Worker B

 

I hive with my little mind – do you fly, Fish!

Go away, duke, the budget is closed and pigs are tankie;

I. Rony watered my lawn with Crony's Baloney – the cold dish.

Some railroads there trafficking jailbirds – hit and miss;

groomed to be Matches Malone in Heaven honking

on Birds of Pray, for not eating vultured donkeys;

having a C, rather than D&D, to be oust-standing.

I order a chicken-file to be duped Grand Arbiter Yale,

Good Operat' Daimonia – G.A.Y.G.O.D!

Something in between Clark Gable and Florence Nightingale;

the eastern of West and Southward of Norfolk males.

Trouncing on the I-dot, to golem the yod;

Jude Law went Lucy Lawless, to be called Nimrod.

I ruined my day, by stepping onto my lips green-miles!

In other news, I faked an orgasm with hot yoghurt;

Philadelphia sewed me inside her guilt, quilt-charged,

under that rugged corp. I dusted my devils nougat,

made out of hoarse radish; rhubarb and kumquats.

My coffee was having a gold Turkey, while the hilts enlarged;

arsoning the French Fries with garlic paste Vonegut.

Kurt and Kitkat don't return my tongue'n'cheeks,

as I call them haphazardly a Excessive Joyouster;

gallivanting on the Jedi fields of happy-tweets.

Mine went postal at noon, for the wrong beaked

thunderbird HOMM'ed home-runs for free oysters.

Nothing serious or personal in mind, to hoist thus:

Whoosh vents Reddit, disregarding major Dis.Respect's gatekeeps

I could B your F and X-mas to Jordania and Mogonda,

but hotel Rwanda was at Club Californication,

staging blind bets on McLarren and MacCarthy's Honda;

smoking too many joint operations, going Kundalini.

Loosing my last hair-splice streak to Kali's orientation

on the topic of contemporary zen-emancipation,

being owned with nothing, but hand-jobs Swahili...

My handy maid quit on me, having a pussy riot. –

Her 17 kittens decreed alternate state,

culled “Intolerancia Mundi”. For all their compatriots,

they vowed muzzle all dogs and leash parrots,

who can't say: “Polly wants a Hustler!” at 666 interstate.

Rushing my close shaves with mustard contemplate's;

thinking, I desert better with a female Black Butlers pivot...

Like a Whiteraven

 

(Inspired by Madonnas song “Like a virgin”)

I roam around to and through;

to sift aside and beyond.

My voice is shrewd and crude;

the devils advocate and interlude –

mediating over the Streak Bond.

Hyde-sane and incrementally blond.

Like a Whiteraven, sipping honeydew.

I gleam the gloomy eyes with farsight;

the dark vision of lost thoughts

and deeds undone, not for the upright.

Crossing your borders with oversight;

like an overwhelming juggernaut or dreadnought.

Pecking the order, til you lost your thought:

Like a Whiteraven, throng from light.

I hijack asses to molehunted detriments;

bypassing the bipolar defiance en masse.

Who's party shall wager to raze ten cents

for a button of Peer Günt and Townsend?

Nobody was no-mad: so sad your dad passed

Homer in the bath, blooded by Plato's trespass.

Like a Whiteraven, Aristotling the family confinements.

I firesale the doodles on the Wall;

writing debAtEs sour – to turn the other cheeky

devil, riding a cheetah for the enthral;

into a molested molasses of Lester Greyskull,

eating a Rey of blight – I think reeking

rotten fish, doesn't compare to that Cheesling!

Like a Whiteraven, fucked by a catcall.

I Karen more, than loving-kind Christians

can gloss the Bible into their Hum-V

greenhouse lives, casting stones on Philistines;

while the log filed a law-suit for pristine

snapshots of Splinters turtle-farm soon-to-be

discontinued private eyes on Constantine.

Like a Whiteraven, thawed in miasma...

Sell your Soul

 

I have thought of this topic many times. It has filled many libraries and minds with ideas of madness and despair. Priests and Bishops have been taught; knights and footpads ordained – to protect something and offer to the Lord All-Mighty, what is called “The Soul” There are even allegoric fairy-tales about a poor virgin maiden bathing in the sauna at midnight, because the master took the holy times, so the unholy times there left to the serf. And behold! The Devil stands at the doorstep knocking, as to mock the Bible with its Jesus behind the door knocking. What would you do? The suspense! You only armed with the Birch Wound – a small bundle of birch branches tied up together to whip you with in the sauna, while you pour warm water on hot stones to have some steam. A tradition of self-cleansing and cleaning. It is said in the Estonian tradition, that the devil cannot enter the Sauna. So sacred was that tradition, that it even survived the church, making its way into this fairy-tale, I am telling you right now, I heard in my childhood and still reminisce. So you are totally naked, inside the sauna, with a birch wound – and the Lord of Hell is standing behind the door. Technically you cannot enter the sauna directly, because there is the changing room first, and the washing room but ok, lets give the narrator, who first wrote it, the benefit of the doubt. How do you defeat the Prime Evil? The girl hastily draws the pentagram on the door frame – job well done. The devil asks to enter because needs to marry his son. Would the fair maiden come out and come with him?What kind of freakish questions would you answer butt-naked in the sauna! But its the devil. He might blow away the entire house, hinting at another fairy-tale. The girl sees a mouse in the sauna – I assume, in the changing room, because I fail to believe, there is a single sauna infested with those rodents, because it would be an insult to the owner. They there kept in perfect shape and order, how matter how poor you there. – The mouse, hinting at yet another fairy-tale, suggests the girl to “on at a time, sister” to use trickery against the devil to make him wait until morning, there the devil must leave. I wonder what story today used this trope? So the girl persuades the devil, that she cannot come out for not having any cloths to wear for this situation, would the devil kindly not bring them to her. And she really asks every part of the wedding dress until the morning and the devil is off to go, the pauper one wedding dress richer. That's some way to play hangman, isn't it! So what will the landlords daughter do, when she finds out, you can get free wedding dresses, when you bathe there at midnight? She decides to try it out, if its true. The next night the devil is back and asks the girl to come out, and receives the same answer. Only the landlords daughter is haughty and hasty, doesn't listen to little mice bickering: “Shut the fuck up, who asked your opinion?” and orders the entire wedding dress at once. Ask and you shall receive. The next moment, she stands in full garment to be wed to the devils son! And they lived happily ever after... The End,

What is the moral of the story? Times have changed a lot, so have the hopes and dreams; fears and superstitions. People still holding fast, how to protect your Soul. Why? Your Soul, is the part, what helps you dream and imagine things in your own unique way. It's basically what allows you to draw and write poetry. If somebody is unimaginative and dull, he's also accused of “not having a soul” And everybody wants to catch that Soul. The music industry; the Corporations; the Parties; The Governments; Work draft agents etc. Gotta catch em all, like a character in an anime show would say.

My question is, why would you even ponder on this question and not become the devils bride?

Playing devils advocate a little. Think in your heart – there do you belong. What is the thing, what you there meant to do in this World? Protect that happy thought at all costs, because, if that gets lost, you have lost everything. You don't have to agree with me and become a Christian, as I am, but still find your own Way just as Naruto found his nindo. It's ironic, that he was possessed by a nine tailed demon-fox, who he made his best friend! Funny how stories go and shape lives. What is your favourite story; what are its punch-lines and what does it fight for? Maybe its time to tell your story and fight for something! Tell me your quest. It might not be with Dungeons and Dragons, with Fairies and Dwarfs... I wonder, why there is no board game around Dwarves and Fairies in animation. I'm thinking on a variation of the Circus Game. Catch a fairy and you go up, bother a dwarf at mining and you go down. Included should be a variety of taunts every time you trigger one of these, with various point scores before you can reach the end goal. If you don't have enough points, the road from 100-120 will be blocked and you have to go back seven paces and re-roll. I'll leave this thought in here for a programmer to find. But I'm sure, your story is one worth telling. And listen to this with all ears. You have your whole life ahead, in your hands, to tell that story!

I am He, who owns

I am the key of Enoch, I am the Wrath of Thy Lord;

the Vengeful Spirit, who drove King Saul insane.

The little white raven, on the left side of the Cross;

to offer you his other cheek in penitence.

I am the booze of Noah, the curse of Cain;

where I spit and spew, there will be no dawns

nor reckoning. To make the wicked, fat of Pride,

like the cows of Bashan, for Slaugtherday!

I am the Day of Yahweh, I am his shield and sword;

the Divine torrent of Malice and Despair!

To rob the haughty of their cloths;

who left the Samaritan mercy without food and lodging!

I am, He, who picks the slanderers eyes;

rends their spirits and marrow, drawing their souls

closer to God. Weep in sorrow and repent;

for Whiteraven is upon you, to croak with hideous laughter.

 

Kuri Karja Muri

Kuri Karja Muri, leivaahjus suri;

turi nagu Türil, Jüril higi-veril.

Kivi vilkus käpas, välk see Mihkli sälkas –

sellepärast Muri, nagu Rahusuvi.

Rein, see rahamaias, Põdra Maja aias.

Vestis pätse mullikilest; kohviveski ilutulest.

Ahja hinged rebadel, Luik, see sittus kaevu;

Haug ja Lammas tigedad, Muri haual tüli.

Haudki tühi, peied pühil – maksu eest,

kõik Taanis lühis'. Maksa haaki,

krapsa kaaki; Uudis laulab Sodiaaki:

„Maaleht tšakraid ammu ava – Ajurveedad unund Saaga!“

Waata, Waata, Waata, Lind

Kaaren nokib sinu mune;

või on silmas, Koi ka ilma.

Agan leivas, pagan pihtas;

Põhjas Põtra, ohjas Nõtra.

Mäkra noolis, Mutionu hooliv.

Tui maleks, Toi kirbuks;

poks on seksril, kets on tapril.

Maarja voodi alla unus;

Cosmo-tüdruk kaelavõrus.

Juustud laual hallitasid;

Soomes Tuuslarit kõik Han'Id

Orjade Meri

1.

Mida peaksin ma lausuma;

orjade merele sõnuma:

„Laula, laula sa, pappi!“?

Kõik ehivad kodasid roega.

2.

Söödaks on kõrvad ja nina;

sõelaks on taevaste Sina! –

Minust küll meiet ei lõika;

teie ei jagu hinnata...

3.

Suus keeled – hinged uste vahel;

mõnel kahelt, teisel kolmelt

poolt lahus, täis-aknad lahti;

virvatuled soselevad viirus salamahti.

4.

Vibud nooleta vinnas,

kuni puruneb õelus.

Vendlus sillutab laeva;

Lennukit hõbevalgemat Koidust.

5.

Müügiks kõik müüdid ja tavad;

müüriks hõik, müügimees norskab –

habe maas, tornis ronijad jõude;

lõukoerad möirgavad põhjakonnades...

6.

Tule keeled, tuule meeled;

mälgid siiani mõlguvad mulku!

Molgud polkudes, tolgud talkudes;

vastas pooltel küll natuke õigust.

7.

Natuke rase ja natuke rabe;

Ise ei tea, kuidas räbu peaks

kandma juurde viimase kirve –

mis vette ei unu, see pinnale ujub.

8.

Orjade meres kirved on võidu –

ujudes, uppudes – laeval, kruiisil.

Talveks on koju Tuljakut ruunates:

Tark Tormab Kaevu, Härg Seljas Kandleks

9.

Miks peaks sulgima seebivesi;

miks peaks jahuma prilllikivi?

Mitu täkku jõuab risti-rästi,

kitse panna soku nähes karsti.

10.

Kaine juhtis purjus mehe sohu;

puri lendas hammas hakkas, savi kandis;

pardi-piilur, nägi varest linnupetteks –

lammas hunti; kaaren tonti...

11.

Orjade meri, nii magus kui mesi –

pehmem kui viin; kangeimast naisest

Õelam – vendlikum, käelam

jändrikum – hüpohondrikum järgus.

12.

Ikka ma viin, viin, viin Raja Teele;

Tootsi kombel uisutan näkki.

Arno on haige ja Kiir' süda läigib;

Imelik ostmas on rehkendus-Wercki.

13.

Kommi eest, puntra seest, Suitsuga;

Vareseta! Vaesed veel veerivad Alverit.

Ilves või Peterson; Meri või Rummo,

Pronks pulmad verevad sammaste pensil.

14.

Loll Ivan jäi isaks, magama ahjul;

Mari oli maias Yli-Cool a la Playas.

Laias saias jahu – Rujas ruigas rahu;

Tartumaa oli lukku pandud Kaljul.

15.

Kaaren istus vangitornis – vaht ikka töötas.

Ümber suu ja ümber nurga;

ringis, tingis, koolipingis;

lingi, plingis, keerdus vindis!

16.

Foor, see põles; Meta üles –

Füüsikat ja Keemiat; Filograafiat,

Materneetik õppis pleediks;

ei tal andeks antud soolikast.

17.

Eksida on inimlikum, Hämarikust kaugel;

haigutan ma maika väel, kui jooksen

nahast välja. Katus sõidab paberil;

fiktiivselt kõik on palges, luges vaid,

mis loetud sai, kuid kirjutatud mustalt.

18.

Üleinimesed, kullad, teemandistki peenem;

nõel ei mahu köiel silma, kaamelit saa kätel Kunda.

Kurjad Vaimud Dostojevskil; Geenius pudelis

ja tekis! Padjasõjas surma ei saa teenrid.

19.

Faust ja Köhler, taust ja führer:

Inglite ja Sakste keelel; venel, paadil;

eidel-taadil, jutuvada saunataga

siis kui Kurat mõrsja röövis.

20.

Uppus näki Niki-Naki, leidis metsast

Specki trüki. Spicker Wurst ja

vurtsuvesi, lahja kalja selgeks pesi.

Kangem kraam sai kaevu aetud.

21.

Pearu tegi Saulust, Andres keppis Paulust!

Baasani lehmad olid samuti turul;

ühes Praaga veistega tünni soolamiseks

ja kuutõrvamiseks, leierkasti sülda heites.

22.

Juurdelõikes järkus Lõhe – Havi käsul, Kaarna tahtel.

Vares valus, Harak' ilus. Kirik keset küla põles;

põlnd' tal pooltki põrmu ühes:

Mene-Teekel-Trikatrei, Vuntsi-Kõõrdi-Kompartei.