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Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.you might ask: why isn't third-party "issues": 34% in bold?! simple... depends who you do it with... AND believe me... we must be living in the golden age of prostitution... god they care about protection, one even said to me: i get checked for S.T.D.'s on a regular basis... and i'm pretty sure AIDS doesn't travel from the oral consumption of ****... stomach acids and whatnot... see... transparency... even if it was "****"... when she's crying like that... would i walk into a shop a buy / steal a leg of lamb with or without the usage of a transaction meta-object? hell... i'm interested in the metaphysics of money, sue me... but you never invest a person into the formula of ******* with a *******... there's absolutely zilch, in terms of investing with something beside your body... your character and what not... pure Newtonian physics... two ****-naked bodies colliding... and since it's a legal transaction... ****... what lie is there, breach of conduct? if you don't pay... the **** gets his way: adding fist to the face, first, and then a fist up your ***: and you can scream ****! ****! ****! all you want by then... the English can't accomplish the perfected art of an affair akin to the French... it's not in their Huguenots' nature... so why the elaborate lie? **** it... an hour at a brothel... and let me tell you... a ******* will ask you questions like a priest: questions like: do you have a girlfriend? affair over what? an hour, an impersonal hour with what allures a soul, a thought, but is fundamentally the reciprocal posit of your own body... sure as **** beats the ******* / stripper profession ****-tease... god... they're so ******* ethical these days, actually caring, telling you whether or not they check themselves regularly for STDs... mind you... one of them told me a story about a ****** in a Spanish brothel, by some pundit.

let's be honest, for once...
there's no point parading the matter,
orchestrated by some
distant pompous sentiment
for: whatever life was
supposed to be, for all of us,
but never became -
an alignment of thought and
being...
              
  what the **** has someone
done with my fox?! well... "my" fox...
he hasn't been seen
for two nights and i'm getting
worried!


i am a drunk -
        my maternal grandfather
was a drunk,
my paternal grandfather was
a drunk, my uncle is a drunk...
only my father with his
father complex is the odd one out...
genes took over...
if i didn't drink,
as i once did...
   bah... a fairy tale...
           why bother lying?

point being: i'm far from a drunk fiend...
a fiend nonetheless -
benevolent at times -
like... ah... **** it... whatever:
i'm not going to gloat about
my antics...

but at least i own my predisposition,
and thank **** that i'm
not looking for a partner -
as my grandmother used to
say about her son (my uncle):
it be better he stays alone
that brings misery to any woman...

hey, i have a drunk's perfect
stash of interests!
   i'm not going to repent either...
do "you" even think it would
be possible to
read a single book of philosophy
when paired to a woman?
i don't think so...

            and the hours i spend at
night, headphones on,
listening to **** like 90s sub-grunge
akin to mad season (song,
i'm alone)?
   **** no!

                i'd have philosophy in
body, looking across from me...
    i'm starting to contemplate
that man has internalized
the perfect woman...
while woman?
  has internalized the most imperfect
man...

           i'm starting to think
that, the whole physical reality,
puritanical materialism -
hell - going as far as undermining
the theory with transgenderism...
can i say that men are more patient
than women, when it should
be the opposite?
   well... then again, "should"...

i am what any woman would
consider - broken goods...
good... i like that...
       it means i can be left the **** alone...
drink as much as i want,
read as much of what middle-aged
women call: drivel (philosophy)
and spend my time listening
to a back-catalog of bands from
the 90s... or the prior century...

what... with the current statistics
from the Sunday Times Style
magazine?
      53% contra 32% of women
and men (respectively)
          are happier post-divorce...
61% contra 47% are happy staying single
post-divorce...
happy new singletons:
aged 55...
                 42% of marriages
are affected by divorce...
                86% cited not being ashamed
of divorce...
      ill harbor imbedded in
a former spouse men (17%) - women (8%)...
argument for divorce:
my spouse "changed" (49%) -
now... this is interesting -
i remember seeing this same *******
over a wide span of time...
the second time i saw her -
she said to me: but you haven't changed -
and subsequently starting crying
while drunk during ***...
so i know where "change" argument comes
from...
    ***** i aged... finito!
males more likely to date within
the first 6 months...
     66% had children of ex-spouses...
    90% agreed that staying in an unhappy
marriage is worse than divorce...
   i bet 99% would find life more rosy
than being dead: what with being wed
to life... sure as ****: i've seen my grandparents
at it... my parents... life outside of
marital constraints is so ******* rosy!
food stamps and no central heating...
rosy as ****!
          third-party "issues": 34%...
lack of communication: 29%
    incompatibility: 23%
          abuse: 22%...
           different "life goals": 20%...
***-related problems: 11%...
                  in-laws: 7%,
  parenting problems: 5%...
          financial issues: 14%...
well... well well...
isn't life just peachy!
           those percentages in bold?
they're in bold for a ******* reason...
the only reasons that would
make a divorce definitely prudish...
    the rest?
fickle people... little fickle people...
it's like eating a bowl of Haribo sweets!
the choices!

stats? Style report -
     1,060 of women and men surveyed
Fleur Britten...
     Style Magazine 23 Sept 2018...

well... i'm out, always was out...
no woman wants a drink,
and i have Sophia to think about...
       and what a spectacular failure
i am in this department...
the longest "relationship" i was in
didn't even pass the half year mark...
and that's even before i started
my career in drinking with Jack -
(by the way, he sends his warmest
regards) -

            bitter? no... not really...
i can't share a bed with a ******* cat,
let alone something much larger
and not furry...
             my bitterness dies within
the confines of an hour with
some Bulgarian girl
   who cries when she notices
my heart is an unwavering rock...

            hell... when she started crying
like that during ***,
talking about her daughter...
    what are you supposed to do
if not stop, cuddle,
and kiss her tears?
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
there comes a time when you have: enough...
you listen to these pundits,
these so-called shuffling journalists and
becomes overwhelmed as if sitting by
a blackjack table...
    you never imagine their respect
for their craft,
  some do manage to become
all the president's men, but few, fewer
han you might think: ever do...
        buy ups, cut offs, wishing they were
all screeching banshees on the ready,
but there never are any,
   just any pornographica pornstars who
said: i'm ready for a ******* henry.
        and the callousness, the easiness,
makes drinking a whiskey
all the more respectable...
              i know i've chosen rightly with
ms. amber...  i feel less like a ****
and more like a connoisseur with every
minute...
                   tell you what,
let's meet down the middle whereby actions
are worth are more than words,
and the whole "freedom of speech"
is but a bad dream...
            isn't it? i thought that actions
spoke louder than words, so why defend them?
it really, really comes down to the
nietzschean inversion of cartesian "talk",
apparently inverted the original
into a sum ergo cogito (a footnote
remark in his white zombie inspired
     human, all too human
entry point into pop culture -
as ever, the silent mind,
    makes use of waiting for the mass
of prey) -
              i can do the same with heidegger...
i listen to these journalistic endeavours,
i listen to them intently...
but i have a problem..
   this da-sein is peppered with difficulty;
you can call me a res cogitans
a thinking thing, but i sometimes
am not, namely: heidegger's dasien
is the antithesis of res cogitans...
     we're not heroes or villains by thinking
about the act in the da / momentum
   - in the "there" / momentum...
               the "carpe diem"...
            there's no carpe illic (seize a there)-
       as there's no esse in diem (being in a day) -
       find a niche, weave a web...
               journalism has already killed off
heidegger's dasein,
        it's either called blackmail or extortion,
we are handled with a perplexity of
feeding the bacon of "handling" facts...
      we are required to ensure there's an
empathetic comment subsequently readied,
we are to enforce empathy,
a fakery of empathy...
          heidegger couldn't have predicted
the death of his idea so fast,
  in that journalism (legacy) killed off
the concept of dasein so quickly and
effectively...
                sure, journalism stresses a
da - a "there" - but where i'm at,
there's hardly any talk of correlative translation
to a sein: i.e. being.
              first the education system
erodes the faculty of memory with pointless
arithmetic tables, then the "real" world
erodes the faculty of imagination with
pointless jobs and the grand carnation
wishes of disney's bloom...
             and the two two come together
and: after that? let's pretend we "think"...
        the notion of the existence of free will
is not answered with a first amendment,
it's answered with a freedom of thought:
   freedom of thought comes prior to the freedom
of speech, that danish bachelor kierkegaard
pointed it out: better to think freely,
than to talk freely, since not everyone will
have the vocal capacity of a sophist!
nonetheless i listen to the news,
   and am abhorred by it...
            not because i care:
hey! you don't care about my problems,
why in the world, should i care about yours?
what am i, the imitation of "saint" theresa of
calcuta?
          heidegger's concept translate directly
into current journalism...
        me, i prefer to think of his concept
to reverse nietzsche's reversal of cartesian
thinking: not all existence is purposed to
merely think, i.e.
       the: being there (dasein) is reversed
into: there's being (sein ist dort) -
     heidegger is the father of modern journalism,
and also the person who can be utilised
to combat journalism stagnating into
voyeurism...
         both are pretty much the same these days...
journalism = voyeurism...
                sure, i don't like being forced
into being "there" - primarily because i have
a blocking membrane "antibiotic" of simply
retorting: well, there's being;
  the **** would i want to suggest a worthy
escapade of "imagination" into a spirit-cooking
session, i rather spend the rest of the day
in a butcher's shop! and yes, i like my memory
intact, i like the memories of my childhood,
i don't need my memory undermined
by ******* arithmetic or stories of pythagoras
selling baked beans to pursue his
lessons!
     and i really don't care if heidegger was
a **** party member, what i don't understand
is the western left: you ever talked to
a communist proper? a real one, no fakes?
my grandfather was a proud communist party
member...
           even his take on transgenderism as being
a leftist agenda would have been: wha'?!
     you sure we don't need to castrate
these people?
                   never mind,
i'd actually love to be called a ****...
  i have no problem with that:
  the only thing i have to lose is a chance for
a punch-up in an alley, and i've been training:
punching myself in the face until my jaw
starts aching can be fun, but not as much as fun
as talking down police brutality:
the colt's screaming while i'm kneeling having
just finished ******* in the alley,
and he's screaming, the female officer is
making notes, because the screaming ******
is probably dyslexic, or a D in g.c.s.e. english...
puts the handcuffs on, i tell him
a cameo version of an autobiography...
so they release me... see...
  screaming does very little to scare someone...
the fact that i was being ridiculously stoic
****** him off...
   never thought that ******* in an alley was
a crime... so i said: you don't own this
shaded corner, do you?
as the joke runs, better than frying bacon:
two police officers walk up to you -
(a) one will surely be able to write...
(b) the other will surely be able to read...
(c) a + b = a guarantee!
     besides the point, heidegger is the father
of pre-modern journalism,
well, journalism up to robert redford
& dustin hoffman, oh yeah, and david frost...
hell, that was, journalism,
        the whole notion of dasein was
invigorating the whole movement,
  but then journalism shifted its attention from
heidegger... and people were forced into
"emoticon" politics of a "there" and a "being",
i.e. being the killer, imagining the torture cell,
etc. etc.,
                 can i watch some ******* disney,
for ****'s sake?!
            i want the journalist to be there:
and the reason why i don't want to be "there":
is because: i'm not!
   but this only produced journalists
who weren't even "there" to begin with...
    cordoned off by police "protection" -
people talk about a snowflake generation
that the millennials are, "apparently";
can we start off with the "journalists"
of the prior generation?
                   besides the point...
heidegger is the father of modern journalism,
but he's also underread...
      which is great, since you can become
pro-elitism after a book or two...
    yes, if i wanted to wipe my *** with
a modern novel, i'd sooner take to reading
a roll of toilet paper... sorry...
but leisurely reading material is for people
sunbathing on a deckchair on barbados;
i don't like easy...
   and i certainly don't like reading books,
that might as well have been
written in braille...
  perhaps in braille they might be "mildly"
stimulating,
      yes yes, i know,
bestsellers and all,
   but from what i've noticed:
     why do people need to talk so much to reach
that sort of status?
             once upon a time i wanted to
be "famous", but after watching enough
people reach the status of "fame",
having watched how exhausting it is...
i thought to myself:
       keep to the "karma" of tao -
               keep that obscurity,
   it's perhaps not the case that enough
people have woken up, it's perhaps the case
that not the right people: have been born.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
that depiction of  a scene in Marie-Antoinette...
between
Louis-Stanislas, Comte de Provence -
brother to Louis XVI...
    who would become Louis XVIII
and his wife...
        Princess Maria Giuseppina of Savoy...
where she nagging him to provide
her with a child to stop pestering him
from doing... whatever it was that he was
doing... him remarking...
get your ugly face out of my moon light!

whether it is true via a fictional depiction:
never mind that!
i can trace back to the scene where
both of them are lying in bed
and he's trying to get a *******:
god, that face, there is nothing worse
than an ugly smile on a woman
and i have seen some ugly smiles on women:
beautiful women with ugly smiles...
ugly women with very beautiful
smiles, the paradox...

so he's jerking off while she interrupts
him implying: a man beating a dead horse...
checks under the cover:
well... a dead mouse...
woman's violence thus worded...
subtle, cunning, satanic -
grown-women and the supposed forever-infantile
state of man's mind:
to hunt, to explore to merely exist
by the sustenance of thought alone...
well... she did arrive from Savoy:
which i finally found out was part of Italy
with a Frida Kahlo monobrow and
a 9am moustache shadow beneath her nose...
***-fluff... well... no wonder:
i don't expect Elizabeth I of England
was much to look at...
    perhaps if Picasso hid her in his cubistic
monstrosities of fake-geometry handling...

in which direction?
only last Sunday... what a shift!
i was escorting about 8 police officers
to these two disgruntled women...
woman and daughter...
apparently these two "gangsters" were
threatening them... threatened them with knives...
with balaclava gang-members coming
to the ice-rink to "sort them out"...
something was fishy...
the daughter looked alright...
almost perfect physiognomy...
but the mother's ears... wonky...
i'd be more proud to have the ears of a rugby
player than those ears...
myopic... sickly looking...

me and the police officers managed to find them
bring them down for questioning /
give incident reports...

prior to these two gangsters, "gangsters"
came up to me asking: 'are you the security guard?'
yup... they started chatting to me
before the two women launched at me
with criteria unheard of...
i'm final on this point...
women to me are semi-solipsistic...
they don't even know it...
they don't know it when they wear a mask
of pretending but as quick as honestly
comes unapologetic and demands
impartial equilibration of getting to know
the situation: the mask... sort of... slips...
a lying woman is hardly an architect...
there's only the initial shock of a lie that
she figures will pass-on and through
and will be believed when she makes
a sloppy second stab on any given matter
in the vicinity of the original (lie)...

      this duo should have been ashamed!
truly! a mother and daughter double act
is the worst kind... a father could never persuade
a son to follow suit... but a mother can always
(seemingly) persuade her daughter to replicate
terrible behaviour...

in this instance? the "gangsters"...
when the police officers were questioning the women
i went up back to the ice rink to pick them out...
they were sitting in the polar opposite location
to the women...
"gangsters"...
      as i extended my index finger and asked
them to come with me downstairs
(tugging at an invisible fish-line)
i told them they were not in trouble...
the worst that might happen to them was...
they might get a free police escort home...
a free ride home...
names? Freddie and Georgie...

      turns out these "gangsters" were two
13 year old boys... 13 they said: they looked more
like 8... then again... at least one came from
a single-mother household and had
two older brothers and a younger sister...
under-nourished kid... i looked 13 when i was
8 looking at them...

the women were questioned giving fictional
statements: most probably...
i just sat down with Freddie and Georgie
and talked... this, that... and the other...
Georgie was named Georgie because he was
born on St. George's Day...
Freddie? that's short for Fredrick...
my "supervisor" interrupted me:
no! no one calls their children Fredrick...
it's Freddie...
then Freddie jumped in: i'm sometimes called
Frederico! hey presto!
that's not Friedrich... it's Frederick in Spanish...

huh? what's this? English language trying
to attempt the diminutive form of endearment
by shortening a person's name?
Fredrick becomes Freddie...
Edith becomes Edie...
Matthew becomes Matt
Peter becomes Pete
Samuel becomes Sam
Alexander becomes Alex?!
that's not a diminutive form... nor is it some
variation of endearment that diminutive form
exacts...

zdrobnienie...
        and if this supposed "diminutive" exists
in English... English is too rigid in its form of words...
attache of suffixes -less and -ness and -lessness...
as if something is missing rather than merely shrunk...

in ****** it's thoroughly apparent among nouns,
not merely in given names of people...
e.g. it's not simply Matthew becomes Matt...
i.e. where's the door, door prior...
to wipe my shoes on, i.e. the doormat?
it's ugly! it's horribly self-assured in faking
the diminutive approach...

spread across all, ALL nouns...
sun: słońce
little sun: słoneczko
river: rzeka
little river: rzeczka...

oh! ah ha ha! today i heard the car manufacturer
correct its pronunciation of a letter...
the Czech manufacturer SKODA
actually bothered to stress the Jan Huss'
demand for caron (crown) atop the S...
i actually heard SHKODA...
            crown in Czech... a rugby goalpost
in English... one arm of the Tetragrammaton...
otherwise a: H = Z in ******...
  ŠKODA = szkoda (pity) = oh well...
  oh well = pity... oh well ≠ oops...

and what has English to give "us" when it comes
to the diminutive form? ugliness...
ugliness of names...
Frankie, this lesbian coworker of mine
who, oddly enough has a child... a daughter:
so she wasn't a lesbian all along...
but now she's a butch lesbian...
muscular, i asked her how long it took her to
get a six-pack... 3 months...
she's looking for a gym-rat buddy...
she was thinking of me...
a mohawk haircut... not terribly attractive...
but... what, a, gorgeous, smile!
my "supervisor" giggled about gay-conversion
therapy with her...
Frankie = Francesca... now... correct me if i'm wrong...
Francesca sounds ace of spades ****...
Frankie... gender-neutral is...
like the rest of a gender-neutral world-view...
thing thing thing thing thing thing thing nothing
nothing thing thing thing thing thing thing
anemia
thing thing thing thing anemic thing(s): nothing
thing cube *** asexuality thing thing thing
black thing thing thing thing white thing thing
thing, thing thing thing, nothing, thinking thing
thinking nothing (god); thing thing thing -
but that's English for you... other European
languages have the masculine and the feminine
form... you couldn't get away with transgenderism
in any other language: except for English...
the grammar allows for this phenomenon to take
place! thing thing thing thing...
i know that the French would agree with me...
the Moon is male... the Sun is female...
in English there's a forced-vagueness associated
with gendering "things"... nouns...
loosely, borrowing from Latin:
Luna is a girl's name... alias of the Moon...
and Sol is a boy's name... alias of the Sun...

    the words themselves have a trickle of hope
for gendering objects according to ***...
the Moon in the English instance is a male...
even though he was given a female name prior
and the Sun is a female even though she was
given a male name prior, prior id est in Latin...

i don't think it's enough to simply speak a language:
a parrot can speak a language of human "concerns"
if the precursor of women talking all giddy to an AI
chat bot in the form of SIRI is anything to go by
the engineers must have thought of a parrot...
Hello Polly... Polly wants a *******...
that's how the advent of "intelligence" probably
emerged: simulation of the marriage of
a parrot and an echo...

        it's not enough to speak a language...
there's more to language than simply speaking it:
there's also the aspect of: knowing it...
digging trenches... i don't want to require of myself
to know the grammatical-categorical beside
the clarifying distinctions of what a noun is:
what a verb is... adverb... but then i gloss over
and forget the categorisation of words...
i know what a locksmith knows:
I = key
      O = keyhole
        Φ = I + O = i put a key into a keyhole
i turn the key:
                  I + / + O = Θ
upon turning the key the door U opens:
  Ψ! whether that's Poseidon's trident
or whether that's what psychologists
of today spew: the non-existence of god
and the self: "self" riddled by some
variation of Damocleses' sword...
      authority of thought within the confines
of: ought-i?!

      i walk through... i doubt i will have any serious
readers in this language...
it will take me... at least a bout of gangrene
of blue mingling with green and gold
to arrive at my resting plateau of hope that's
Paris... my love for Paris...
my love of being a stupid 18 year old...
  
wouldn't you believe: i think it was forever a
stupid affair to translate Finnegans Wake into
any language beside the original:
which is literally not so much original as:
originally muddled... since how many languages
are borrowed?

i sat with the "gangsters" until the end: beginning
of their ordeal... i too was given the police-taxi
back home once upon a time...
but then again that time i was given a free-ride
home... some clever ****** thought it was absolutely
necessary that i get alcohol poisoning
in a Seven King's nightclub by the roundabout...
with the floor... sickly sweet covered by carpets...
warm ***** and orange juice... ugh...
i stepped off the bus and collapsed
onto the pavement... i was woken up by
a helpless bystander and a police-officer...
subsequently taken home in a cage...

shameless women... mother & daughter...
but here i was, the "security guard"... trying to explain
to the boys: i know its not fair...
i know... i know... the women will be believed first...
Sally Challen - walked free after killing her
"abusive" husband with a hammer-blow
to the head... i wish Richard (Challen)
was bitten by a hammerhead shark...
  i truly do...
        at least the shark would have been hungry...
**** knows what Sally's inferno of thinking
conjured up prior... it's hardly decent to believe
women... these days... i'd rather play a poker
face gambit on the truthfulness of children...
at least with children there's no ****** inference
bias up to... well... that "bias" ends once they
(the girls) enter a medieval plump *** distinction...
14... maybe 13...
          
      confirmed though...
  once the boys were sent home this other woman
approached me and my "supervisor" and mentioned
an ongoing scenario with the "inbreds"...
a female ******* ring? hmm... maybe...
      Freddie! i know it's unfair... i know...
ladies first... i know she has chicken-nugget looking
ears... she looks like she was born from
a lust of her uncle for her mother and yet
her daughter is some random quickie-fix
while she banked on pure luck... i know, i know...
i'll sit this one out with you...

Frankie in the meantime was planning a date with her
new found ****-loves-**** relationship...
her girlfriend from... near Oxford(?)
was supposed to come down to see the ice hockey match...
already booked a room in the hotel...
but then apparently the girlfriend's car started leaking oil...
so Frankie was left walking alone to an alone-hotel-room
while the gay-conversion jokes rained...
butch *****: but a smile that could melt
any ****-disciple...
              i said my bye-byes and pretended to go home,
early...
did i? nope..

i decided to test my limp-biscuit "problem"...
i went to the brothel...
who was available? only one... the girl with the first
letter: L... not Linda...
i asked for her description: the blonde one...
ah... that one... the one that thinks she ultra-SPAZ
SPACE-X "special"... i'm spezial *** too!
the one into body augmentation...
first her **** wouldn't fit... too small...
prior to the first: 0... i.e. her lips weren't purse enough...
pout not enough bloom of a baboon's ***...
fine fine...

oh i hate pretending to be a Catholic priest
in a brothel... do i have a rubber ear or something?
are these confessions?!
i must be a Catholic priest of sorts: of imitation....
do you know a Catholic "priest"
that doesn't ask for a confession from a *******
after she performs oral *** on him...
and subsequently spews all that "life is crap"
*******?
      last time i heard Catholic priests were ferocious
anti-*** pro-*** with the choir boys...
one **** in one ear one **** out the other...
there are at least three avenues of the "tested"
woman... the vaginal approach...
the **** and the oral... hey presto! your *******
"trinity"... i'm not going to stop *******:
what i didn't receive in my glorified youth
i will not spare in my old age...
beat the child who discovered self-pleasuring
aged 8... before the production of *****
with what he said: "that funny sensation":
not, NOT: feeling... sensation... the tingling
of the choir of Eunuchs...
before the production of ***** arrived...
to squirt...

i write in English... i might have English readers...
me? i'm waiting for French translators...
i don't care one iota over a fabric of fractions
of I/O = an iota over a omicron:
joke in Latin: what's an Ψ without an iota?
an Upsilon or an Omega?
watch the curvatures...
and the sinking ship of a ship that was
never supposed to sail... Ω + I = bow down...
exfoliate: psychology:
logic of soul & the non-existence of god
or soul...
Enlightenment? Renaissance or:
Re-convalescence?
                oh... right... right... this be the first?
the times of the first illness of
post-colonial capitalistic restructuring having
defeated the "ancient" enemy of the communist
harpie-up: rouse-down...
    
solo-project "detail-lost detail-friendly"
advertisements... must be a island-dwelling folk
"thing"... hence the persistent writing of English history:
the Norman invasion: must be celebrated!
the Anglo-Saxon lineage must be celebrated!
via pity, pillage, **** and... unwanted women!
i don't want to mingle with these native women!
i'm here like a kindred hope of:
sending a postcard from Hawaii...
thinking about a beauty from Grenoble...
while at the same time having a burning effigy
of a girl from St. Petersburg...
but rather succumbing to the magnet of a pair
of eyes from the Carpathian region of Moldova...

me? i just landed the prize of writing within the confines
of the Medieval version of the Lingua Franca...
English is the language of commerce...
i know it tries to: in vain... to be this insomnia tongue
of the former British Empire...
spoken "elsewhere": everywhere...
but no... pockets of resistance...
Kashmir... teach those sieving through
poppy-mud the artefacts of Braille in Arabic
concerning the region having giving
Alexander the Great the grand limp **** of
a sword with a sheaf of Afghanistan...
how those men must have loved those women...
terribly not surprised that i don't love
those in my vicinity...

                expandable in times of war...
now? expandable in times of peace...
                if not turning one's bright cheeks for
some **** slapping: turning into a quasi-celibate monster
listening to prostitutes telling me of their woes...
thanking me for listening to them...
with L: her ******* done, her lips done...
next? her liposuction belly and arms...
not the effort of exercise in sight...
the quickie monstrosity...
then her teeth: i showed her my clearly aligned teeth
like the stampede of the Polish-Lithuanian
hussars before the siege of Vienna...
      smile: clearly aligned constellation of stars...

two women in the past have revealed dreams about
me they had that came true:
Ilona - she actually sketched it...
and showed it to me...
i was standing in a Judas' pose with my back turned
before her kneeling: arms outstretched
as if to be crucified...
long hair... naked upper body...
holding a sword in my right hand:
that's before the Russian invasion
    of Ukraine... before i wandered into the forest
and found my Cossack shashka...

another dream: displaying photographs of girls
before Danielle... apparently i was happy...
that last email i received from Danielle was
almost 7 years ago...
i think i'll send her a reply...
          
          it might be almost a decade apart...
compliment? hardly...
          but i guess that's how we always were:
why oh why Disney took the reins on
the imagination of youngsters and not
something from Studio Ghibli...
  America is decadent: pederastic...
America was a borrowed civilisation:
hence? its short-lived stature of a status of
faking civilisation: via: "culture"...
its culture is parasitic...
          America has no civilisational focus...
its an extension of Europe...
in times when Europe doesn't appreciate
"said" extensions...
China is a civilisation...
Russia and India are civilisations...
America is a culture...
it's not a civilisation...
              
          America is a culture-state
whereas China is a civilisation-state...
power-hungry-mongrels... god help us if they become
fiendish pseudo-Mongols!
America would require for Europe to
disappear: and for that to be the case:
it must... Europe must burden itself
with an ethnic anemia for America
for "become" a civilisation...
      
              whatever the "Jew" failed to employ
in his exile in Europe will not:
doubly will not achieve in North America...
Marcus Garvey or H. P. Lovecraft bedbug-love-buddies
aligned...
              struck by the wave of heightened:
wow! the Arabs joked about Moses and the 40
years in the desert... no wonder the camel-jockeys
never left... waiting for dragons of myth
to turn into dinosaur sludge post-locomotive
crescendo of wealth!

      my ***** your ***** anyone's AI bore...
that's globalism: the free-market free-world
enterprise... except for:
what's outside the realm of orbits...
in the vacuum: in the unknown:
clearly now known:
there are foundations: there are restrictions...
there are forests worth of the impaled that
suffered worse fates than the "supposed"
ultimatums of gods unto men with those
that were crucified... please! spare me!

boo! who?! boo! who?!
i might write in English...
but i'm not English...
i'm not exactly happy about an English speaking
audience... i'm waiting for the translators...
i'll be dead before my wishes come
true...and all the better... given
the climate of the currency of these times:
i.e. wasting each and each other's time...
while solidifying an abstraction
of prisoner enactment of "safe" space!
bah!

oh woo woo... quote me a sea that didn't woo
a river into its basin of:
the challenge of horizon:
how does the water of the sea disparage itself
from the water of the river:
and: with those floating cauliflowers of
clouds... allow for the reign of rain
to come and give man of the land
the beauty of spring and the harvest of summer
and of autumn... and the melancholy of
the darkened nights of winter
where the libido is so frail?
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
why couldn't you be
more brave
                 to be gay?

god, i hate succumbing
to the necessity
of entertaining
such opinions,
and, subsequently,
not wanting
to succumb to a "dialectics"...

then again...
all schizophrenics are
mass shooters...
so... hoo hoo *******!
male truck drivers!
hoo hooo *******!

i died, i went to heaven,
and then i died, again...
and then...
        and then...
and then...
                and then...
an again and again
                cycle took off.

and then...
   what the **** is it with another:
and again, and then
******* cyclones?!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
if i'm ever going to be a beta
male feminist, i'd start from here:

transgenderism
is demeaning towards
women...

humanize what?

     my godmother
has a... "slightly" masculine
voice...

what about Rod Steward
or Ecclestone?
those munchkins
who are into
Amazonian women,
with fingers
longer than their erections?

you seriously can't
pander to all the nuts and
expect peanut butter
at the end of it...

****'s all jammy by
the end of your
little tirade over
  the Chamberlain-Heimlich
cracking an egg...

transgenderism
demeans women...
   homosexuality was one thing...
but this... this ****
is quiet another.

look: i don't know what
the solution is...
pandering these *******
isn't exactly on my
list... whatever the English
are into...
with their fetish for
the Thai surprise...
      
       i just thought that...
if you're going to go transgender,
like i have done so momentarily,
this normalization...
   demeans women.

now you can say it:
gosh! i'm so off off offended!
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
i shouldn't be writing this... it's too mediocre: or, rather: just ****** obvious... i have to elevate this impromptu with higher thoughts: this bottle of cheap wine just finished has given me a sinister, wry, teenage girl sort of a smile: where ha ha deafens since you're laughing inside your own head... it's hochnacht... only yesterday i raged with a silent scream... i'm not going to wake the neighbours up... when the writing flows freely and it feels good: once upon a time... the howling and the laughter... i have come to the realisation that i require restraints... the silence scream almost dislodged my jaw... a bottle of wine and i'm all squinty eyed... absolutely content, thinking about tomorrow's dinner... what will i conjure... well... i haven't had prawns in a long while... a prawn carbonara... 2nd bottle of wine or take the shorter route with a night-cap of whiskey? ah... decisions decisions... if drinking doesn't **** me: let's just say i'll be midly irritated: but most certainly disappointed...

this is the original:

at least while in Russian i didn't have to spend
the time bothered about totalitarian democracy...
mob rule... however authoritarian
the Russian model is... no political ambitions:
beside the ambitions to live a simple life:
political correctness: but i'm not a politician...
to live among people politicised to the point where:
every second person might be Babushka doll tyrant
with micro-pet-peeves:

i can't actually improve on it...
unlike drink-driving...
drink-writing is... jumbled up with:
the deed of Pontius Pilate:
i was my hands clean
i drown my tongue...
   the much needed lubricant i always claim:
plus... i can claim...
what's that legal term...
gross negligence?
         it's not ****** it's manslaughter...
i'm not going to stand trial:
by any mob...
i was drunk all the way through: me Lowd...
i could be held accountable
if i had a sober: hard-on for what i was
writing... perhaps i'm writing without
conviction... or rather: the drink allows me
to decorate my "conviction" with
floral patterns of digression...
i really don't see how someone sober
can treat a drunk's words seriously...
but it's there as a lubricant...
again: to reiterate...
writing is not driving a car...
i can't be held accountable on these
being sober convictions...

coming back to Russia...
well... hasn't democracy reached a pivot
of its history that makes it:
lacklustre?
democracy is status quo...
democracy is more bureaucracy than
   it was a democracy when the barons
came together and attacked king John...
it was a democracy
during the years of electoral monarchy
in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth...
i veto: i never vote...
i tried once... but the paperwork
suffocated my interest to do so...
if everyone is involved in: "democracy"
then sooner rather than later
it degenerates into political correctness...
i'm not a politician: or for that matter
a rhetorician: why should i care what words
might: words get things done...
words allow being to do and be...
things will never be equipped with words...
i lie: i can arm a knock on wood
with a terrible onomatopoeia...
besides the point...

               in Russian i wouldn't expect to find myself
in a quasi-Stasi curriculum...
my fellow citizen leaves me: as i invite him
as suspect?!
that's not fair on the project: citizenship:
civility... oddly enough politicians are
hardly involved in matters that truly bother people...
wait... wasn't i supposed to recount
the *** i've had: let it drag out for a few
more entries before fizzling out
while i might return to my eclectic tastes?

all of a sudden... there's no: "oh... suddenly"...
that Walt Whitman reference...
prove your point...
that i once went to a gay bar with my cousin
that i allowed my *** to be groped...
that i allowed a man to put a tongue in my mouth...
that i have kissed men with tenderness:
of note... Ben... Tristan's friend from Bristol...
one night of all nights:
Hogmanay...              i'd steal pieces of Paris
and give it unto Edinburgh...
Paris first... Edinburgh second...
and there was St. Petersburg and Moscow...
Venice and Amsterdam... Stockholm...
Warsaw... Athens 3rd... because of the strip-club...
there was Barcelona and there was also Mombasa...
eh... Paris 1st... Edinburgh 2nd...

otherwise? oh... did you watch the France vs. Swiss
match? i missed the Spain vs. Croatia game:
i was watching some Whim-Bled-Don...
never mind...
it's good to see a plateau...
the ol' David vs. Goliath...
   or how... kylian mbappé became: fully human...
i don't like schadenfreude...
it must be a trait of the Germanic people...
even if they later dilute their blood with the Welsh
and the Celts and become Anglo-Saxons...
it's not that i fear: c.c.t.v. karma...
i just find pleasure in the sensation...
but it was beautiful to watch a talented,
aspiring footballer come against his first
proper: hurdle... like the rest of us...
almost as beautiful as the whole match was:
come on... after the missed penalty...
then 1 -1, 2 - 1, 3 -1... ending up being 3 - 3 and
unresolved in extra time...
then the roulette of penalties...
rarely can a football match be this: beautiful...
truly... as much as i love the soloists in
tennis... it's impossible to compare:
chalk is cheese... some might say...

- why are so many national anthems:
anaemic?
i only have a few national anthems that i like...
not via bias: the ****** Mazurek Dąbrowskiego...
the H'American: the Star-Spangled Banner...
Russian "The Internationale"
the French La Marseillaise
hell... thrown in the Shvabs
und zee Bavzarians with their Uber Alles...

oddly enough not the English anthem...
isn't it enough that Auld Lang Syne
beats all the above, songs?
i don't like international football:
sure... too much money in club sport
but i never want to feel as part of something
greater: bigger... not from the confines
of a football match...
no... sure: to be part of something bigger...
but not from the starting point
of a football match...
     i watch the game for the sake of it being
a game... how some people arrive at
a conclusion that it's a religion:
how they procreate and later
come to passing on their support allegiance to
club (let alone country) to their children?

well... something had to fill the void
if the original religion wasn't up for proper scratches:
so much for secularism...
i don't underestimate the value of said: new
religion... but we're still "talking" about sport...
hence my love for the underappreciated sports
at the Olympics: classical Greek wrestling...
table-tennis... archery...
and all the solo sports that also pay well:
like tennis...

bringing a flag of the individual to an event
should be seen as a faux pas...
it's a shame that it sometimes happens...

- yeah... why are so many national anthems:
anaemic... forgettable?
the Spanish and the Italians have ****** anthems...
suppose the Norwegians had a decent anthem:
oh, just because Norway produced a Grieg...
but Norway didn't produce a Grieg:
Grieg produced Grieg...
that's my problem with the lasso of:
national ownership of the people that stand out...
i'm not going to bombast this dear reader
with a quote by some ancient Greek philosopher
living in a city-state who was quoted as
saying: i'm the citizen of the world!

the current vicinity is my world:
i sometimes extend it when i cycle towards St. Paul's
cathedral...
how people become so... engrossed in their
football teams... that they pass on the banner
of support... allegiance to their children:
i don't think smart people reproduce...
i don't see the point of passing on my...
   shortcomings...
added the fact that i can entertain myself:
just pretty **** dandy well while...
seeing demon faces in clouds at night...

or faces in trees... pareidolia...
but they're not human faces...
i'd cite pareidolia  if someone accuses dear reader
of transphobia: whereas arachnophobia is
tingly: real...
well... what can one do:
if something is relocated into the crab-bucket
of shared-experience: a phenomenon...
anyone with a questionable sanity will
still pursue finding himself: his self:
via establishing working parameters of
the noumenon: the res-per-se... Kantian:
i wouldn't settle for a phenomenological
answer... i guess that' my "original sin"...

to state oneself unique...
not spaz-y'all... special...
  it's a conundrum to be and not be...
unquestionable dictations that repeat themselves:
like the years and the seasons that rummage through
them... the tides of the seas
and the burdens of earthquakes that
rumble like the sounds of a starved stomach...

i still fall asleep to...
christopher young's hellraiser II: hellbound
soundtrack most of the nights...
horror music: done proper...
the only romance...
the wine helps... he's no Prokofiev with
that Lt. Kije Suite... but...
i never seem to get bored:
i'd love to be this grand architect of dreams...
i fall asleep and fall into the abyss:
i'd imagine dreams to be...
             obstructions...
i'm almost glad since that one great adventure
of death is: tilting given the years...
i'm yet to make my own...
well... concerning the dead:
it takes nine months of mr. tadpole...
and several more to get memory functioning
before consciousness is arrived at:
memory comes prior to imagination...
memory is cinema:
a welcome cinema: if you can honestly account for
yourself:
the odd nights when you were found drunk
in public somehow don't matter:
asking for a police escort because you were
immobilised: m'eh...

ugh... such anaemic anthems...
of all the people in the world: the Italians have
an anaemic anthem...
a spaghetti bundle of murmur and morose...
how?

good to know: an interlude of a shot of ms. amber
between all that's: in vino veritas etc. etc.
in vino: vivo!
life: blood the bundle of hopes...
i might be deemed cowering into a corner
****** by shadows and succubus delusions...
i stated it felt cold while cycling through
the heat of cement of central London
wearing an 1813 t-shirt with a depiction
of the EISENKREUZ...

my ******* were hard and pinched...
it wasn't cold...
was i a breast-feeding ***** of a dog
or something?
i noticed a stare or two...
i started to blame it on the fabric...
later on the detergent...
how do we begin to fathom: dreams?
not the content of dreams: but dreams per se...
i have one memorable dream:
although i have so little...
running on an abstract that was a *****
while men imitating sheep were rolling down
chased by demons chopping their heads
off while i was... saving them from...
falling into the depth of nothing...

i was a teenager back then...
eh...
     so much for Freud and the altar of metaphor-objects...
insinuation-objects: or whatever the hell
you want to call a cucumber "if" it "isn't"!

- i know how alcoholics operate...
ooh! oh! suddenly the outbursts of "amnesia":
i call it a moral hangover...
they never bother to trace their deeds while
in the process of drinking...
what am i doing, while drinking?
i write...
i've seen at least one of my grandfathers
succumb to the drink without ever producing
some depth to his drinking...
unlike my father the near teattottle (****... 23
google result... tease me... add one more
obscure word...

teetotal on the topic of alcohol consumption:
well... it's probably genetic...
he had sleeper genes... the grandfathers worked
in the metallurgy industry...
not drinking would seem daft...
but seeing how my maternal gran-
managed to break my grandmothers hand...
most alcoholics will not account for their deeds:
drink and write: what drinker writes?
perhaps this is why i suspect all that's
ever written within the framework of
sobriety?

chevalier: mult estes guaritz...
i drink and listen to medieval songs...
why wouldn't you?
hell: if the moon is the right blue:
i'll swerve toward listening to an Adhan...

hey presto! teattottle rag... a googlewhack...
teattottle dig... another...

but i drink with accounts...
       i'm not going to... stumble into:
quasi-narcolepsy...
ingest some neuroleptic (anti-psychotic)
drugs: yes... yes...
the agitated soul (the sigma of animation)
disgruntled with a body: per se...
transgenderism can take a back seat
when it comes to: being disgruntled with
the body... eh... merely the focus on ***...
is... base... pointless...
the body is rock...
the mind is water... the posit for
consecrating oneself with animation is air...
gender-"confusion" is still bound to the quote:

to angels - vision of god's throne -
to insects - sensual lust...

to be this entombed with the ownership of this
carcass... to elevate ***-change therapies
over... cancer-treatment...
selfish *******: don't you think?
oh... wait... in a "democracy": i'm not supposed to judge...
the minority holds the sway: swerve...
argument...
and why is it that i drink?
sober people with all their self-aggrandizing
posturing...
they don't believe: half... halve the half and halve it
some more and more...
they still won't believe it...
their fellow citizen... comrade has been endowed
with powers that might make them:
buckle... or stipend themselves with
taking a knee to some ghostly authority...

again: i can't enjoy the suffering of others:
i've delved too much into the mime language of
animals...
there's no pleasure in seeing something
expected of civility be reduced to:
this heap of dung and bleeding *******...
it's no fun... if there was ever the noble savage...
i imagine myself the antonym:
the savage civilian...
oh how the subversion gummy squad of
pink breeding brine and brown
how they come at words...

what's next? i replace letters with...
chopsticks imitating Morse code? tap tap tap...
tap tap... tap... tap tap tap tap... tap tap... tap?!

- i like writing during the night: because...
i'm comforted by the... "image":
reality... of other people being asleep
while... the same people later wake up
and have to... succumb to a formality of language...
i never liked formal language...
language of the: "expected":
at times a misnomer "..."
other times a metaphor... with gagging rights
to shoot with bullets of ridicule...

not when the minority hold sway over
the majority:
with each chance to vote: i veto my right
to vote...
there was a time when
the majority held values to uphold the status
of minority: but since then
the minority wants to sway
the argument of the majority:
have your whittle rainbow gimp ****...
without me!

no! nein! nein! nie! niet!
i admire Russia...
if the people require a leash and a muzzle:
the thrills of freedom get in the way
of keeping **** together?!
so be it!
   these ******* westerners and their
"concerns" of "freedom":
**** me... what good is "fweedom"
when it becomes oppressive in the hands
and tongues of the many?
it's one thing when it holds its finicky sway
in the hands of the few
but among us everyday greyish folk?

once upon a time...
the king and the democratic barons...
now... the Russian tyrant
and the piggish suckling at the ****
oligarchs...
hell... if i owned a dog... and i was drinking:
the ****** "thing" would probably bark
at me as it barked at my grandfather...
thank god i own a cat...

i drink and just show it more tenderness...
a bit like i do with prostitutes...
i'm no Jack the ol' Ripper...
i give us much love as can be allowed...
and give some more... to sprinkle some salt
on the already available wounds...
i'll love and love more until it starts to ache...
i don't want to understand women:
i love them too much in their freedoms:
working from some previously gained
or otherwise...

i don't want to understand women:
hence? i chose to delight myself on some stumbling
block of clarity...
now... if they can't understand this:
to hell with being loved:
to be feared! as a man...
i fizzle through the static and watch myself
become: potential... the ugliest potential
i've already cited...
perhaps my words will agitate someone to
do a synchronised bidding?
you never know...

  blah... blah... and more gagging: blah.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2022
i know that just by drinking i will not feel good
with myself, i need to write something:
drinking alone never made much sense...
drinking when partying and socialising...
drinking when going to night-clubs almost:
almost always failing to pick up girls...
**** me... at my lowest i still managed to flirt
with a girl, kiss her dance with her...
   i even walked her to the bus-stop...
before she asked me what i did:
i said i was unemployed... i sort of forgot to say
that i was a poet in the making...
perhaps that's why i don't think i'm an alcoholic:
although... in a week's worth?
    i probably drink... how many units is a bottle
of whiskey?! 40... 4 x 7 =... ****... 3 x 7 = 21...
add a 7... that's 28... then add a zero...
i drink close to about 300 units of alcohol per week...
ha ha... and on the bottles?
   it reads: chief medical examiner for England
suggests that adults do not exceed drinking no more
than 14 units per week...
ha ha ha...                             ah ha...
i have a worried mind... i already said to myself:
like Prometheus... i'll sacrifice my liver to salvage
my mind...

and i'm willing to sacrifice years of my life into
my mortality's "winter" for the current ride...
i know the risks... i'm just really worried about being
constipated... and... eternity... eternity is a dawn
with a night before a day...
it's scaring me... should all of it be true...
well... the thought started scary... eternity?!
while all these insects live only days...
with infanticide and the neunormen

new-norms and old-taboos...
and then back to new-taboos and old-norms...
some people think time is linear... given history...
some people think time is cyclic...
we read history with a grain of salt and hindsight
and repeat our mistakes...
i? i think time is a sea-saw...
we're like a tide... a tide comes in...
a tide goes out... sometimes we appear
spectacular... like at the height of the Roman Empire
of the zenith of Greek intellectual curiosity...
then we fall back... allow for barbarian invasions...
what was spectacular about Ancient Greece
became Byzantine: i.e. bureaucratic...
muddled... the only great aspect of Byzantine
culture was the chants...
oh sure... the Greco-Judeo pact did undermine
the Latin influence...
the New Testament is a testament of the Greco-Judeo
pact: to undermine the Roman Empire...
no?

     it isn't? oh... come on... the myths because over time
myths: given time...
go along the pyramid "scheme" of:
mythology "<" history "<" journalism "<"...
          aha! now poetry comes to the fore...
which way are we going to go? "<" or ">"?
  what a wonky looking L... or Γ (gamma)...
then again... maybe it's one of those weird
"Copernican" Vs....
   right... how now: write the plural of vvvvvv...
without the apostrophe that's also
suggestive of v's... i.e. V owns a lawnmower?
right... move the apostrophe along... Vs'...
because... it's not versus: hence no vs. <---
  the full stop...

to reiterate: i learned to constrain my frustrations
on Samuel Beckett's Watt...
i remember one sunny afternoon
lying in a park and laughing from frustration
at the complications of the language...
laughing out loud: getting a wave hello from a small
boy walking back from school with his mother...
i wasn't laughing at anything particular
or for that matter universal, just the per se...

how else? vs' or vees or vvvvvvv etc.?
plenty of v v v v v v v
                 < < < < < < < <
                > > > > > > > > > ?

we haven't moved that much from the ancient
world... where letters had a duality of being used
as phonetic encoding symbols and mathematical
constants after all...
VI + IX = XV
    6 (b) + 9 (P) = 15 (IS)

now i would to being an alcoholic is i simply
drank to drink...
but i'm writing... i need creative juices...
if i'm not jerking off to pictures of mature
women... Ava Lauren... come on...
it's a Porsche of a body...
i don't need to watch anything... just the photograph
and i leave the rest to the imagination:
although compared to the cinema of memory:
the cinema of my imagination lasts at outbursts...
sure... if i were simply drinking...
to "cope": drinking before a mirror
and falling asleep with a hand placed in a bucket
of water to wet my bed...
yeah... then i'd join some A.A.... ahem...
midday "group therapy session"...

but i'm busy... well into the morning hours...
scribbling like "mad" like... the monk who wrote
the Codex Gigas...
       me? devil or my own ego? i like my garden...
only today before my expedition i offered
two plums to my neighbour and my mother...
i brought these kind fallings in my hand outstretched
in my palm... washed... obviously...
but i didn't usher in any confusion:
no conflation of knowledge
regarding: what's good (universal)
   with what's evil (particular)... hello!
                       Greco-Judeo conspiracy...

wow! Δ delta... that's not the "letter"
Pythagoras worked with... is it?
   he was working out why either L or Γ
have either \ or / missing respectively, no?
          but delta? Δ? that's an isoscoles...
now... i dare to wonder: akin to Heidegger:
  question-worthiness arises from a spontaneity...
questions asks themselves...
people just need to find them...
this is but one example...

you know when you're sitting in a garden...
and you hear a shoom echo in the sky...
but can't see anything...
right... there's a jumbo-jet flying over your
garden... you hear it first...
seconds later you see you...
**** the chicken and the egg dynamic for normal
people saluting the mantra of passive
curiosity...

what came first?
Δ or the triangle?! that's a big question:
a question that Wittgenstein could only appreciate...
since he wrote so sparingly:
but i have to admit... his stance on tautology:
the thesaurus... mine: on thesaurus rex...
and the dictionary omnibus...
                          i want to repay Samuel Beckett
with the same frustrations he poured onto me...
this is my revenge... i want to fry brains and then:
freeze them...
            
what came first? Δ (the letter) the sound...
Da da da or the triangle?
my guess is: ****... i've already answered it...
with what?! the use of ******* pyramids...
but how Δ morphed into D and how did the pyramids
become abstract "all of a sudden"?
ah... the glory days of Greek intellectual curiosity...
its genesis... oh too suddenly ***** by:

the myth of the origins of Rome...
the Aeneid: a Trojan holiday in Tuscany after the fall
of Troy...
    
but no... i couldn't simply drink and pretend
to look into a mirror...
i wish i could have been a painter:
then again: no...
i can't leave "****" to abstracts: to some "suppose so...."
"suppose" he "thought" this blah blah blah-*******...
ever get "*****" by a South African
with ****-friction that was so bad
you thought you were getting circumcised
of putting your phallus inside an enlarged earthworm's
mouth-gut?
    i have... it's not a pleasant experience...
knock-knock on wood... ****... not wood:
knock-knock on bone: i.e. my forehead...
               what a terrible **** that was...
and she was raised in society... a teacher at some
boarding school... all boys...
******* cocoon ***... in the dark...
under the bed-sheets... never... ever! again!
but at least i now know what a slightly timid
beached whale of a ****-blonde stereotype looks
like...
           dry ***** are the worst...
seriously: it felt like ****...
on to occasions i had problems with getting a hard
on with prostitutes...
this one time: fair enough...
it was my first time having a *******...
obviously i was nervous...
but when i was... ahem #metoo "*****"...
i was as hard as a fiddle...
   what the **** did she spike the food with?!

well.. what's done is done... Johnny Depp was believed:
a fully documented affair...
ah... this conflation on the basis of the word AND...
it's not like "he" said: and you will know
the difference between either good or evil...
that "we" will know the difference between
good AND evil... knowing our ontology:
we'd be prone to entertain good as evil...
and evil as good... in the latter instance:
the more lasting, entertaining prospect...
               aligned with our hoarding sentimentalities...

Kierkegaard was onto something...
but he just didn't have the bilingual or the "autistic" /
"schizophrenic" focus to drill the baron of 90
into a corner and establish grandiose architecture...

it's one bad "thing" after another...
the fact that i might be drinking and not scribbling:
an opportunity wasted...
but the fact that i can't find the right sort of music
to listen to while i scribble...
hell... if i could write in silence...
but it usually takes one song...
a song passed down...
BRYGADA KRYZYS - to co czujesz, to wiesz:
Crisis Brigade - what you feel, is what you know...
sampled from an album from 1992...
Poland... i never imagined them being
so bilingual... how did i arrive at the song choice?
i was revisiting Edinburgh trying to get back together
with my ex-Russian lass...
  failure... she was already on a "different " path...

three nights in a hostel... left to a ****** couple...
i was only "scouted" when talking to some Slovak...
i got drunk and my English veneer drooped...
**** me... i had a wild night in Cracow
a day after...
i was fending myself from this waggling tongue
taxi driver who caught me
squeezing at my "major-phlegm" residue tool
trying to find an alley-way...
scary story... teenage girls not invited...

but i was in a hostel with this couple from Warsaw...
best name for a capital anywhere...
compare War-Saw with Bang-****...
ha ha... so she was this tall girl...
pristine like a ballerina...
played netball or whatever the hell tall girls play...
we were roaming Edinburgh and we
came across a charity shin-dig
and i exclaimed: oh.. what a nice acoustic (guitar)...
immediately... she retorted:
i hope you return to Warsaw and find
a nice girl for yourself...
i.e.                      not her?!

what a hyper-democratic reality we're all living in
right now...
   i'm not going to see her again...
i can see her like i can see my great-grandad...
a shadow... a figment of my imgation: almost...
"almost" being the fact that she recommended
this song for me: feeding me this idiotic self-worth-sence
delusion of comparative "literarture":
i'm John Peel...
  but my speciality is outside the realm of
the English speaking world...

wasn't today spectacular?
   it sort of began... "it sort of": began with me cringing
at an accident waiting to happen...
some white-van man was exiting a Tesco carpark...
too high... too high... jeeze!
sraped his ladder clean: proof off of this roof...
helped him out... became a 5 minute part-time
traffic warden... he ease back...
i picked up the pieces... you alright mate?
we had it sorted...

then on a whim... roughly... from Havering Road
to Edgware Road?
****... if i was going to cycle down Oxford St...
i would be cycling with a copy of Ovid to read in Hyde
Park.... instead? i cycled via Central London...
Chancery Lane: just before Holborn... and *******
Holborn Circus...
**** me... London looks weird without a tube-map...
it's 4-D geography...

if Donald Trump was playing 4D chess...
then i'm orientating myself around 4D geography...
on a bicycle... having formerly used
the buses and trains and the tube of London...
to hell with that load of trans-Atlantic *******...
sure sure...
you say one more ******* thing
along the lines of SLAV(e)... say it...
say it's "etymologically" sound...
say it... now that you have? ****** ****** ****** ******...
not the same?!
you have a problem? i don't have a problem...
i can tell the difference between a Somalian
a Nigerian and a Kenyan?
we're? having? spelling? issues?

English "public intellectuals"; them!
you add that ******* epsilon to the word Slav-
and? i'll just cut off the suffix -an
from the word GERMAN...
           ******* filth! GERMS!
    **** or ****** is not an isolated
instance... but then again: i trust the Russian
to use their bayonets more than i trust them
to use their tongues...
and that's wrong... since... they could readily
people the shadow-people of the shadows
of people...

    i've been ******* for quiet some time....
i'm ready to pounce... bite at something pulsating...
i ask the song i'm listening to on repeat:
what's my problem?
i can't say ******...
but some English ******* can add
an E to my ethnicity and equate me
to SLAVE... what etymological guarantee
does he: GERM...have?
                            i'm currently in the process
of eradicating a rat from my house...
GERMANIC PEOPLES ARE VERMIN...
THEIR WOMEN ARE EASY TARGET ****...
what?!

the "situation" is a lot different from what
it was under the deconstruction of the Soviet Empire...
now all i see... the deconstruction of
the Capitalistic hegemony...
hell... i bet that even Vietnam is on board!

Slav(e)?! NIGGERNIGGERNIGGERNIGGER...
what he **** are you going to, do?!
sure... you're not a racist..
you're just an etnicist! ETHNICIST!
inter-racial biases: Russophobia:
all Russians are "bad": when they say they are...
you...

   sie fickin rattekeimemesch.....

'__'
'
'     ''      Li - i.e. fire... as a trigram
'
__'       ******* toaf-face "smile":
to suggest "fire"...

i completely abhor leaving poems began one evening
and not finished:
squatting thoughts enter this abandoned housed...
and i can't strain my desire to keep
with the concept of Ensо̄:
                                                  エンソー

a poem completed in one sitting: i'm not a novelist:
i'm a "poet"... i don't have the luxury to retain
days and days on a composition:
what i start i must finish... i can't allow myself
this luxury of a novelist...
hit the iron while its hot comes to mind...

mind you: what's the difference between a proverb
and a maxim?
    i think that... maxims are conjured up whims...
half-truths... statements without justifications
or if they are grounded in any justifications:
they are for French ballrooms
for Confucian strict MING obligations...

                        maxims are untested truths...
maxims are: to say the least: not proverbs in that
they are hardly mystifying...
like this Slavic proverb:
   better a sparrow in your hand than a dove
upon your roof...
      oh: i know what that means...
better your own happiness than the happiness
of your household: and not out of selfish reasons?
if you are content... the contenteness can seep out
of you... and into the household...
why? you have a ******* sparrow in your hand...
who cares about a dove on your roof?

problem... i forgot what i was writing about yesterday...
i made notes:

- Mashiter's Hill
- King Rat
- щ "vs.": -ść                       me?!
invent a letter?! ha?!


well... i was so close so close to finishing...
Godsmack is touring... i think i'm going to try to get a ticket
for one of their gigs...
they're currently my favourite rock band...

Mashiter's Hill... oh... this little hill with a park...
i can walk up it and i usually drink a beer on
one of the benches... from it...
i have a pristine panorama of London...
   me? i'm at the utmost north-eastern tip of Greater
London...
                  it's London and it's "London"...
anything outside of the A406 is hardly anything beside
the Home Counties...
i wish other English people would cut the Essex
folk some slack... esp. the women...
     to me they're nuns...
or... as i recently found out... i'm unapproachable by
women... unless they're really drunk...
i'm just recounting what i hear:
a ******* will tell me i'm beautiful
a drunken woman in her 40s will tell me i'm ****...
do i make any moves on that?
    hardly... i like su doku puzzles: not headaches
caused by women...

but only yesterday i did a 50+ mile journey there
and back to Edgware Road to... hmm...
drink a Thai beer...
                    there's no point having a cycling session
less than the length of a marathon...
i stopped off at Chadwell Heath and bought myself
some fish sticks (45% Surimi - Alaskan *******,
   Hake and some crab) - of the 16 in the packet
i gulped down 14... it's such a bad idea
to cycle that sort of distance without having eating
anything... toward Edgware Road i was cycling
in a trance... literally i was honing in on an abstract
black hole as an ink blotch just ahead of me...
   but coming back? the low sugar levels kicked in...
i lost concentration... ah... i'm burning fat resources...

well... i tried cycling drunk once... Francis Bacon
painting-esque sort of bruising... never again...
but that didn't stop me from cycling...
in heavy traffic...
    on top of Mashiter's Hill i admired the distance
i covered... oh look... cycled past the Docklands
and Canary Wharf... went past the Shard...
all the way up to Hyde Park...
tomorrow i'm going to repeat the journey...
maybe i'll get a chance to meet up with Dan
and he might sneak me in to watch some Pearl Jam...
i was sent a text today about a possible shift...

**** me... hierarchies... SIA licensing...
no stewards welcome...
              fair enough, no problem read my reply...
i'd love to see that band... but i'll cycle there anyway
and maybe get a whiff of the music...

king rat? yeah... that one...
    i'm currently working on getting rid of a rat in my kitchen...
had to removed all the foods from the cupcoards
near to the ground...
  smart *** *******... or fatherfucker...
either Oedipus or Electra... either way...
i have smart cats...
but i never thought i'd have a smart rat...
falling asleep feels sort of weird...
    it's not like having a parasite in your body...
i have a rodent in my house...
   the party starts circa 12am... it starts moving...
i tried cheddar in mouse traps...
i.e. why do i think this rat is smart?
         well... em...
                (s)he doesn't simply eat the cheese
and doesn't get caught...
   (s)he ***** off with the mousetraps!
             i had to buy / replace the mousetraps
with rat traps... basically guillotine equivalent machinery...
if that "thing" snapped at my fingers
i think i'd be left with a broken finger, or two...
but what sort of rat takes the cheese
and the mousetrap with it into the darkness
of his hiding Eden?!

            i'm reluctant to use rat poison...
i'm sort of hoping for a Robespierre's clean cut...
snap... i don't want to **** the poor ******
by snapping its snout... i want to **** it
by crushing its neck... i don't want it bleeding from
its snout: to dead...
            sure... i'd love the Disney adventure
of Mickey... but if it only ate the food... but chewing
on cables... i have a ******* washing machine
and a dishwasher... it starts chewing on that:
i'm ******... smartest rat i've ever encountered:
courtesy of my Nigerian neighbour performing some
voodoo rituals at night leaving food
in the garden thinking he was feeding pigeons...
even one of my cats brought me two dead younglings
after catching them...
i know a rat is a rat and a mouse is a mouse...
mice are timid... rats? the i.q. shoots up...
****'s sake... it's not enough to take the cheese
and not get caught... it also has to take the trap
with him... what? knowing rats...

even if its tail was caught... it'd chew it off...
   it would mane itself in order to scuttle into shadow
and dust into a future...
two songs come to mind:
Pearl Jam vs. Ghost: RATS...
                  of course i prefer the former...
but a rat's a rat... and a washing machine is a washing
machine... i feel bad about killing it...
please don't let me use poison pebbles...
but?

   **** me... last point... right... the English point
about "too many vowels" in the ****** lingo?
sure... well... if the Serbs could incorporate the Latin J...
i think i can make a bypass...

what's rat in ******? szczur...
exactly... what instances allows me to...
first of replace the Z with H and use it in Ing-leash?
CHeap... ****... but not together...
the idiosyncrancy of the tongue that belongs
to itself...

but there's an alternative... borrowed from Cyrillic...
personally? i don't mind using it...
spares me "details"...
i know that Hebrew hides letters:
notably vowels... like diacritical marks...
i know certain languages hide letters...
this is perfect...

   щur = szczur...
                  less consonants for you?! happy?!
there are plenty of words that couple
the SH+CH / SZ+CZ dynamic...
щotka: brush...
          ah... i can do away with SZCZ via (щ)...
but there's a doubled conundrum...
with a word like:

sincerity: szczerość....
          see... i can do away with the "excesses" of Z)
щero

but even Russian Cyrillic doesn't have
a compounding... diphthong...
****... we're not talking about diphthongs... are we?
diphthongs require two vowels...
we're not talking about vowel "transgenderism"...
we're talking about 3 consonants merging...
so...
   it's not a diphthong... not that i care to look
for the SHCH curiosity... but i haven't found
a name for it...
   but we're talking about letters without diacritical
markers... well... "technically":
you could...

                         šč-        
                                     but that doesn't appear in Czech...
only in ****** and Russian...

                     šč- = щ
          
           yes... the prefix hyphen is necessary...

because that's exactly my point:

   dość!                   enough!

where: šč- = щ does exist?
                 -ść = ?          yeah... there's not Cyrillic equivalent...
i would have to invent a letter!
and i don't have the capacity to just conjure such
a letter up...

i've mentioned this before: it's annoying me...
the etymological crux of falsehood...
among the Anglo-Saxons...
that the etymological root of Slav is written
with a missing "e" via "slave"...
sacred words? niggerniggernigger...
hard to giggle?! the extra G too much?!
i'm offended, too...
           let me relay this message to the Russians...
they might rough up some UPA Ukranians...
no matter... better warring among "ourselves"
than having foreign influencces...
Communism was only born out of Pan-Slavism...
we tried... we failed: good to know we failed...
now the western world is playing the fools' bargaining
chips... i'm just looking on and thinking:
it's just a matter of time... before there will come
a canyon, a crater from what would otherwise
dispel the dinosaur's and leave us with
nothing but crocodiles and serpents...

i'm looking for ingenuity in creating a letter...
akin to

šč- = щ
                                                                ­ -ść = ?          
                     i want
more wounds to lick... or rather:
i want a single mum's dog to lick m knuckles...
i want to listen to more Godsmack: pretend angry...
i want anger: i want furore:
i want energy... i want sweets...
i don't really think i need that much fibre...
that much fat... that many high-tier carbohydrates
to take more time to break down:
i think i need to look for a different brothel...

all the Chinese ideas... but written without ideograms...
without ******* traffic colours...
why is it green and not blue to imply: GO!
blue? water?!
           then again... makes sense...
"sense"... i feel autistic by now...
mix blue with yellow... what do you get? green?
two-birds with one stone motto...
              
i can't just create a letter... on the spot...
it will take years to counter the Cyrillic prefix
with a Pollack suffix...
   like my inability to paint the fence...
i just can't do it...
              i'm painting a fence... i'm not painting
a worth of canvas...
i can't: i'll blame it one the roses...
but the roses are not the problem...
the painting itself is the problem...
                    
       all the Chinese ideas...
but... without the ideograms...
written in Katakana... or best.. in Hanguel...
without the ideograms...
"emoticons"...
            death is not a respiting fellow;
death is a harrower of an inevitable harvest.

i just wrote a corruption of what i should
have believe in with
a contending contentment.
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
why even attack,
slyly creep under
or even parasitical nibble
at a figurine
that in 100 years will                 (
gain impetus akin
to an Alexander the Great...                ?
a joke of a surname...                                      )
when you have
all the grey
areas of an erwin lambert
to mind...
    the joke that was ******
that became the mythological
romance akin to Attila...
   the congested mouth of
human history,
lacerated, cancerous,
tooth-rot
and a tongue of gangrene,
nothing, but theatre,
surviving;
give it 100 years...
  and no sooner the moths
that might agitate the flame...
but all they grey-mass-in-between...
ihre vater,  die "wenigscherz"...
how these children
sum up the evil
in one but man...
     peddlestooled into the lime
from the cameo...
    dictator helpless before
dictatorial mass of bureucrats...
hier! hier ihre eisenvorhang!
        break the rank
of the patron of bureucrats
(herr Kant)...
                      and place
the sztylet of Brutus,
with a semi-patricide scorn into...
a nail within
the hanging frame of
           a dandy crux...
  a feeling akin to:
    castrating a pedegree Alsatian:
shining teeth...
   pumped teeth...
impersonal the gnashing...
most of the time i imagine
myself reincarnated
in a theatre of a castrated
rottweiler...
    making stretched-clown-masks
from strangers' skins
of childrens' faces...
just for kicks...
   mind you...
   apparently the N.S.A.
  has all the personal data briefing
whether or not...
i'm jihadi material...
           or just a fantasist /
fetishist...
     good to know that even I,
do not have knowledge,
of a minority report;
    must have whisked passed me
on a feline whim of
teasing a whisker before
a fetish for: leisuring a Mexican
in cleaning a dilemma's worth
of a paw;
prepare th mince...
an obese exhibit with
Alzheimer's...
      during warfare,
war dogs & dogs require
the most contaminated meats,
to add to their expected
ferociousness...
      ha ha...
         the Nazis didn't insaminate
their subjects with
feline *****?
              why is Frankenstein
so pale...
    and transgenderism, so, norm?
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
**** the face,
although sure, i'd love to **** it...
just show me your hands,
looking at your face doesn't
'elp much...
i just need to see your hands,
to say whether you're male
of female...
      i'm sorry, no work
of medicine transforming your
face, hiding your masculine
jaw-line will do it to me...
just show me your hands
and lets have the "circus" act
over and done with in
a matter of seconds...
babe, i'd ******* no matter what,
i'm not russian,
i'm a half-way house between
feral russian, and
  "western" european, and yes:
i'm not swedish.
funny? i always found a female's
hand the most ****** parts,
you can't fake the hand structure
with trans-gender women...
they're always asking for an axe,
always too big, yuck.
          if you wanna,
i'll break a few knuckles,
             and then shorten the fingers
by taking out some minor
bones... no?
    look at these faces...
chloe arden: i'd **** her...
     him, her... him... huh?
   show me the hands!
   theryn meyer: yup...
    blaire white: oh fyck yeah...
and i did write this while
listening to the stone roses'
song i wanna be adored...
mind you, i really did sketch this
girl i adored from high-school
listening to this track,
and yeah, i did ask her for a photograph,
which she did give me,
and i did sketch her...
    what was her name?
ah....  emma a lovely strawberry
blonde... a few freckles on her cheeks
                   and nose...
what a gall...
                 i might as well have cited
describing a rotweiler...
        a beauty by any care for
having been "almost" memorable...
love at first site... she is still memorable...
for some reason,
a smile that left you wanting
to pinch her cheeks like a grandma'h...
which is a shame,
given you wanted that sort
interaction: as a lover.
       oh but i can't forget her accomplice:
name? rebecca...
curly deep-brown hair,
**** me, how can i forget?
    they were the newbies at our 6th form...
you think i might forget that piece of ***?
wait... there is one anomaly...
  she was a classy lass...
i was a fugitive to my hormones...
  and there she was:
a celtic mysterium...
                   what was her name?
never mind,
      i still remember asking emma
for her photograph, and sketching her...
**** me, glad to have
angled that strawberry blonde
from the museum of memory...
what a beauty...
     freckles and dimples +...
              i don't mind transgenderism...
i mean, from what i've seen?
i can't tell the difference... unless of course
you show me your hands....
can't fake the feminine hand...
sorry? or is that oops?
     well double that up with an oops...
face? sure...
   **** as hell...
  but you can't fake the hands...
   sorry...
           with the names already stated:
you can trick me with a gorgeous face...
but when it comes to hands?
   if you can't make believe with the hands?
i'm sorry...
    don't do what the korean girls do
by breaking their tibia / fibula to stand
at 5 feet 9 inches without stilletos...
    you can do magic with the face,
but the hands?
      let you in on a little secret...
the hand that jerks off...
    isn't the eye that anticipates
                  the jerking off partner;
face? you can fake the transgender
approach? hands?
              that's hard to fake,
esp. for me, since those are the most
****** parts of a woman.
jake aller Nov 2018
Returning America to a Christian Paradise

President Trump in a speech
to a Christian activist group
calls for a “return to traditional values”
that made America great.  

Folks we need to go back to those days
Remember back when everyone was a Christian,
God was in the schools,
no one worried about offending Jews
or others by saying Merry Christmas,

when we had an Easter Break
and a Christmas break from school

when people asked you
what Church you went
It was a polite way of saying
welcome to the community,

I recall an America
when people went to Church
every weekend,

when stores were closed
on Sundays, Christmas, Eastern,
New Years, July 4th and Thanksgiving,
When there was no black Friday

when no one knew
what Islam was about
because there were few
if no Muslims living in America,  

same thing for Buddhists,
Hindus and other minority religions,

atheism was not a thing
that one was proud of or promoted,

when movies and TV’s were family entertainment
instead of being filled with violence,
****** immorality
and contempt for Christians,

when being a boy scout
was a good thing
not a curse word,

Prostitution was illegal,
Abortion was illegal,
homosexuality was illegal,
transgenderism did not exist,

men were men
women were woman,
women got married
stayed home
with their children,

men could earn enough money
to take care of their wife and children,
people had three or more children,

parents ruled their children
and not the other way around,

*** was between married couples only,
and extra-marital affairs were condemned,
not celebrated

same *** marriage would be seen as absurd
and contrary to God’s will

******* was illegal,
drugs were illegal,
drinking was frowned upon
if not illegal,

people served in the military,
we respected the troops,
respected the police
and respected authority

Yes, folks we have to return
To an America
That was a true Christian paradise
thoughs on the emergeny theocracy in Donald trumps America
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
on a night such as this... where the previous one
was me completely out of it...
deciding to cycle at night...
when you just write something almost decent
and you want to laugh while:
being really terrible at balance -
gravity swerved me left, right...
i might have ****** up the gears...
at one point i decided to stop and take up
the constellations while lying on the side
of the road on the pavement...
today's moral anguish of drink left me
plugged into bbc radio 3
listening to the 2nd and 3rd act of Puccini's
La Boheme...
and then... Shostakovich's the soldier...
a take on Faust... a deal with the devil...
         came 10pm and a programme on new
music: WHACK... telepathy music...
it's coming to 1am and i've already returned
from the Goodmayes tesco with
a bottle of scotch... having another to calm
the nerves... since... like a giddy-schoolboy i'm
debating myself whether or not
i have to visit the brothel...
only hours earlier i was puking while drinking
a weak coffee...
from the excitement...
it has been... circa... 3 years since i've touched
a thigh... a pair of *******...
and... it's not exactly about getting a *******...
or forking around in some oyster-mush
of a ******...
i don't know what it is...
the 3Ps...
   i'm not going to talk to a priest...
i tried psychologists and psychiatrists...
so much for tongue waggling...
but prostitutes?
i get to talk and touch...
   plus... no need for dating... for pretences...
for games...
at the butcher's shop you come with the money
and you're not stalled...
it's not like i don't have any spare money
either... roughly £3000 on my bank account...
if i sold some **** i'd be already on my way
to some euthanasia clinic in Belgium...
there's always the need to think of a sharpened knife
and the throat...
perhaps the entire ****** of pain and
a way of: playing poker with death...
it's inescapable... death... so i guess there's only
one way out: to tease it...
the brothel... bordello...
         that 2nd is a gnostic term...
something akin to Christ wedding his mother
come the 2nd coming...
or the alternative...
the sobering language of Spinoza's
theological-political treatise...
         now listening to...
the cardigans' erase / rewind... vs....
  trevor something's into your heart...
**** me... i wouldn't be writing this if...
i put the stashed money from
a packet of cigarettes into my wallet
where i keep my bike-lock key...
well... for all the drama surrounding the b.b.c. -
radio 3 is probably the only part of the corporation
worth saving...
and it's true what they say about classic.fm
they're not tempted by something obscure
or new... with the exception of...
Ola Gjeilo... northern lights...
       or...                    Ludovico Einaudi...
i'm starting to bewilder myself...
what are the chances that i might give back
pleasure:
oh i know i'll leave dissatisfied...
the bicycle journey of circa 5 miles in 30 minutes
will be worth more...
it's a disconcerting to even think what
i might want at this point...
   3 years and... i should have gone to Prague
come January 2020...
        i wish it could be as simple as:
"i don't know what i want"...
                    maybe thinking about the economy?
after all... if i give £125 to a *******...
she'll probably spend it on things
a man wouldn't otherwise...
mind you... advertisement...
of the national lottery... £30million is invested
each week in something...
money teasing the quality of water...
it trickles... just... trickles...
handshakes and mucho kudos...
              perhaps i just want someone to massage me...
i've been suffering from a stiff neck and
terrible shoulders for almost forever...
perhaps i don't want ***...
at some point she'll probably shove it in her
gob at the altar of phallus anyway...
stiff neck... crunching of the shoulder-blades...
perhaps i'll ask her to count my ribs...
the national lottery? it's a stealth tax... isn't it?
- **** me, man! decide!
- you're going to go for a massage or not?
- i hate you...
- thank you, i hate myself also...
- oh hey presto... reformed st. Augustine over
'ere... hey! people! take a peek!
in the current climate of feminism and
transgenderism...
i'd prefer the attitude of: not paying for dinner...
giggling at the prospect of erectile dysfunction:
coming around to the madonna-*****
complex that women present: with no more
teenager baggage of her mystique...
perhaps one will slurp up my ******* clean
off... well... if i were circumcised...
and had to play the game of...
my ******* is your niqab...
   fair enough...
**** it... i want to touch "something"...
i'm done with all this carpenter *******...
i'll rub my fingers against some bricks before
i enter... that'll be double emphasis on
touching skin... that's not even work-about
leather...
why else would i have trimmed my *****
and oiled up my beard...
put on some scented wax on my hair...
hell... salsa... salt... and a bruising of knees...
an agony of pride...
lovely ***** just give me 36.5°C back...
give me goose-bumps on the back of m'ah head...
give me all that there's requiring
a composition of not being a father...
i don't need the qualms i'm pretty **** sure
there's this class that denotes them as:
breeders...
me pretending to be sober
while cycling drunk to the brothel is already
a joke that has to start with a now...
while the abyss yawns.

— The End —