Frederick The Simple

Friendly stranger, what is my wish?

Forget all along what you hoped you would find and just enjoy this time. Wish for many more, bait your breath, puff out your chest and forget all the rest. So for now sit patiently awaiting permission, this war of attrition. Things are what they are and life is a funny mistress. Flashes of smiles now burnt into memory. Forget and avow me just a few more hours, for something draws me in and it’s hard to say what. Forget me not. We know so little and the world exists for it’s complications but sometimes smiles can overcome and be for all at one.

Intriguing ecstasy grant me my final hour.

Project unto me all that was believed and all to be conceived. Was it not for these feelings you wandered out of the dark in the first? Place upon your heart the weight of all that has come and drive it forth. Dagger face North. The polar existence and twilight resistance shall shadow you not , see all that it’s got. Intrinsic dances and intriguing stances of morality and reason, these words must be treason. Don’t swallow it whole, dissect and evolve. Your tongue granting lashes, sardonic batted lashes and forget all that was taught, no victims reward can follow you down with all those around. Straighten the gait or lose all to fate sponsored treason , mud-slinging pleasing your senses they trust all that they must yet remember ye this while you sit back in bliss that once mentioned ecstasy riddled extra perceptory minds full of blind unyielding whispers and foolish brother sisters. Need you say more?

I was hoping for war.

Petty wanderings. Indiscreet pondering. Where shall we now? Increasing speculation mounted on his shoulders. And wisdom barely illuminated the shadows below. Fear of dissemination whispered above the pall. Words of deflection emanated high amongst the branches of bankless channels. Eerily the majesty stepped forth and discovered her wanting. Now’s the time, the time is now. Frozen down the smiles will frown, holding forth from miles surround. Drifting North the thousands crowd and life surrounds. Falling now they held them down, softly calling for the sound. Mystery found. Eternal scrounge. Thousands crying for the now and change abounds from well worn towns. Hold them down, they’ll soon surround. Unborn slumbers melded their time. Wishing wells and mystery bells. Forty six and seventy nine. Or something like that.

Her demands are feeling shouldered. The burden of proof lies in her existence. Drenched and entrenched wisdom barely seeps through. Undernourished humanity exists solely for profanity’s sake but not for what she will endure. The wisdom of strangers ever apparent danger lies quickly on the wake, poured burden on the gate and locked entries exist within moments. Fleeting, lengthened, unspoken brevity and empathy. Sun rattled sabres or life’s scattered razors, implicit remorse from existence divorced and met with the sanity upon which she had once managed to entice you and remind you and cover all with the blinds through open scattered windows the prowler runs latitude of solstice and Sundays remember the many who have brought you to this place, deny them strange face and delight in the knowledge that once you reside on the moon or the tide of feelings and anger unbounded scattered pandering to people not worth a mere second of your girth and it all come to nought and come down with the hurt of knowing you could have done more had life been slightly less of a bore then you will have moved on from what one might call drudgery and earth moving sludgery enriching the earth was your worth just a curse or did she use it to achieve more than what you though she wore on her sun batting lashes and shy manicured stashes of barely veiled feeling s and in times feel remorse for all that others lost but it’s time to meet with the maker and date her and fuck her and fuck you

Confining consciousness was never the easiest thing to do. In a matter of opinion it stretched beyond other worldy impulses and fought it’s way through more than you gave for itself to be free. In the interest of passing fashions it fled itself with gay abandom and drove home the mystery for which a small fee must be set. Nothing is free and if it is then its not going down the path within which there is ever growing room for enlightenment and stark contrasts to the eternal stationing of perpetual desires to set forth from this mire. It is indeed strange witness to the scene that can bare forth all your dreams. Be they mislaid on the table right or left who’s to say what is best. All the same, plain, mundane but in the blink of an eye the trend can die and be forever lost on the place mat at a cost. Desire is the currency and rejection is for sale in this glass of dark ale and your whiskey dreams let you mislead what you’d seen. Believe it to be so and your dreams may grow but if they crash down, things brought from then leave it behind. Or take it up again I don’t know it’s not really my problem either so hassling me would be like shaking a tree devoid of branches. Sure it may be fun for a while but the action is ultimately pointless. It can give you nothing, like talking to you.

Interesting viewpoint ill grant you that but i wouldn’t have thought so Im afraid. Too bad she bade him farewell from the two tone hell encapsulated in his heart and longing drew strength from the dark. Entwined, entrapped, in brevity find your time you’re mine is nothing else fine? Too bad sit back, relax . Pretty dire the slide. To nothing exonerating wisdom and teeth for your bed your pillow awaits the twists of fate and earthly disinterest becoming your mistress. Beseech me to deal with the painful blood zeal that feeds your desire you weren’t born for the fire. Relax i said. Sit back and enjoy the show for tomorrow shall bring more endless to and fro your head in a bed and blanketed colours abound all over your sign rendered hours, just sift through the flowers and wreaths for your life and clothes for your wife. No more cotton dandies and pumpkin skinned candies. All rotten your teeth no blood left beneath. Just cavity upon calamity this should just stop here.

Cometh the man cometh the dour princess all dressed in satins and whites, shuns you with a stare that speaks volumes if you’d dare to listen. To her dainty feet from a sidled street you wish you had flown. An entrance unknown.

Silence greeted her response. Had it been imagined or was it true? This is for you to decide. Do not hide inside and bide your time. The sea rolls on and your cloud has formed. Wisp away my sweet. To the night retreat. Longing and lust not trust is now. The rest is lost.

Clandestine wisdom dictates shortcomings be resolved with a clarity not often afforded to the other kind. Not only would it prove ineffectual but may perhaps unwind preconceived notions of existing ideals.

Either way it scares me I spose

I wrote a poem and I didn’t like it

So I made it a blog and now I hate it

Then I deleted it and it was gone

Now I’m happy again

In general the General generally generalised generic genomes and geniality generously

He did you know…

Swallows fly through hollows as weeping willows wallow
A marked intention is worth three in the hand
One in the bush is not a great place to get it
Every wish from the street seems more plausible
In time will be seen the river’s nautical
Miles come in kilos and windows were in frames
All the banal and all the mundane
Things are less complicated than first once were was
Yet all seems the same as was there once is
In season and reason your fellow man’s treason is
…..line….
Forty nights and desert daze
Lead me to the promise of….
Nah…lost it

Does everything round come in a cup?
Is two not enough or too many?
Likely isn’t the word you’re looking for
Microscopy and salad tv dinners infront of the radio
Studying ancients and humble dwellings
Mixed emotions forebade the actual sitting
Frozen still nightscapes wake your slight frame
Eaten shards of comfort’s warmth
Homes abound in natures good intentions
Cant sleep in for life’s pretensions
Although they make a nice pillow sometimes

Dingy nights, where dark pub lights burn bright eyes as red as sand
He held her down, his hopes he drowned, all as he held her hand
This news she said, flew through his head and he QUICK! He needed a double
His reply with a sigh, felt like denial, boy was he in for some trouble
This moment passed but the feelings they last, just for that little while longer
Its not all but fair with her whiskey blonde hair that he couldn’t feel any stronger

- an essay in post cultural evolutionary standards in education ; a critique of cultural relativism in the modern era.

In modern methodological surveys of north-western standards and imputational district services it is an often lost point of reference in determining sequential evidence theories known as fact to the lesser great industrial service sector.
It’s a seldom explored area which upon closer inspection would appear to warrant a more direct approach starting from the ground up and particularly in certain circular industries that thrive off and upon themselves and for all intents and purposes, each other.
While most educational authorities will attempt to discredit this critique it is no doubt a matter that warrants consideration and a curtailing of modern standard educational techniques.

Yesterday on the moors of bonny Scotland, Lachlan whispered a particularly delightful and somewhat enchanting nothing to the companion with whom he was travelling. She was a fair maiden indeed. A roving reporter from Moscow TV come wandering across Christendom to seek her fortune and a juicy story to boot. Ignacious the little Scottish terrier she owned had led her to this place and she was delighted that the first person she encountered should be such a handsome, esteemed and well groomed gentleman such as Sir Lachlan. At first he could not believe his eyes as this fair blonde maiden sparkled through the eerie quiet morning mist of the moors like a tram’s headlights in the fog. A beauty such as this did not come along every day out here. Lachlan led her along to his cabin and shyly bade her to sit down at the nearest chair he could find. He wasn’t disturbed when he found out she was a reporter, for he felt he had nothing to hide and wouldn’t have thought that the Moscowans as he affectionately called them would really give a tinkers cuss for his stories or indeed the stories of anyone he knew.

Her face was indeed beautiful yet devoid of any particularly distinguishing features.Those features that were distinguished, on anyone else may have indeed added up to an altogether rather unattractive person, yet somehow on this little blonde face everything sat and radiated such a warmth that he scarcely needed the roaring fire that had suddenly engulfed his home and was beginning to spread over the countryside like sour sobs in a garden. And as he himself caught alight and shrieked in agony, Rosetta the reporter jotted everything down meticulously so that she may finally have the story she needed to make it big with the Moscow Evening Standard. She’d show that pesky Dimitry Rolkinov a thing or two about heart string pulling reporting even if she had to suture the string to the hearts herself. Of course Lachlan was perplexed as to why she did not even lift a finger to help him seeing as though she was holding a pale of water yet he listened calmly as she explained that his death would bring about a greater good and perhaps even a 5000 rouble a year raise for her. Thomas accepted this with a final gargling noise and collapsed in a smouldering heap. Rosetta kissed his charred corpse goodbye and made way for the train station. It was going to be a long ride back to Moscow but she had a story to write and a good journalist never sleeps.

Travelling weary journeymen had tales beyond the pale yet none surmounted the Count’s delectable striving for the hirsute of happiness,it lied with a brush with fame and fortunes on the rise. This would have made the average person wary but beyond the pale and above the rail lay a master craftsmen who knew a fair artisan, a conductor of a bus in a town that share must, lest it become frail like bitten off edge nails .Fortune favoured the fair game hunter whenever there was a story to be muttered of rising fortunes which forever left you waiting, the game is new and bracing, yourself will hold no relevance to third parties who are true to their benevolence yet leave all quivering in their wake as a good dead person should; for if not, then ‘twas wrong of all to assume that nothing in the room could hold her to the facts of nothing held back. Was it wrong of me to assume such things? You cant be held responsible for my inactions I’ll give you that.

I was so dying to have a little sleepy at work
Fred said the veg was in the drawer
Who’s complaining now the streets are paved
Forty nine plus 1 is the answer key
Insert it to win a prize fight with t-bone jack
Trust me you’ll never win
Fine in the end is all he could say
Master trusts the sanctioned deliverance
Faster screamed the child in the night
Over tomorrow and under the dawn
My brain is tired….a yawn

Marty said his hit parade started 40 minutes ago
Trudy was true to her word

Fortune favours the cold hearted
Is that what you heard from the white walls???

Johnny tried to explain but couldn’t.

Seventy-two equations all came up with the same response:

WHAT?

Far above Eden and Silicon Valley who needs to hide their shame?

flying the time went by in my mind with a cheap bottle of wine this all seemed somehow familiar to the one and his daughter whose thirst quenched by water just thinking she oughta lead him to slaughter for his life must be shorter than hers and whats worse is the hurt that hurts worst that flowed through her girth like windless rain thunder missing whats right gone asunder to trap all entwined her fate became mine and I was left on my knees never heard myself say please before her with her ways stringing me through days of endless lust wonder how I wanted to plunder her for her mind and body but left not for dead the old images in his head shook off from the plains it was just such a strain to find himself more than she with her flaws but yet hope still remained and now the suns daze has led her to him she cant help but grin at him and his smile for it was worth all the miles of endless footprints in sand all but none sink from knee deep sun dried mud and hence filled with blood like grapes from a vine his love was divine not like gods and his sons but earthly warm and glum