the fidgety saxon...
fucking touristy blah...
aus! aus! the trails!
thus the birth of a noun:
   a bushwacker loot upon the heels
of a kangaroo!

         now the world looks: oh so more
grandiose!
relieving me from a very
private affair...
how the proto-:
atheists, materialists debunked
subjectivity...

kije: kidze: sichuan pepper...
mongolian hoof!
dear lord! all of crimea!
the tatars a history of ukraine and...
it was never a civil war
where people speaking
the same tongue warred
against each other!
i... ploY... to translate the impossible:
whoever translated
joyce's finnegans wake...
need no bother:
where are the diacritical marks!

it sort of "helps" knowing that...
SHYLA STYLEZ is
one of those mythological blondes
that's... dead...
and i'm a "necrophyliac"...

you died and i just knew what
world was waiting for me...
thank you: fuck you...
this blessing of humanity...
this urdu poet: this...
              munawwar rana...
                 because as you jerk off...
a "mother" a blowjob...
a niqab... a feather from an angel's
wing... the flesh of a circumcision
extended into the concept
of a belt: for which some pork is
insisted upon...

how's masturbation any worse
than phellatio
when you've just spooned
a load of cinnamon...
like... oh my god: like... n'ever!

blatantly: queer is counter-inquisitive...
it's this borrowing
of taboo... strength in the purpose
of a comma...
                      comb-over-y'ah...

now - jetzt - teraz...
i'm looking for either: an uncomfortable pea...
catherine the great...
or a dozen of cushions...
or that would be Cnut -
some otherwise Dane...

i abhor myself for writing in this zunge..
it's this forever alienating prospect...
i'll miscarry denoting
a Cyprite as a turkic bleed
and borrowed... lineage...
never this proud Grecian...
and you were too... solid at...
how Silesia was partitioned...
prior to how coal was made defunct:
and how the winds were
supposed to congregate?

my chandelier of glass...
teasing ivory and a glistening
of a scrap of
heave! dear sir!
remember ol' saxony!
i have here spare... a devil's
dozen of teeth:
burden, i, a "toad" of chew
and munch!
not much, ergo...

                        pleasure / appease
the soviet quest
for a man devoid of
subjective- stampede
inquiries...
                      aren't the soviets:
de facto... ad mortem?
alias morsus?

mordo-rył -
and all that became:
mordo-ryć!
mordo-ru!

thoroughly: through a trough.
FFF fickle
when detailing the fickle
a nuance of a possession
of tools, i.e. teeth...
burdening with eF...

harp mein rye!

Comments2

  • Doggerel Dave

    I have absolutely no idea what you are saying: You produce one of these nearly every day?
    Please - both vocalisation and written script are about communication. So what exactly is it that you are communicating?
    Perhaps some background in your profile would be of assistance.....
    Regards Dave

    • conradconrad

      my grandfather's death... i don't think there's much more to be assisted with... perhaps a drink to numb the pain... words come uninvited nonetheless.

    • L. B. Mek

      1) and language is no longer
      a freedom:
      it's no more a quest
      for solace as it is:
      squatting over a pit
      of grammar-shizzo...

      i have to thank you
      for the grief: i drink less!
      but now that you're dead:
      here's me looking
      for a full stop,
      or blame myself to
      make strategy with
      a semi-colon...

      new paragraph?
      new chapter - or altogether
      just a different book...'

      2) ' my affluent counterpart
      you're a dead-op
      and why was it
      ever a word salad
      and not a word-spaghetti?

      to eat? quiet impossible...
      then again: my mouth is bogus enough
      to shelter the concept of
      tongue...

      every time i'll want to un-pretend
      to grieve... i'll probably end up
      slicing and dicing an onion...
      to erase a need for teeth
      i'll such-and-such i.e. suck a lemon...

      3) 3 months to spare i tell myself...
      from now until her death
      ***Grandma, my life's pillar of Polish Babka:***

      i'll be playing poker...
      i'll nuance truth
      because there's no need to play
      that horrid game of
      teasing a nibbling layer
      of the same ol' dwarfian lie...

      our fishing trips... our cycling trips...
      here's me: writing
      inconveniences
      on your chin, cheeks,
      forehead... telling myself:
      it is very possible to starve
      bewildered looking
      at your corpse...
      i will use your spine as a staff
      to make dicta parallels
      for the quest of eyes:
      should i forget to eat
      enough carrots...

      truly: i'm relearning the spectrum
      of lethargy upon the arrival of
      sorrow -
      it's not an essential "laziness"
      it's just this: custard-brain-freeze:
      for a brain expected there's
      this heavily soaped piece
      of clay-alla-sponge...

      i test my teeth against
      a "riddle" of ice for my whiskey
      and: i'm looking for onions!
      how can i turn my heart
      back into a lazarus...

      my dear "father" the fog!
      my dear grandiosity: the moon,
      the fog and your shadow!
      how seemingly cowardly
      it must be attesting:
      that i too will follow down your
      route...

      ..........................................................
      ..........................................................

      *** (added a line at start of section 3 to provide context) ***

      stay strong!
      one breath, one blink, one step:
      taste each individually, marvel and savour them collectively, then let that sigh seep-out slowly,
      'you are alive - you are free, at least physically!'
      when that time comes inevitably,
      try - to go easy, no - never gently
      but sip these last remnants of life greedily,
      and let that be your legacy...




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