right now i'm thinking
        about angry older gals
at the supermarket,
i'm thinking: shave the bush,
start a razor "wildfire"...
let's see your neck and your
chin, shave off that beard...
the crazy much older than
your supermarket attendees
are dropping the word
viking while you shop
for whiskey, onions and
tomatoes,
even the security guard is
looking at you funny...
   your excuse of:
i became bored of shaving
is not going to work
on these women,
in their late 50s,
making all the talk the talk
and the talk being
small talk and
trebling in: i really just came
in here for a purchase,
i don't have the ***** to
do the small talk...
    of course that's always besides
the point...
    viking?!
               how about a
      zimmer frame?
                    god, small talk kills me,
i don't know how to make a chair out
of it to sit on for much longer than
feel comfortable longer
                  than 5 minutes on it...
and there's always one of these women
in the supermarket,
she just knows small-talk -
     kleinsprechen...
while i know the großsprechen -
alternatively: stille (silence);
but she just insists upon
her solipsisms,
  and she does so perfectly,
she talks, and even manages to reply
for me...
            at least a monologue of
a madman is less claustrophobic
when you spot a solipsistic woman in
her antics,
       at least the madman in his
monologue feeds you not claustrophobia...
given he's so self-engrossed in
imaginative cursor workings...
    a madman's monologue never
morphs into a solipsistic claustrophobia
intimidation, notably within the guise
of women...
       i'd prefer a madman oblivious to
me in his externalised monologue,
than a woman in a supermarket,
oblivious to her solipsistic take on dialogue
intimidation by restraining the other
in a pseudo-claustrophobia;
that famous echo chamber...
   please, throw me into the cushioned
room with a madman, i'd rather hear
his monologue,
   than her attempt at
            a dialogue in a supermarket!