.so much of hedonism can revolve outside the realm of women: wanting, wishing, blah blah, being filled with resentment, not ever being fulfilled, well... at least with exitential philosophy of the 20th century: there's always some sort of transcendental modus operandi... look around! there's so much to choose from! i moved past hedonism, the -ism bugged me... so i moved into the bacchian territory of "affairs"... sure... i'd still visit a ******* from time to time, ******* to "7s and 6s" or fine renaissance art while taking a ****... to ease out left-over shy ****... but i "think" i'm off the hook, when a circumcised moral authority in the form of a h'american mid-western family man says: disgusting... see any scented candles? i'm massaging my prostate while doing the one off, while taking a ****... lucky me that i haven't been circumcised in a post-christian secular babylon... besides... what's the difference between a bacchian "cult" and hedonism? well... nietzsche really wanted to entertain the bacchian dimension... sorry ****** chose barbiturates, but all he ever wanted was to drink the nectar, the amber... while all around me: an ordered world of chaos, and with me in it: a chaotic individual (in the cognitive sense at least) with a membrane of ordered masquerades... every chance i managed to make it into the public at Halloween... clown, two years running, in a span of 10 years... hedonism usually implies some sort of association with women... pass... sorry... whiskey and music, giggles from an empty head... and, as i discovered today... walking in the rain... my my, what nice weather we currently have in england... coming to mid june, and it's ******* cats and dogs, wimbledon is about to start, there's a roof, so no more ol' cliffy richard sing-along on a rain break... and that's the best bit... a life composed of simple pleasures... it doesn't get much simpler than my three prime associations to pleasure... i can walk, i don't need to hop, i don't even have to run... the rain, the missing hood, the frown from the rain targeting my eyes, the alcoholic ginger beer, the music, and unto home, the whiskey and all the music i could never have wished for... sure sure... a *******... once every 2 years, ****, it's been almost 3 if i best remember... and even then, not having trimmed my ***** hair, it was only kissy-kissy for an hour... i don't even want to understand the current α-, β-, γ-, δ- or the ω-man analogies, abstracts... how many letters are we missing? 24 letters - 5 letters... in gnosticism... there are 19 aeons... 19 is a "magic" number in gnosticism... ****... with all these transgender kids getting off their kicks in this here reality... i guess i'll be the μ-man, the meta-man... borrowing from metaphysics... mind you, there's also the o-man and the π-man, which borrows from benzene is attached to, via the respective positioning of groups: ortho and para.


what's with this sentimental
drunk in me...
     *******... crumpet
brigade...
   robin williams
cracking a golf joke...
            eddie izzard
cracking...
   whatever joke is handy...
maurice jarre - carpe diem...
     and until
that time comes...
i'm the dead one...
       attempting
                        to levitate...
it's such a happy sadness...
to be made authentic
by all that requisite bile
of false hope...
  it "almost" feels like
having lived,
also had a purposive
suggestion
to also having had to die...
i sometimes forget
jazz...
and rekindle myself
to classical music...
  the whole: clarinet
shoved up my ***...
and the english teacher,
a true pict...
in my catholic highschool...
  brother oh brother
where i would
be without you...
       solace served
in solitude of a park bench...
brother oh brother...
how little we have,
and yet: gamble with
so many... crafts,
gifts, grievances...
        lost affairs and
antiques...
    "as if": ever,
  the memorable faces
of time, lost to the long past quest
of memory, trapped by
the objective reality of time...
to cry, as to laugh...
how few cushions of ease
to lay your head upon
and gather...
what the few will never
have,
whether in rags,
or in ritches...
        to have a dobermann
for a brother,
an alsatian shepherd
for a sister...
  and myself the shadow,
and my own kept
readied company...
you're not free...
           as neither am i...
from the crisp grasp
of beauty that death makes
no acknowledgment of
in order to cradle
a sense of preservation,
a mortality...
     i thank death for this
prudence...
           as there ever were
only two ulterior
motives
for the "complexity"
of the psychology of affairs...
you either live
by crying and die by laughing,
or you die by laughing and
having lived:
               the last entombing
worth of...
       the funeral was
pre-readied "to begin with"...
      ah ha ha ha ha ha!

if to begin "life" in post-scriptum...
wake me up...
at the end of winter,
when spring is teasing
its baby-steps...
and the odd night
of lingering winter appears
and i...
am worthy to expect nothing
of an arabian export
of negated
global warming norms...

or...
             when i wasn't a
catholic school schoolboy
          reactionary
via vs. the concept of
        confirmation having
read
the gnostic literature,
             "too early".