Some deaths come to make others’ lives easier

Some deaths come to make others’ lives easier. The phrase “Not to speak ill of the dead” falls into the category of grievous hurt and thought defects, lies that are told as “good day” good evening “good night” how are you or… Today, it’s the hottest day of the summer, or… .”Not to speak ill of the dead ”- Just passing the time of day – So much for decorum.

An open call to ones, an open despise to others

as an author of the maxima: human hypocrisy should be respected because virtue is not worth the effort, I’m not surprised nor should I react differently than throaty laughter, but all those who, for some reason, secretly and not publicly address me with ah: ah, you’re so talented, I have never heard of these things to exist at all .. I have learned so much from you or — your brain is a precious instrument … etc (I can corroborate all this with letters ..) or those who persistently follow my blog when I turn to them for concrete help, they remain silent .. I do not count the famous archive -1-checkup early in the morning –  from Serbia, I know one hen that gets up earlier than a rooster ..I know who it is, it is a female mental patient under control…
I am waiting for the doomsday when the psychiatrist will allow her to call me… or whoever she chose to be her tutor nowadays. –  to welcome her.
I will not be able to continue my work that would be much better and I would write more and you would enjoy my work much more if you would only give me a little help, if not materially, then in the form of technical assistance (translations, someone
to help me with marketing and procedure)
Looks like you would love to do it, but living in the dreaded fear of what I could become if I had the crumb of luck to make money the way you made it …
I cannot prevent you from spying on my blog, reading, anyone with their intentions, I tell you openly, I despise you and if it depends on me, I would ban you on reading my works. and maybe I will.
this does not apply to people who do not know me. admittedly, neither do those who claim to know me, know me at all.
but unfortunately, I got to know them by their deeds.
unfortunately, talent and money rarely go together, and today, more than ever, money determines who will publish books and who does not.


After the crime

The gun is not pointed at, my head.
‘Give me money!’
is not a pit of snakes slithering in and biting me,
crawling in my skin,
not the place where plants breathe in fear.
I enginely dug in my imagination,
looking for shelter with my fright-filled eye.

Every foot will assemble then.
Dancers in circles joining hands and
dancing with hands up high.
A dance of small, spotless steps,
slowly, in circles, while people join in
and swell it.

Forced, wicked foreign letters,
to create cloudy thoughts, mirage memories,
dumb definitions! Someone likens me to a monkey!
This is someone forcing a finger into the joke,
poking where he doesn’t belong,
mixing in ups-and-downs, pictures, prints
threatening riddles with mysteries.

They…they carry something within them…
in front of the church!
This is symbolism, all of this clowning around,
this dress, all of this is wrong,
where, where are you taking me…
what black cat is this?!

sweatin’ like a whore in church

O, Rahab
bitch of Jericho
you’re an audio pickup
(Hear the sound of church bells in the background)

with beaming eyes
for some yokels from the Le Roncole play das Triumphmarsch
for her Venus mound
sweatin’ like a whore in church.

Her fingers are calloused from jewelry
their fingers are stripped of jewelery
sunk deep into Rahab’s vacuum,
descending to fill in her gap

a rasées bitch
a woman, a sinner, a saint, a church
Eva, the mother of all men

O, Rahab!
indeed you are born
under the walls of Sodom where your litter were kissing
while the sulfur was slightly splashing an undulating, wavy sea.

In the Promised Land.

Master and Servant, Leila Samarrai

“For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance: but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.”, Matthew 13:13

Strange and for me, shameful, hypocritical, let’s say, paradoxical  Bible quote, but what else to be expected from the tax collector. This should be a motto of every bank in the world… written in bold letters, to bath the counter desk with the sacred meaning.. 

Matthew,You, Master, with prostitute blessing,
look at ME!
If I pay Caesar what belongs to him and to God his due,
What is left for me?
How do I pay next time?
You place your head on holy ground…look up!
Are you the One who blesses only the rich?
Are we not blown in the same winds?

No! No.
Go to church brave Esther
To esteemed pillars of Jerusalem
Plunge your sword in alchemy of truth and lies
Are you hungry enough to think you’ve fallen?
Did they make you believe you are so low?
Your deeds glorify thy righteousness
How ridiculous to be well read and hungry!
Let their empty hearts speak, spill gold
Believe in me, when empty hearts speak
When your eyes are gouged out, believe in me
Forgive those who do not have–
And reconcile the human injustice.

Oh Matthew, still, you hide.