of the two places this world has to offer... i find a totality in only two enclosures... the forest... Bower Wood... or the Havering County Park... and any cemetery... it has to be a contest between, either trees... or graves...

i usually weep when i find something insufferably
beautiful... that it's usually music
is no surprise...
               i could argue with the Darwinism that
surrounds the argument that men are
visual creatures, primarily... to be honest?
i'm more prone to trust my ears with regards to...
what ought to be wept over...
i.e. if Ancient Greece is known for their cohort
of child-men... philosophers of this period were:
the epitome of the child-man...
there's no argument...
         never did so many individuals have so many
original thoughts as those, ******* did...
period...
but what is Byzantine Greece known for?
         for me? the psalms...
            Δευτε λαoι...
           now i could rewrite this using the proper
diacritical markers... or... i could use hyphens...
i.e. for the syllables being seen...
    deu-tE       lao-E...
             the capital letter indicates an acute accent
hovering about the letter... in the latter case...
an IOTA becomes EPSILON...
  it's still bewildering for me...
the difference between EPSILON and ETA...
but these letters have... names!
so much so that they can become mathematical
constants or scientific constants...
on point: it also seems it's not that the greek
gods died... but the letters abandoned the Greeks...
that the Ancient Greeks were the originators...
they didn't give us any follow-up scrutiny
of the world...
imagination takes its toil...
but at least the letters are also nouns...
unlike their Roman counterparts which are...
vowels and consonants: two categories...
only last night i was writing with someone
when... it started to rain that sort of impossibly
while i was perched on the windowsill sitting
on a folded right leg with the left leg dangling...
as it rained i outstretched my hand in an imitation
of a cup and... subsequently...
started to smear the rain onto my face
and into my hair...
it's coming up to the anniversary of my grandfather's
death and... one year later...
i abhor to borrow from pop culture:
esp. harry potter...
but... it had me thinking...
the horcrux...
             crux: pivot... cross... Golgotha..
but what's the etymology of the prefix hor-     ?
-ror?
        it implies what it implies...
splitting of the soul via killing someone...
through the absolute negation: the non-existent other...
it was only a splendid 1pm when i sat down
to drink some coffee...
on a side-note... after having stopped drinking
the typical way English people drink tea: with a dollop
of milk (they also drink tea this way in Siberia,
who came up with it?) green tea... thoroughly green...
i've emerged with a lactose intolerance...
i could drink raw milk by the pint...
now? i get the ******* ***** and stomach churns
like i'm about to eat a bag of beans!
i guess Pythagoras was right...
there must be the antonym of a horcrux in terms of...
the people we loved... were intimate with...
perhaps love is unlike killing...
esp. when the people you love are no longer
in your life...
it's not impossible to think that your soul (Σ...
that which is the all encompassing animation of
this, here... body) can't split... splinter...
oh it's so much easier with prostitutes...
one hour... half an hour...
i still remember them... how i touched them...
the grooves of their collar-bones...
their knees...
how their hands disappeared into mine...
the tenderness of so many parts of their body...
the tension in some...
            that's easy to sort out...
  but i'm always elsewhere...
  ah! it's so simple! what?! the etymology!
the prefix hor- is not associated with the root word
horror... it is... hor- for horizontal!
well then... if the thesis of a horcrux... is achieved
by killing someone...
then... the antithesis if a vercrux...
vertical / (transitive) to see...
                   oh i see... even having affection for
my grandfather (maternal): my paternal grandfather
can be dismissed...
don't ask... long story...
               strange... this transition...
when nature takes its course and a vercrux disappears:
you sort of... implode...
a piece of you returns to you...
since... a piece of you attached to a person
is no longer alive...
i still have plenty of vercruxes to find...
well... "find"...
for a year i tried to cry... i found it was easier
to break my head a little and bleed out one night
than cry... i finally did manage to mourn...
but i don't think i was mourning...
it was still beauty that brought me to tears:
el cant de la sibil.la catalunya
                       jordi savall...
hell... i still have pieces of me lost in people
somewhere...
it's not that i regret them not being in my life...
this one Russian beau...
beauty she wasn't... sort of troll-like...
bad tempered dreads... terrible accent... great ***...
terrible manners:
liar... she introduced me to her grandmother
and told me she was her mother...
while her mother... was "apparently" her sister...
well... you know... those Novosibirsk girls...
****'s on fire!
i rarely lie so when i hear someone try to persuade me
with their little fiction piece but
no ******* Anna Karenina... i tend to believe them...
it's not that they're purposively liars:
infusing lies with negation...
but that... they think their lives are boring...
mundane... bleached... eh...
there's this proverb: lies walk on short legs...
but i can't forgive myself the fact that i:
gave up a piece of myself for this girl!
i bemoan a part of my lost to her...
i don't bemoan her...
she ****** off like Jennie in Forrest Gump...
engaged to me, married some poor sucker...
then dated others...
she's... 34 and on her 2nd if not third husband...
the last time i saw her...
for some odd reason i need to visit Edinburgh...
again...
if there's any city i wish to haunt...
Paris is great when you're alive...
but i imagine Edinburgh is even better when
you're dead...
there she was... the same old her... girl...
playing video games...
with her hand slashed downward in parallel with
her veins...
i brought a copy of Joyce's Finnegans Wake...
i peered at what she was reading...
Ulysses and some Nietzsche...
                such a talkative creature... arrogant...
now... reduced by my presence to...
chewing on her tongue...
               she threw a party because i guess my presence
evoked a sense of claustrophobia:
esp. seeing her so vulnerable... slashed had
detailing the presence of her veins...
only then she seemed like a tender creature...
but then i started talking to this guy
and he said he ****** her...
while she was dating this other guy who
simply looked at me sitting on the sofa... sleeping
on the sofa for three days...
never being undressed...
bringing her a curry: mein gott... the amount
of coffee she was drinking while playing
video games...
she was draining her body of potassium: i thought...
my first girlfriend came up to Edinburgh
for me to play a lesbian game with her
while ******* her *******...
months later... maybe a year... she lost her virginity
to me... not a fun event...
******* a ******: i don't understand why you'd
need 72... i remember the sensation of
pulling back my *******
and the... flimsy sort skin protecting what
would later become...
a breeding machine... i commented on her
most recent birth... how sad she looked...
she excused me for being an artist...
i don't think she understood the meaning...
i was saying she was sad in the context of Henry VII...
5 children... all daughters...
and she came from a big household...
two brothers and a sister...
Priya... love at first sight...
     i remember the first time i saw her younger sister...
i must have been 18 while she was...
14? well... you read enough Marquis de Sade /
Nabokov... there's nothing terribly bad about
anything... if you orientate yourself properly...
****... i need more juice to write some more...
momentum!
i've never tasted amphetamines...
tobacco and more bourbon will have to supply
me with enough substitute...

forests and graveyards...
i'm at my wit's end trying to compare...
both... i can't tell the one from the other...
making a ****** lose her virginity is one thing...
but losing one's own?
from what i later found out in the brothel
where... unlike that Spanish girl: under the bed sheets?
seriously?! it's suffocating...
at least in the brothel we do things openly naked...
dimmed lights... sure... but not in ******* cocoons!

Isabella... what a ****** way to lose one's virginity...
third year exchange student from Grenoble...
Isabella...
            man in *** is like a diesel engine...
it takes time... it takes experience...
i've given up on how the reverse missionary:
rodeo? would look like... *******...
i've given up...
  30 minutes every half a decade is:
by my "understanding" plentiful...

first girlfriend... so we had a party...
blah blah... the rest of the night i remember tending to
her in a... sand-sack(?)... all shivering...
while her best fwend was downstairs
in some Shoreditch apartment doing coke....
i just remember the sensation of her shivering...
half away... came the morning: came the break-up...

it's so refreshing when you're a man
and... all the women in your life break up with you...
it's so refreshing not being a ****-boy...
i love it!

oh these grand biographies... once the life has been lived
people finally surrender to what
some people find: ongoing... it's never something to
be "found" once "enough" has been...
ahem... "accomplished":
i find it's best... found... at its most fractured...
yet "somehow" coming together...

TOMIKUNI... a name of this Japanese fwend i had
at university... watch me now:
i'll bemoan how Japanese... doesn't allow
its syllables to mangle with two consonants...
akin to -bl-
         which, looks deceptively Russian...
i.e. ы...            at best represented in Latin via: ý...
but in Japanese you can't mingle two consonants
together...
you can't have a... PRior...
               everything in this language
is cut to sushi proportions when vowels mingle
with consonants...
it's such a lovely... way to encode sounds
without process Chinese ideograms (skeletal
hieroglyphics)...

i'm still a splintered conjuring of man...
i left pieces of myself in others!
two parts of me have returned...
the death of my maternal great-grandmother
and my maternal grandfather...
mangled hip-replacement bona fide(s)!
perhaps if i lived among people that
happened to breed like rabbits...
it could make my stomach churn out less
spare cheese of curd....

a litre of diesel fuel of herr whiskers
& ms. amber will do to ein... one...
i've splintered my soul so much up...
then again: when i'm all alone and... ahem...
"surprised"... i'll find the world
at its zenith...
me not being in it to begin with...
what a comforting thought...
terribly blessing with all its agonies:
nonetheless... forthcoming in the grit of reality....

one litre of bourbon! **** me...
back to my "good old days"!
only recently i ws scribbling with some girl...
what is it.... Halloween season?
i need to be messaging four girls
simultaneously?!

i still think my beard makes a better violin:
should even the best of violins come
to the fore!