sometimes it so happens that... you ride a bicycle to get a... suntan on your legs... the face is covered, the hands and forearms too... little blonde hairs protruding... giggling copper-neck: i have become...

a purely joyous endeavour, it has to be,
there's no otherwise...
cycling... against the eight winds:
gusts from either the south, east...
or gusts from north-east...
perhaps i could brag about knowledge
of classical music...
but something wonderful is brewing
in Europe... a pagan revival in music...
example no. 1? Faun...
tanz mit mir! there are plenty others...
i was almost waiting for this to happen...
to escape the constipation of a Glass...
sorry... i can't listen to the "music" of
falling pianos or shattering glass...
give me the sparrows... give me the sparrows!
by now... a crow croaking:
uncorking a bottle of wine sounds more
pleasant...
i'm alone... there's a maine **** cat sleeping
in my bed... how did i manage
to have a cat that likes me?
doesn't matter... peasant music... like peasant
food: the simpler it is the better it is...
of the people: for the people...
i'd settle for some chants of the templars
while i'm at it...
anything medieval... too...
because i can't remember having fun with
music since...
oh... silverchair's: frogstomp...
or... tool's anaemia...
                                or... king crimson's:
in the court of the crimson king...
or culture's: harder than the rest...
- i never understood any sort of music snobbery...
Phil Collins has had a terrible time...
whenever his solo project
or whether still writing for Genesis...
surprise surprise...
on a cool night when...
it really takes 2 sessions of cycling to complete it...
the 2nd... cruise mentality...
the most perfect song: Genesis' no son of mine...
the bicycle turned into a drum-kit...
i was hammering my legs
on the pedals and grooving
finger tapping...
don't know: perhaps it was just the excuse for
a day spent...
a most perfect song to listen to
while cycling through the labyrinth of
streets of outer London...
peeping into houses
watching them ferment into cucumber pickles
watching t.v.:
i still watch it... i'd much prefer an aquarium
filled with fish... better still...
a fireplace... t.v. Plato's cave it is...
from time to time...
10 years not cycling:
i still can't get over the fact
that a £125 viking road bicycle is a better
machine than a £495 trek marlin mountain bike...
what else?
i seem to have forgotten something
having found myself this very evening...
ah... cycling in the evening...
when the air thins out
because it cools...
you can get up to 30+kmh on some
stretches of the road... whizz whizz...
the trees forever stand: deservedly rooted...
i imagine what it must feel like
to jump into the swimming pool...
i haven't swam in well over a decade:
it's not like i've forgotten it...
i haven't forgotten my centre of gravity
on a bicycle... those 23cm tyres really
pierce the tarmac...
the momentum is unreal...
as is my aggressive cycling...
i like to shame the people driving by being
quicker out onto the roundabout...
not being a **** about it...
but... solipsistic cyclists that get themselves
splattered into liver pate...
drivers that indicate too late or...
too soon... then change their minds...
to hell with owning a car!
why would i need a car?
by car, what's implied?
road-tax... m.o.t.... i can fix my own bicycle up...
plus the thrill of tight: lycra...
the closest i'll come to latex and b.d.s.m. ***
i wouldn't substitute a bicycle for
a motorbike even if i wanted
the added speed...
what?! so freely... no helmet... wind against the
face... eh...
absolutes... minimalism...
i would be most tired trying to pretend
to be a good lover...
i'd be tired of the dates...
put me on a bicycle
and i'm off... rummaging in my mind...
- and as i left Upminster and headed toward...
i'm most thoroughly: through-and-through...
what am i? i must be an: Anglo-Slav...
i'm pretty sure the Anglo-Saxons were
Saxon-Saxons prior to reaching these
isles... where... the Romans found the Welsh
and the Scots and all the other Celts...
well then... then the infusion of French Normans
and the French Normans having roots
in Scandinavia... Danes... etc.
who are you? i ask myself...
perhaps i don't agree with the layer
of culture ruling these lands...
i knew this would happen...
when my grandfather died i knew i would
close a chapter of a book
where i still felt some... organic...
thirst for my native Poland...
the English have a knack at organising
land... the Polacks lack it...
ask a ****** what a village should be...
all the houses at the main road...
never... like the Ingleash... German... huddled together...
scenic...
i once loved the pines of Poland...
forests of birch trees! the scouts
of the kingdom of trees...
i've settled for the oak of England...
kings of the north...
Anglo-Slav... well... i have been living 'ere
since i was 8...
i'm 35 now...
if the natives care so much to pander
to their former colonial subjects...
at least the Sikhs can be met in the middle:
in no-man's land...
and almost everyone else...
but it's their problem...
i just acquired this tongue and i'll use this
tongue over my native tongue:
even though i rather read a philosophy book
in ****** than in English...
i can't read a philosophy book in English...
English pragmatism is too strong
to settle for continental metaphysics as
somehow... entertaining...
i don't know the months of the year
in my mother-tongue...  i rather think of numbers
in: raz... dwa... trzy... cztery...
than one, two, three, four...
this apparently makes me a schizophrenic:
literally: bilingual...
to hell with it... bothersome little: turnips in tunics...
i stopped minding when i learned
that... people don't really need to be
that important...
- how else doesn't it therefore work?
former colonial subjects came to England
and began their quest to own the English
institutions... laws...
lawns...
so much for the debacle of Rotherham...
me?
i came for Bower Wood... i came for
the rolling hills of Essex...
i came for the oak... i came for the jolly
green...
even if London has "fallen" and become
little Lahore...
i'm not native enough to cry over the loss...
i'm looking for an England "elsewhere"...
eh... they didn't leave any wolves roaming:
i'll settle for the foxes!
it took me an almost "forever" to "befriend" one...
but then i cooked the most amazing curry
and he came sniffing...
i fattened him up for a month...
before he was hit by a car or...
worse... poisoned... a fox that became a dog:
no food went to waste...
well... no need to masquerade this freely:
come... freely on a whim go...
i don't need to lie about being a Don Juan...
i don't need to go on dates:
i can just find my way into a brothel
but by then: cycling is more available
ergo? by then *** becomes a chore...
hyped-up: i like to use the muscles associated
with cycling... i'll bench-press my body
to deflate the "*****":
i just don't need the lies of purity...
body-count... who's fooling who?
a dog invokes a need for a leash...
how much i prefer cats? no leash...
and there are periods in the day
when they disappear: best ignored...
if only women were like that...
women are hardly feline creatures...
i like my £120 an hour *******...
if asked to go on a date i'd be gagging for the whole
day... an Edward Hopper hour at the gallery...
a film... then some food...
that wasn't a date... it was a day!
i'm diesel like that... it takes me a lot of day's
worth to build up momentum...
first come first served:
stomach is to be associated
with butterflies?

nice cinema... great memories...
well...
    what's not to like...
best baked with all that's sincere and makes
life worthwhile...
however much others undermine your
neglect of ambition being
satisfied with crumbs...

life is so completely mine at this sitting
of doodle that:
well... a maxim of sorts would quite
simply... spoil it!