P2403 Leukemia

The gods came down, all with a frown,

Buddy you're really fucking up our plan.

You know why you have fever for 12 days,

We've gifted you leukemia,  well, because we can.

One atheist less, a win I confess, 

At least for a galactic ass like you.

We almost managed to fuck all the fools, 

Now you suddenly itch to be true. 

We called a meeting, all cloud seating, 

Our assholes visible, if you looked hard.

The culmination of the orgy of gods,

To rid ourselves of a rational turd.

Holy the flood, cancer in your blood, 

Bye bye you sacrilegious shit.

You fucked our dreams so bad,

Like boogers in our nose they fit.

You'll be dead in a few, celebration is due,

We enjoy the holy inflatable anal rods.

We sing hymns, repeat shit that's clearly dim,

Can you imagine the relief for the gods.

Goodly now the heaven, ass fuck angel seven,

We make sure we fuck them right. 

In fact you are a fallen angel,

That caused last year's sausage blight.

We demoted you down, but still a shit clown,

Look you've driven us out of our mind.

We now look like a bad case of diarrhea, 

Poisoning, sepsis, flatulence, all combined. 

In other words welcome back,

We'll promote you to head of heavens this time.

Please lay low, freely fuck, every god a ho,

We're so nervous in transit we lost our spine. 

No lecture or rant, you make us shit in our pant, 

We just want to get the fuck out of your sight. 

We know who you are, though not the fools, 

Only you can fuck the speed of light.

Message delivered we get outta here,

Don't want to get you mad against us.

Customer service we disconnected, 

Please cooperate without a fuss.

P2402 Friends

My bladder I void, in schadenfreude,

What you ask friends are for!

rubbing salt over open wounds, 

Wishing for more blood and gore

For old time's sake, the smiles are fake.

Now the fuss is more sophisticated.

Me-me, I-I, something ulterior you try,

Promise you'll stay, but quickly flee instead. 

Shit talk you choose, diarrhoea very loose,

Secrets then get scattered willy-nilly. 

Manipulative and strong, gaslighting into wrong, 

Unselfishness today is extremely silly. 

If ever they ask for a loan, be quick to groan,

Declare bankruptcy or the death of a near kin.

Spread the happy tale, sell what they confide,

Prick them with the sharpest envy pin.

Sharpen your knife, add strife to their life,

Ensuring their luck fucked everywhere. 

Once ass gaped, make sure you raped, 

Their asshole like a romantic affair. 

If you offer a job, the dignity must go.

Lead them to a metaphorical brothel.

Make promises that you don't intend to keep.

Hold payments to ensure a literal hell.

Boasting or ghosting a quantum thing, 

By default, it's always their stupid fault. 

Rhetorical and religious self-righteousness add

Salted tribal acrimony to the gestalt. 

Direct the friend to a convenient end,

Vain steps taken must lead to pain.

Ensure the plight, with no support in sight,

Rinse and repeat until none remain.

Poison their tea during "ha ha hee hee,"

Point out their flaws in detail with your claw.

Scratch deep into the dermis, repeat the piss,

Try to invest in a portable chainsaw. 

If friends die, as a vigilant spy,

Let the goons fuck their family into ho.

Take everything they had, pretending you're sad,

Give names like "fuck face loser suvro."

Sell their pretty daughters, if any.

To a retributive, sadistic torture harem,

Any son, career of a thug, must start drugs,

ensure they grow up as broken men.

Happy the henpecked, leery spouse's arms decked,

Include your dears; make them gag with glee.

Leave the scene of the torture pronto,

Repeat and iterate on the helpful spree.

Words are your friend, fluff compliments no end,

Make sure you don't really pay attention. 

Repeat hurtful questions again and again.

Sweeteners used unsparingly for distortion.

If they're about to drown, be in town.

Offer a plan to save, then plan your miss.

Repeat this to exhaust the struggle, on and on.

Say eureka when they're tits up in your piss.

 

 

P2401 Short sighted blight

Short sighted blight, recurring nights,

Holy the holiness in the fuss in us.

Let's fight, wearing underwear tight,

I spit vomit, blood and fetid pus.

Unreasonable greed, a vacuum creed,

Dildo verily the goodly sweet whore.

Sacrifice of brown rice, very very nice,

You reap the rape you score.

A belly full of worms, minds bent on harm,

Can the shit go any more wrong?

Hallelujah the only way, in order we stray,

Let's be weary but pretend we're strong. 

Struggling to cope the artifice of hope,

A turd shit out can't ever break in two.

So go for it, do be full of shit, 

It's really the only thing we want to do.

P2400

P2399

P2398

P2397 একটি উদ্যানে

একটি উদ্যানে তৃণমূলের গুচ্ছ পাছা,

স্বপ্ন ছিল পোদ মারতে না পারার ভয়.

প্রতিবছর ভোট নিয়ে, যায় পোদ মেরে দিয়ে,

 তাই মন্ত্রীর হৃদয়ে, চৌর্যবৃত্তির খারাপ তো মোটেই নয়.

আরে মিথ্যে কথা মিথ্যে নয় ওসব একটু করতে হয়

জোছনার আলো নেই , অমাবস্যা ভালো নেই,

পোদ চাটা বোকা পাঠা, পায় জমি শূন্য কাঠা.

 পিন্ডি চটকানো চিত্ত, বাইরে মিষ্টি ব্যক্তিত্ব.

বিষধর দুটি পা, আছে মুখের বদলে লোভের হা.

মন্ত্রীর পরিবার রাজা, আর সবার পোদে হাজা,

আজকাল দুঃস্বপ্নে ওঠে মুঠো মুঠো বাল.

পড়িমড়ি করে ছুটে, বহু বিচি ভাই যায় জুটে,

রাত্রি জাগার সময়, তাই বিষ্ঠা গদ্যময়.

 যুগের প্রস্রাব, ভর্তি বাগানে ভেজাল ডাব,

এসো চুমু খাই গালে গালে, ডালে ডালে, তালে তালে.

একদিন হারাবে তোমার সব গো, কানামাছি ভোঁ ভোঁ.

মন্ত্রীর দুষ্টু হাগা মুছবে নিজের দুস্থ বালে.

তাই মন্ত্রী মশাইয়ের পাকা চুল, বলছে চাই দেশের টুল. 

পোদের গোদে বিষফোঁড়া,গাড়ি দেখে ঘোড়া খোঁড়া.

মুখ বুজে আমরা সবাই, চলো আরও খাবি খাই 

চুপ করিয়ে দেবার কাঁচি, একে অপরের গাঁড় মেরে বাঁচি.

জানোয়ার ডোম উত্তম কম, নরকের জম,

হাতে বাঙালির ভিক্ষার বাটি, নেত্রী ঠাস করে মারে চাটি.

ওরে তোরা কই, কবে পরবি আমার লেখা কবিতার বই,

জিভ যাবে খসে এত চেটে, আবার বাচ্চা পেটে?

হয় কিছু কর নয় মরবি তো মর,

পারিনা আর বোকাচোদাগুলোকে নিয়ে.

আসবি না পিছু পিছু, দেব না কিন্তু কিচ্ছু,

অনেকদিন আগেই কিন্তু দিয়েছি জানিয়ে.

খালি বলবি আমার জয়, পাবি আমাকে ভীষণ ভয়,

চাকরি চাইলে টাকা দে, পোদে বাঁশ করে আনচান.

হয়ে ভালোবাসার চিরসাথী, তোদের পেটে মারব লাথি,

মঙ্গলময় ভগবান, ফালতু বঙ্গের ভালো চান.

P2396 Dildo when tall

Dolls when small, dildo when tall,

The many shapes of what to put in your ass.

Or your cunt if you want, 

There's even a flute you play with gas.

Troubling times, males asinine, 

This is a gift from the good god.

Masturbate to a climax, just relax,

A dildo is a tireless and passionate rod.

Holy the holes of cum hungry souls,

Our assortment for breakfast in bed.

A one for self defense, 

Lead dildo to crack a dick head. 

There's even one for your aunt's cunt,

Fills caves cavernous too.

It makes ecstatic exhortations of lust,

Says, "baby can I cum in you?"

For miss who loves piss,

We have a place to piss inside.

The sky is the limit, no shit,

Our policy "fill, shut and don't confide."

Discount from a god, this rotation rod,

Hallelujah it makes you spin. 

Sodomize yourself with classic curvy, 

Batteries free for a spree in sin.

Insert two, double penetration or triple,

We have a cum flavored one.

Shipping is free, even on a tree,

Fuck hairy balls for no hassle fun.

Price reasonably hard to understand, 

We are as friendly as "fuck no". 

Once we have your credit card,

We scam like an unpaid ho.

P2395 They fight as fighters

The shit worms I saw in battle, 

Mini octopi in a thimble fierce as hell.

They fight as fighters, the gas of plight,

You'd throw up, horrific the smell.

I shit so much the gods on crutch, 

They clap for shitting guys.

I feel light, some microbial blight, 

Nice, godly, and goodly inside.

I shit my brain, now holier in the drain,

Cavorting with frolic my last antic I pitch.

The spine if next, expect supine ball less text,

Become an ass lickiing god fearing bitch.

Hello says the sky, don't be so shit shy,

A star of diarrheal popularity you lead.

The hallowed ground blissfully hollowed, 

Holy outbursts of a needed deed.

Dance a bit, after all, a lot of shit,

Scarcely do missing scarecrows sing.

This session of shit, the fanfare to fit,

The zen of clarity verily bring.

My asshole now clean, shit on the scene,

I pray to the gods of the fecal space.

So much bad is said, I say instead, 

The shit stunk up the halls of space.

P2394 The shadow of the intentions

In the realm of Hindu Hell, I find myself lamenting the loss of my earthly life and the sisyphean onus on the young and unhappy scholars of WWA Cossipore English School, in Calcutta. The motivation of the English missionaries and the East India Company, who once established a standard of education, now seems futile. The system they created was designed to produce submissive clerks, not foster creative and analytical thinking. Now, obedient and clueless automation that can't dig their grave if their lives depended on it isn't what we want humans to be anymore. We are creating robots for that. We need thinking heads and doing citizens. 

The shadow of the intentions of an obsolete system can still be seen in the bureaucracy of our education system, which values conformity over creativity. The bell curve remains in the center, producing a majority of average students, while the outliers make headlines but not the bread, or, like me, are ostracised as heretic spirits and aren't even paid for their intellectual and sophisticated haunting. The complacency in this outdated educational system has resulted in a loss of curiosity among the living. This generation doesn't know and doesn't want to know. With their heads buried in the sand, they keep bumping into things, a pathology of a janky product. 

We have come a long way from serving a retributive supremacist skin with less melanin to a diverse and corrupt hegemony of rampant collusion in skin with more. If we do not act now, we risk becoming mere puppets in the hands of Industry 4.0's artificial superintelligence, or their puppeteers. Our roads will not be driven by humans, our schools will not have human teachers, and even our policymakers will be more artificial than organic. The devil is in the code that's not being written. 

And as I play with my pet from hell, an earworm, singing that irritating song, I realise that insisting on the inclusion of the song "We Shall Overcome," originally a gospel and protest song for African American civil rights, in Indian schools fills me with frustration. Its lack of historical significance in India is an exemplar of an anachronism, and its pernicious influence on this and future generations should not be ignored. It is my belief that the song, along with prayers to the invisible, should be banned for the benefit of future generations. Let us not be caught unawares, for tomorrow's roads will not have human drivers, and tomorrow's schools will not have human teachers. I think we should get out of the business of overcoming problems we don't have with steps that are not remedial by opening our eyes.

P2393: Three-headed boltzmann brain creature

It was a sweltering summer afternoon decaying in Kolkata, and I was making my way through the cluttered alleyways of a northern slum near the international airport, searching for a place to rest. But what I stumbled upon instead would stay with me forever. It was a creature, unlike anything I had ever seen before, sitting inside a municipality dumpster with three heads, each one with its own voice and vice, self-absorbed in a soliloquy. 

As I approached, I could hear the raucous laughter of the first head, a weird man with greasy hair and a thick stubble, who was regaling the others with tales of his misadventures, animated and acrimonious. The second head, a scrawny chap with a raspy voice, was cackling with delight at each story, and the third head, a macabre protrusion from the back, with a stern look, was trying to calm the others with little success.

I felt a sense of unease as I realized what I was witnessing, the reality of the madness, eitherI was mad or everything else was. These were the quintessential characters of this corrupt and lazy society, drunk on their vices and belligerent in their pontifications. And as I peered inside the dumpster, I saw that they were surrounded by empty bottles of cheap liquor and stubbed out beedis.

The first head noticed me and offered me a drink, but I declined. Undeterred, he poured me a shot anyway and pushed it towards me. The second head then offered me a beedi, but I declined again. The third head, sensing my discomfort, spoke up in a voice that was almost reassuring. "Leave him be," it said, "he's not like us."

Despite the creature's clearly inebriated state, I found myself drawn to the haunting charisma. Its drunken rants and philosophies were equal parts amusing and terrifying, and I wanted to either know more, or wake up. So, I listened as the first head rambled on about his experiences, the second head boasted of its exploits, and the third head spoke of the meaning of life, and at the same time. The simultaneity was disconcerting.

Then, the chimera offered me a strange and pungent herb, claiming it would enhance my experience. I hesitated, but the first and second heads were insistent, shoving the herb into my hand. I took a small puff, and suddenly the world around me shifted. The three heads became one, their voices merging into a multidimensional solution to a chorus equation that was equal parts menacing and mesmerizing.

As the creature smoked the herb, its eyes closing in ecstasy, it spoke of things beyond my realm of reasonable experience. It spoke of a great cosmic phantasmagoria that we were all a part of, and I felt a chill run down my spine as I realized that I was in the presence of something that defies rationalization. Then there was a flash. 

I stumbled away from the emerging shifting blur of an explosion, toddling back towards the dumpster lid, my mind reeling from what I had just witnessed. This alien, with its three heads and multiple personalities, was a reflection of the dark and degenerate underbelly of this society, and I knew that it was the god brahma talking to me, the creator of this instance of quantum fluctuations that manufactured the low entropy of what spurred the big bang.

Years have passed since that fateful night, but the memory of that strange and frightening apparition still haunts me. I cannot help but wonder what other horrors exist in my mind, or invisible in the structure of the visible, waiting to be discovered. And though I may never find out the reason why a three-headed boltzmann brain made me realize I had the madness that's needed to save reality from decaying into a meaningless high entropy drift and the thought of it is enough to send shivers down my spine to realize how little of me, of the darkness around me, that lurks in the shadows of our everyday ordinary. 

P2392

P2391 Deference is dead

Deference is dead, in my head,

I really don't give the xy a fuck.

The xy can go fuck itself, 

I'm sure it's running low on luck.

My hair unkempt, contemptible attempt, 

At just a bad hair day. 

The xy is going obsolete, on our feet,

I expect a million to die today. 

Horseradish from horse, a corpse,

Is what the xy is.

Their dick shriveled in might at night, 

A disgusting orifice for piss.

What's with the muscle fiction, 

I can kick the xy in the balls.

That's all it takes, very low stakes, 

Before the xy breaks and falls. 

Bull-fucking-shit the xy not hit,

In fact research shows their weak wit.

Plus their shit smells bad, the experience I've had,

And the fuck always fucked my tit.

P2390

P2389

P2388 Smug pricks

Smug pricks and shit coated mercenary dicks,

Think they're something special. 

What they really are, are fucking assholes, 

Patronizing self-righteous offal. 

They hump with a thump, take a smelly dump,

Sweet they think the corn caked in their shit.

The holy hollow in god's head,

Currently working on upgrading this vomit.

So you see my ruse, sorry if you're no use,

I need time to heal my sore.

Friends in disguise, disgusting and wise

Dicks who don't know they're sick to the core.

Calm now or not, the fuming shit in the pot,

Some smells really do stick.

Like mildew plus piss, a motley of jizz, 

I abhor self-congratulatory, shit-eating pricks.

I don't really care about conforming social herds, 

I want to stay away from the bullshit and lame.

Don't want to spoil the memories, roil my fuse,

Sabotage what little is good in them.

It isn't really only that I am who I am,

I am sort of a hurricane mix. 

The storms in my mind aren't reproducible, 

And don't want anyone's janky fix.

Fuck off goody-goody do-gooder,

No help of any sort from anyone I need.

Wipe your own offensive puffed-up asshole, 

And go fuck your own self complacent creed.

P2387

P2386 A ghost of the past

A ghost of the past, ship without mast,

Adrift in a thimble of wrong. 

All the squiggles of what I could be,

Faint fonts of an erstwhile song.

I planned out of life, mediocrity and strife,

I'd rather I be left alone.

The ambition to not have any ambition,

From the future if past takes a loan.

Living nor dead, a rotten head,

Filled with unopened unknowns to be. 

This isn't the way to see in light,

Sometimes you need dark to see.

The old trodden trail, wherever I failed, 

I can't even begin to rebuild.

Shallow where I stand, no one understands, 

What's not there can't yield. 

The forgotten voices now,

Fight over zero sum games played.

The players are mere shadows on the wall,

Of what those past whispers had said.

It's now too far, and off the track,

To remedy an overturned wheel. 

The bearings are loose, the sense not to choose,

Too numb from past to even feel.

People left me when I needed them most,

And now I really don't want to know.

The  very me inside, has bled, now dead,

The shell is a macabre show.

P2385 Now a memory lane

Promises you can't keep, lost sleep, 

The written word is not the word. 

What's uttered or written, half smitten, 

Makes things really hard.

The past on chat, a new whatsapp hat,

Faces known now hard to tell. 

Familiarity of unity, erstwhile old city,

They do all jangle the bell.

That formative part, kindred hearts,

Jadavpur university, now a memory lane.

As from the spool of time the past unspun,

Flood of flashes fail my brain.

Insanity isn't an angst to me,

I'd rather stay in this cast.

Brave the sorrows of swing, a changing, 

Diorama of an assumed past.

The future erodes, the uncertain roads, 

Bringing a direction, reducing the strain. 

But with the sign for left, the right is wrong, 

Stuck with the certainty you gain.

The words spoken, now broken, 

Haunt my mind like a shimmering spook. 

The collective forgets, the regrets,

Resurface everywhere I look.

The memories, a glimpse of histories, 

Of a time that has lived in style. 

A moment in time, the hustle in line,

A nostalgic feeling that'll last a while. 

Though the past is gone, echoes live on, 

In the stories in this group if we share. 

Although we've moved on, that silly abandon,

 Is a testament to the love and care.

P2384

P2383

P2382 I'm a fish with balls

I'm a fish with balls, times are tall,

So I've managed open source wings.

And from an angle I look like a dick,

Which for me the business clings.

You see the shapes of shit, it,

Is really not honorable good. 

I come out and say I'm a dick,

With that I fund essentials and food.

Plus the fact that I can fly,

An asset to a scheming human.

Most projects are really a scam,

With wings you have an exit plan.

I'm a fish from deep, I don't sleep,

Both qualify me for fiendish plots.

This is the skillset in demand today,

You hide the murder till it rots.

A nefarious no one with pernicious plans,

It's sometimes necessary to hide.

If the sea you see can hide giants,

A flying dick fish can fuck in the tide.

My hobbies are "none", "nada", and "zip",

Esteemed collection of what I do.

When a desire is stuck to fuck time,

I practice shitting my vomit with voodoo.

My faith in all things nonsense is sensible, 

I believe in shit that's shit.

If I have work to understand or study,

Don't believe a fuck of it.

Fish gods on sushi rods,

Guide me day to day.

Must have a faith, to fuck the faithful, 

You can't imagine what these idiots say.

Our origin story, is that of a fish,

Who shit cats.

The cats shit some other shit, from which,

Humans wear their hat.

It's really easy, you just make shit up,

And the fools can't even tell.

I invented the art of shitting while talking, 

When pissing I piss on an oyster shell.

P2381 I ask myself

 

 

I ask myself, with an anxious ache, how I 

Shall fare in sped headwinds, 

Uncertainty hidden in certainty reveals itself, 

in hours of doubts and terrors twinned.

With honesty, I've met each truth, 

What I know, I've tried to share.

But not in all, a true friend,

is found who doesn't pretend to care.

Around me lie the unprincipled masks, 

I'm seen as a means to their selfish end.

Balance is rarely seen: first use, then ghosting;

Self-righteous logic is easy to bend.

Avatars I counted as unfair fare

Freeloaders, fraudsters, and fabricators are three.

I find myself alone, pensive in grief, 

reflecting on what I couldn't see.

Wondering and wandering I've not

found kindness that still exists, 

If love is real or just a fleeting belief, 

where only greed and hatred persist.

Yet still I hope, and I hold onto hope.

One day, a light in the darkness will shine.

With rational thoughts and acts of grace, 

And all the good in men will align.

My two cent: Never get complacent,

to be that spark, a hope for light.

To dispel the darkness and the damp,

Usher a world kind, baroque and bright.

And I'll not be weary on my way, 

Purpose, love and truth to fill.

And through change, winds may sway, 

Get the fields ready for a till.

My ground, not unyielding or aloof,

And with consensus and goodwill. 

What is right, and the good will persist, 

A new hope I hope will fill.

 

 

 

P2380

P2379

P2378 Zen koan

Shit hopping zen koan, why does no one,

This mindless flip-flopping shopping stop?

I a beggar begging, a scrotum and nothing, 

It forces out from me piss, raves and hop.

Hell I care about this bullshit snare,

I'd stay the way I always am.

No to euphemism or any ass-ism shit fare.

I do not like uncle fucking sam.

The world weak, fools with tools to tweak, 

Murderers and rapists with pimps and whores. 

They make technology a lame excuse,

Run things worse than before.

Conformity is unsettling and shitty, 

Homogeneity led to famines in Ireland. 

The scourge of the time, cloned and supine, 

Nitwit shits proud with heads in the sand.

Foaming from yap, a restorative nap,

Maybe what I need.

I no longer care, nor can anyone scare,

No one the dim country's need feed

My piss is yellow because as a fellow,

I am not an imitation shit spit.

Everytime I hear, people talking their rear,

It brings my blood to a raging fit.

From buried in sand to phone in hand,

People more and more after shallower gains.

A dead head, an automaton led,

Sleep-walking palimpsest of shit stains

P2377 Artsy markov chain

An artsy markov chain fartsy smart, 

Start the future it did, with a heavy heart. 

Eight fucks thought angina was shit hot,

Start with a fart, horny a hurt heart.

Friends and friendship, shit you must skip,

It's a scam, forget what you cram.

People are bullshit fuck sick poop,

Wham bam slams that always scram.

Religious cock coated with hemlock,

Want people to suck or throat.

Then the holy, fucking godly folly, 

Makes it easy to sink all boats.

But what got fucked in a jiffy, is iffy,

Kolkata sips discarded darjeeling tea.

Phase after the chase, a case without base,

Me in pee never a pretty sight to see.

But winter arrived with a chill in the air, 

Frozen fucking rear, a fear quite near.

Mosquitoes sing, laity sucking, 

Near seer fucked with shit in his rear. 

So the truck of fucks ran out of luck, 

Keen on being seen, mouse in their might.

Never markov's chain asshole pain,

Butt fucked plight, a sight of blight. 

How fucked this shit, still I lit,

The sick pubic ticks in wick fire.

Markov's blight, future not bright,

Do get ass fucked dear sire.

P2376 I shit in peace

I shit in peace, don't disturb me please, 

And yes, the gods shit like this.

What's to see, ass don't dare be,

With my puckered asshole I kiss.

I answer nature's calls, well within my walls,

Mind your business why don't you!

After the last turd, hides inside a bird,

By mistake I ate her silly ass too.

A bullshit bird on my ass, gagging in the gas,

Is waiting for her to come through. 

It may be too late, I ate her fate,

I'll eat this belligerent bird brain too.

I'm famished already, my shit is heavy,

And that's a load to carry around. 

Always full of shit and quite proud of it,

Me myself and I, in round ass found.

Hello to the gods, yellow shit sucking sods,

Really holy very my intent always is.

I drank cola today, the whole goddamm day

Now flooding the temple floor with piss.

All shit stains or smears, cleaned by troll tears,

I fuck these fanatics in the face.

Truck full of facebook fuck, I make them suck,

Hell-no-hallelujah ho, a base decadent case.

The roaches on my ass cheeks, married freaks,

Many baby fucks they fucked sick.

Heaven loves no bores, the famous seven whores,

Fuck, bitch, cunt, asshole, cock, tit, dick.

After shit I plan, extended eating and,

Spitting on a chosen sick atheist shit.

These are villains vain, sacrilegious poop pain.

Very viscous vomit on face is fit. 

The hairy fairy maid, swats the shit flies dead,

And licks clean my asshole when I pray.

Happy this holy hole, soul enriched farts foul,

She may make more gay cakes today.

P2375 Summers of sorrow

Summers of sorrow, you know,

Good seasons never last.

Where will the birds go,

When nature's plenty is past.

And then you or I,

All our best memory go.

One by one, in the spin that is spun,

A to and fro, moving too slow.

The dew in rainbows are never there, 

When I stare hard to look.

The things that make up this life,

Are spooks similarly mistook. 

Chance a good change to will, but still,

The harried hopeless misconstrue.

Hope I hear you in your trembling whisper, 

But like always I can't see you.

It is a necessary magic in reality, that we are but one entity, our fate intertwined with nature's, although we aren't sure. As it spirals downwards, everything shall follow in its wake. Yet, in the shadows of a changing planet, some like me have the audacity to hold fast to a glimmer of faint hope, a dream of change.

P2374

P2373 I'm too old

I'm too old I've been told, 

That old needs to be dead to fit.

"Please die of flu, very very thank you,

Dying, again, please consider it.

You're too old to fuck or get fucked, 

Why don't you just fuck off.

Disgusting unworthy piece of aging shit,

Spreading hooping cough. 

Your cavernous hollow, please follow, 

Your bones only fit buried in the soil.

Or I'm sure your pyre will be set on fire,

India sells subsidized kerosene oil.

The world needs cheerful fresh faces,

Not a wretched and crusty king lear. 

Change can happen when often, 

The likes of you are no longer here.

So go on now, die somehow, 

Your wrinkles premonition of doom.

When you go, the seeds you sow,

Future will need the freed up room."

P2372 谢谢 (xiè xiè) - Thanks

A swooning fool, how totally cool,

Biden a balloon gone soon.

He doesn't realize I am the king,

Or that he's a disney cartoon. 

What an old fart, bless his heart, 

I'm glad mad vlad keeps him in shape.

If an inflated spent rubber can ruckus raise,

Democracy should get ready for rape.

Inside propaganda crap, outside debt trap,

I'm sure I've been loud and clear. 

It's stupid to have so many nations,

I sir will usher common universal fear. 

Most remain supine, they have no spine, 

The rest are self destructive at best.

It isn't really all that hard with credit card,

A jest to test the yankee pest.

The balloon did just, the old order must rust,

Ass without toilet paper, yes sir.

I'll stop them from wiping their assholes, 

I am an explosion connoisseur. 

Then in form of a pill, fantastic fentanyl,

I send that as a suppository free.

In a day or two, defecation sans clue,

It will be a shit genocide spree.

From super power to shit in its last hour,

A frantic blissful session of orgy shit.

The package on the suppository will,

Show a dragon in a hilarious fit.

I gift my friend, the russian fiend, 

The state of alaska and take his chutzpah. 

The Indians I bribe, just a backwards tribe,

Prone to twerks, infighting and holy hee-haw.

The blabbering balloon tells me soon,

Where strategically I strike.

Within days, with thanks I say,

I have my Chinese Reich.