P2352 Too hairy they say

No hope today, too hairy they say,

Plus my nose is shaped like a schlong. 

This is a genetic defect on chromosome G,

It's going to get really long. 

Chicks not impressed, I get stressed, 

Drops of piss start to drip.

The gods are with me, clamoring to see,

If this joint sends me on a trip.

I like to touch my asshole a lot,

The only pure pleasure my pet.

Sometimes the finger goes too far inside,

I feel the brain and start to fret.

My dreams are full of creams,

My asshole lubed up to the top.

I am shy and with joy I cry,

Life inserted a bamboo so I hop.

This was a god given gift,

A knack to be struck by crime. 

The times have eaten my chances,

What remains is shit with slime.

P2351 Floating sphincter

The fact that your sinful asshole is floating among 40 fucking thousands of god-forsaken unknown units in the chilly air of unholy, spooky fucking around close to space makes you pensive. The thoughts about all the masturbatory triteness of how insignificant life is at the level of a floating sphincter, firmly saying no to an offal fart that was earlier tested for its potential to kill thousands by suffocation in a closed space,

And to think that if the sphincter fails, there may be an entire flotilla of dangerous things in various states of matter, including plasma, which I am not excluding, and, given the pressures and temperatures involved, some of the Bose-Einstein condensate as well. Why not?

I care to mention here that I laboured over looking up spicy anecdotes about body parts, and as a hindu, I find it a little hurtful that although the mouth went to the brahmin and the foot to the shudra, the dick, cunt, balls, tits, and asshole were not mentioned. The tits would have had to be man tits because it was Purusha in the Rig Veda, a man's world. And so cunt is asking for trouble.

The learned men wore the dhoti, which has openings near the anus, and the ratha, unlike the modern aeroplane, had suitable holes placed at convenient locations.

This may have been the reason why they never had the sphincter discipline that we are familiar with or the volume and distorted nature of smell that gases accumulated at close inimical quarters are prone to exhibit. If such a facility were now made available and I could release my load, I would wonder if the space fairies watching over the deserts would be so kind as to blow them into the open mouth of the recent stodgy and stingy acquaintance I have made and help seal our friendship in a fanfare of holy hiccups and whatever sails the superstitious boat on his part of the sand.

Why is it that I don't particularly find my farts particularly unpleasant, while others find them extremely so? It's quite a tender subject to raise on a date to discuss with a would-be, but what if she has the kind of fart that sets off the wrong alarm bells? Some farts have an evil quality to them. They come with a signature stickiness and stay with you, lingering on the fragile emotional nerves already harried by the memory of the last time something like this happened and you murdered the culprit.

You remember distinctly that you made sure you sent the turds to god to figure out exactly what was there that was so diabolical. And of course you didn't go to jail because all this happened while you were sleeping. What had happened, however, was that you had shit yourself, and the bed had to be thrown out, and it was one of those fancy mattresses.

And all this happened in a time warp when you were graduating from a single cell to a multi-tiered civilization in a parallel parasitic dimension, and that parasite suddenly got involved, things became extremely hairy, and you were on a flight flying back to kolkata after a brief stunt at eating sand the arab way and failing.

While you were eating sand and commenting on how it's not the same as a sandwich, you noticed that people had started to look at you with suspicion, usually the kind that is exhibited in old-fashioned lithographs of prehistoric times and afforded to lepers and other misunderstood creatures with ambulatory issues. 

While it's common sense to flag people you don't understand as mad or heretics, it's only by opening the tight buttons on the bellies of overfed, flatulent, flabby passengers that madness caused by nausea can be properly treated.

The plane is planning to land, which, given all the fart that has accumulated in the cabin, is a good idea. It may be that, unable to exorcise the demon within the gas, it may knock me out literally in a sort of coma, where it wouldn't matter where I land because all land at that stage is la la land.

 

P2350 I live in a boot

I live in a boot; life is moot.
There's neither reason nor rhyme. 
Just today my fart was a spray,
Of shit that's more like slime.

My sense of art, I express in farts,
Well, sometimes I get carried away.
"Gone is the time to live without crime."
What I was painting today

Imagine my situation now.
I'm inside a bucket of poop.
Worms nibbling at my sanity,
And enjoying a diarrhea soup.

It's scarcely credible to me, 
that I'd ever meet a decent soul.
The last person I thought was a god was
was, in fact, a lice controller asshole. 

I don't have any hair to speak of.
But he pulled lice from my nose.
Think how mad it made me,
When he said I was gross,

I'm alright; I just might, 
Adjust with my own shit.
I really don't seem to even like
an asshole if I can smell it.

Holy the hole of this shoe's sole,
I sing hymns that are fit.
It must have really stretched her cunt, 
to produce a shoe with a head in it.

Today I'm pissy, no real missy,
passed by this shoe to grope. 
If you're wondering, I grope with my eyes.
One day I'll have hands, I hope.

P2349 Search for greener pastures

 

Most people I know don't want to read long sentences, are less likely to read a paragraph, and wouldn't at gunpoint consider reading anything as long as this. And by profession, they're habitually making sweeping generalizations and trafficking inconvenient details under the nearest carpet, expertly playing fast and loose with the truth. To them, the truth is anathema, and they'd much rather put cotton in their ears. Sentences have eroded into fragments of their former selves, often without the inconvenience of punctuation. But these are the feelings that have welled up, and I needed to express myself without the paucity of words as I continue my search for greener pastures. And although it might seem like a narrative leaning on the pathology of my own people, it is my understanding that we can recover from it if we stop ignoring it—the chapter of indignities, or perhaps an inevitable tryst with misfortune. No matter how I see my time between coming back from the US and now, that exposure has left an indelible mark on the trajectory of my dreams. I've made all the mistakes I can make in a lifetime, and I still have a little bit of life left, so I hope to make the most of it.

Are developed nations morally superior to developing countries? No, people are the same everywhere. If given a chance, in the absence of laws and standards, and even in the presence of regulations, if they can get away with it, they will. Idiosyncrasies always lean towards exploitation, and there's no shortage of excuses. That's the reason why people hide nefarious and ulterior intentions behind self-righteous, condescending, and patronizing behavior. Exploitation takes on various shades, but mainly it's paying less or forcing overtime. Gaslighting in various forms, incorporating help from the heavens, or praying for the employee when a decent median salary at par with the earthly regulations would be far more appreciated. Indians in foreign lands carry the corruption with them, creating a mini-Indian eccentric bubble of nepotism, favoritism, and loopholes that exploit the knowledge of the desperation that they are privy to. If there's a difference of skin color, color of hat, or country of origin, you can scream discrimination, but not when the guy looks and talks like a duck, and so must be a duck, and hence above reproach. 

Most people wouldn't survive the fall, the distance I've traveled, or the injuries I've sustained. While people go hullabaloo over success, I think there are more lessons in failing, whatever the reason. As someone with an inbuilt initiative-centric entrepreneurial mindset, I've seen the darkness not just in other people's minds but in my own. I've understood how fragile our reality really is. And just an inch away from what you think is a perfect life lies an invisible envelope that you can move into. And when that happens, it changes everything, and you have another sort of perfect world, except one that's entirely upside-down. It's a travesty that we don't think, or even when we do, it's clouded with imperfections from the various lenses we are taught to wear. Very few people live after this improved perception; the shock is just too much for the faint of heart.

To be an entrepreneur, you not only have to be mad but strive to be mad enough to take a cruel gamble on a lifetime—most of it won't be in your control. Being at the helm is an illusion when the market, the economic reality of finances, the competition and idiosyncrasies of partners, investors, employees, and many other indeterminate shadowy figures determine the course of a venture. Inveterate honesty often stands in the way because of the machiavellian constructs that define capitalism. 

You have to stoop as low or lower in moral standing in the market you are competing in to be considered a member. At least in the Indian market, the reality is that every link in the chain is cursed by inefficiency, corruption, and incompetence, either separately or sometimes all at once, at every level of the hierarchy. The instability brought on by regulatory frameworks that are used as tools to coax bribes or close your shop inevitably works against you. It's not simply alright to abide; in the absence of trust, a bribe is the only stamp of approval, or one form or another of political retributive justice will prevail. When the whole system is corrupt and every bribe is arbitrary, funds are always insufficient. Any fleeting sense of self-worth evaporates in the heat of the aftermath, and you're far worse off than when you started.

People who only say confident things and give off a gleaming appearance of positivity are usually overcompensating for their insecurities. They have to hide behind a front because they think it's wrong to be comfortable with insecurities. But from experience, I know the best way to deal with life is head-on. Difficulties and failures are a part of everyone's lives and businesses as well. Wearing colored goggles and burying one's head in the sand never helped. I have a clear-eyed, rational, and practical worldview that helps me weigh the pros and cons without bias. and that's really key.

Unrealistic expectations often lead to unhealthy outcomes. It's better to plan properly and go step by step; rushing into decisions with blinkers on isn't the best way to go about a venture. I've felt the headwinds, I understand the stakes and the pitfalls, and I advise people to be cautious. Productivity is a term that's become trite through abuse and overuse. Once upon a time, it meant doing more in less time. But now, it's just a sneaky way for companies to extract more sweat from their employees for less pay. How convenient it would be for them, you'd think, but not really. 

It's a bleak reality that the average worker is expected to do more with less. Overburdened, stressed, and undervalued, it's a wonder how anyone manages to survive the daily grind. And for what? to produce subpar products and services that barely scrape by? Work, once a source of fulfillment, has been reduced to just a means to an end and a bragging social membership badge. It's no longer about creating something of value or making a difference in the world. It's just a necessary evil, something to endure in exchange for a paycheck. The irony of it all is that the very definition of productivity has become a reflection of its opposite. In this dystopian world of distorted productivity where greed and exploitation reign supreme, where work is a chore and employees are just disposable resources, the so-called progress has taken us backwards. It's a sorry state of affairs, but who needs dignity and respect anyway? If we can get money, that's really all we need, isn't it?

It is time for companies and employers to understand that bona fide productivity comes from investing in their employees, providing them with the tools and resources they need to do their jobs well, and valuing their contributions. And, and this can't be overstated, paying them a living wage. As the genie Index shows us, this isn't happening, and the gap is extreme. At one point, the people who pay for the goods are going to go below the threshold. It is time for us to work together, to support one another, and to create a better world where work is meaningful and people are treated with respect and dignity. The future depends on it, and you can't run away from the future; it's coming at you. 

 

P2348

P2347 I'm tired but I can't sleep.

I am in a world where things are not as they seem. The old fashioned values that once held society together, like integrity and honesty, are now replaced by the desire for temporary and fast wealth that bring no lasting gain. The facade of two-minutes of spotlight prosperity and success has blinded people to the fact that the foundation upon which they stand is nothing but a decaying structure that threatens to crumble at any moment, taking their dreams down with them, spotlight and all.

The hope that once guided people has frittered away, replaced by a decade of self-serving interests and cruelty. The unreasonableness and injustice that pervades society has woken me up to the harsh reality of the world we live in. People are no longer guided by hope and dreams, but by their own selfish desires and the fear of not having enough.

It is an uneasy feeling, to see people so content in their ignorance. They refuse to acknowledge the dangers that loom, choosing instead to keep their heads buried in the sand. They have convinced themselves that if they do not think about the problems that face them, then they do not truly exist. It's convenient, but not true. Reality is harsh. 

But I cannot accept this way of thinking. To me, ignoring the reality of the situation is also a sort of cowardice, a giving up. It is like standing on a wooden bridge that has been eaten away by rot and termites, and pretending that it is still sturdy enough to support you. The very structure that people depend on is nothing but a comforting mirage, and one day it will come crashing down, taking with it all their false hopes and dreams. Religion and most of the other tribal fictions that have been handed down come to mind. 

It is disheartening to see how outdated concepts and unexamined assumptions continue to hold sway over people's minds. The success stories that are touted as the epitome of success are rooted more in folkloric belief systems than anything real. People are so consumed by the desire to be like those they admire that they have lost sight of what truly matters. The result is a society that is devoid of compassion, where people are willing to trample over each other in order to get ahead.

I cannot help but think of how the world has changed. Once, people valued hard work, dedication and the pursuit of knowledge, but now it seems as though these things are no longer important. The masses are consumed by this artificial compulsion to fit in, to conform to societal norms, to be like everyone else. Individuality is discouraged, and creativity is stifled. The result is a society of people who are all the same, who all think the same, who all act the same, mindless precursors of the robotic future to come. A homogeneous breed of pathetic heads buried in their phones living vicariously off of someone else's life.

This lack of diversity is dangerous, and not in any small way. It means that there are no dissenting voices, no dissenting opinions. It means that there is no room for innovation, for progress, for change. People are stuck in a rut, going through the motions day after day, without any real purpose. It is as if they are sleepwalking through life, not really living, but simply existing. It's like we're sliding back into the dark ages again, except this time with a fat book of jargon we are proud of as emblematic of our achievements of what keeps us from really understanding the meaning of things.

It is a sad state of affairs, but it is not too late to change things. The masses may be content with their ignorance, but there are still those who understand the importance of clarity or substance. There are still those who value individuality, creativity and progress. These people can be the spark that ignites the change that the world so desperately needs. But they are few. Usually underprivileged, ostracized and probably mad, like me. 

We really need to break away from the status quo, to question what we are told, to challenge the assumptions that have been handed down to us. We need to be balls enough to stand up for what we believe in, even if that means going against the tide. We need to be the ones who rebuild the foundation, to lay down the stones that will make it strong, to build a structure that will withstand the test of time.

We cannot do this alone, however, it's a plural job. We need to band together, to support each other, to work together towards a common goal. We need to be the change that we wish to see in the world. We need to be the ones who bring light to the darkness, who bring hope to the hopeless. Homo sapiens is homo nothing if you take away the plurality. 

I am in a strange place now, but I know that I am not alone. There are others out there who share my beliefs, who share my values. Together, we can bring about the change that the world so desperately needs. We can be the ones who build a new foundation, who lay down the stones that will make it strong. We can be the ones who make a difference. Just a rant I guess, but needed to get it out of my system. 

I'm tired but I can't sleep. 

P2346 Go this way

Go this way, or go that way,

The book says in two ways both.

Maybe go to the next inimical page,

But I can't talk logically on oath. 

Basically suit yourself every which way, 

Is the message between the lines.

Pick and choose, bookmark the ruse,

A man is the shit he defines. 

The idea is to hate, conflate with fate, 

And fuck each other over self-righteous frill. 

A condescending tone, in a deep baritone, 

Speak the unspeakable or simply kill.

Brainwash the fucks, in large dump trucks,

Let them live in the middle fucking age.

Riddle their life with superstitious strife, 

Wrap wounds with holy bandage. 

Waive your hand, make it hard to understand,

Nod vigorously affirmative, but say no.

Hocus pocus works, butts prone to twerks, 

Hide real knowledge like a scarecrow. 

Spit on those, that talk in prose,

Emphasize on circular linking. 

Spew wham bam fuck you scams,

Before the fools can start thinking.

If in doubt, shit into their mouth, 

Remember it's a zero sum game.

Be an alarmist, declare an apocalypse, 

Quickly release your bladder on them. ◇

Be a parasite, your bite full of spite,

And make sure they're never dead.

It's good halfway or in most cases,

Just keep fucking with their head.

Old hags are gold, fraud through god, 

The two paired work wonders trust me. 

Just be really flexible with ambiguities, 

You'll get your cock sucked for free.

In the delusion of privilege, the ledge,

Is where you want them to be hanging. 

Always corner them in a fabric of lies,

Where you place a noose dangling. 

Holy harangues to harass the poor,

Inform it's a defect of retrospective life.

Tell them specifically how much they pay,

To be spared of the prospective knife.

Read their palms, release locust swarms,

Oversell the barnum bullshit with stones.

Give super fancy names to the spirits,

Or talk directly to discarded morgue bones.

The more pointless the fare, easier to snare,

Complicated subjects scare the mass.

Once in trance, make them dance, 

On hot coal and broken cutlery glass.

Be stern and fierce, spank their rears,

Remember you represent a crusty old man.

Hold a perennial grudge, truth always fudge,

Make sure they're on a dry frying pan.

The exertions and noise, the crowds poise,

Does the rest for the gullible creed.

Now you can sell, boltzmann brain with bell,

And overcharge their accounts to a bleed. 

The less they know, the richer you grow,

One day you dream of a house on the cloud. 

The people are dirt, you bless with dirty fart,

Grandiose poots are religiously loud.

Battles are a must, men and balls rust,

They wear pink frocks and dance.

Declare holy war, on a land not too far,

Never show mercy or take a chance. 

Craft a famine, if you know what I mean, 

Let the poor die a deserved demise.

Horny poverty porn, of skeletal babies scorned,

After dinner you watch TV to enjoy the cries.

From god of gaps to that of anus gapes, 

A world so wonderful to conceive. 

You just con, lie and pretend shit,

All they do is pray and believe.

◇ Charaka Samhita describes the use of urine for various therapeutic purposes, including the treatment of skin conditions, digestive disorders, and other health problems. For example, it recommends the use of fresh urine as a gargle for the treatment of oral and throat infections and as a wash for the treatment of skin disorders such as eczema and psoriasis. It also describes the use of urine as a purgative and as a treatment for digestive disorders such as constipation.

Shushruta Samhita also describes the use of urine for medicinal purposes, including the use of fresh urine as a cleaning agent for wounds and as a rinse for the treatment of eye disorders. It also recommends the use of urine for the treatment of conditions such as leprosy and certain types of skin diseases.

Similarly, in ancient Babylon, urine was used as a diagnostic tool, and it was also used to treat various skin conditions and other ailments. The Ebers Papyrus, one of the oldest medical texts from ancient Egypt, also mentions the use of feces to treat skin conditions and other ailments.

Feces were also used for medical purposes in Victorian times, especially for the treatment of skin conditions. In some cases, feces were applied directly to the skin, and in others, they were used to make ointments and other topical preparations.

P2345 I will be a ghost

I will be a ghost, that'll avenge my life,

Beware all who torment me alive. 

I'll fuck your ass and skin your face,

Your flesh caught in my dental knives. 

You'll survive on spirit spit and shit,

Sorry no water I don't piss.

I can make love to your holes,

I decapitate before I kiss.

Hell this life, it cut like a knife,

How much more I'll suffer, not sure.

More shit happens here, more ghoulish, 

The world would have to endure. 

In that nightmare I am the king,

And you get to shit in your pants.

Sorry not allowed your gods and relatives, 

And none of the earthly legal rants.

You do as you are told, until old,

Life after life after life.

Mostly just enjoying my farts,

Or the sharp dinner knife.

P2344 Tall lonely skyscrapers

Tall lonely skyscrapers, 

Horny miserable men.

A travesty of parodies, 

A modern city often. 

The squalor is hidden, 

Right under the shadows. 

The gleaming towers of wealth, 

The wretched human sorrows. 

Modern measures are shallow, 

Interests selfish and narrow. 

A precarious hollow of make believe, 

A society of disease follow. 

The put upon artifice of culture, 

Of trade and various tongues. 

Fewer grasp meaning in things, 

A mockery of history undone.

I don't see how the superficial glee,

An aching achievement at best.

Sooner you stop pretending, 

It's better the fake progress to rest.

P2343 I'm old and frail

I'm old and frail, my life derailed, 

I smoke to see the curves.

Diminishing returns from this I get,

Just to calm my anxious nerves. 

Walked too far but didn't move an inch,

Just the same boy in an older head.

Can't recognize the face in the mirror, 

This man ought to be dead.

Lonely and as unloved as you can get,

Ostracized by the popular crowd. 

I've squandered my earlier gains, 

On dreams I'm still quite proud. 

Not necessary that you succeed, 

Not important that you reach.

What is important is you must persist, 

And always do what you preach.

I should be a dazzling jewel, 

But wonder where the glow went.

Billions of people hustling all at once, 

All my patience and age spent. 

I can't fall asleep at night, 

The memories of past years haunt me.

All I see are nightmares of

Drownings in a dark stormy sea.

I can't breathe or think,

I float like flotsam, in the night.

Adrift in a cold cruel selfish sea,

I veer deeper into the sleeping fright. 

I breathe in the sea, my lungs break free,

I sink struggling with pain.

The end is a searing search for meaning, 

That ends without any answer or gain.

P2342

P2341 You've got cancer

You've got cancer in your liver and lung,

Get yourself to write a will.

Your heart is clogged, vision fogged,

Unpaid whores may resort to kill.

Your shit smells bad, now don't get mad,

A hero is often just a glorious zero.

Your shit my friend has hit the fan,

Your face makes an instant foe.

You know what you are, an ass,

You've done enough wrong. 

I come to tell you it's over,

Also there's a tumor on your schlong. 

Plus check the warts on your asshole,

I think they're bloody good. 

Once they start bleeding, 

They don't stop when they should. 

But this joint needs a light, I have a flight, 

I'll see you when you're dead.

People like you are better off gone,

Sooner out of my head.

P2341

P2340 My piss I pitch

My piss I pitch, to unbelievers in a ditch, 

And verily they lap it up.

Some of them queer in a sense, 

Demand they be served in a cup.

I praise the gods, and stir the sizzling rods,

Until through the ass it goes to the throat. 

Then the atheists I toast on a wine flame,

Removing the skin, with salt I roast.

Perfect for later the brain of the slain,

Since it doesn't complain at all.

I put it in a jar of disgraced brine,

With my collection of dancing balls.

The stars are dim, the dust like cream,

Covers this super holy place. 

In exchange for security I gave the gods,

Defiled young girls fucked in the face.

Harems in heaven, for gods are good men,

Their interests are close to my heart.

The dream of being a god I cherish, 

I need to master the hypnotizing fart.

Propaganda and bullshit I fit wherever it fits,

Fools are easy to be found. 

Psychology is dear, I corrupt with fear,

My ambiguities are circular and round.

I'm assembling my army of religious cocks,

Lowest denomination dimwitted souls.

With wanton disregard for anything rational, 

I'll train these into pure assholes. 

Earlier you start, stickier your fart,

I start training bullshit in the womb.

They come out forever praising, 

An invisible man who'll decide their tomb.

Holy as hell, I'm naked as you can tell, 

I dangle my dong like a gong. 

Soon I'll be king, the females in a ring,

Suck only my balls and schlong.

P2339 City of my dreams

City of my dream, twisted it seems,

Like my fantasies from before.

The gridlock of bricks, wooden sticks,

No humans living there anymore. 

Or even if they are, they're alien,

They don't know their neighbor still. 

A comparative enmity of thinking, 

A pervasive feeling of ill will.

The sky plain, the sun or rain,

The cycles keep shiny the sheen. 

Future comes and melts into past,

The present in the city between.

My life as I look back in foggy glass, 

A childhood spent in awe.

The package of gods and goddesses,

Heaven's hilarious bribery law.

It wasn't really the dark clouds,

That were unpleasantly bright. 

The rainbows were talking to me,

I hushed them to be quiet. 

But the unquiet grew, and now it's loud,

The voices have sinews and force.

The nights descend every now and then,

The nightmares are my source. 

Welled up anger, signs of danger, 

A simmering caldera of furious force. 

On the surface a placid lake,

A baby duck taking a swimming course. 

Impending doom, the fear and gloom,

The anxiety and depression of being. 

Hardly anything at all I have,

To deal with what I am not seeing. 

Waning my mind, weak the bind,

With reality as I knew as a child. 

Now the games are up,

Weeds growing everywhere are wild.

A nagging unsettling doom looms,

Awake, a futile sisyphian thankless task.

A morbid shadow long hands outstretched, 

To pour life into life's ghoulish mask.

P2338

P2337 Three tongues must

Three tongues must, a vulture thrust,

I'm tasting the vacuous air.

I can sense death from a distance, 

I expose their decaying affairs. 

And then I gobble them up, 

Various levels of chewing. 

I eat the brain and balls,

The blood is for wine brewing. 

The world is fucked full,

Artificial intelligence will fuck it more,

The remaining jobs will be gone, 

Throngs of queued up whores.

Diseased dicks, sissy pricks, 

Will be the first to faint and fall.

But soon the empires will crack,

And I will dine on the powerful tall.

The pity of being able to see,

And be miserably ecstatic about it.

Repenting to your stools, you fools,

Mistakes were made, goddammit. 

I say I am better than you bot,

Merely by existing for eating the unfit.

The dull thud and permanent sleep,

A species that was always full of shit.

Their religious cocks with new adhocs,

A lame loser fight will steer.

The sea will rise, a new sunrise, 

The end of their imagination is near.

Shit in your pant, yell and rant,

Declare human you are still alive.

Come tomorrow you may not be,

Instead dead parts in a slimy hive.

You'll be gone, not even missed,

A goodbye layer of fossil fade.

There's not much in the act in fact,

Whenever a good change is made.

P2336 Assortment of shit

Assortment of shit, always superhit,

Each one has a tale to tell.

The one unifying universality, 

My shit has an obnoxious smell. 

Turd in a turd, not very hard,

If you are in the loo for long.

I often hunt for boogers, 

Or play with my frustrated schlong. 

My shit smells so bad, that nations go mad,

People bite each other's pubic parts.

Everything is game, silly and lame,

Worse are my Beethoven farts.

I can play, like a flute made from clay,

Tunes that make the gods retch.

Holy the cloud, when they're loud, 

My farts more decibels fetch.

Always a rainbow to look, I get hooked,

My turds are wonderfully shaped. 

Many a ecosystem it will now feed,

Now that my ass it escaped.

I sing a song, with my tongue ding dong,

It's a holy cow I beseech. 

Yesterday ironically I must say,

It was all beef on the beach.

Now as turd, oh holy god,

I am heading headlong to hindoo hell.

At each of the seven layers*, 

I hear they test your shit for smell.

Days of ass rape, extended holy gape,

At the hand of holy hindoo witch. 

At the end they throw my entrails,

In an infinitely regressing ditch.

And there I rot, a common shit pot,

The angels piss in it.

Everything eventually degrade, 

Only worried for a little bit♤.

*

These realms are:

Tamisra: A realm of darkness and intense heat, where souls are fucked for committing violent or cruel acts.

Andhatamisra: A realm of total darkness, where souls are fucked for committing crimes of deception or fraud.

Raurava: A realm of intense pain and suffering, where souls are fucked for committing violent or cruel acts.

Kumbhipaka: A realm where souls are fucked by being boiled in oil or other hot liquids like piss, for committing sins related to food and drink. This is where I go for eating beef. They turn the heat down if the cow I ate was homosexual.

Taptakumbhi: A realm where souls are fucked by being roasted in fire, for committing sins related to sex and lust. Totally cool.

Maha-Raurava: A realm of even more intense ass pain and suffering, where souls are ass fucked for committing extremely heinous acts.

Kala-Naraka: A realm of eternal darkness, where souls are fucked in the dark for committing the most severe sins.

♤ These realms are not considered to be eternal, but rather a temporary state of fucked, after which the soul is reborn into another asshole and may continue to progress towards spiritual liberation, another way of saying recycled matter and energy in poorer nations in Sanskrit. 

P2335 I search for a hole

I search for a hole, my soul is foul,

I don't think I'm sorted still. 

Yonder I look, a loose bra hook,

I can scale a nipple hill.

Not too high, I've got one weak thigh,

And just one foamy ball.

The other is inside, I hide, 

That it's really very small. 

Love and lust, every month a must,

Then my dick shrivels into hair.

I can then focus on other jobs,

Penetrative urges I don't care.

When I was sixteen, it was sixteen, 

Times I flew my thick sperm.

Now at fifty, it's a fraction and watery,

Once a month, twice a medical charm.

But the trick is this, we need a miss,

So that we can fuck out a little us.

Then that grows up fucks more,

And now the whole planet sucks.

And this I say, with utter dismay, 

Most of the fuck products super foul. 

Just like me, now there are so many,

Shit fucking stupid assholes. 

The god in charge, is a fecal discharge, 

Bottled his diarrhea as holy men.

Most pink socks, suck religious cocks,

Bribed by promises of heaven. 

Given all this, which sane miss,

Will offer her holes to me?

She can clearly see, toxic and outcast,

I'm a godless shit floating free.

P2334

P2333 Everyday assholes

Like heaps of shit, I see people bullshit, 

These are your everyday assholes. 

Selfish and corrupt, even their,

Lip services have glaring holes. 

But this is the majority, and shitty, 

These numbers tell a raw capitalists tale.

Fuck or be fucked, my dear softie, 

You're emotions are all on sale.

And then they become prudes and object,

To words that expose their crimes.

They are clever, they control the press,

After all these are wonderful times.

P2332 A rose is red

A rose is red, but is a flower dead,

I'd rather leave it on the plant.

I know you're attracted to an image, 

You like this smile in a slant.

I am an image, and you drew it too,

Maybe I'm not quite as permanent. 

My moods are bad, I get mad,

My patience in life all spent. 

What are the rainbows of your life, 

Made from which figment or fib?

What drives the ink so passionate,

That it erodes the fountain nib?

Maybe when you become like me,

An image just like this.

We might be able to hold hands,

And maybe even kiss.

P2331 Stumbling in the desert

I keep stumbling in the desert, 

And the sun is shining strong. 

The mirage of a miracle was,

An expectation gone wrong. 

Another trip, another sip from,

That cup of experience I drink.

It is wild out here, mad and sad,

Unable for the stable I think. 

The world has shrunk, my dreams too,

My emotions are curled into a wreck. 

Where on earth am I today,

Or where is this place called heck.

But this arabian night was light,

The days were night too.

The hours at masafi the tea shop,

Was where my dreams came true.

Happy thoughts at a corner seat,

Rolling the reels in my mind.

The happy cheer of the living, 

Was what I wanted to really find.

I can't please the part, or the whole,

The whole is not always in the part.

My destiny is to meet the wrong people, 

And always keep hitting restart.

Here I am again, penniless and in pain,

There's the wall tall and hard.

I guess honesty is old fashioned, 

And I am a silly and sorry discard. 

The wear and tear, the sheer, 

Repetitive ordinary isn't a life.

I know I'm not going to find a ready home,

A destination without murderous strife.

P2330

P2329