Fukc U #4

You ball, and call, yu bawls, yeah,
Nothin but an action man doll
Noway shes ever gonna cry
Just for my Baby, and I
Kill dem all,

Hakuku # 6


But , Mercy, Mercy, time must heal all da Sins washed away like fish into the filthy fucking sewers
Mumbai and Kinchasa, the beggars on the beach watching them sizzle, the righteous anger off all heaven watches in Grandstands awaiting da
The hopeless believers, the underground miners. The Chicken herders of Kentucky, the Elephant Ranchers in Timbuktu, The Copper sellers of

haiku - number 7


Pad
Chugging away like a fanny
Diaccordina, Dementious, Fallangarryarsed like a gerry mangled jabooty
Disacordian HA
THe gyspy Zelda was playing the diaccordina

Feryiuo

It is no circumstance beyond mine mortal control, sum magnificent dream, sum distant spire, sum far mountain range where the brave batter another foothold on a sheer face of an incomprehensible crystalline Diamond which reflects the snow and super massive hailstones that are like rocks smashing on a face which is numbed and the struggle is diminished, a last strength is failing, and leans from the side holding on with one are, swaying, at this moment – fervidity..

Collapsing unto wards sum other thing, beneath and below, cavities dark and cancerous looming from the horizon, desiccating, disseminating the malign influence of the free jugular coniferous, constant, time is nothing but bad memories of what you wanted your dreams to be, an living in the past is like looking through a looking glass, especially if your smashed. Dashed I was, and crass besides, minds you, I felt sum thing extraordinary once, it was the purest disbelief, a fantastic contrarious insignificant perusal of the didactic relativity of sum indicative opinion is.

It is a beautiful thing to sing in the moonlight when your are fucked, to dance, or I prefer to sit because I am very fucking lazy and that’s a god thing, and I hope you all get shin splints, not even that but worse, sum sing in the moonlight, the light is too bright, too stupendously dazzling and confusing, yet sum how sum thing felt just right, like flight the penguin was incapable, dastardly and scheming about anything that even looked like it

Hearts and Spades, jacks and Aces, a fool’s luck is sacrifice for honour, is a replacement for dignity, for a morale compass, a decision is a void thing, and what the fuck do I know, just sum beautiful thing, sum beautiful thing to fill my time and day rather than this, what pain is the toil, and what is rain next to a river, water.

 Agony would be welcomed in all lives,

It makes everything seem better much afterwards,

Like sharp and silver piercing knives,

Here come the brutal self-redeeming indigo bastards.

All are cast once as willing thieves,

Then years later and honest and stand bearing the noble standards,

No judgement on any true beliefs, once won,

All things are bright and beautiful under the Grandstands and garlands

No Hell for any thought of sin for all are tempted,

Such is the beautiful thing which is lust,

No greater earthly delight than ever in your darkest you truly dreamt,

All will be yours for you are nought but dust,

They shall worship your elegant ornate bust,

When years from now Grande’ Victoria is Augustus

---

No fate lies beyond the cruel grasp of mortal frailty—a vision vast and terrible, a spire shrouded in eternal shadow, a distant mountain range where desperate souls claw with bloodied nails upon the jagged face of an unknowable crystalline monolith. That frozen altar, a remorseless sentinel, reflects a tempest of bitter snow and monstrous hailstones, each like shattered bones cast from the heavens, hammering flesh and spirit until numbness devours the soul whole. The last fragile thread of strength trembles; a solitary arm clings to the abyssal ledge, swaying like a candle guttering against the suffocating winds of fervid torment.

To fall—down, down through realms forgotten—into a cavernous void blackened and festering like a wound beneath the earth’s ancient breast, a malignant rot that seeps forth like poison from the horizon’s bleeding edge. This desolation spreads, a creeping plague that strangles life and hope, bleeding the free conifers dry as if from a cursed jugular vein. Time becomes a cruel mockery, a gallery of shattered dreams glimpsed through fractured glass—especially when the mind lies broken, betrayed by its own fragile reveries.

I was dashed, fractured, and crass—yet within that ruin stirred a flicker, an extraordinary spark of wild disbelief, a spectral whisper challenging the cruel edicts of reason and the iron law of certainty.

There is a terrible and terrible beauty in singing beneath the moon’s cold, pitiless gaze when one is undone, ravaged by the relentless night. To dance? No. I choose to sit, heavy with sloth—a blessed lethargy amid the ruin. May you all suffer the slow, gnawing torment of shin splints, or worse still. To sing beneath such blinding moonlight—so cruelly brilliant, maddeningly dazzling—yet still, some fragment feels just right, like flight itself, that cursed grace denied even to the flightless penguin, a scheming shadow stalking the edge of reason.

Hearts and spades, jacks and aces—fortune’s cruel jest is sacrifice for honor, a hollow relic where dignity once stood, a fractured compass lost in tangled darkness. Decisions dissolve into the void; what do I know? Only this: some dark, beautiful thing to fill the aching void of these hours, a fleeting balm against the ceaseless toil of existence. Pain is a welcome guest in every life—for through its jagged blades one glimpses a strange salvation, like silver knives piercing the black flesh of night.

Here come the brutal, self-redeeming indigo bastards—
Once thieves in the dark,
Now standing, worn and bloodied, bearing tattered standards that bleed forgotten glory.
No judgment falls upon beliefs forged in fire and shadow—
All things burn bright beneath grandstands draped in withered garlands and whispered curses.

No Hell awaits the tempted soul; all are condemned to desire and ruin.
Such is the cruel and exquisite grace of lust—
No earthly delight surpasses the fevered dream spun in the darkest hours.
All shall be yours, for you are but dust and shadow,
They shall worship the ornate ruin of your visage, a relic of forgotten grandeur.

And through the desolate halls of memory,
Spectral figures linger—whispering echoes of those long dead,
Phantom hands reaching from the darkness, brushing cold against your fevered skin,
Their mournful wails woven into the cold night wind, a dirge of forgotten promises.

And when the years have crumbled into ash and silence,
Grande Victoria shall be reborn, whispered once again as Augustus,
A ghostly monarch reigning over ruins that time forgot.

An effulgence, a steaming rank, monotony of stinking shite, like a dirty sewer full of rats, the place where the shameless sinners run to hide when the light of the day is in the sky, and a stumble of caravans and Picnics, that untidy themselves lounging upon the fading afternoon, hirsute, undoubtedly oblivious, oblique, sanitizers and fabulous magic lotions rolling over and licking its balls, and chasing them and shouting, mounting , surrounds= sounds park benches, which are trapeziuses, and luxurious three piece sweets.

The beautiful fucking sounds of a game of rounder’s, or touch rugby, and all because the sun the dim in the heat of the haze, the incessant blaze, an unblinking eye gazing, glinting on metallic shapes in the sky, of a silvery slow fat fly, or even worse an Angry Wasp, rasping like a Messchermit, Blaw, Blawin, the paper fae ma honds, I,I,I,  a ways an a that, I, I, Irie, Irie, INI Apparition.

The fields are like a patchwork, but in sum places the wild remains, some reminder, sum preservation of a secret symbol of a belief, not faith or knowledge, a means to affect time, an urge to climb, on the winds and currents, the freedom of flight is one thing not given to the kindness of conquest and strong foundation on which are such gargantuan things constructed, my face is  a gargoyle, for you cannot catch me, to stun a mouse.

Wintering Crows congregate in their hundreds and thousands on the roofs of the slums, Blaw, Blaw, it reeks a Shyte, Blaw, Blaw, Blaw and a ways a that r the souls a folk. Fucked in fucked that, like a load of crap and stupendously unbalanced, as I crash into the rocks, I honestly feel quite sanguine, Irie, Irie, Irie,

Like Ants on the rubbish tips, like Flies clearing through the rubbish wearing their cheap cotton face masks, the purity of soul is Ini the pursuit of money, not some Angelic child learning about Jesus and empathicitation, only the blessed few can learn the luxury of the wisdom of mercy, or is the sanctity of life a myth, what purpose but toil, unwitting boil on the roasting hard arsehole of the world and your comeuppance superficial morality regarding the problem of it. I would have one humanist above ten thousand bureaucrats and One Hundred thousands of those who think their superstitious morals are somehow superior

And what a peaceful face that would be if that would be showered with the riches of the world to be saved while his mother his father, his cousins toil, servitude to the tyrants, who only know one way, one power since the First great city of Babylon was built and the Cruel King, and then the evil spirit worshiping Pharaohs, but never mind them, we know that they roast In hell with all the holy fathers and Archbishops, the Generals are being cooked for Dinner tonight, and the Politicians will be served as Dessert.

Perhaps it is true, only in death will you find Peace and Paradise, for life on this earth seems like a living hell imposed upon you, for what is honour, and truth, and equality, sum must serve, this most heinous law, blaw, blaw,

MABOZZARTICHIE

ACT 2 – AUGUSTUS VICTORIA

There is nothing better than fucking a goat every morning, or if you cannot find a goat a sheep would do, a fine and willing woolly smelly piece of mutton when I would dine on Lamb, and veal for breakfast, with mounds of froe-grass like mud pies, and custard pies, as if you being a clown makes me look less dignified, I will despatch this costume to the trash, it has been sullied, I can buy many more and much more besides, and probably you, your family, and towns and cities beyond, so you wonder why I care, well I do not, really.

I love Fucking , and I only jest above, for which beast would indulge in such when all the Nymphs of Babylon are besides my side, and sickening acts are ordered for the delight of the mob, they send me money begging for act upon act of despicable debased ugliness and a disturbed fantasy which persists, fell acts upon this deadly dull night, many penetration of coerced innocents, what mortal sin, that once we were all kin, an evolution in the control of basest urges, courage is a fallacy, a star arsed controversy, inconsolable in its avid deconstructionalistic pictorial dementia.

Where’s abound for I am Augustus, and is any delight a distraction for the sky I carry upon my shoulders, and if I shrug this will all come tumbling down, you see I said cum, you might snigger, to go, to come, to be, to see sum beautiful shyte, and know there is anything but the not the truth, and that’s what it is like, and it is quite hard to describe.

And it is better off in my hands, or your hands, or mouth, or your sweet Stanistan, which will soon by my new Staniland with untold riches, oh, it is sweet to wake up in the morning and to finish with the goat by slitting its throat and throwing it out the window, the sun rises, glorious, another grand day In this the zenith of your power, the peak, our final crescendo.

How wise is Augustus, Victorious and sent as Grand Kaiser to serve the people by becoming the will of the people, like Stalin the Great, Big Brother loves you, it does not deny you anything, it encourages your every perversion so it can record it and analyse and you it find it what you want to buy, because that is your weakness when you are not playing at your hobby of having a cause, or believing in something, or saying something  but not really caring, the rest of the time you are buying things, and you have to choose, oh, I would love to see them starving on the street, I would throw them money to eat, come to my table, and help me eat my paper, you say I do not share my wealth, and if you have never eaten hairy elephant’s scrotum you have never eaten a delicacy, he would eat anything once, and more than once and anything else, but an Elephant looked dangerous, and it might object,

There is nothing wrong or right with that, merely a precept of acceptance, the bloody goat is not a machine, and its brain is not made of computer chips, rather weak flesh that feels its pleasures, if it objected why it would scream in such delight.

No,  this is imply only to shock, no need for rituals, or gathering and dressing up in smelly cloaks, and dancing over Pentagrams, not us ,we are too busy counting our money in our freezing cold country houses. If conspiring is sleeping in between money counting sessions then we are plotting some thing, because it is tiring to keep on counting all that money day after day, and there is billions of it.

I am good man and I have only my wife, but I urge you to not trust power, or trust liars like me, what of delight, is life upon stale bread and sanctity or do you feel the heat of the debased the new,  you have no thoughts of this time, like all the other times, and four hundred generations, four hundred life-times and I have yet to meet someone even a molecule of any particular worth, such joys, but I tire of the same faces every day, and always need something new, you should trust me, I am the will of the people

In any such way, things are here to stay, Hey, Hey, Hey,

No matter what anybody else says, not even mother,

Or the Great Father because he is a portrait on a wall, a memory of greatness,

Of the ruthless means to defy at all costs so this could become possible,

Is morality measured in good deeds and the valiant virtue which is a reflection on the shined surface of some namesake valued much more than some men’s lives, like Animals, or lower beasts, like rats in a maze, scurrying around in a blazing daze, days pass, blasted out of this sneeze, like some disease, or is actions as need must, that is the greater cause, and if all the cares of the world were on my back, would you mock in all seriousness the advocacy of lunacy when presented by the inherent difficulties and complications which necessitate these delicate affairs.

Enter – Voluptasuevius

All day you sit and grumble to yourself, gnawing at bones, what delight, when you rule with all the riches of the world, of Babylon, its hordes are your slaves, its soldiers your most loyal servants, and you sit and grumble to yourself, see my beautiful body, I was chosen for my exceptionalism, if not me another, do you tire of women? Do you desire a boy? A Priest? Do you wish to confess? Do your past actions trouble you? Do you think you should have done things differently?

What has happened is unchangeable, the future lies before us, it is inevitable, Victoria, It arrives at this very moment Augustus, it will last forever,

You of sense and reason and love do not know Jealousy and hate, and rage, a deep and twisting anger that eats my body and I would laugh to see them eat Dog food, cast upon the earth to walk on all fours, they would devour their own kind at the last, without thought, even before it was too late, for it is a cold logic and devoid of heart from the rich to the poor, a strange selfishness that inhabits all them deep down in their reptilian core, like sum mendacious microchip that makes them act in ways that disgust, I am their will and their will is Insanity, the age of Cant has gone, Cast aside your superstitions, and the logic of the brain is the logic of the ego, or the logic of the heart, no need for my sly words or the dart to turn them to thoughts of wickedness, deceit, they expect us to be maligned and wronged Angels when they would sell their Wives for Bread.

There is hope where there is a heart, and where people do not walk alone, no place like home, the simple life is a right, the age of abundance, not the age of want, the age of the future, not the age of beginning of the great struggle, and how many more broken in this infernal race against other common folk in lands far abroad across all the world

A ways an A that, you are looking fucking gorgeous today,

It is indeed an excellent day, and sum Special Sensibilities are in order

What’s that?

That’s this

Nice,

Only nice,

Call me Ronaldo,

Why?

I am the Grand Kaiser,

You said you were Ronaldo a minute ago,

You always try and demean me,

I wasn’t doing anything,

I could tell by the way you were looking at me,

I wasn’t doing anything

Really,

Exit

ACT 1 - AUGUSTUS VICTORIA

Stemming soothe, bequeath cindering, thane fortuity, Bless that y curmudgeon, dallies forth, ahoy!

Ancients of MU

Apparatus, is that language? Is that a word? Is that a gesture? a tone, beyond your weary talk of tomes and bones, Enough of this and that, father, and the soil is the mother, and in flagrante coitus unto the womb is born thee Grand Kaiser, what say thy, Supplementary flying appal A ways, pay heed to the mob, it is the mob which fills your coffers, prepares your coffin, furnishes your tomb, the nation is the Grand Kaiser you must be magneto

‘One bastard to rule over the rest of the Bastards, let’s try and convince the dimwit that he is Solomon, brother Invicta’s Bow your head slightly, they will not expect it, make sure that first punch is aimed for your face, then make sure it hits your skull’

‘If you are ever in a fight with someone larger and quicker than you, head but his fist with the top of your skull, you will break his hand’

The Ancient King of Babylon returns from 500 hundred years of exile in the Jungle, proclaims, Babylon shall crumble

Nothing and remembered everything about something

Glass, were a gas, a façade, a placid reflection of lightning fast synergies, the unconscious acceptance, a flare, and all the people

These walls which were like Picket fences and barbed wire, he clawed his watt from that primeval jungle, to realise that these pyramids of

 His true age becoming apparent, but did he need to act, only at the precedent of society as he now saw it, as a thing uniform, nudging

He realised that the years had passed and his mind set had become obsessed with the ephemeral, the thing which captivates his reptile

He was too young to have an epiphany, this was no sudden sense of redemption, and it was something that had been troubling as he had blown

It happened the day he stopped smoking Green, at first he did not like it, feeling impatient and irritable, but then he realised it

In the nation, with their PlayStations, seeking Beatification, next to the train station, had forgotten,

Emancipation in the nation voting on yon

And looking grandly out upon the Ocean, and watch the rain and the mist, which is like an ethereal time beneath the encompassing escarpment unfolding beneath; and upon otherworldly spirits, somewhere,

It is desiccation, and it is a denial of your true worship of the law of carnality; a beautiful thing is lust, what bitter bread and freezing water is when all we are is but frost, and an Auspicious, August thing is all that is Just

DE pressure from regimentation

DE pressure from Dehumanisation

DE pressure from Globalisation

DE pressure from Americanisation

The feckless, the self-righteous, and the dalliances of the rich, we shall not carry these things on our shoulders.

Rather an example to follow, a path of education, of self-improvement, not to carry the feckless and self-righteous on our shoulders. Socialism is different from charity,

For thrift and trouble make them strong, and tough; true to that aspiration, truth can be a trick, and who would trust a tinker, and a little scheming thinker, yawning his mean little mouth like the gestations of a slimy slobbering pug, what thought do you have?

To look at that watch, and wonder, and feel the workings of this intricate machinery, unwinds unto a helicopter journey over Siberia five hundred years after they had arrived, shooting hairy elephants with a shotgun, a billion animals, horses, Lions, and Tigers; yes, and sum other beautiful shyte.

Camping for the night, sleeping on tree-tops that stretch as thick as thieves for as far as the eye can see, listen to the wolves howl, and the birds sing to the glorious bloody new dawn, and forgot what fertiliser you had ground into the dirt to make this paradise bloom; and mighty dragons sweep overhead for you knew that there were never Million year old Dinosaurs, rather the ravages’ that were your deadly steed, then Flying Back to Atlantis to worship the Morning Star,

To tilt the Earth upon its Southern Pole so that there would always be light, what mastery of the ancient light could point that Fate, too late, but this is legendary digression, for what transgression vexes the disconsolate upon this real Earth?

The Dirty Mob after your gold which like mythical Dragons you horde and hide, for this is in your interest, or is it your reptilian heart? That you cannot feed, and the sky will never cave in, and that you are fools, herded us like pack Animals into the Cities and now ask us to magic money from broken concrete sidewalks in the greater name of inane disinfection, and like lice, or lousy, and up to no good for anybody’s business but your simple own, sir.

Someone will reach for the Crown, it is as inevitable as the sea against the crumbling cliffs of however many seers of the past of careers spent, wise Victoria, The day of our Magnificent Victory, shall it be when a new King stands born from the exceptional spine which is Augustus, the glorious reign which shall be our last peak, and its great pity, that it knows nothing except Slavery, in words and lies this contract must be made, and one day the Age of Reason will explode like flesh upon that Magnificent Dawn

Decimation is the solution, I, I submit the new orders to the Generals, Decimation in the ranks, for dissention for more Gold is not allowed,

Oh to Swim in my Horde, and count it long in the night in my freezing dusty Stately tomb

It is the want of Kings to prepare its people for such things as austerity, these are troubled times, we have no spare for you, not enough for Circuses and you have plenty bread. Africans starve and squabble for your consumptive honour, and still you demand more, as if we have billions of things stored away, how many to count it day after day, to measure how much, day after day,

To pay for this Sin, cadre’ would you replace me for Consumptive consummation with queue’s for the cabbage soup dispensaries stretching back for Block after Block after Block, what a glorious thing it would be too see, because Poor people , we all agree, look better when they are thin, we feel like helping them sometimes, somewhere does not want suffering to be on the Television, and nothing has any vision beyond and above, and below, and underground, supers=sonic basis of dimensions.  

Enter – Conviviliatyicum

Hail Grand Kaiser, plans and devices I have for you Great Lord Augustus, for the grand age of Newfoundland, great works are to be commissioned, our mighty Armies will reach across the Oceans, Steel Arms which were once wooden walls to crush the world in our embrace at this our moment, this vital opportunity, this last attempt at intuition, had they run out of ideas? Had they realised that breaking everything would not make things work better, that magic invisible laws did not bring the sky tumbling to the ground. Never mind this nonsense; he had better plans, maps.

Grand Augustus, see here this barren land, how many people do you find here, not many, and none of note, and none of your proud and righteous citizens, Hail Jupiter, and Victoria.

Augustus calls bring me my Commanders and Generals, and they gather round.

From his side he brings a knife and three he slays, and he screams and spits at them as if suddenly convulsed by sum sudden fit of the indignities of the things that Great Kings must do to preserve honour and the truth in these vain climatic times, and as they cower, he asks them, What would Great Stalin have done? Look at these Maps? What would have the Old Father have advised?

This barren land, and not a citizen among them, and the power which is our last grasp, our riches are nothing without your impoverishment,

Compartilisation, there is nothing outside except dangerous people, and when the mob rises you would be hiding in your basement, they would be raping and thieving like the low down dirty animals they are, we keep the order, they are like Wolves and mindless Sharks which are machines programmed to react to some imaginary Postural Microwave Chip, they would leave this place like , because we would release all the criminals, empty the Jails, at the last moment, and would it be the punishment which we have imposed upon them to cause all this destruction, or would be it be for sum mortal sin at the core of their soulless Zombie desire, lust for all which has been denied, and satiated, would they reflect years later at their glorious crimes carried on in our name for our advantage, Pray, that such a Congregation does not gather, for what emotions lie beneath the lacquer of these words, sum instigator, remedy, the deadliest poisonous genetically modified Cat,

What will these Assassins think of next, Ninja’s in the doorway,

You should not fear treachery Grand Augustus for risen to the throne have you been raised and your voice is greater than the whole of the will of the people, and the senate and are but braying farm animals, send them more hay so they can sit and eat and shit and Groan like Spayed Bulls, more Cows than Horses, or better still Monkeys, Grand Kaiser, send them more Hay and they will listen,

See this barren place, beneath its Sands is all the wealth of the world for the next 500 hundred years, we must seize it now, or let someone else take it, or make from it, which you must surely agree is verging on the Fucking Obscene. We must Act now, while they are weak.

Grand Kaiser you must always think like Stalin the Great, remember how many died to make the Great Nation of Russia, to obliterate the Nazi’s, the mob will Love Sacrifice, what greater Sacrifice than to the greater cause, their Greater cause.

General Randstandafarian asks – Where, over there?

Exactly, Grand Kaiser, even your most Loyal Generals agree; it must be done

Yes, Yes, under the sun, from the halls of Montezuma to the Hills of Beverley along the river of Mediterranean, all the underground miners and the chicken herders of Kentucky, all the sniggering sniders, the vagabonds, reprobates, lend me your minds, What must I do?

Do not laugh, it is not a joke, I do what I must, this must be a surprise, do not take me for the modern political fool, this Carthage must be made no more, and its riches transferred forth- sooth

Generals, we must think of sum beautiful shyte to do now, something excellent like A Jet-ski or eat a, or just smell freshly plucked Pink Lady Apple, I always think that it is more fragrant than a single red rose, and was never sure why it always caused you such Alarm,

There are vulgar people out there, they know who they are, up to their elbows and I am not frightened to say so, I would do anything, and I tell you I have, but I would  be encouraging every one into little special perverted little circle of Hell

General, make orders to the Marine Legion, free bread to the destitute tonight, send them wine to warm their frozen bones, for the cripples and the beggars let them have this one night to celebrate, not for them bitter bread and dirty water, leftovers and maggots and bones, and stones, and birch, and gold, let them drink themselves stupid or until they are dead, let the be grateful to this Grand Kaiser

Exit Grand Kaiser Augustus Victoria

What is worse Ignorance or Apathy? Who knows, who cares, I am sorry Brother Invicta’s, we have encountered a special brand of stupid and egotism here, he is five times the fool of any of his kind, I must bite my tongue to stop my laughing at his cretin fury, like a demented spastic having an epileptic fit, the poor freak show would undoubtedly make more sense,  these are a breed apart.