Babylonia 2, work in progress, by Layla Al Kiz Kulesi – Not for you

Dedicated to Hatun Amira Sirbegovic, Sarıkız of Gure, born in the kingdom Kurkuma, Sultana’s Efendi, Kizlar Aghasi, general of the girls etcetera.. An inscription as well as a dedication found in the Orhon valley on the language of unintelligible speech, a really badass alphabet., next to the bloody dagger and Turkish runes, written in a pretty messy way.

Translated into English: by a completely self-taught idiot

time and place: Belgrade, 2019 is under the water and under the Turkish invasion of operation Atilla code.

The poem follows a fair maiden Dihya Layla al – female seer and military leader who has just returned from 7th century mission in the Maghreb, known as Kiz Kulesi, leading the resistance of  N’Nonmiton Beninin our mothers amazons under the parole Things Fall Apart, about whose lady mother, Valide Hatun is quarantined in an Clinic for Infectious Diseases for 20 days while reading the book of Leviticus that tells how to quarantine leppers and other creatures suffering from a new age zoonotic virus and, fair maiden’s mother in a desire to overcome her naturally caused  thanatophobia, even when there is no sign of any illness, obsessed with the idea to arrange her own funeral as in the scriptures, the nails and hair trimmed, a burying-place out of mundane sight. Highly on both visual appeal and price – it costs a deal of money.  “

Only one person in Belgrade under the water and under the Turkish invasion of operation Atilla code is idle rich and get nailed with expensive funerals, that is Hatun Amra Sirbegovic, Sultana’s Efendi who already bought off off-street visitor parking breaking parking restriction for Turks at cemetery Highgate in England.

But Amira and Dihya Layla al – female seer fair maiden used to be best friends, but now they avoid each other at all costs…  using only diacritical sign, or accent – or a glyph added as a form of ancient The Ghegs communication often fails to give Layla the necessary visa to enter Belgrade under Amira’s ancestors’ concubinage… illegible handwriting…  

This poem had a number of beginnings.

The thoughts are real. The language is nothing.

As i lowered behind ‘tisnt pleasant place

I shhh the breath of screaming inside beginning

I listen to her lung congestion

Limit fluid with damp swabs

Scattered the herbs given by her doctors

She’s my mother quite abjured

With all the death rattle winds that blow

Doth my mother yet survive

Ask Eyguieres curse tablet

Holding pet birds as offerings

 with healing and resurrection.

A winged  beardless youth and old

Will trap her in a sack

A down-turned torch and wreath or butterfly

Buried on the battlefield as spartan

Sentimental gesture

In ériubanbafódla a world of delights

She’ coughing annwyfn, annwvyn, or annwfyn
to this outburst of impression with voicing

Like a whisper of the valley beside the golden plated river

Full of shit.

Mother continues:

Yet many of the cobbles rose up from smitten wisdom

House of Lazarus, house of ruins

Drunk with the innocence

Burning bamboo flute with the holy spirit

Leave the bloody track behind

As i am of silent but gazing roses as in strange land

Where an earthquake endears the choking sighs of men

You, thus hammered by your moistful hatred, created sheckels of

Slaughterers sight, stubborn little twat

This pale you are, like the dead on the board to the cemetery

Mother is angry:

You, fashioned through your grim advances

To common sense appealing like a pyet of honest man

I will not wind a long worn confessions

Obscurities to hide my desiderata

But augment my blisses and talents and your

Mommas bardship, you little cunt

Thus I made a pax and bonum with your enemies

I bravely fought like spartan god of laughter

Their narrow-minded provincial pettiness

As requiescat in pace may rest in peace

Your leering forward wars passed this noon long time ago

, so tis all in case I shall die

Someone must pay the funeral

Quick you purmblid brat hark

And swift, push away every ounce of furore

In all of the inferno bibles writes

Fringe the sad toothless minstrels

And idly forgive, while doing so, collect some debt

Ask our foe for money, is the urgency where to organize my funeral

Cast the bitches away they are changeful with stitches

‘tis all in case your mamma gone away

Oh stars shining through the weight of centuries

Not to a gall to an enemy but a pride, your enemy is sage in this unfortune

To fight or stand-alone far from the work of divine

Yet a tower is melt and she’d helped to  stood hard by…

Mother is grabbing my cloth resembling jesus garment. Her mouth, agape:

A tragedy. Yet I made a deal with monster

With her bestial sense and will

Gorgona is expecting you at this moment, ah!

Grasps, than fractured, decentred, she faints.


Such malice i subdue it and go

To procession

To not so tender creature

And quiescent, down to the 4 deeps

Impossible, for monster to ascend also

Troubles behind its nature stood and bound

Her thorn mind, stupidity in terror’s strength

Obedience to common sense, glowing on the idiot’s shore

Thundering the spider’s pavements

As I sermon Belgrade’s street preparing for the march

Rescinding mid flirtation, breathing beneath blocks

Apathetically dazed.

The final act is done than changed

Not yet with an eager move

And cold incessant

I dare not name it

A sceptre form insatiate – armour shining

Possible, yet how impossible

I do believe and I do not believe

The grave is closed and cradled and now respire

My mother, piece be with thy possible ashes but this shall not thrive

Not a shackle to borrow either friends or foes

And this one yet appals, with horn and falls

Ambitious killing brand

Carnage fruitful vile and many falls

From her false peaks of goodness

Profoundly disturbed drunk sloppy

Of a lucky fate still soul-sucking ghoul

Praise be Gugalanna, more then mongoose

Of nightmare size

Of vampiric menace,

On earth sent

So soft the farewell once was – snatched from ashes

From cafes… flashback (sentimental mode on)

Once generous fire I loved (not holding back at all)

Remnant of madness almost as my arts

Engaging in the falsehood of charm

And sparrows to her bosom

Her belongings, golden hair as my memories

Secluded before me

I could worship you!… To funerals.

My mother! An endosperm of mirrored settlings

Deals and horror by the devil’s river

Daredevil sticks

For since they two together draw a new book

Secret circle to reclaim the wise reward, a mystery

Not rest, may the liquor absolve you beyond compare

Rest not that buried a long time ago

Since than gugalanna drinks my blood compelling

So sweetly bloody Renfield’s syndrome

As cocktail in sunrise with ice and cookbooks.. For the bloody slaying


End of flashback (obsessive pathetical pathos mode off)

All the Tartini’ sonatas in woe

Flaming with pitless perdition

This being done, my winged mother, by clavicula salomonis

Is not enough to cure a witch as you are her physician

Still muse upon the mother’s spirit in wish to comfort bring

The poverty foul of carrying all complete,

Mother’s proposals make to hast seen Mupphy…

To gather the light from the beast pocket and arrange

Her shiny happy laughing funeral.

Washed in running water.

After being laid on a flat board…..



And how from thence I…

Facing the blossoming willows of mine

Estetica etica

Facing anxieties and colonies a la lazaretto

Leprosarium in Ceasar’s house

Before the judgment in wrath and fury and torture

And time – kama pazam yesh leha ?

Help Amira

Why patterns gold and darkened

A  pound, an ounce, the box of a mind

Will be opened from the heart

Between fields and tripled cover blooms

Dismal to shroud me, thy is the castle

Can tie breed idolatry for salad for I am poor

‘tis some bravery of which I am ashamed of

That there is nothing but

 miles left to go to cemetery

Put no difference friends or foes

To dust we all returnest

And overflows has passed

Duelling thew grave, magicians and mobs

Such is a graveyard, overcrowded

Off to the open moor  forever shared

A large box a choice of colours

A blind glass and a plate

With fitting body worth of engagement

As well as our friendly foes.

Thy is the castle! Thy thy!
Thy is!

No need to waste money on broken someone’s hart

With the sound of the gusle

The Turkish March, a crystal chandelier

And a long-nosed ballerina
and cruelties’ deadly disease

Mistake  may be hours, Amira said

There there my fatigue

By my distress

I cried over the misery
of a stone forgotten who won’t shine

On shiny dollar

No shine will follow by the silent dust

Again again again in the night

A drowsy thing


Amid the



The tamarind…

(the tension rises)

… from the nemrut mountains to kütahya fortress!

With choicest

Defunct, I, pazamnik

Sword in one hand, quill in another

                                                          janissary agha, imotional

Haya basir tip haca giziroglu

Sultan Mustafa, tsar of all the Turks

Made his dawn attack upon  the beauty matchless Layla kız kulesi

By the swordlike words in black robes and black clouds

Kanuni Mustafa

 Was an imotionally man, by zodiac of the Turk

The battle at the dolomites peaks

 And there she is,

Switch, call-in, with privacy position mounted on 1-gang plate

Surface mount, one single button

Pale as the dolomites peaks

She presses and presses and presses and presses

Buzzing sounds coming from one

Hill to another

From vashundol to  foulfell, and the abysm

And the rest’s uncertain.

A murmur, a rustle a beeping

To the stars and moon, imploring the Jupiter

Until my name has cast its light upon the dolomites peaks

Less attuned her voice to the tambur

Membranophone foe with variola face

As the outline of the hills, repeating forms or not

But two equal halves, a slouched by the

Seeing Turkish forces on the magic work

O prince warrior of old kurkuma brave

Defending every piece of his interefone

Kız kulesi:

Intercom kingdom it is called, after capturing Belgrade

In 1501.

 By agha kanuni and his beloved daughter

Sarıkız of gure to

Prevent kulesi to purge the evil fire and

With two-headed dragon would

Take it to it to the tower

What a Kaz,

With one blue eye and one eye either green, yellow, or brown

At maiden’s tower

At the intercom’s pallid peak they peaked that grey wolfess

With šayṭāniyy tricks and pale intercom buttons.

                                                 and now, without further ado

How do you like dragged Diana fire blow?

Sancta maria out of the woods!

Bless death!

And the devil of another


Bloody  mounding tall chains of pearl

Becoming one Bosnian bastud that occasioned

If we teeter at my last circulation

An alt-right gauntlet!

A nitro through our Thora(x)

Argon through our mouth,

Or in through our corpses out


 down through our gas chambers

In pits, on pyres

With petals and then dumped

Two words – five syllables

Through vapours and vista

Into reverie

For rich clouds to use rain

Like blaedre, blaeddre use catheter bag

For peeing fever and chills

And my hollo perish even in fog smoke white

Pain antediluvian terrafirma destruction

Becoming one experiencing fasciculation

If shaitan don’t die of

Twanging a wiry  mind

Amoebas first I trust he will use

The remains of that former argosy sometime in

The course of the year present.

Of vinal ism

An infinitessimal

 I shd.

 spectamur agendo; or rather, not by the act but the effect

Shd. Etc.

+al philology

. (parenthesis. Can’t afford high gates’ hands well

At the outset.) Not.


The cruel scorpion Sigismundo in the chains

Beneath the toad &venomous web, the lucky golden

Accordant of mortal arm

Will  keeping the wolverine from the

Work in progress


Tranquil pill in ageless freedom

Quarantine is fangless tooth

A loveseat hell den all imposed

illegible handwriting…  go and cut the Cedars of Lebanon… 

You are safe

You are free

You are beautiful


And as far as anybody can tell, sub-power of Enhanced Speed – Lady Mother is still alive, suddenly appear then disappear from Europe, especially when flying. bat-like wings which they use to capture prey,  using gothic makeup, she eased the dread and worry of thanatophobia and viruses, an avid taphophile, attending the course of gravestone arts, epitaphs and how to dig the tombs without using the wings. Someone reported a great fire near London – the Highgate East Cemetary is still badly damaged in an arson attack by pyromaniac extremist in 2022. There is a cenotaph of a famous Sir stolen)