[Learning] [to][get][her]: [justice!]


And when stripes

are earned as

we have them

earned, not earnestly at all but bravely

and hurtingly and sadly

and fightingly and unceasingly

and unendingly, and not always

inevitably and it often seemed it

was a losing game, or no game, or

just the shame of not being there

or here or where or why, and not

always clearly, and hardly ever

unreversingly and never


and when the immense badges of

courageous assault are uncovered

and worn,

not as in the

wearing out of the machines they have

made of us all, but proudly as a

call from the wild heart of

humanity we have striven and been

driven and have beaten like

drums to keep alive and trying and

crying and tearing into strip[e]s

like tears

of ultimate loss, and the cost

of refusing

and denying

and rejecting calumny and

fighting the alimony of

corrupting fakery,

and the quaking in big boots

of terrible lead[ers],

and the shaking of small angers, and

the unremitting of

letters and statements and pressures

and forces and critics,

and the official critiques and the academic

matters you care so

little about,

precisely because we give the very

biggest toss of all: the caber

of the haven that is the people who

suffer and refuse to cry out and die

down and drown in your

seas so dark and deep

and reaping of pains

and drains that swish and

swoosh and wish into

badness the

saddest of fates for the

goodest of peoples.


For no fairs

of childhood pleasures are allowed

any more

the offending souls who

commit the smallest of crime on the

grandest scale of universal

theme, and maybe, just maybe,

no damn crime at all.


And so that’s how your seas,

and your sees,

and your seens,

and your scenes and your stages

and your wings that forbid wondro-

us flights of fancy, and keep them

booked and reserved for

those of you not captured by

the system even when

offending is your nature and

your culture and your waiting

game and your shameless

state and weight and

burden shifted to the poor

and the stricken and the

street-occupying and the


lessened and the




And so your wings lead only to

stifling exits and entrances, mechanised

by the machinery of a justice

which is criminal in so many

stages and phases and races and

wrongings and writings and


ings and done-

ings, and sayings that paraph-


the reality of in-


ice to a sky where the box

they think outside of is the pa-






ing darken-

ing lighthouse of

dreadful uncertainty whose

colour we are imprisoned by

and peered at through,

and ironically, universally, shadowed

into like surgical steel

pursuing the thieving skin they

always say we are.


And so your soul

is alone, and your heart is

captured by no lover you can touch

and caress and stress and calm

down and pan out and

praise and hug and embrace

and support and kiss and

tuck and fuck and buck

up and down, like the soundest

experience you never did



And so none of this is yours any longer,

and none of this is yours

because you committed that small

crime on that uni-



scale, or

maybe you did nothing at all, and

maybe they called you

and you came

and you spoke

and you said too much

and they believed every word as

fact instead of supposition, and thought

and bought and sold and old

and willed and whiled and

wiled and trialled, and that

in the ultimate



sis was what they chose to do

to you, and

instead of supposition they

jammed those dreadful

suppositories of accepted

opinion and acceptable

thought in the ass you

made of yourself,

and the bad you

made of yourself,

and the mad you

made of yourself, and the man

you destroyed and the

man they did kill.


And only

by a state of distant

affairs and curiously rare

actions did this

happen to you, and not to

another, and so that was

when some kindly

person noticed and saw, and it

was 2009, and she said

stuff to you too but you knew nothing

at all, but even then and

even so she went and saw, she

saw and refused to bloody

well ignore, and she did see and

she did notice and she did

new you little by little, and she did

accuse and she did

follow and she did

swallow some serious pride, and

because of her

brains beautiful, and because

of her beauty-ridden brain, and if

only she’d ridden you, and yet even

so, and because

of her real kindnesses, and because

of her treasurable generosity,

with her numbers and

algorithmic intel and her

ingenuities multiple,

and because she refused to give up

on the people she did come to love,

and because she loved her mother

more than she ever expressed,

and more than she can say right now

I guess,

but not more than the truth that

was destroyed for me

and was destroyed for

her mother, and left the both of us

for dead

in the done and said

of the official record of doctors

here and doctors

there and doctors

mostly everywhere …


… and that’s how

she refused to

accept what I refused to

accept too, but what her mother

ended up tragically

agreeing with and seeing with and doing

with and conforming with …


… and so this tale of in-


ice begins to reach an end.

And to C, the daughter,

and K, the mother,

and both their hearts and souls

and gorgeous rolling

eyes and nays, and minds so

glorious and brains so tumbling and

fingers so fumbling and

intelligences so eager, and

wondrous murmurings and

fabulous imaginings

and the sex I imagined and

could only imagine, for that

was the only right I had

in this issuing of lives

and wives and husbands

and children,

and the only way I could win the

women I wish I had won

was in the thoughts and the

imaginings I wrote down

for so long.


And all that is left for me

to say and

do to yous

is to speak out and declaim that

together we have gathered

all the earning and

learning, and being and seeing

and damning and trying

and striving and

lasting and mast[er]ing

we can, and the

flagging any hero of supernature

could ever hope

fo[u]r, and then

three and then

two and then

one until

zero is the battle-

weary circle we

have finally squared.


And through the working together

and the very common ends,

and the bell-ends we fight every

day of our lives, and the miseries

we reject and succumb to

rarely, as if fantastic steak of

extraordinary blue cocking, because

even when we’re

the sad, we are proud of our

good, and we leave the

bad for those who must live

with the sieves of their

cruelty, and the reality of their

dreadful untruths, brushed and burnished

like brass knockers of massive lie

on the hallowed [out] doors of

justice’s criminality.


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