forsooth, and yet, upon the merry way

became, admist, ast didst not stay.
an lie - an bein', upon thy hay?
an sweetest tooth whom 'got thine way.

and yet, forsooth, this merry travell'r
i need'st to mix ine unsooth ravell'r
mine sadness doth emcompeth minest say.

it ist, ast ith, mine sad decay.

and holy raptures mine unfold - !
thine twice upon thine lies untold.
mine ist ist an enbein' oft gold -

ine be, ipswitch, an oft of old.

oft saddest and both merry flight.
ich liebeviest, ine seinest nicht!
ich wantonest forsooth ich gleicht.
ich liest vergot mine ist gyest!
upon thine merry, est of best.

thine wordischwist oft twine oft swear.
thou minest thee dith ungest vere!
ke sara, mine, ich fliegest where?
forgottest truth, and lay down there.

quite sadly doth the bein' of old.
enrapture stature for ine cold
beliesest oft of never where -
dismiss the tritest oft nightmare.

i gaveth thee ine sad and lone
to whittle with, upon ine throne,

and giants leapt, as was thee wont.

forsooth such? admit thine cunt.
ist cunt, ist phallic western been.
dismiss thou-est of sordid crate of adjunct -

exactitude ist pain and tears.
and wisdom doth bestow its leer!
upon ine hatred of which glee woth plenty -

and give, and lay, and die for such.
for nothing is a nothing much -
i wish, with heartest true and full of empty

that all that ist ist minest dear.
that sorrow doth become thine tear,
that now, of all, denies itself its torment! -

that silly, sadly, songs of yore
avast with which to feign ignore
thy dearth of ist upon thine doth dismiss them.

of love.

it feels upon feel - at almost all of time! as if the wonder, the splendour of pure individuation is naught but a curse, a horror of which to struggle is the only excuse.

how be this? how be it that even with the depth of sorry sadness, with the abuse of all poesy and metaphor, one cannot escape the ugliness of ones being one?

well, it is but a little too easy to say that such is because one is ugly.

the argument falls, and the words decay, because there is a greater, as there is in all.

except in such! and such is the word upon words, the greatest and most significant creator of sadness that ever was.

god and thought and word are empty in the face of love. and yet love, in wisdom, has encapsulated all of these - and all of the many and many more.

there is nothing without thee, just as there is no occasion for nothingness - all that is, is not only is, all that is is permeated and simultaneously alienated by love! all yes and no, all such and be, all emptiness and horror, all then and now, all of thee and thou.

and yet, let it not be said, as many have, such a dispicably empty diatribe such as (ugh) god is love. or, worse, all is love.

love is a self-centered, nihilistic cunt. love permeates as being permeates - and yet, the many and varying forces at work in our disgusting universe play against our little friend. and life is oft robbed of such. and being is oft robbed of such! and emptiness, and sadness, are even robbed of such! and it is only, and, i mean, only, with the greatest of all of all efforts that one comes to be anywhere near such suchness.

but what else are we here to do, if not to love?

the realms of being with god

certainly, this seemed, as many who have, for want of a better way to express (which, mind you, instantly renders them worthless!) 'found' thee, as thine of all thine truisms. and yet, as those whom spend our time in the sorry and perplexing wittgensteinian caverns of yonder appreciate, all of a truism is the greatest of all truths. is there not the essence of the east in fundamental truism? is there not the notion of the dismantling of truth, and the subterfuge of reason, in all nonsense? and is not the truest of all the greatest of all nonsenses! ah, but here we have the essence of the word, the essence of what makes god. for, as we are told from the very very outset, god is pure upon pure linguistic. IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD. says thou, and thou ist fine upon fine, let it be spread upon the yonder! let the layers upon layers of dogma fall away like the remains of a slowly roasted lamb, and be of all purity as thou wilt in the eyes and the heart of the lord. BE AS THOU SHALT BE EXRPRESSED. and care not that suchness is a sin - and care not that all is untruth, and horror - and care not, even, that all that is expressed is untruth and horror! for the true and the sad and the bountiful good are here, permeating all. it is for another day for mine to express the nature of time, but let it be said here that the meaning, the true spirit of JHWH is his words (and his meaning) I AM WHAT I WILL BE. let not your soul be misguided that the end is not already upon us! all is as all is. and such, my dear ones, is the purest beauty of eternal now.

recalcitrant! what and wherefore,
i've kept my sordid eye to whore -
upon the long and gladly sadly,
io! i've wandered (hear you hear! upon the berry, blithely queer)
mine whist and curtains doth tomb's leer
the leer of torrid horrid chants of lonely mangy ragged ants
of geising, sizing - ha! doth chance!
to whist and wordid whilst mine eye
ist been and before lays goodbye.
ist goodbye, sordid, loathsome fiend,
my nestles do enjoin thy bein'.

atavism as an avatar

sans coda

exists the child of merriment whose adventures and plentures were spelt with only the finest of green pastures and yeller, that ol' dog from the cat pound whose nose smelt like fucking velvet underground lyrics told me to desist and right she was.

first, sakes - of nervous tense, breathe lonely liquid, slow and dense

against the whole of what was understood - is this not the basis of all that is ugly and debased in conservatism? is not conservatism itself sold to the lowest bidder, slavenly poached as though a necessity for bile and limpid recalcitrance were the basest necessities? let's not imagine they were - or perhaps, let's, but then let us change our base of interest elsewhere, for who wants to get stuck with that kind of nonsense?

there existed, once, or so they tell me, or to be honest they never did, because such a thing never was, and here we are on conservatism's doorstep, and let's ponder and also let's peek a greedy eyeful into the keyhole, shall we?

if theres one thing that has always embarressed the unembarrassable, it is the notion of the inalienable subtlety of self-indulgent solipsism - for one is only ever embarrassed in front of oneself.

what a pathetic fuck one is.