Fleeting

You're supposed to get the impression that.....

in England you should be happy with your lot 

Cause in europe you could get shot by some dick with a kalishnikov 

get blown up in Northern ireland in a chip shop 

or in Israel at a bus stop  

by some maniac strapped in semtex and a wrist-watch 

programmed in a rush to meet his god 

In the middle east

you might be executed by police

or the army

if no-one's hit and killed them

and the next day streets swarm with swaths of vociferous men in synchronicity of contemporary dancers

No longer asking appropriate questions but appropriating answers

It's them against the top men who made their friends the U. N and lay on a mattress of currencies fertilised with blood , lined with grief and embroidered with the thread of militia

They did not recruit sadists by nature, but in the politics of pragmatism before principle ,it's the barbarity of  deputised nutters, that precisely butters the bread for the kind of men who'd manage mankind ;

Who smoke screen our  immeasurable potential  with the cowardly stimulus of secularism 

by proxy  of creed

Some-one's being killed right now cause they're black or white or they have an insignificant variation on god  

or because of they're job 

and every other day somewhere a woman's getting murdered because she has the audacity to fancy a guy from another sect. Maybe daddykins'll slit her neck

and yet we take such pride in being the species with the greatest intellect

 when many a kid gets knifed in his chest cause of the last three digits of his address

You know, in Morocco if you're raped they'll call  you  slut 

and 

you live in shame 

but if the rapist let's you marry him it'll restore your family's name

So, though slitting the stomach of a pregnant women as a display then stomping on the unborn foetus is  unmentionable in the history of commonwealth slavery, today babies are fried alive in Syria

and being bound in an automobile tyre filed with petrol then set alight is given the charming title of necklace in Mogadishu 

 If you're female this might include shards of glass shoved into the vagina for vindictive measure

Rohingyan Burmese refugees are shot at and turned back into the Naaf estuary by   Bangladeshi authorities as they flee from such atrocities such as living babies impaled on upturned swords by Buddhists , defined by their devotion to godness

So they never pass the sliding door of an Indian shore but maybe the border's helicopters bombs will save them being burned alive if they made it home. 

Though if they miss the west will soon sell drones 

soon to be operative from western kid's smartphones

as the rise of the machine is on the horizon , expanding it's slot 

indicating there's more to some of those futuristic movies with autonomous robots

Our evolution seems to be fermenting

as humanity is starting to rot

I mean

When America dropped the first atom bomb on Japan victims were random

and that was an uncalled for show of bravado to the soviet union

But then 30 years later to drop a worst one on Vietnam and not give a damn

If it follows that if the first time they never meant it well by the second they must have been be demented

The chain of generational deformities is unprecedented

But so is this

Late 2012 and a young boy swings a sword too big for him to handle to try to behead, 

the shackled captive of guerrillas spurning him on , but  the man ain't ded

chop after chop 

So one holds the beard while the kid hacks at the neck with a knife till the head comes off and he holds it aloft

and the men who shunted his youth out of him chant with the incense of mislead value ,god is great

Well excuse me for losing my flow

but thats not fucking great

Heaven knows how we've spiralled when the video went viral

In Tanzania. They will surprise an albino child at dinner and cut his fingers off to  crush the bones cause a witch doctor named Jesus says it'll bring you , not him or the victim; riches
And in some proximity
inter tribal rivalry has shown men
Sever the limbs of opposing villager's children
So that they won't ever hold a Russian AK47 

Homeless children in Brazil are still target practice for police squads

called  extrajudicial deth squads culling the orphan vermin for urban communities

and that's their daily reality

A small proportion

become a profitable bonus 

of organ donors 

exports

But from London to the near east to south east Asia to the middle east a mother will take her few weeks to fifteen year old daughter to what she'll call a party where six women will be waiting for a batch of few weeks to fifteen year old daughters to hold them down one by one while they cut off her clitoris with a scissors in the name of tradition . 

The scar to be ripped open years later during marriage consummation

For extra change they'll use a fresh razor 

Yes , in London

where the copper that kills you wont make it to court

cause it's all nepotism and injustice is bought

So this poem is a candle I light 

because I'll never forget the image of that Chinese man making a stand with grocery bags in his hands 

facing tanks in Tianaman Square and didn't even flinch with fear

so consequently disappeared

because a fleeting brushes the pages of  fate

and nothing steers more caution than knowing you're close to a portion on the grim reaper's plate 

so every second, the quick ones and the very very long ones,  contain a droplet of prayer even though I don't believe in God

but I am so afraid , 

so astonished 

so disappointed and so ashamed

and the words that overload my gritted jaw are not for ears to hear

because what's more remarkable than mans consistent inhumanity  in light of experience is his hell driven perversity in spite of knowledge

Music.....Winchester lady by bob James 

Moments in love

LBC incidously

So there was this series of riots and there were the active and the scared and amateur filming and eclectic involvement of ages, nationalities , creeds and gender  and all played their roll with unprecedented gusto

 It was an establishment embarrassment 

and the media for the best part had a knee jerk race to the conclusion line and pulled the joker : an easy-sell spin from the hot smoke of yester-year  : race riots by that accessible bogey man; the disenfranchised blacks

Even in Salford shopping centre where a brown face was hard to find it's open season as usual

Que the pseudo sociologist because the fantastical statutes of  scientists have been the granite of belief systems

 David Starky   pronounced that the sociopathy was black culture and its contemporary slang was classically Jamaican , revitalising his career in a spiritual rebirth of Enoch Powell straight on to the front page of a neo nazi online magazine

So what then had we lived through childhoods that danced to mowtown every time there was daylight and some nights when us conservatively disciplined children were allowed .  That giggled at camp white impersonators on top of the pops whos excessive efforts made them ironically far too clumsy to flow. 

When we loved our afros with teeming pride that warmed us inside. Cheered on all white football teams and held motorcycles in awe of cool. When we imitated teddy boys for fun and fell for the commercial notion that was Elvis and all these decorated our walls in 3ft posters while we played cricket in the garden or hide and seek in the house or monopoly with the whole family, famously; passionately, heavenly blissful to the dangers hovering in the patient future

A while after the riots James O Brien discussed the use of the N word on LBC.

 London's biggest conversation they call it. Oh I used to love that James O Brian. He's so eloquent ; so verbally poised; so clever. A writer's icon; and even though the niggling criticism was that LBC was a station of bourgeois nonsense I couldn't resist the scaramoosh cut and thrust of this mans verbal flair.

The ego of faith blinded me from the obvious when every other sense screamed at me that O Brien was wading in the free-for-all race pool .

On uncreative days Jenny Hartley-Brewer.. and Christopher Foufas.... stoked embers that could've become pyres

With the technique of  repetition they would eurocentise data 

They would redefine reality , the essence of power by chopping the reanimating noses off of sphinxes  

and stir my fire that wanted to level their castle with the fibres of honesty that silence hums of gossiping tongues 

When I wake I will cleanse my mouth before even water touches my throat since all roads are paved with logic

Then I cleanse and cream every centimetre of my strong skin 

while absorbing sound because I come from larger families in a team community

Still I religiously dismissed Mr O Brian's dismissal of three callers , aggrieved at their subjugation under the N word

But Rubik was too big for his cube

It took the words to burst out of the horses mouth but he actually spat  'it's black culture' 

The impact was such a headache that I shamefully honoured his shit by reflecting . I remembered how my mums law was that street slang stopped at the front door. That her fan wall poster was of an elegantly suited, ultra charismatic , highly principled super being called Cassius Clay whose iconism  has never been found wanting . His bold aesthetic profile took pride of place.  

On the living room walls were the three porcelain geese/doves ? in flight and some of those ghastly affirmation pics of clouds with a Christian philosopy emblazoned to imply it was ephemeral 

Among my moms albums was Sparrow , a gay ( meaning joyful) calypso singer, lord Kitchener and" she would sing anything from Petula Clark to Johnny Nash  and it awed me that there was a dimension that one would diametrically occupy singing a song, radiating the invincible angel.

Thanks to her the news was prominent  on tv. There was also crossroads and documentary . And a dashing Hollywood Italian American caught her eye so she named my brother Mario 

Dads was cricket, boxing and current debate. He had played saxophone but never spoke about it. Might have been something to do with having served in the army and that dislodged sense of self worth

Before men became men we spent eternities watching our womenfolk in ceremonial preening transforming from my pillows ( shoulders, thighs, bellies, empathies ) to cakes with icing for the  big world to eat . Their hearts beating to pop, reggae or something   Dylan-esque

Cooking was as gender exclusive as who   took out the trash and we'd eat egg and chips today then bakes and saltfish tomorrow. Assorted biscuits were plentiful 

If you got out of line you'd take a few straps that were effective to smack most back into line and mom was the boss. Everyone else, and cousins were always on call to sarogate by nature as aunts constantly wiped food off of our faces with heavy hands

There was neither time nor pronunciation of self depreciation

We had too much love to accommodate guns. They were the hidden jewel in episodes of Starsky and Hutch where a young destitute basketball  playing kid was ruining his promising career in intermittent episodes.  Always in America 

Now another big brother's  forging yet another template  of nations' sibling rivalry; transmitting through the airwaves of electromagnetic spectrums

He was digital when we were physical , sneaking into your ears when we sing the blues. 

So it was Nick Ferarri's turn. Another day , another pundit, same principle, same scapegoat, varied angle.   Sociopathy and ebonics  ; and if I hadn't cottoned on after all these years to the illuminesque pattern of nurtured racism I'd have been blind deaf and dumb. Losing his composure with an incompatible caller he bellowed ' its Black Culture ' and the penny dropped as though it were golden brown and sucked by gravity to forge a slot into my  forehead . 

Truth is exclusive. Unlike national radio licenced and supported by corporate advertising

There's a national black newspaper but if the voice weekly is really covertly owned by a white Jewish woman then the chances of them publishing my shit is less than that of the tabloid trash they emulate

As if everyone doesn't sub consciously know that marginalised dictates that obeying the law and going to work to ensure you a reasonable life was on the  whole, not for us 

and agent provocateurs are strategically placed and equipped to ensure that brainwashing leaves a stain that forms peninsulas beyond the boundaries of culture

Anita's time out

She sat in the square ; picturesque. framed in a chair
bathing her copper shoulders like ripe apples under the tenderness of a midday sunbeam that singled her out like a Dietrich at the palladium
She captivated eyes that tried to honour secrets because honesty relinquishes power.
Unaware, she came back inside with her outline a heat haze and to her credit she was too gracious to say 'I'm a bit of alright'

If relationships distorted with abrasive ego was a mantra

If relationships distorted with abrasive ego was a mantra we'd probably all save some anxiety problem solving
Cause this ain't really a relationship that consists of your swivelling hips expecting me to circumnavigate and then sit.
And every time that I expand my mind you quip cause you ain't having it

You seemed to have ingrained pre-conceptions of my direction
automatically assuming that everything I said or did beyond affection required your matriarchal correction
You'd think we were a show horse and hired jockey
Our foundations were far too rocky
but relationships distorted with abrasive ego isn't a mantra

While some couples acknowledge the ruffles under the muscles and truffles but still wanna jump the broomstick without too many scuffles so they team up and dream up some prenup so the Anna Nicoles the rock 'n rolls and likes of Tina's Ikes won't turn twisted fate into Christmas cake when it's all tits up on the bliss front due to irretrievable inferences or irreconcilable differences
if relationships distorted with abrasive ego was a mantra we'd probably all save some anxiety problem solving

LBC.......Gotcha !

So there was this series of riots and there were the active and the scared and amateur filming and eclectic involvement of ages, nationalities , creeds and gender  and all played their roll with unprecedented gusto

 It was an establishment embarrassment 

and the media for the best part had a knee jerk race to the conclusion line and pulled the joker : an easy-sell spin from the hot smoke of yester-year  : race riots by that accessible bogey man; the disenfranchised blacks

Even in Salford shopping centre where a brown face was hard to find it's open season as usual

Que the pseudo sociologist because the fantastical statutes of  scientists have been the granite of belief systems

 David Starky   pronounced that the sociopathy was black culture and its contemporary slang was classically Jamaican , revitalising his career in a spiritual rebirth of Enoch Powell straight on to the front page of a neo nazi online magazine

So what then had we lived through childhoods that danced to mowtown every time there was daylight and some nights when us conservatively disciplined children were allowed .  That giggled at camp white impersonators on top of the pops whos excessive efforts made them ironically far too clumsy to flow. 

When we loved our afros with teeming pride that warmed us inside. Cheered on all white football teams and held motorcycles in awe of cool. When we imitated teddy boys for fun and fell for the commercial notion that was Elvis and all these decorated our walls in 3ft posters while we played cricket in the garden or hide and seek in the house or monopoly with the whole family, famously; passionately, heavenly blissful to the dangers hovering in the patient future

A while after the riots James O Brien discussed the use of the N word on LBC.

 London's biggest conversation they call it. Oh I used to love that James O Brian. He's so eloquent ; so verbally poised; so clever. A writer's icon; and even though the niggling criticism was that LBC was a station of bourgeois nonsense I couldn't resist the scaramoosh cut and thrust of this mans verbal flair.

The ego of faith blinded me from the obvious when every other sense screamed at me that O Brien was wading in the free-for-all race pool .

On uncreative days Jenny Hartley-Brewer.. and Christopher Foufas.... stoked embers that could've become pyres

With the technique of  repetition they would eurocentise data 

They would redefining reality , the essence of power by chopping the reanimating noses off of sphinxes  

and stir my fire that wanted to level their castle with the fibres of honesty that silence hums of gossiping tongues 

When I wake I will cleanse my mouth before even water touches my throat since all roads are paved with logic

Then I cleanse and cream every centimetre of my strong skin 

while absorbing sound because I come from larger families in a team community

Still I religiously dismissed Mr O Brian's dismissal of three callers , aggrieved at their subjugation under the N word

But Rubik was too big for his cube

It took the words to burst out of the horses mouth but he actually spat  'it's black culture' 

The impact was such a headache that I shamefully honoured his shit by genuflecting . I remembered how my mums law was that street slang stopped at the front door. That her fan wall poster was of an elegantly suited, ultra charismatic , highly principled super being called Cassius Clay whose iconism  has never been found wanting . His bold aesthetic profile took pride of place.  

On the living room walls were the three porcelain geese/doves ? in flight and some of those ghastly affirmation pics of clouds with a Christian philosopy emblazoned to imply it was ephemeral 

Among my moms albums was Sparrow , a gay ( meaning joyful) calypso singer, lord Kitchener and" she would sing anything from Petula Clark to Johnny Nash  and it awed me that there was a dimension that one would diametrically occupy singing a song, radiating the invincible angel.

Thanks to her the news was prominent  on tv. There was also crossroads and documentary 

Dads was cricket, boxing and current debate. He had played saxophone but never spoke about it. Might have been something to do with having served in the army and that dislodged sense of self worth

Before men became men we spent eternities watching our womenfolk in ceremonial preening transforming from my pillows ( shoulders, thighs, bellies, empathies ) to cakes with icing for the  big world to eat . Their hearts beating to pop, reggae or something   Dylan-esque

Cooking was as gender exclusive as who   took out the trash and we'd eat egg and chips today then bakes and saltfish tomorrow. Assorted biscuits were plentiful 

If you got out of line you'd take a few straps that were effective to smack most back into line and mom was the boss. Everyone else, and cousins were always on call to sarogate by nature as aunts constantly wiped food off of our faces with heavy hands

There was neither time nor pronunciation of self depreciation

We had too much love to accommodate guns. They were the hidden jewel in episodes of Starsky and Hutch where a young destitute basketball  playing kid was ruining his promising career in intermittent episodes.  Always in America 

Now another big brother's  forging yet another template  of nations' sibling rivalry; transmitting through the airwaves of electromagnetic spectrums

He was digital when we were physical , sneaking into your ears when we sing the blues. 

So it was Nick Ferarri's turn. Another day , another pundit, same principle, same scapegoat, varied angle.   Sociopathy and ebonics  ; and if I hadn't cottoned on after all these years to the illuminesque pattern of nurtured racism I'd have been blind deaf and dumb. Losing his composure with an incompatible caller he bellowed ' its Black Culture ' and the penny dropped as though it were golden brown and sucked by gravity to forge a slot into my  forehead . 

Truth is exclusive. Unlike national radio licenced and supported by corporate advertising

There's a national black newspaper but if the voice weekly is really covertly owned by a white Jewish woman then the chances of them publishing my shit is less than that of the tabloid trash they emulate

As if everyone doesn't sub consciously know that marginalised dictates that obeying the law and going to work to ensure you a reasonable life was on the  whole, not for us 

and agent provocateurs are strategically placed and equipped to ensure that brainwashing leaves a stain that forms peninsulas beyond the boundaries of culture

 

I don't get it

I don't get it

the stubbornest war mongers have nuclear bunkers for 

military hierarchy ,hand picked cabinet,  prime ministers and presidents

so when they've nuked a region and fried all the residents, destroyed all organic matter and left the air above their super- burrow radioactive for a thousand years....and the rest

they can claim something somewhere's been a success

Maybe I don't get it because it's so pathetic

We live under systems called democratic where Mandela was lucky to get out after  27 years solitary and Anders Breivik  is sentenced to a max of twenty-one in relative luxury and while I see why the scum sucking slags done it I'll never understand how the electorate  consistently accept transparent rhetoric and suck on it

You know when you just don't get some-thing

How any one could sanction a  kill at will leadership in the name of altruism . 

Slaughtering families while  proclaiming the champion of their liberty politically and spiritually with your vote and your backing and your succour and inspiration , 

for their own reward,

Now if you have an agenda or greed or are good to admit that its the benefits of the spoils of victory if only the drips, then I will try to feel you to gain understanding but to say nobody's that thick would be to ignore the probability of what's clearly laid out  . The pains set against the gains . The bribery bribing liability

But if you're gonna tell me that the politic of selfishness never ever seduced/thes your vote putting despots in credit

I'd shake my head just like this and impulsively confess "then I don't get it" 

Take,  rape as a spoil of victory . A remit as old as the hills. It requires a state of mind arrogant enough to crawl on top of a woman who's face is contorting in the liquidity of terror, whose body is convulsing under his testosterones , gasping, drowning and whimpering as shocked animals do

So does he usurp the chemical we engage to express mutual tenderness

Now I'm not so moronic that I can't relate to desire but that's too minor to related to a practice so epidemic it appears endemic

but being civilised

I don't get it

They said that there were 1 million people at the silver jubilee

Dressed in flags wearing flags brolleyed under union ain't no black in jack flags singing in the rain and watching boats go by patronising themselves; in honour of the most illusory career on the planet . Of a woman they'll only ever see through the propaganda machine who's never publicly stood for anything more than ded canon fodder.

The sheer irony of perks and serfs . Take the unemployed and the 7 million she enjoyed last year in farmer's subsidies and it would really wind me up if I let it but I'm trying to get it while the ambassador  argument doesn't add up.

They say she served . Well she visited troops in the second world war and she drove her own jeep and the horn went beep  and through the creation of Israel, apartheid, Mau Mau, and bloody sunday she got a good night's sleep and maybe that's what they wanted to see

 The epitome of genetic success of white dominance at the helm in the race of races and they're gonna back their breadwinner in the jostle for  places.

So this our nationalism :the external encircle of an ethically diametric inter-tribalism . A blueprint of the moronic devotion to football fanaticism , a vice I'll never decipher either . How the recreational pursuit of spectating a harmless non contact sport comprising  eleven or so guys you'll never meet converts to the physical action of me inflicting enough blind violence to separate your rib cage from your voice box because you might dare to support your team vocally, not to mention actually

Fuck you up in front of your kids and teach mine to do the same cause it's in his blood and 'e's a good boy ain't ya son

He'll be blue and his kids too in the designer labels of local FC in a parody of Celtic Saxon Gaelic Greek Umbrian south American sub Saharan survival for the dominance of hunting plains rivalry cultivated into a gladiatorial arena

Only thing is we all live in square boxes and think through them. The buffalo are provided by tescos who are apt to assure that every little bit helps . So if our life cycles are desperate clones in mutual agreement I'm never gonna get it

I know it's a free world. That you can have rigamortis injected into your forehead to preserve an impression of some eternal fertility. You can be a fat slob with washboard abdominal implants. You can buy stocks of red meat discounted on sell by date, whilst priding yourself in personal ethics that would see you rip your friends off even to the pittance of pint money so that you can afford to dress ghetto fabulous, drive a flash motor around the manor and quantify your greed by calling it the achievements that your god said you deserve. It seems that everything is sanctioned by a blurb and I don't seem to get it

Thank my God for poetry cause  I can at least address it

Dan and his mrs

Her mouth was a premeditated birth hole of trouble and she wound him up like the threat of anal penetration

 

It's foetal juices regurgitating and he would have septic traumas rupturing his wretched soul

Fuck she was belligerent 

He rode the waves with diligence until it became far too insulting to his intelligence and he ripped a hole in the sky with the verbal charge that thundered from his teeth and past his chewed lips, drawn in the heat of unsaid battle. For footmen and centurions and musketeers and gun have never known war without the interaction of fear and provocation and he was in danger of eating his own ears just so he could spit out the din she made for him to swallow

This is how they danced following the pink haunted grafitti of her emails where she could find him across a hundred  waters

They had a field day turning the lake of sea and cake into a trench, and  texts were as savage as a slaughterhouse  of stolen sheep 

Between the letters was the  DNA fungi of twin shadows dancing a frenzy of twisted folk

Now a cushion can bear so many pins until it submerges into its  crippled self but compelled toward foreplay she would  pull his martian carcus apart  with stallions from Venus

 She tore layers of  complacent skin off of  his romantic eyelids 

so he retorted from a blitz of decapitated pores that grasped at the collateral damage of homeless blood cells for co-dependant survival;

Their threats were more unholy than billionaires bets , but by the grace of  phenomena and passion they were reborn in a repetition  of anticlimactic ritual