Le-Marche-Inside of the Inside, the outside

Le-Marche-Inside of the Inside, the outside

ברוך שם שהוא לא עשה אותי אישה

of purview,
where i was born,
except it was, where i was pronounced,
i was birthed to park-view

of the south east region,
where i was born, except the ceremony was attended by militiamen throwing addas over how many rohingyas they had maimed, that afternoon; birthed to exaggerating circumstances

of Sandhurst,
in whose barracks i watched the new nation being filibustered in its own home by a slant-eyed, chinkoo man.
birthed into an affluence of slash and burn

of Taj Mahal bedsheets,
which bedbugged like kalke raate ekhane duti chele chilo
uncertainly, because it was only later,
that i learned that kalke raate ekhane arek ta jaati chilo

of Madhur Princely State,
who in, i could hear ze talk in length about how one of ze’s friends had been back from the woods, to talk in even greater length to ze, about how the woods contained cannibals.

of Golan Heights,
of Golan Heights,
of Golan Heights,
of هضبة الجولان


;Manifeste des 12(0)

;Manifeste des 12(0)

– You let in the Jew and the Jew rotted your empire, and you yourselves out-jewed the Jew … And the big Jew has rotted EVERY nation he has wormed into.

5 o
Fokini polapain
Dry up pre-cum,
Dry up drought dams,
Stuff in kedara,
Abar gutao srinkhal

My table flagged with billiards’ rats running from cue sticks,

the Long Islands were not part of grammar class,

Neither, the lazy eye fiddling irredentist bents,

waddle up-anna-sui,

jigger up-arkhand-bharat,

jig’er up-azad योनी,

jig’er up-Hurriyat

jig’er up-separatism shaking off sex slaves

jig’er up-continental funambilists

jig’er up-Marie Bertrand, you are only a woman philosophizer

jig’er up-essentialist, you do not speak for me.

jig’er up, melanin, i am not into button-poetry.

on the rocks,
“when i first visited the u.s, i was initially appalled at the suggestion that westerners might mix stones in their glasses…maybe the stories of corruption were true after all, i thought”

Next Slide, please

yeah, you can roll your eyes now.




your phd is a leash–

your years practicing public health is the same zipper-slide strummed on repeat
চক্রান্ত bijoy,
lance naik
crack platoon homesteads, when we bombed world bank missions,
We can take you to walk anytime we like,

Dark Circles, Wrinskles, Concealer,
Will let you spot manik miya avenue, over the fences, split the lake, toad hop, onto ministerial portfolios,
diktats re-pronouncing “wed at 18”
your visiting cards read like disaster management white-papers from god’s snore in Bhola–
a category three CMLA–
copious geometry to siphon shell crude to al-Omar proxied onto jerry can hoses strangulating,
Apaches, to dump on authentic simulated wildfires.

Yellowstone: spelled BANGLADESH REHABILITATION ASSISTANCE COMMITTEE, or father, it’s your birthday.

Before niazi, and tikka became boogeymen, mountbatten eulogized, curzon edified, wreaths bolted…, tea sipped, toast dipped…in repatriated Saigon,
your vows were harbormasters warrantying their ferries will never sink,
will never engage population exchange,

Never fly heliborne sorties over Naxalbari, during culling season

Watch your spit riddle on court steps,
Strobe lights librating ping pong

dead air, closed captioning– drive time:
Eve teasing samiti,
Meghna in transliteration,
Jamuna in dub,
Nagorik dredgers/bondage by Babar,
Roofies/pilkhana dal/bhaat,
Quick rentals/pirate electricity,
3 koti sriti, koto kore?

Double finger test fable, at the coroner’s office, you read, was not yours,
It was our fists in your daughter,
Our polythene knuckles determining semen residue,
Our intuition, ruling out family,

-Advertisers union.
Banality, the chopping board,
To & fro sunbeams–civil servants who deputize, padma bridge must not madeleine khet-mozurs,
6:01, out the tweezers, out the grand-children, out the violated violators, zanu pf eschewed chuta buas,
i’ll have the you cannot find good help these days $3.98, as Promi flips patties on the grill.

It’s friday, something special?–
Schoolgirl, ponytails, wax hard, disappear, peer-pressure, discombobulate.

She’s grown up, till now just been avuncular horsy rides,
Forensic kits have expired.
Alcohol swabs for the porno mags you found in our drawers,

The louse of the Bulge were Harlem barbers, get him the fuck out of our house.
Tie her 36Ds together, they hurt when she walks,
Further implants are to be delineated by the midwife–discretion, mr. gynecologist,
Volition is 200 years of beer halls–putsch, putsch, putsch, obsolete.
–her baklava, throw food, not bombs,
auditions are on The House, pre-confessional, Post-Protestant Work Ethic–

A Jew. A Catholic. A Sikh.
A Jew. A Catholic. A Sikh.

How many Howitzers does it take to make Kalurghat?
How many times have I told you, I am not trying anal.

Drishti akorshon kori,
Khushi, Kajol?

Photograph: Gordon Parks



To niti–


Ami aye jinish ta niye chinta korchilam–

Tumi keno smellship niye chinta korchi la,


Amar jinish ta bujhte, kintu, ektu shomoy lege che,

Ebong hoytoba ami ekhono bujhi ni.


Ami chinta korchilam, keno faisal ar tomar modhe kola koli ti eto odbhut bhabe landing korlo.

Tumi abar chinta korla, (mone rekho; bhoy pawar kichu ney–amra still amar mathar bhetorey–) je kola koli tar shate smellship er connection kon jogotte ache.

To, holo.

Chinta koro.

Ami tomake tota pakhi hote shikhabo na.




Tumi oi din holud jama porechila, still amar mathar bhitore mom,

Ekhon, amar bolar kotha, tomake khub shundor lagchilo,

Jeta shothik, oboshoi.

Kintu beshi ekta interesting bishoy na.

Ami kintu tomake bole dilam, ami ek sentence theke arek sentence lafai, khub,

abar poreo jai, khub.

Tomar, kono ekta pochondher perfume ache, jerekom amader shobari ache.


Ekhon amar proshno:oi perfume ta ki dhaka lit fest e shikar  korte eshechilo?

Hae, abar, na.

Hae karon, like obviously,

Na, karon tumi shikar korte jano na,

ebong tomar flirting type kotha barta pochondo na,


jetar mane tomake o keu shamajik bhabe shiker kore na,

-ar oshamajik shikar er nam to biye, oitar bepare pore kotha boli-

besides zarif, kintu oi tao khub ekta interesting bishoy na.

Amar tired lagche.




Shob kichu ki smellship ey shuru ebong shesh hoy.

Rafir alcoholic collar,

Or chokher school bag gran,


Keno? Karon orao chinta kore,

Kivabe potita ra almas e jay na,

Persona o wallet e chole.



Ami shob shomoy bujtam je khacha victoria secret, ba tomar jeta poshondo, diye ey rong kore,

Kintu na.

Alisha theke shiklam, je ashole sunsilk o ek jhon picasso.

I don’t like this.

Talking about things in this way.

In…terms of prey and hunter..but i can’t look away.

This is how i grew up,

And no matter how many times you say:-

“Tomra orokom bhabe chinta koro na,

ei jonnoi to ami tomader shate ghuri”

I still think like that, Niti.

And you think like you do bcoz


While i was browsing threads on reddit,

I learned that some old anglo-saxon dude in a kandura said that:

You can do whatever you want,

“But you can’t want whatever you want, and that’s the stuff that really matters,”

And even that was stolen from some anti-semite, whose name no one has a right to pronounce.


Egular shate smellship er connection ki?

Honestly, i don’t know.

Maybe i didn’t want to write about smellship,

And just detoured the conversation to ami jetar bepare lekhte cheye chilam.

Or hoytoba,

You just met someone,doesn’t matter when or where, who smelt really nice, and, wellyou fell for em.

Even through the reverse wind,

You fell for em.

That’s it.

You fell for em,

And it doesn’t matter, how many times you learn to crawl, walk and run, in that order,

You will always fall,


More mature,


matir shate thot legey thake,

Ar amra boro hoi,

abar hat te chikhi

-with love


Photograph- From Blue Valentine, cinematography by Andrij Parekh.

উন্নয়ন, Ara। উন্নয়ন.

উন্নয়ন, Ara। উন্নয়ন.

Rose butt–Any cigarette or anything of it’s family.

Silkworms spin mountain peaks

As they wear, during dog days,

Turbine fillip,

armpits–dead sea.


But why? Must i talk about the heat that pins itself onto bulletin boards boards, sweltering parlance scrolling past DSE tickers,

about the anchor’s ocean-bed, scrambling the brains of submersibles everywhere,

Sat bonereased with tv-dinner-trays–clicking punchcut white noise, rainbow signals–themselves dressed, baptized fried chickens–born agains with GMO stickers.

ballot initiatives on a 1..and-a..2..and-a..1..2..3..4..Priyo DorshokBondhu we are investigating our yaba popping cabals, GAZI TV is in no associated with these proceedings–237-5 as the reserve sweep banglawashes us into the junkies of Walton Bikes countrywide–Please do not menstruate on the couch, and if you must, at least look like a doll ;)–I see diamond mines, you see me–Stars are regional hegemony, but the items are a cocktease–exhaust your nationalism, AT ATTENTION FOR THE ANTHEM, please.

Photograph:- Camilo José Vergara

Pedophilia, the 14th

Pedophilia, the 14th

“We’ll have to take revenge on these people, each and every one, yes”

Is that wise? now

“Oh yes! blood for blood, violence is the creed, we have won this because of violence–no constitutional movement; violence is the only answer.”

Shall we?

Yes, and while I do not claim to speak for the entire peoples presented in your episteme, which, one must admit very succinctly gets the point across, I must extrapolate, as my teachers always taught me to be grateful for the blood spilled in my name:

And how would one go about to lecture the oppressed to not see their oppressors through the barrel of a gun,

Because the barrel never ends?

i like my tombs shallow,
they speak to my children;


are their Santa Claus,
they speak,
my children,

they play like jack-in-the-box, hostage negotiators,

My tanks cannot help Kashmir,
so, we build our own neck-of-the-woods,
all our Censor Boards will now be written in fuck.

Dear Rangamati,
my son hates me,
he hates those who don’t hate me,
he wants to Phelps the Karnaphuli,
I will arrange for the cheers,
in the penthouse.

Have you seen mybicycle?
the subtitles, sure,
But our Pharaohs are all dead, sir.

Aren’t people pissed off?
And you are telling me his funeral is going to be well attended,
Well, Yeah,
Fucking Great, well, he might as well have a 21 gun, if he’s going to go all public-execution on me,
Duly noted,
Yeah, it better be, dig up the graves, dress em in a few of my coats,
Nehru sir…
NEHRU, banchod
yes, sir,
…and yeah, glasses, pipe, you know the drill,
we need those guys who talked to the Associated Press,

and history, we need history.

when Lean, Green T & motherwife go out to play

when Lean, Green T & motherwife go out to play

Crush glass after use,
Frozen drinks,
Italian burger,

I m sitting,
Waiting for my basket of chicken.

Booth, top right–

Suit jacket casually,
Can’t go to the washroom–bathroom if i am being homely, thudding on the ‘a’

Lean, green T
Long time, no see, the missus and the kid(s) have drilled into my fraternity

Aloof, third wheel,
Maybe monogamy isn’t that bad, not that i would like to find out.

Booth, bottom right,

Infant, ampersand?

Mother, like mandarins, malta was the word, but my thumbs shiver at pointing bi-lingual dis-ingenuity. And why is it, that she be mother first, wife second, caretaker 3rd…

…maybe not the last one,
There are certain metonyms, yeah that’s what they are called, i think
Like streets of paris–meaning i don’t know, anything from high-couture to toaplaceyouhaveneverexperiecednostalgic for.
Um, and san-francisco, which is liberal or experimental, very artsy, not like paris though, no,
But, what really stands out is africa, on the rare occasion, i can identify a specific locale, it is more likely a reference to something primalordeal, like the sahara, or grasslands, or if you are really feeling adventurous even lions, or gazelles, or god forgive you, cheetahs.
No haight-ashbury, no left bank, only victoria falls, and the pyramids…
Which brings me to you,

work for motherwife, you play with infant seated opposite to her. She laughs. Infant gesticulates, you laugh too. I can’t identify you though, your damp-looking bland dress is one i cannot differentiate from the ones that i have seen in, i was going to say under rubble of factory collapses, but that would just be a lie, because i have seen those only on tv or on drivebys, i am told, so instead i will say, various invitations to the self-identifying middle class, which doesn’t really mean anything, and is amorphous as smoke, thus the prefix, because, i am told, again, that engineers earn way too much for, houses, which have perhaps taught me, through my disgust of them, the overuse of parenthesis.
You stood there under the kitchen door frame,
It’s not that the clothes you all wear are the same color or something, it’s just that i honestly cannot tell you apart, you all look the same to me,
not heterogeneous organisms to respond to stimuli, but, swallow them on all fours.

The caretaker, the child bride, dowry with a bobby pin, assimilator, party cannon, union card-holder, depoliticized hack, one time muse, art gallery centerfold, post-structural thesis,

you change her diapers,

I fall,
And The earth, tilts on its axis
A little,
Every Time you learn how to nod in deference say–no, thank you,

Exarcheia≠Imitating Tyrants*

Exarcheia≠Imitating Tyrants*


“I. Against her will.
II. Without her consent.
III. With her consent, when her consent has been obtained by putting her in fear of death, or of hurt.
IV. With her consent, when the man knows that he is not her husband, and that her consent is given because she believes that he is another man to whom she is or believes herself to be lawfully married.
V. With or without her consent, when she is under fourteen years of age.

Exception. Sexual intercourse by a man with his own wife, the wife not being under thirteen years of age, is not rape.”


I. Against her will.

II. Without her consent

III. With her consent, when her consent has been obtained by putting her in the fear of death , or of hurt.

IV. With her consent, when the firm/executive knows that they are not her current employers, and that her consent is given because she believes the firm/executive in question to be, or she has been made to believe, her current employers.

V. With or without her consent, when she is under fourteen years of age.

Exception. Work, when she claims her consent has not been obtained by the employer, and as an extension by the state, which hereby drafts this law in her name, because consent, as defined by the penal charter, is subject to Clause III of the code of ethics for work, which says that it is considered slavery “when her consent has (been) obtained by putting her in the fear of death, or of hurt”

I surmise then, that it is the indeed the fear of death which looms over me and my brethren and sistren, in so far as we do fear being the undertaker’s midnight shift, our bellies hollow husks of corn, echoing with the liberty you have bequeathed upon us– when we refuse to work for our employers, when we refuse to work for any employer, and our inner bobby sands declares that yes, we do want to be exiled from your maze, carried out by your unionist warden, and no, we will not rise from the ashes of the old world, or whatever your poets jack off to, for we will not wait for you to burn, and we will not confront the barrels of your muskets with the whites of our eyes. For we do not owe you that resistance, so that you might legitimize your parenthood. We will neither write about hasina, nor about rana plaza, to the DGFI intern who put her name on google Alert, nor speak any language you expect us to speak, neither allow ourselves to be branded as paychecks with loudspeakers, because we will drink Coke with a knife in your back, the days will pass, and our grip will loosen, but the knife will turn into wheels, and the figures of speech of today will become stale, and the snowmen of our ventilators will rain like gary powers’ v2s à la fatmen pamphlets onto beaches, to sewing machines, to whorehouses, to asylums, onto the bronx, the ones in karwanbazarbegunbari geneva-camp, like the ones in rio, where the abandoned pools surf venice beach, like the ones in the latin quarter, like indigenous similes in the Serengeti coltan meadows, like the human faces pasted across the intersections of prague, to hollywood boulevard which will throw mujahideen-grown opium tomatoes at screenings of soviet tank-men raising their fists to our pipe dreams, in your sewers.

Water your own favelas,
Bloom your own ghettos,
Larvae your metaphors,
Fuck Butterflies.

*Terms and Conditions apply.



COP 21/theblackblocs are coming

COP 21/theblackblocs are coming

I. Kyoto

Paladin Clinton promises not to jerk off,
while the geographical inheritors of Fanon’s dream, stage a sit-in,
to delay capitulation to a binding nofap policy,
“But, you have raped the world, & now it our turn! We will avenge Bretton Woods, except he will now be tarzan, with a penchant for Oriental Memes”
Yet, the elephant is the room itself,
because the agreement is
–signed in cum–yes, the same, as on her dress.

II. Detente

Now, the vulgarity is slowly shed,
ofcourse, they are fully-fleshed adults,
“No, more shall we scar our mothers for life, as they open our doors uninvited”
this is where the analogy starts to break down,
(bcoz semen claims to be bottomless,
while fossilized dinosaurs are not, as such, reproduced to be reborn into greenhouse gases, at auturky)
Where were we,
Cognitive dissonance.

III. State of Emergency

Jack Ma,
the guy pops up incognito,
Says, that nobody goes to Starbucks for the coffee,
they go for the lifestyle,
vis-a-vis why Air France sponsors climate change commissions, when international aviation pokes holes in the ozone faster then a mil., yes you asshole(s), munching down the Champs Elysees?

IV. But, the immigrants,

Non-topic, Subjects are asexual.

V. Broken Windows

galvanize YouTube commentators calling for riot police to unionize

Art:-Bill Posters