Anatomist - Poetics

By Ayad Gharbawi

These are a selection of poems by Ayad Gharbawi.
Wide-ranging poems in their purview on life and the choices facing Man.

Persisting reminders tormenting awash with a dryness hurtful
Punctured living waters
Gruesome mental scars
Uncertainties debilitating
Dangling insanity
Nooses chasing each other
Thunderously exciting
Festering gashes
Here between myself
Between us
And so, what you felt
Or whatever you feel for me
I never fathomed what exactly was it

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: May 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543493498

Ayad Gharbawi

Ayad Gharbawi graduated from Boston University in 1989 with an MA degree; he has had several books published in a variety of subjects. One of his best selling work is 'Conversations With Hitler And Stalin'. He lives in Surrey, England.

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Copyright © 2019 by Ayad Gharbawi.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/30/2019

Xlibris

800-056-3182

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Contents

1. Dismayed Human

2. A Love Not Even Jesus Could Live With

3. Suicide of a Priest Scavenging

4. Sailor’s Parched Letter

5. Prometheus and Man Speak

6. A Wife’s Pleas Threatening

7. A Word to My Tormentor

8. Abused Children

9. Accepting Yourself

10. Advice of A Sorrowfully Painted Woman

11. Advice of a Curious Murderer

12. Analysis of ‘Politics’

13. Worn Out Ancient Epitaph

14. A Dismissive or Hopeful Awakening

15. Old Suicide Note

16. Anatomy of What Life Is

17. Can I Be Real with Myself?

18. Baby Boy – If Only You Could See Me

19. Baby Boy

20. Baby Izzet

21. Battered Child’s Testimony

22. Begging Soul

23. Birth of Sorrow

24. Bitterness of a Sarah

25. Costs of Life

26. Blinded Eye

27. Certified Failure

28. Chains Mental

29. Chants of Ancient Wisdom

30. Christian Disciple

31. Circles of Evil

32. Coming of Death

33. Confused Woman Speaks For Herself

34. Confused Madman Begging

35. Contradictions in Life - Love Discovering Its Nature

36. Conversation Between a Sane and Insane Man and Woman

37. Croatian Waitress

38. Cynical Bible

39. Cynic Finally Speaks

40. Death is Freedom

41. Death of a Confident Man

42. Death of a Friend

43. Death of a Loser

44. Death of Inspiration

45. Death Shall End Us All

46. Decadence Perverse

47. Depression’s Anonymity

48. Destroyed Tombstones

49. Destructive Confusion

50. Devil’s Nightly Dreams

51. Die Within Your Life and Therefrom Live

52. Discussing Your ‘Self’ With Your ‘Self’

53. Do You or Do You Not Understand?

54. Do Not Deny Me

55. Anne Sexton’s Poem

56. Dysfunctioning Life

57. Emergency Case

58. Emotions of A Burdened Woman

59. Empty Human

60. End of Another Pointless Night

61. Enough, Please

62. Evening’s Fragrance

63. Falling into My Death

64. Fatal Flaws

65. Fatal Mistake

66. Conversations of What?

67. Sons of Adam

68. For What It May Mean, May Not Be Clear to You

69. Forget Humanity

70. Frustrations

71. I Need You Now St. Mary of Magdalene

72. I Tried to Explain to Her

73. If an Empty Bowl Appeals for Itself

74. Incest Victim

75. Ignoring Innocence

76. Is This the Love and is This the Life?

77. It’s Not for You

78. It’s Over

79. I’ve Tattooed Your Soul on My Blood

80. Judas’ Passion Letter to Jesus

81. Killer Clown Fools You

82. Killing an Innocent Mocking Bird

83. Letter of a Convicted Man

84. Life Is a Series of Lies till You Die

85. Letter from A Madman Written Anonymously To Anyone

86. Life of the Impossible

87. Lily Say Goodnight

88. Listen to Me, Stubborn Recluse

89. Listen to Me – I am Not the Madman

90. Lives of Distressing Anarchy

91. Living in Wilderness

92. My Lonely Telephone

93. Longing to Break Free

94. Isn’t This the Madness of Life?

95. Madness of Mind

96. Man – Why Are You at Odds with Unobserved Yourself?

97. Memories of A Childhood

98. Mental Patient Writing

99. Moments of Life Unrecognised

100. Moon-like Landscapes Before You

101. Murderer’s Repentance

102. Ocean and Soul

103. Old Man Thinking

104. Our Odyssey

105. On Death’s Row

106. Panic Attacks Are Fun - [You Should Try Them]

107. Panic

108. Passion

109. Passionate Evening

110. Pathetic Admission of a Failure

111. Peace Shall Come

112. Philosopher of Modern Art

113. Photograph That Caught It All

114. Pidi

115. Portrait of a Life of a Selfish Theologian

116. Pressures on an Unsure Mind

117. The Pretender

118. Prostitute’s Dream

119. Pyramid Rock

120. Rain Hungers for Thirsty Mind

121. Raped Woman’s Letter - 1986

122. Red-Green Room - (Operating Theatre During Wartime)

123. Regrets of A Failure

124. Regrets

125. Sad of The Earth

126. Sin of Begging

127. Sins Beneath Vincent’s Starry Night

128. Letter from Empress Catherine to La Philosophe, Diderot

129. Emotional Movements

130. Speak Out, If You Dare

131. Speaking Statue

132. Speech of A Reverential Woman

133. Stalin’s Private Thoughts

134. Stranger Thoughts

135. Streets of A Civilised City

136. University Life in Boston’s Streets

137. Twat Jerry Rubin

138. Stupid of This Earth

139. Stupidities of Life - As We Practice It

140. Such Is Earth

141. Sudden Slow Evening

142. Suspicious Soul Within You

143. Sweating Statues

144. Sweet Remote Friendless Friend

145. Gaunt Conversation

146. Dead Relationship

147. Deer, Dove, Wolf and Haunted Children

148. The End

149. Helping Hand

150. There Is A Moment of a Midnight

151. The Will

152. This Day is to Be Repeated Tomorrow

153. This Worldly Life

154. Those Who Were Crowned, Yet They Never Knew

155. Thoughts of an Outcast Blue

156. Threat of Having a Panic Attack [TOP]

157. Rosalia Lombardo - Quantifying Hurt

158. Lover’s Tale - Too Late?

159. Battered Woman’s Scribbles

160. Troubled Spartan Woman

161. Truth? What ‘Truth’ Do You Speak Of?

162. Truths and Consequences

163. Truths Shall Not Render You to Weep

164. Trying to Make a Woman Understand Herself

165. Trying to Speak

166. Trying to Understand Uncopied Answers

167. Twisted Dog

168. Twists of Your Ugliness

169. Tyrant

170. Unbalanced Woman & Her Thoughts

171. Unity

172. Unknown Saviour

173. Victim Seeking Hope

174. Visions Beheld by Youth, Once

175. Wanderer

176. Wasted Lives

177. Wave A Last Farewell

178. We Are All Far Too Insignificant

179. Welcome Me in Your Lives

180. Welcome to The Carnival of Humanity

181. Welcome to The World of Masters & Slaves

182. Admitting My Pointless Life

183. What Did You Come Here For?

184. What Did You Feel Dad as You Lay There Dying?

185. What Exactly Does Matter?

186. What Exactly Is Life?

187. What Now Is Love to You?

188. What Is the Value of Life?

189. What is Panic?

190. When Elegance Weeps

191. When Panic Attacks You in The Midst of Night

192. When Will Peace of Mind Come?

193. When Your Inner Mind Talks to You and You Do Not Listen

194. Where Are You This June’s Final Night, Baby Boy?

195. Where Do You Think You Are Going?

196. Where Will You End Up?

197. Who Will Inform Me When I am Lost?

198. Who Will Save ‘Humanity’ From Itself?

199. Who Will Stand Meaningfully for Her?

200. Who’s Afraid of the Madwoman? –

201. Who’s Lying to Whom?

202. Why Care About a Mirage?

203. Why Humans Are Repulsive

204. Why We Hate

205. Will Boredom Cease?

206. Will Peace Ever Be?

207. Will You Now Understand Me?

208. Wisdom’s Spirit Trying to Speak to You

209. Woman Butchered

210. Woman Prophet

211. Woman Speaking Truth

212. Womanhood Lost

213. Words of A Prostitute Imprisoned for Being Insane

214. Words of Advice from The Devil

215. Words of The Raped Woman

216. Words On Man’s Folly

217. Yet You Must Go On

218. Young Lady’s Verses

219. Your Truths That Hated Each Other

220. You’re Only Dividing Out Empty Pieces

221. Death of Man

222. Feelings on Panic Attacks

223. Repeated Lives

224. Sermon of an Invalid

1. Dismayed Human

And if I may

Say to you

My words

They that

Have come

From afar

Would you

Think then

I may be real

Understanding myself

Within and without

Situations specific

I

Characterise

As Dire

And then

Again

Even if you

Did do such as this

Think this

Much

Of me, maybe

What would

Weighing fears

Change in

Within

Me?

I think

I believe

Knowingly

Not much

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2. A Love Not Even Jesus Could Live With

Sweetness, that you are

Love is what we are

Sweetness, that you are

Decencies, we are

It is a one truth

Though varying still

Yet unto it

Clinging we must

Unintentional criminal entanglements

None know or knew of the beginnings nor impulses, nor of any purposes

So spoke Andrew Allen Cook a man of no reason

So too I thought with that over-vexed woman, Rachel from Arles

Withering within from the realities of her life

Though some 130 years later she chose to reveal to the world her name

Gabrielle Berlatier, one more unbalanced bottle of chemicals

A maid working inside Rachel’s brothel on 1 Rue du Bout d’Arles

And then there was the whore in Waterloo Station

And that is a fact I know

Hungry she came to London

With no language, nor any accomplishments deserving merit

Yes, she worked in the low-paying jobs, as in the fast food outlets

But she could not pay her rent

This was one spiral downwards, I think

Because back home, in her home I mean

People were demanding instant money

Money for which she could not produce in their time frame fair

Is that not a one more, of another truth veritable

Despite of all threats diverse by Man Inferior

Despite muddled curses

Despite storms of chaos

Spat out by lips and edicts whimsical

I still believe in a now

In a oneness inner and so therefore satisfying

Lives uniting

Lives fulfilling

Within decencies

Mutual envelopments

Rhymical rubbing mutual

With one another

Inside each other

Minds, flesh and tongues

Yet some of ye souls remain intemperate

And intemperate uttermost they are and remain unyielding briskly

Why this steadfastness of rejectionism

In hours of fluid murkiness and those of bleakest in form

Premature beings, tautest of skin flaky

Deliberate it may be, or not

Such furies are alive fruitfully against your sanctity

Assuming you know of sanctity

And in their antique epochs eternal, enraged they hurl

Their entireties upon thine meek soul

Causing me to create fabulously stupid quarrels I sow between my selves

Others sown by and of them forces beyond me

And no matter what I encroach upon them rationally

Still, deeply ingrained by now they thrash thriving in furies unscripted

Quibbling over the nuances of zero

Aghast I stand, trying to ignore I am athirst

While this malignancy seeks still more vengeance

Vengeful at the gods purest and unsuspecting

For repetitions secure with illnesses febrile in my brain

Caused entirely by your continual thrusting of stabbing violence

Within and between my remaining ribs sandy

And with such zesty panache too

Spearing reason into nondescript morsels as gangrenous meat

And whipping passions into a singularity senselessness

Thereby coercing them into proper mutual slaughter, merging somehow

With motiveless essences, that none can gather, nor understand

I must add

In any hour of introspection and quietude

I can find myself in

And, you, there you are … I am able to view you

Cursing intermittently at edifices and literatures monumental

Built by the finest of civilisations sterling

Flailing eyeballs, bitter as bile, you react upon meeting them

Spattering hatreds of hues destructive

A bitterness I need to swear

Man never witnessed, so I do mean

Causing Mankind to wrench heart from heart

And babe from babe

Such are your duties

In dungeons of stench you can still find me

Within foaming over-crowded cells

Along with her, Dame Theroigne de Mericourt

Upon straw and scrambling somehow on all fours, I tell you

Wherein intentions and in muck dark and deep we both wade through

Seeking, yes, freedom, no less

Wading through abyssal meaningless acts inhuman, no less

Wherein ordeal after ordeal whips our increasingly frail bodies

Therein thrives impulses heatedly virile for the Rights of Man

Whose origins, of which, I tell you once more, dear

I know not of, assuredly, I say

They were all in all so structured at their supposed hours of inception

Centuries before my birth accursed

And what an impulsion, surely,

But asking the question of the ‘Why is it so?’ reaps naught

Whereby every design and life’s structures are wilfully malevolent too

This, was your ambition, I must presume

It was, all in all so to be, as you darned and dreamed

So far from what it ought to be – Humanity

So now, you avow and once more for a hell serene, no less

Self-adoringly you traipse

Unto my one momentary feeling of self-unity

Limping, though, it may be

Still effusive you are, and even effectively so, you remain

In speeches florid with hypocrisies and in your sermons of piety pristine

With devilish incantations, such as only the few can resist

At times, such deeds are needed, as a necessary proof of worthiness

To believe in my virility and reason

Forcing me to question dogmas of all history and memories’ wisdom

And in these evaluations, I study

Those of Man’s treacherous trials of Man

I thank God, you, alas, lag profound in hours

And in such as these moments, those historical or trivial

Occurring far more now

So, I recede increasingly more

From your presence of decay

Exactly as the peasants’ famous revolutionary and fugitive days do too recede now

From your clasping illusory lies

Freeing their generations

From the depths of harrowing sorrows, hitherto unknown

Unknown, mostly for the dainty lords and effeminate kings

I mean to say and add

I feel who I am knowingly

Increasingly knowing

More than knowing, perhaps

Knowingly though, this much

Dearest one

Are you still alive ‘my’ Waterloo Station whores and rapists?

Inasmuch and exactly as it pertains unto you uniquely

Though you are Legion in numbers and in the annals of tawdry history

That is truth

For this is a Love, not even He, Jesus, could ever live with

A love of absurdities

Calculable only by the maddest of the mad

So, what I say to you, possibly

And it is after all, to you, and for you only

That these, still living feelings of mine, perch yet

Precariously though

My only remaining ones too

Within which I accept thrives intensities of disbeliefs, in my one mind

Some of the times, even feeling a likeness towards you

Yet assuredly, they then return, choosing to hem and to haw

Running manic errands entirely fruitless

Between ventricles and atria wherein the flow of truths and lies

Saw raggedly slices of brain matter of mine

Spattering me with the lush furies of self-immolation

I guess now, as I say

Perhaps what it is that was meant to be known better

Should I still encapsulate the entirety of my life acceptingly

With the blurry suffrage and woozy dread entwined and disunited

Images, perceptible and not and mixed too

Within which you vociferously plunged my selves within these chamber pots

As being a part of the ongoing ‘Truth in Evil’ monologues

One of your theories you wish me to imbibe, as such

A truth existing only for you I swear to that

Well, now, as for me, I part from such deeds repulsive

Genuinely consolable mind that I am living in

‘Now’

For I was one still unaware utterly of any truthful instances serene

Swaying between my daily experiences as ever, calmly so

For they were many of a live wire nature

Despite their admittedly fiery licks, bursting between pulsating pleasures

And yes, I will say, others were even more gratifying

Enacted entirely within throbbing and scorching moans

For now, I beg to know of you, for once, when the sea of tranquillity prevails

And not in an orgy of mad carnalities

What, then, of this, the Truth here that I have witnessed among these beauties?

A truth uniting me for a once, I ask

What of the Truth and of its suppositious services

Rendered unto and for my interests joined for sustenance

Is not the supposed reclusiveness of these graphic scenes but of a silly shadow

Reflections of my unowned insincerities

And yes, what of this that I so often lovingly speak of, yes, this ‘Love’?

Have I not forgotten how unmanageable it is too?

Do you feel what it is I feel when we are in this ‘now’ state of being?

Are we jointly feeling togetherness snug

The simple every joy and pain existing between us, deeply and widely felt

Such as random irritations, un-connecting and connecting

Bursting beyond their proportions and attributes actual

Such as the absurd coincidences, some helpful, some catastrophic

Fakeries in essence, some are, mostly bleak, yes in viewpoints and aspirations

Quiet charring experiences nightly and daily

High sand dunes of fleshy lust wallowing deep next to mental whirlpools of oblivion

And cinders of pointless conversations dizzily playing merry-go-round far too speedy

Unexaggerated proportions of deliberate mishaps

Dreary or wearying presences of the same imperious humans unchanging

Rigid as annihilating titanic icebergs

Even so, you say more, ‘Joy may be!’ - and I ask of you, so say no more

If only you can communicate for a once

Through these winds caressing and cupping gently them icy dew drops of sense

Brief though they may be in their existence

Patience is faith in the procedures of redemption from the effects of sinfulness, is it not?

Sins, you ought to know, of too much lovemaking with the Sun, no less

Our love

Since, sincerest love may yet drift back, softly or aggressively

Just yet

Becoming a physically healthy and vitalising existence in most of our days

Though I say, what passes away and over must so be for an ever

Ruined by Man in wilful neglect, oftentimes, return not and never

As any unheard battlefield so can record for your interests

Assuming you are interested

So, rue not, fellow

And better, never, dear

For the past

But rather, better must it be to ruminate on healthy plans

For the now and for the future

Even lives impotent, though they may be

Can revive indeed strengths affirmative

If merciful and humane they were

In a once upon

Of a time

Yet if only

It so passes to be, such that sincerities of visionary proportions

Thrived therein within us affably

But you everlastingly knew differently

I was but a simple seeker, not a seer and never too

Extensively self-misguiding lies with truths, I confess

Needing no road of life, needing no structured life as Kerouac thundered

Woozily from his gin-drenched bloating corpse

Where moderation and humane lifestyles principled were far damaged

With more illiterate wastages, I gasped at the presence of this ‘Beat’ author no less

Never scouring wisdom from all or any of the seven seas

And nor from the four corners of the earth

Misplacing bleak resources many times and repeated such errors again

But who am I to accuse

A life of unchosen randomness, misplaced luck and self-drawn bitterness

Ceaseless in its motions and ensuing energies distracting

Decent decisions, at times, yes, yet with incorrect assumptions

And safe exits

Insecurely unknown in advance

And yet

Still

Whenever it is

I speak or think, somehow

I know

I am well alone within and through it all

Even, yes, whenever we are within unions ecstatic

Enfolded within time’s annihilation momentary

Solemn stillness’s awkward beginning soon after

Bruising ineffably thoughts

Persisting reminders tormenting awash with a dryness hurtful

Punctured living waters

Gruesome mental scars

Uncertainties debilitating

Dangling insanity

Nooses chasing each other

Thunderously exciting

Festering gashes

Here between myself

Between us

And so, what you felt

Or whatever you feel for me

I never fathomed what exactly was it

This

Our graceful or was it not a sordid affair?

I knew not back then in those screwy times

But alas for you, I have fully created a novelty, a new being

Myself, that is

A ‘Love’ I endured

One, that His Sacral Holiness, Jesus

Dare not speak of its ghastly name

Given all of its bawdy gall

Fetid vinegar

Mother of all

Ye, Lord of Man

Of simplest love

And so, maybe, so many out yonder smile

Knowingly

Upon reading these verses of yore, hazed

As History itself pleads with humans so to listen and so to enquire

To but notice its repetitiveness tedious, yes

And to learn of patterns and meanings therefrom

Yet here we are, and again discovering ourselves on

The ceaseless words written, speeches spoken and deeds performed daringly

And yet understanding naught therefrom

Preferring continual mutual crucifixions

I know not so – why it must be so, again?

That is why, I cannot know those matters of yours ever

So it must remain to be as such

What is essentially inexplicable to me

For my mind shall remain so as the electron ineffable

Thwarting every possibility by you, my evil lover

Imagining perfidies affecting me profluently

Creating sightless travails

Deplorable stares insulting

Pointless scores

Ultimatums intermittently apocalyptic

When viewed in time’s fuller context in its folds of depths

Structured in haste manic and a flippancy fulsome by you

A mind that cannot endure realities quiet nor aloud

A mind that endures not and never a gentle any helping hand scarce though they are

So it is, so it must therefore be

I choose now

No longer pleading idiotically for an avoidance explicit here

Among these concealed forests of my fate

For if I do seek ignorance, and if so only it is, to cloak and shield myself from you

And yes, and so let that to be my resting abode final

A move sweeping, far from you

One of a uniquely no fixed address insofar as your knowledge knows

And so, my needs now search solely

For this quiet reclusiveness sowed in peace final

From all alien Humanity and from its discontents abundant

Far from more braying humans, please

Yes, you know how I hated Mankind too

Specifically

Repulsive as they are

Eternally

And seeking deeply

Cherishing adoring

Penitential studies

Of all great minds and of all inspiring cultures

Repudiating reverential passions, I had once admittedly

Only for you

If only

Though for once

You ever

Knew

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3. Suicide of a Priest Scavenging

Killers killing again

Such are instincts

On a roadless plan

Another alcoholic Jack Kerouac hits on and on some road gutted

Intestines stretching out miles on though not yet quite his fretting mind vociferous

Mindless mumblings in 1968 with a severely polite William F. Buckley

Routines inevitably despised

Lovers livid with time undilated

Bloating blood rancid

Passions souring steamy

Bugs uber-gorging on purple flesh rancid

Losing exuberances once sparkling with flappers dancing and other faddish manias

Wilderness of natures roaming from mood to mood entirely different

LBJ hating being Vice-President

JFK and RFK hating LBJ’s existence

What a scene that was

J. Edgar Hoover frothily masturbates to Martin Luther King’s sex tapes

That was the exact reason why Richard Nixon hated the lot, the bunch of them

As he would say or spout out

Elitist, east-coast, Harvard-educated bastards

Who knew nothing of what his mother and father went through

Because in the eyes of those specific elites

Nixon’s parents contained the precise worth of roughly a nothing

Isn’t that a truthfulness to say and speak about righteously and angrily

I remember my old man

I think that they would have called him sort of a little man, common man

He didn’t consider himself that way

You know what he was?

He was a streetcar motorman first, and then he was a farmer

And then he had a lemon ranch

It was the poorest lemon ranch in California, I can assure you.

He sold it before they found oil on it. [Laughter]

And then he was a grocer.

But he was a great man

Because he did his job, and every job counts up to the hilt, regardless of what happens.

Nobody will ever write a book, probably, about my mother

Well, I guess all of you would say this about your mother

My mother was a saint.

And I think of her, two boys dying of tuberculosis

Nursing four others in order that she could take care of my older brother

For 3 years in Arizona

And seeing each of them die

And when they died

It was like one of her own

Yes, she will have no books written about her

But she was a saint

Welcome

Ye readers

Welcome

But before all else, before you come

Think of where you want to go to

Is that not a proper question to ask of you?

For where are you going in your day to day life and living

When in truth spectacular you know not and you knowing not in fact

Of what it is you do is a crime of grave negligence

So when Nixon seremonises unto us on the philosophy of life

Hear his heart, wounded yes, but palpitating still

Ejecting out words such as -

And so, we leave with high hopes, in good spirit

And with deep humility

And with very much gratefulness in our hearts

How decent of him to say this for the sake of our insecurities

Remembering as we tend to do these were after all his last ever presidential words

Way back in a humid August month and in its 9th day and in the year of 1974

And so he then continued contritely on to say and speak publicly to us

And to the planet, if it were listening:

Always give your best, never get discouraged, never be petty

Always remember, others may hate you

But those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them

And then you destroy yourself

Well then, what inspiringly magnificent words

But coming from you, Tricky Dick

Obsessed with enemies great and small

Visible and inviable, imaginary and real

And then, also, ordained he was unto death in the year of Our Lord 1994

And so we went to his chagrined funeral

Eulogising the posh casket of the once President of the United States

For yes he did commit this and that egregious crime

But, then who amongst you and I and them has not

The man who eulogised his own unowned and entirely unknown parents

We now eulogise him

Cast unto oblivion, he is

Exactly as his revered parents were

And so it is this cycle we know as fleeting existence

Dearly beloved

We are gathered here today

To witness the union of

You and Her

In holy matrimony

Which is an honorable estate

That is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly

But reverently and

soberly

Into this estate these two persons present come now to be joined

If any one can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together

Let them speak now or forever hold their peace

Maddening carnival of malignant versifiers and clean-faced falsifiers

Selling unarmed wares, goods and literatures for idiots plain

Living within reversing circumstances sudden and unexpected

Frighteningly changing moods

Needs frantic

And what happened to you too, forever youthful handsome one Abbie Hoffman

Lying there with a wonderfully affective lethal mix of alcohol

And the equivalent of 150 phenobarbital pills

Weren’t you our brave warrior

The man who attempted to levitate the pentagon

And weren’t you our only One Dearly Beloved Immortal Leader

Organising a protest to throw dollar bills

Right onto the sacral floor of the New York Stock Exchange

And wasn’t it you too

Who made the highest profile of these pointless pranks

Which included the giving away of free clothes at Macy’s

New York’s largest and oldest department store

For a few hours and not more that stunt lasted

Because you were too hungry yourself for a meal

Revolution for the Hell of it!

Let’s live a life entirely free!

Rebel Without Brains

But soon you did kind of find a cause, didn’t you

Abbie Hoffman indeed, what a luscious example of the armed, militant firebrand

Didn’t you tell Judge Hoffman "you are a ‘shande fur de Goyim’

[‘You’re disgrace in front of the gentiles’]

You would have served Hitler better."

Poor old Judge Julius Hoffman

But you, Abbie, more or less chose to wind it all down, didn’t you, dear one

Choosing to finish off this theatrical idiocy at the grand sage age of 52

Applaud my Friends, the comedy is Over!

What’s up with the revolution now Abbie?

What happened to you, man

Where are more of your wonderfully exciting antics of yours?

Weren’t you going to change the world?

For You my Lord so loved the world, You gave up on Your only begotten Life

That whosoever believeth in him should not perish

But have everlasting life.

Furious infighting

Individuals and nations

Misunderstandings and deliberate wilful hurtfulness

Endless fractions of factions each sprouting out new fractions of factions

Each finding deathly causes to kill each other forever

Praying randomly yet determinedly as Darwin notes down each detail on his theories or ideas

Despite vociferous religious fundamentalist people

Burning every word he wrote

But I do not understand you people

Passionately debating Darwin versus Creationism

When poor sod never wrote one letter on the creation of existence

For he knew not on that sublime thought truthful nor did he claim to know

Heedless heads marching in a meandering unison

With blaring guttural speeches on Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité

Enter the Reign of Terror, marching now inwards

With minds turning livid with needs to murder excessively, if need be

Only when in shivering needs

Loving hands appear

Or so they say

Is that so, you think, my people

Is that the truth, ye men and women out there

Living your lives bleak

For all that I see from here till eternity

Is Man Baneful

Withholding care and tears even from those appealing motives sincere

Distantly memories abruptly and gently recede and return

Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité of 1789

Whatever happened to you fools of antiquity

Do not trigger laughter in me

Some of you are gathered here for mixed reasons, as oil and vinegar

What is it you presume you want or need from the man standing before you

I myself can presume this much

For I was chosen for God-needing minds to think deeper, perhaps

To synthesise a secure self-union of decencies much higher, if you will

If you can

Hallowed Priest you see, standing before ye all, my faithful ones

Sacrifices must come again because life, existence flows

Exactly as the Aztec sun wills it to be

. I’m very, very wearied with this society

I’m very tired and tried with its sickness everywhere you go

I’m very disturbed over the fact in this room that some do not listen

How can we procure Perestroika and Glasnost

When our minds self-righteously imposes upon itself an anarchy of imprisonments solitary

Did you not hear the explicit words of the news for what is the latest Jim Jones drama

For these are the motions, the orbits of the universe and what life is in it

As the endlessly whirling atoms cannot cease motion

Jim Jones needed everyone to die

That was his thinking, friends and foes alike you are

So too it is with the season imperceptibly dispersing into the next season

And as with the cycles of life and death, generation following generation

But what of your awareness, ye men and women

Whole lot of people here, you clap (claps hands several times)

Just because somebody claps

You don’t know what you clap for nor for whom

Exactly as the bells know not for whom they toll

And it is of course termed as ‘Suicide’, let us be frank in this matter

Well, let it be, I say

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted

If so their needs need or wish to fulfil

Those some or all their feelings, adequate or inadequetly nourished

That is an unquestionable reality in some of the minds of Man

Those, some even go so far as to believe it to be of a quality of brilliance

It may be true, in that madness often does afflict, so it is said

In quaint antiquity and in nihilistic modern hours too

Differences exist not therein

Such minatory behaviours are to be expected as ever, should they not, we are told

Since intelligence searing burns energy exhaustively

Or is it, apocalyptic ultra-receptivity in a consciousness far too tangled

In its self-hating self

For it intensely did matter such questions I pose for thee

Ye salt of the earth ones

In which way and in what method exactly, you thought and you behaved

Does and will matter and intensely so too upon your circumstances

For answer me then, how else would you a-judge the dignified merits of Man?

Such souls as they we are or were, after all, screamed reasonably at times

And so, when we were expecting assertively nourishing answers, yet hearing of not one

What then and unto whom do we turn to?

You know I don’t mind dying, do you— don’t you?

I hope you understand

The best service you could give me is to let me leave the body

If you could say to me tonight

Father, I do not need you anymore

I would disappear in just a few seconds

And I have heard, and so I believe I know

I may have, told you

Forgive me, if I err

Life has found such an astonishing lack of responsiveness from Mankind

Too much to bear

For it was and is still precisely in Man’s numbest faculties

Wherein you may see for yourselves who and what are his attributes most lofty

Those of the most knowable depths plunging black

There you shall witness and experience

Man’s depths of unspeakable woes

And sincerest malefic intentions battling each other

Sins murdering sins everlastingly

So as I have said

And these human acts co-exist disruptively within this entire cosmos

A vast cosmos itself moving and whirling in dimensions incalculable

And repetitively creating from satanically annihilatory acts

As emotions with light speed collide against each other

Newer and newer forms of particles, fields and waves of evil upon evil thusly created are

Breathing, living, crying, hating, thinking, unthinking endlessly

And yet unable to resolve or untie this knot of unhappiness thriving within

His intuitions and aspirations

This is Man, my friends

In his frantically shuttling and hermit minds fiercely disunited

Entirely unexposed to light’s actual colour and so forever presuming

Ensconced as we are within our minute though utterly ruthless skulls

"There is no absolute knowledge.

And those who claim it, whether they are scientists or dogmatists

Open the door to tragedy."

— Jacob Bronowski, HYPERLINK "https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2069408" The Ascent of Man

Astonishing in their relentlessly damnable imprisoning of us

And for a so-called life in prison without parole

For which I gather and surmise, no one, not even one man or woman

In Man’s entire History

Was remotely interested in succouring in any measure, alas

So my opinion is that you be kind to children

And be kind to seniors while I take the potion

As it was in my Ancient Greece

And step over quietly because I am not committing suicide

It’s a revolutionary act

I can’t go back; they won’t leave me alone

They’re now going back to tell more lies

And there’s no way, no way I can survive.

In this act of finality unforgiving

One must choose

Choose to afflict upon our lives brief

An ending away from this stage

And it is precisely therein and only therein

Whereupon we, the humble humans of presumed equality

We, the ones born of sanity, undoubted

We can now finally know the reasons for this all too common event

Wherein so many solitary lives and gregarious ones eked out

Their existence and sustenance till their deaths

Was this not what Charles Dickens studied

My people, my children re-read Friedrich Engels and Richard Mayhew

And the literatures of William Booth and Jack London and James Greenwood

Or peek at least if you will, if you can

And know sturdily in that what they witnessed carries on to this day of yours

The one you design as ‘Modern’

It is all too often startling for some, all too expected for others

For the distractions of all surrounding fancy festivals and lush feasts

And the uproarious fanfares of mysterious gala nights and murky liasons

Mean an absolute degree and spatial point of nothing

Though for you feel bloated with energies exasperated, having now nowhere to float off

This then is our situation before us

Some bloated dizzily with excesses of champagne and caviar

Others wobble woozily bloated from malnutrition

But to me death is not any negation —

Death is not a fearful thing

It’s living that’s cursed.

(Applause.)

I have never, never, never, never seen anything like this before in my life

I’ve never seen people take the law and do

In their own hands and provoke us

And try to purposely agitate mothers of children

There is no need, my fellow men and women, it’s not

It’s just not worth living like this.

Not worth living like this

Yet kit is so inscribed in our texts irrevocable

Have you not watched the American talk-show ‘The View’

Wherein five uber-rich women extrapolate sermons for us in how to live the ‘Moral Existence’

And therefrom pour out vomitive rage I urge of you to do

Shrill sounds of mental mutilations

Some graphically explicit

For you amicable and fair-minded jurors to view

To be reasonably judged by even you, yourselves yes, the indescribably polite public

So imagine what it must be like for the sufferer himself to die through them

So fancy prim and squeaky proper society and the invisible ruling elites

Determined and legislated it best

To be rather hushed up, I suppose

This indecent yet pervasive affair

For the strict purposes of keeping decorum, exquisite civility and decency alive, no less

Perhaps such people, so-minded to self-harm

To self-hate, to have self-shame

To have self-doubts

Were never spiritually equipped

For their supposed glorious paths and duties to do in their living lives

And for all that God Himself insistently clogged them up with

Do not under-estimate Man’s abilities to be an unredeemable schlockmeister

We are assuming of course, are we not, that we know

When we talk and feel

Then Jesus, deeply moved again

Walking up to the Tomb of Nothingness

It was inside a cave, whereupon a deaf Stone lay upon it

On it was inscribed the History of Man

And Jesus spoke, Take it away … motioning to the Stone

Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him

"Lord, by this time there will be an odour

For he [Lazarus] has been dead four days."

Jesus said to her –

"Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee

That, if thou wouldest believe

Thou shouldest see the glory of God?"

What if anything did she learn from His Counsel, I wonder

Exactly as infanticidal Adelle Sorella could not breathe reason

For the deeds she performed upon her daughters

So too time and time repeatedly did Jesus need to remind of his Disciples

To keep and to be sturdy of faith

For in truth, we know nothing

Or limitations in knowledge, it is so

Nothing of what is in exactitude fearful exists in our mind

Hail Socrates ye all! –

For informing us of such treasures!

We know not

Wether he had even one shred of an ounce of spirituality in the first place or not

Like an abandoned and famished stray stargazer, or worse

Licking tepid foam spittle for food

Yet

I do know and I do wish to pen for you and for posterity indeed some words, if I may

Should you take notice or interest, or whatever

I did in deed eke out a privately awkward style of living

Prising, condoling, consoling, wedding and baptising

In all seasons of Man’s life

In a publicly faulty home at its best

Despite and amid my smiling daily duties, dreary at times, yes

For which, again to say

No one was necessarily much concerned about or interested in

Dearest soulless party of people

Was that it

For I myself saw Him, no less and yes

The cause of His doleful gazes into the heavenly yet vacuous skies

Was what confronted Him so savagely

I wish to know

For I know not

I knew of You not, yes, though – You too - knew of me not

Despite all my supposed magisterial learnings and enriching experiences

I discovered myself to be rather - and I must say this

Rather singularly one-sided

Bland in outlook

Hideously rigid in dogmatic paths unmoving

Unthinking in attitudes

Woozy in viewpoints

Changing attitudes and behaviours, quite aligned with my masters’ edicts infamous

How odd, indeed, it was

The context within which my own unowned life thrived and suffered through

In a hideous collaboration with Satan, I remind you

A togetherness I most viscerally despised

And as for the resurrection of the dead

Have you not read what was said to you by God

I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob

He is not God of the Dead, but of the Living

For the Living and the Dead are but of a one substance, if only you knew

Just as a lie may have one thousand differing faces, so too is Truth

I presided over the well-functioning corrupt and gloating church establishments

And their extortionate money-making institutions

Overflowing diamond plates

With bloated foods and antique wines indigestible

Too much, too full, too soon and all for the too few too

Bursting defecating orifices

Unaccountably illegal e-money transactions

Along with Oscar Wilde, overflowing with untouchable boy-lovers

Little ones, a tad filthy, spawning –

Can such carnally earthy matters really be a maxim, one he particularly adored

And yes, did I forget to add, to your image and lust

For these young ones just happened not just and only to be there

Lounge about so to say

But to be vigorously swarming implicitly everywhere

Within and round your lazy overweight skin folds

Oh please, Oscar!

"After your death you will be resurrected again as a healthy young man of 25 year old

There in the heaven you will be given beautiful Houris/Gillman

Wine, and plenty of foods to eat

You will stay young for ever and death, disease will never come near you again"

I was one of the numberless entirely ensnared

By my own boisterously manufactured hubris

Believe me, my darlingest idiotic crowds

Precisely because the elite invisible few rule every one of you and your opinions

While you languidly discourse on to them how slapstick camp you are

That is why the equation of power is as it is and has been what is

You think no one was in the process of knowing

How you acted in the sickly way you acted

You thought only you existed in this universe

None noticed you for who you are

And in measurements of exactitude too as per your moral properties

Oh how the times and the civilisations have changed

Since you lived and felt exuberances

Oscar of the Wilde purposes

And of the First World War soldiers

How eager they war

At the outbreak of the war

Were they not

Do you not see everywhere God’s chosen plucky men of the Vatican

Fully black-robed in manners severe of countenance and sobriety

Homosexual pedophiles who found a magnificent haven for their ambitions

Merrily traipsing near every cruising region

Sermonising unchanged words

No matter what century we may be in

Enduring insufferably scelerotic clerical edicts

Yawning from dawn to dusk

And men only, of course

Yet there I too was in it all

While the mass public remained severely placid and unremonstrative

At these smug vices and parading bastards rouged beyond recognition verifiable

Gentle and romantically roving mind as I was

Private permits and personal borders were infringed upon

So spoke the women cloistered

I presume they must have been rather overwhelmed

By the graphic natures of these bestialising sceneries, I describe to you

As they described them to me

While they spoke I noticed

Shrivelling lies and barren indecencies they had to live within

Wherein even sinful waters dried up within their throats screaming dry

Incessantly damaging, and yet, there they and I remained in essence alone, I swear

Outwardly the same one image

While inwards we changed

With revolutionary Guevarista ardour

An ardour Guevara himself with have surely empathised with

As he fumbled his way in Bolivia’s unpleasant jungles

Unable to communicate with the locals

Yet remaining proud forever for his exalted mission

To civilise Man

That was it

His sole and only aim to exist for

But when he finally could see the immutable facts on the heavens and on earth

So, he too, accepted, the heavenly hour had surely bidden him ’Welcome’

Was he an idiot or hero

Still though

Do I speak in fair tongues or not

Sitting in prayerful solitudes

Iconic to behold for us who know nothing of what and who you are

Yet with no solace, visible or not, to feel meaningfully

One sole soulless man in another starless night

Torn within the gutters

Torn again by pushy corporate interests and torn by feverish termite lobbyists

Contradictory requirements from competing murderers and more sinners

And you, look at you! –

Have you, has anyone of you even ever seen your soul and self in a light real?

But, of course not, may we for a once be frank as luminosity

What a pittance, Man, mindlessly poorer than a jittery church mouse! –

For I am convinced that neither death nor life

Neither angels nor demons

Neither the present nor the future

Nor any powers

Neither height nor depth

Nor anything else in all creation

Will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord

Seeking soon an eternal flight and an escape deeply inside and away

Seeking now a liberty from these, over-heated circumstances gushing

Sickly in their peculiar sweet deathly scents

Support us, O Lord

All the day long of this troublesome life

Until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes

The busy world is hushed

The fever of life is over and our work is done

Then, Lord, in your mercy grant us a safe lodging

A holy rest, and peace at the last through Christ our Lord

Amen

Dispiriting life!

One designed, manufactured and micro-managed by You, God

Why so?

Seeking nourishment only from the womanly honey

So near it mixes in with my ashamed, sweating skin

Yet, she, Christine Chubbuck, insisted I avidly averted my modest gaze from her

The one I admired at the first, and then the one I adored too soon

Honey a-flowing forth, one of an innocence poetic yet so grounded

And one of a blazing carnality coexisting somehow with earthiness’ purities

Seeking an escape final

From the ever-present fawning smiles unthinking of the insecure asses

Surrounding me and in me too

So speak not and never of hypocrisy and I as a one face

I know of the revealing empty or sinister purposes, implicit and explicit of us all

Seeking an avoidance of those who were assiduously seducing every naïve fear

Every hidden temptation and every hitherto well-recognised lust

Lusts, actually, so let it be said and told, in earnest now, at last

That cursed and confused us all too, is that not a historical truth

And was it not one shy, Charlotte Bronte, feeling intense sensations of self-shame

Once in Brussels, at the St. Gudule parish, in the 1840’s if my memory still serves me well

She thrust out her words, announcing it was surely her relentless depressive state of mind

That had goaded her, punishingly to see of all people me, one Catholic too

For you all know we are not of their faith and creed

I saw her hesitantly mumbling voices that I could just about decipher

The bell was tolling for the evening service

After hesitating for a moment more

She finally went slowly up the steps

She sat there uplifted and charged with both implosive and explosive moods

And when I concluded my sermon, she moved not, I noticed

Coming to confess her sins unto me

An odd whim came into my head, she finally spoke words

In this solitary part of the Cathedral where six or seven people

Still remained kneeling by the confessionals –

"In two confessionals I saw a priest.

I felt as if I did not care what I did, provided it was not absolutely wrong

And that it served to vary my life and yield a moment’s interest.

I took a fancy to change myself into a Catholic

And go and make a real confession to see what it was like

You will think this odd

But when people are by themselves they have singular fancies"

.

She then described her impressions in being within this holy space

One fully shared for that moment in time

Between us entirely two strangers in that Belgian night –

"A penitent was occupied in confessing

He does not go into the sort of pew or cloister which the priest occupies

But kneels down on the steps and confess through a grating

Both the confessor and the penitent whisper very low

You can hardly hear their voices"

And after the girl had watched two or three penitents go and return

She approached at last and knelt down in a niche which was just vacated

She had to kneel there ten minutes waiting

For on the other side was another penitent invisible to me

At last that went away and a little wooden door inside the grating opened

And I leaned my ear towards this girl

She was obliged to begin, and yet she did not know a word of the formula

With which we always commence our confessions

. It was a funny position, she claimed to be in –

I feel precisely as I did when alone on the Thames at midnight

And added that she was a foreigner and had been brought up a Protestant

I asked her

If you are a Protestant then. You somehow could not tell a lie?

And she said ‘yes’.

I replied that in that case I could not –

‘jouir du bonheur de la confesse’;

But she was determined to confess

And at last I told her he would allow me

Because it might be the first step towards returning to the true church

And then she actually did confess – a real confession

When she had done I told her of my address

And said that every morning she was to go to the rue du Parc

To my house –

And I would reason with her and try to convince her

Of the error and enormity of being a Protestant

She replied –

I promised faithfully to go.

Of course, however, the adventure stops there,

I understood she hoped she shall never see me again

Praying no doubt no one had better tell her papa of this

For he will not understand that it was only a freak occasion

And will perhaps think she were going to turn Catholic

Well, what events are these, my goodness and Lord God!

What was the exact matter of the status and situation of this English or Irish girl?

Since such paradigms rabid in mixtures of dishonesty and neediness

Seemed assuredly as absurd as insecurities are to me

And endlessly self-replicating themselves in manners

Fearsomely malignant to the core of the marrow

Given their ferocious tempers for a lust to be fully sated and yet

Enshrined within the raptures of our Holy Scripture

Thinking or believing or supposing or assuming

Ultimately, they could or may succeed beyond

The subjugating matter and nature of carnality itself over goodness and humanity

And in the night, how much worse it all can be

Through the expanding night masses of sexuality unsated loading on her frail frame

Thereby augmenting the terrors in every and any terribly insecure brain

And so

Some a wilful moment came to be

When I heard

Of all these emotional distresses uniting, yet colliding fiercely still

Causing myself, the God-created man, the Priest

Suddenly and exasperatingly to cease all life on this earth plain and simple

In one specific manner that only I ultimately shall choose, ending this brief existence

‘I am the resurrection and the life

He who believes in me will live, even though he dies,’ says the Lord

Eyeless insensitive smiles – no more

Slaughtering clawing nails – no more

Ugly hints – no more

Slithering fingers – no more

Sick-smelling edicts – no more

Clammy touches – no more

Startling kisses – no more

Lurking persistent admonishments – no more

All quite apparently sincere they were too

In speaking many words of wisdom as they did and do, yet threatening somehow

They were in every sense and in every tone

A language and a dialect disturbing, none the very less

Despite all their artful allusions stating the otherwise

But what could they deliver, as per ethical meanings

When in summation I could only feel fear from them

Let the spiritually dead bury their own dead

Your duty is to go and preach about the Kingdom of God

Two women once upon a long-time dead and ago lived

An Eleanor Marx and an Amy Levy too

And here I am, recollecting for you

Of my experiences with them

From their seedy tombs and centuries before your times of modernity

For you to see here again in your present

From this merry earth, of their uniquely felt and experienced days

But to my aghast astonishment

They could only but see less, and that which was even dimmer

For they too suffered a dispiritedness of self-murderous tempers and textures

They exclaimed loudly too, too loud, I must though say

What is this life?

Crass dull futures

Vapid so-called ‘humans’

Tedious relationships

Boring entertainments

Stultifying lessons

Destroyed talents

Quiet lethargies

Dull orgasms

Failed philosophies

Unacceptable lifestyles

Worrisome sexualities

Financial insecurities

Depressing thoughts

Our eyes, Lord, are wasted with grief

You know we are weary with groaning

As we remember our death

In the dark emptiness of the night

Have mercy on us and heal us

Forgive us and take away our fear

Through the dying and rising of Jesus your Son

Amen

They then wilfully chose to return unto an unnatural reclusiveness morbid

Denying