.https://tinyurl.com/yd8kxt9s: and this was at a time when i actually cared what girls thought... as any chubby kid prior to the age mid 16... cared so much... like any boy... then the backfire... so i thought: well... i know of a girl that won't back down, Sophia... and she certainly didn't teach me to regurgitate logic like a sophist might... new experience... and? ever since? so date with Jack was ever the same... i really used to care what girls thought... but... eh... these days? i care whether the bottom of the bottle looks like a telescope, or a mirage of a kaleidoscope... guess all the shame went out the window... selfish... selfish... hmm... then i guess all the monks are paying dues for that kind of existential hostage heist of - otherwise unwanted enlarged *****-loads of heart, mind, hope... my kind of poker... but thank god i don't that the sort of egoism of a ***** donor, like i'm some prime material for cloning... phew!

i listen to these commentary videos on politics,
and then... i reach a saturation
point... oi! Joe! Joe! where you goin'?
to the jazz club? me come with...
   i've had enough... i get enough news
when i visit my grandparents with my
grandmother watching more
news than her age-restricted bracket
of Mexican or Turkish telenovelas...
does my nuts in!
   i'd rather watch a ******* telenovela
than the corporate news...
at least i'd be watching someone akin
to tuba büyüküstün
   (**** me, they went wild on
the diacritical marks there... didn't
they? do they match up to
the scalpel of syllables within the word?) -
hey! granny! put that **** back on,
she's showing a healthy cut of
thighs and the upper legs,
cut, right, above the knee!
    i too miss the internet...
like it was... in 2007 through to
2000 &... 17?
      well sure as **** no **** Sherlock
it wasn't 2016...
           i appreciate the work
of the counter-media...
   but after a while...
  i get bloated...
   too much information...
       and nothing of the sort i can
speak to people about within
or outside age bracket within this
restricted space...
   so i fill up the tank, realizing
it all ends with: oh, right...
the same ******* tomorrow?
    and then i desperately try to find new
music... musing over a sudoku puzzle...
taking another painkiller swig of
bourbon saying to myself:
isn't this, just the most bountiful night
filled with the oddest beauties
encapsulated most by the shadow
on the face of the moon?
      as ever, my number one motto:
stay low, steer the undercurrent -
         seek no exposure...
               enjoy the drinking,
but esp. enjoy the music...
                     but **** me...
   i miss 2004... or was it 2005?
whichever year it was...
i remember having a race with this
guy on a Tour de France type of bike...
and i was mulling this thick-tier
mountain bike from
Bałtów to Ostrowiec Św. -
   but i still remember my 50+km leisure
route...
   there are only two ways to lose
weight without having problems
of excess skin hanging like punctured
fat balloons...
  cycling... or swimming...
   nope... you go to the gym to lose
that weight? you'll be in need of
plastic surgery...
              **** the diet...
coffee is not coffee if you don't drink it
with either full-fat milk or cream...
i've seen what a coffee with skimmed
milk looks like...
looked at a receptionist's cuppa in
the local g.p. surgery...
  diluted mud-water...
                 same argument with low
fat yogurt: instant diabetes -
you, need, fat...
                    you can't fake fat with
excess sugars...
  plus... the texture?
        orangutan snot probably tastes
better...
      no... gym is a bad idea
for losing weight...
had a "friend" (fwend) who thought
it was worthwhile...
guess now he can test what
a tattoo looks like in old age...
   skin as elastic as a ******* parachute...
running? bad for the knees...
plus? 50+km on a bike?
think of the scenery!
                 - and you require but only
afternoon session when the heat's off...
roughly 2 hours...
sure... after the weight is gone...
**** that gym membership...
   but?
           not prior...
              you lose weight by concentrating
on a calorie equilibrium
with either your legs...
or your torso...
but let's face it...
i didn't swim much...
   so basically your legs... on a bicycle...
what was that route i loved so much...
ah...
the 754...
       through various names country
roads... heading back on Iłżecka
  (a road's name borrowed from
the town of Iłża - en route to Warsaw -
a medieval road -
now passed on route no. 9) -
more fun than pretending to
be a tourist in central London...
  bicycle... late afternoon...
the road...
                 and the endless
fried pine patches of forest...
there's nothing about home as
the perfumes of the land...
however grotesque -
which does include farm animal
manure...
  but **** me...
   Paris perfumeries can hide,
shy... from their poignant scents...
farm animal manure
and hay...
   but later afternoon pine...
and the wheat fields...
and the grass...
               come to think of it...
i never realized that i cycled into
a completely different county...
           like me going from Essex
through to Kent...
               fun as ****...
plus i sometimes stopped at this
old woman's hut...
           and bought some goat's milk.

the last soft pretzel  has been sold
he puts the mustard jar
......back into the cart

and "home" he rolls

------------

there was an old lady who lived in Sheboygan
she had so many children

she moved to new york city
and got on welfare

-----------

he was a "podigy"
he coulda been jesus

but he decided to be
........................lebron james

---------

gentle breezes
the bicycling boy
yellow shirt against the park's greenery

and the deep blue sky

--------------

growing unto  night!
the angelic sense of "her nurturing"

all in her EYE

---------------
an obvious "sentence"

the world's been imploded!

(and is an ugly worn out place!)

-------------

the towers have fallen

oly homeland security
on the c.i.a.

watching us now

On barstools, people drone on endlessly
about meditation and yoga and hot yoga
or cold jogging, and bicycling in special pants.
‘It gives you a high,’ they say.
‘You’re on top of the world,’ they scream.
The saps push their new religions
with the gusto of car salesmen.
When it’s a woman, I politely listen
between mouthfuls of whiskey and ginger ale.
When it’s a man, I shut him down
early in his ramble. I tell him to
grow a pair.

Curvaceous women with long hair
and ***** that easily get wet,
bourbon that melts the top layer of ice,
pocketing a few bucks after sinking the 8 ball,
those are the legal addictions,
I tell punks
that give a man small escapes,
the sins he commits to feel whole.
A man who knows the desperation
of fulfilling temptations always
works harder to stay one step ahead
of the game.

Those are the addictions,
I tell men in designer clothes,
that **** us
slowly
when we least expect
our demise.

Suffering,
bicycling west, just east of river's edge,
under overcast troposphere,
downtroddenly I recall
how shadows require sunshine.

You could have reached here Wednesday by last choice
Perhaps your mood shifted. All the calm nights
you had now lay awake. You explore the city
built by the perfect people, white cathedral
stands upright on a slant, a compass buried in plain sight,
the gibberish of art students from painting lullabies as sirens.
Only children are asleep. The university
grows younger each year. The best teacher
is always late, not realizing her impact.

The person I’m most comfortable with
stays in bed. Security found indoors
the couch allures, security in the capsule,
The deafening whispers, the genuine friends
who live nearby and can’t talk straight. The blessed temple
building worshiped by advertising majors.

The lucid potential, morning sprints round the track,
a library sustained by crushed Adderall —
glowering orbs rotating back counter clockwise,
out of chimneys the black spirits climb,
detectives bicycling, the honor students rummaging
for class notes in the deep end of the dumpster.

So this is college? That frontier plateauing
before you can dive off a cloud? So this utopia
was a dollhouse, the daily on the doormat
camps in the hallway: waits while the child watches
a sit-com?
Don’t apartments stand still? Are abstract paintings
and basketball supposed to nurture a city,
not only Richmond, but also other lonely cities
of misunderstood brunettes, dank **** and dubstep
the weekend will seldom put out
until the city you moved to shuts its eye?

Just tell yourself, “live.” The best teacher, eighteen
when she moved to the university, still grins
even as she coughs out fiberglass. Any day now,
she sings, I’ll take a drive and leave this place.
I pull her close and say. You haven’t slept in your own bed.
The boy who you’ve always loved still thinks about you.
The books you read before breakfast,
whoever the author may be, inspires
and your least favorite student who raises her hand
is judged but her posture never falters.

12:30 AM.
I am a ghost drifting through the midnight-quiet,
haunting flower beds and grasses
Undisturbed in their slumber. My body floats
Through my neighborhood, stealing the
Secrets of the dark.

1 AM.
Ghoulish eyes peer out from Mrs. Butler’s bushes and
Become miniature 3-eyed deer with antlers sharpened to
Daggers. They roam about her dewy lawn,
Feasting on worms and blinking,
Slowly, one eye at a time.

3:30 AM
Arrives, and they return to their hideaway home,
Disappearing with one final b l i n k
Into the rhododendrons.

5 AM.
I never knew that morning tasted like
Strawberries and honeysuckle and smelled
Like freshly-cut-grass-mixed-with-bonfire-smoke.
My Tongue is heavy with its sickly-sharp odor
And my ears buzz from the tangy sweetness.

7 AM.
Corporeal reality coats my body, connecting my mind
to my soul, my
Soles to the soil and I am incarnate, whole,
A body amid the sunlit specters surrounding me.

9 AM.
A mumbo-jumbo grin slides onto my face,
Synthetic in every aspect of the word,
My mouth is cotton-dry as I slink into the bogusness of a weary day.

10 AM.
Crowds of people smoosh together, their words co-mingling
And I crash my bike into strung-together sentences,
Scraping my knees on the voracity of barbed words.

11. “She’s a constant damsel-in-distress, but she doesn’t work in a strip joint!” I step around the shards of her fallen tiara as I climb the ivory-tower’s steps.
12. My wide eyes view futility as a type of texture, and I imagine it feels like sandpaper. My first class feels like sandpaper-futile in this struggle to stay awake.
13. Bicycling to la clase de Español se siente como moviéndose a través de melaza.
Mis pies cansados empujar los pedales pero I can’t escape the quicksand around me.
14. Reading the thoughts of my classmates helps to pass the time, and
I can see clearer through closed-eyelids than open eyes.
15. Red walks among their peers, watching for passing dogs and smiling at them. Red is
Hyperaware of people they knew from past school and recalls names and faces in seconds. Red is
A zombie trudging on shaky legs, lumbering down the bricked path.
16. Murky sunlight streams through tired clouds and blinking is a visceral kind of pain.
17. My poetry stews in my brain, rotting and fermenting until it becomes a fine wine.
18. Trees wish me good luck, waving their branches affirmatively as I pass by. Their comforting
Footsteps warm my soul.
19. Darkness steals the sun’s warmth but I’ve hours more to be awake.
20. I am a ghost floating through this sea of people. I drift through them, haunting their conversations
Haunting my own quiet mind.

Light pours in through my open window pane
The warmth waking me up earlier than usual
Sunrise before six, in summer this is a ritual
I want to go back to sleep again!

Summer reminds me of the golden days
When we went bicycling all day long
When we hummed our favourite song
But now those days are just a haze!

Summers mean tasty, cool juices
Popsicles and colas iced
Jackfruits and mangoes sliced
Summer definitely has its uses!

Summers are bright sunshine lifting my mood
They motivate me to sweat and lose some weight
Summer has its charms to which all of us relate
Summer makes me feel refreshed and renewed!

Let me sit here
Alone
With my pen

Let me become
Consumed in my thoughts
So much so that
I don't here the "hello"
From the friendly fellow
Bicycling on the trail behind me

Let me boil in rage
Grasping onto anything
Trying to let it all seep out slowly
I'll manage
If you just let me

Let me lose my reality
So I can become anew
Empty slate
Free to coagulate
Become thick with hate

plan a.
1. take each day one step at a time.
2. find a college and go there.
3. take each day one step at a time.
4. get a job and pay off your student debt.
5. live a life that you're afraid of.

plan b.
1. take up bicycling.
2. get a job and bicycle to it.
3. make money at the job.
4. save the money.
5. don't buy a car with the money.

plan c.
1. offer your services doing lawn care.
2. suffer all winter when you can't do lawn care.
3. take care of a lot of lawns in the spring.
4. make friends with lots of lawn owners.
5. use your connections to full advantage.

plan d.
1. sell your cd collection on ebay.
2. get a tattoo of a cassette tape.
3. invest in a pile of used vinyl.
4. work as a waitress.
5. save tips for concerts.

plan e.
1. hop on a greyhound bus.
2. go to whichever city the wind takes you.
3. take polaroid pictures of the city.
4. sell them to tourists.
5. starve to death.

plan f.
1. give up.
2. scrap that and try again.
3. because you're not a quitter.
4. and quitting at life.
5. was never an option.

plan g.
1. go to beauty school.
2. make people feel pretty.
3. go home and feel less ugly yourself.
4. donate money to charity.
5. hope that karma pays you back.

plan h.
1. pack up with your friends.
2. move to alaska.
3. work over the internet.
4. grow vegetables to offset the cost of hot tea and alcohol.
5. find something to love.

*(and just think how all of
these plans could be done in
one lifetime and how it takes
that many misses to find the hit
i'll give you a hint the thing you
have to learn to love is the one
thing that stayed with you
every step of the way.)

Bicycling
my words
backwards
in lower case
they became
visceral.

«
.




Each cycle of Timeless goes forward and back simultaneously–

Bi-cycling.

Memory of the Past,

Plan for the Future,

Join in this Moment,

In every This Moment.



Joy is the Nature of Totality,

Eternal,

Timeless.



Love is the Nature of Totality,

Enjoying Our Self, The One,

Healing all the roles in which we have hidden Totality.



Love and Joy forever cycling while also not moving.



Eternal Delight.

Eternal Delight!

if you must have the
last word the
word should be "sorry"


simple poems are fun
yet they can
say more than one thinks


enjoying nature
time to pray
like a Romantic


bicycling is part
of my life
need I search for more


there is a time in
people's lives
that they would erase


the tree is  now down
but Christmas
lives in memory

I want to remember everything.
I want to remember the look in your eyes and the nervous way
you bit your lip on that Thursday.
And how we walked hand in hand to class.
I want to remember the way we'd walk home late
stop at my corner
and watch the world pass by.
I want to remember the way that when I shut my eyes
I always saw yours.
Gold and green and mysterious and holding my heart.
I want to remember the way you smiled that nervous smile of yours
the first time we kissed.
I want to remember bicycling by your side
nineteen days in a row to our summer classes.
I want to remember the feel of your chin
resting on the very top of my
head.
I want to remember the way that we thought we knew the world
and each other
and our song.
I want to remember the way that our friends accepted us
and forgave us for being distant.
I want to remember the way that our hands
fit perfectly
together.
I want to remember the moment we decided that
for us
best friends was better.
I want to remember you.

David and I gave
each other bike hugs
we both are like
little kids when we cycle

Pedaling along our
newly asphalted roads
we drink in the
extraordinary
Florida sunsets
and admire the neatly
manicured front yards
of kind neighbors

Mike's tiny dog
"Lil Bit"
yelps protectively
as we rocket past his yard

a lot of folks have joined
the happy carefree world
of bicycling since the
corona crisis

I chose a tricycle
for my preferred ride
"Sai Purple Majesty"
jets down Beacon Street
Behind David's Red Cruiser

Laughing with glee
we ride off into the
glowing candy apple sunset

Bicycling down  a year of pavement on my way towards your direction without fear of disapproval, failure or regret

Watching the greenery on the sidewalk perk up

I do not need to be certain
I just need to head that way
patient and peddling
each time a little closer

The compass ‘ red arrow knows where I need to go.

that i fear the fiend might come knocking...
taking masks hanging on wall parallel the stairs...
grating the wall while he stumbles down...
that i fear the fiend might come knowing
oh so little... that he just bought himself an
£18 worth of Eclipse Mount Gay Barbados
***... and he just had a sip of it...
                        fiend... border collie...
       can i catch him before the taste wears off?
after all... even i agree with him... this ***...
which doesn't look like *** at all...
stands right up there... with the best of mr. whiskers
and ms. ambers...

1

i promised myself a whole month of living
inside my head...
    inside my head: mein kopf -
i promised myself to not venture out of
it with either fingers tongue or bruise:
augen allein - mit:
                                    with only eyes...

i promised myself to not
write phantom with phantom:
most assuredly to not write in a drunken
stupor - or somehow:
drunkenly excited: Horace citing or
in admiration for some
  ego-worm from dust in a library burnt
down spawned...

i promised myself a month of living:
if i were to use my hands it would
be to fix up my bicycle...
tighten the brakes...
lubricated the chain and gear cogs...
the wheels...
bake two dozen rhubarb & white chocolate
muffins...
play a little bit of the guitar...
work with a screwdriver...

   make a pork & beef Hungarian
sauce with plenty of peppers and chillies
with smoked paprika and cinnamon
for a potato rosti... or add some flour
to the potatoes and make a potato-pancake
for the sauce...
certainly drink more coffee...

perhaps sip a 25ml sip of some expensive
liquor to remind myself:
sober: come earthquake or tsunami...
i promised myself to live inside my head
for a month: not writing or what
i sometimes call writing:
that crux of an exasperation from
doodling... sketching: marooning
myself on an hour where i could be doing
something plentiful in
the garden...

                    itching for soil beneath
my fingernails...
after all: sober might be just mediocre:
where is that bombastic drunkard who
would write: anything goes?
   irgend etwas geht...
                     gehen weiter... go further...
neu-nüchtern alt-nüchtern:
but it's never the same...

only this time: i haven't given my word:
or honour... i gave my hand
in a handshake: i break that i might
as well chop it off...
and that's no good for a typewriter
of any sort...
    i'd need a hand more dexterous
and probably much bigger...
   and it would be just as well to have
a 2nd thumb: thumb-either side...
i promised myself a month inside my head:
i even called it:

     nüchternlücke... a hiatus of soberness...
periods of 4 days (3 hours prior
to sleep) of treating my liver as a punching
bag - 4 days counting
passing from lump to slime
to all sweat and furriness:

   masks in the hallway: down the stairs
fell... perhaps more perhaps less
than dominos...
              refrigerating a clock...
                                        freezing a cigarette...
not even if the readership plucked
200 x 2... 400 eyes...
i would continue thus...

   reminiscence of those strained sober
in-soma nights:                    work the horse on
to a tight schedule...
                          it was only a superstitious
day three days ago...
a Friday a 13th...
an August a year two-thousand-and-twenty-one...
i cycled a new routine...

2 hours during the day from Harald's &
Harold's Hill / Forrest... and further afield
like atte-Bower teasing a sight of
ol' father Thames and the A13...
through the village of Rainham to and through
the village of Wennington...

bypassing Upminster via the pristine flatness
of the county of Thurrock... Belgium?
not as familiar... but close enough by
comparison... and then full-circle back to Harold's
& Harald's via Great Warley -
but that's of course during the day...

by night an hour's worth of
looking at Friday's, Saturday's and Sunday's
clientele at either Hornchurch or
Romford...
not that much of a terrible sight...
i must have looked worse when drinking...

    such was my youth: only these days
it would appear that the colts are pimping
the mares... Hornchurch girls...
classier than Romford girls...
       O moralist... let the butter churn...
body against body:
you're passing through, anyway...

- but at night when the air is thin
speed becomes multiplied by at least 1.5mph...
make that: 2kmph...
just thinking of a date...
i'd say to her... why don't we cycle these
outer-suburban labyrinths...
while listening to the soft moon:
all downhill from the opening song
breathe the fire -
written by luis vasquez... Spaniard or
-es-que...
                           all the cure you can
hope for... translated into
dig: a 21st century hole...
                      not of Joy or Depeche...
bicycling at night:
from streetlight to streetlight dragging
shadows...
air come night is so much
thinner: less traffic to mind...
no need for comfort, safety...
no high viz. no headlights...
           headphones in...
intuition... unconscious arithmetic of
spatial coordination...
i always felt safest at night...
and using the momentum build-up
of large trucks at a roundabout...

i must forget to have written anything
good drunk: for that matter... this is all
sober... sober judged sober feels
sober the anchor of an "anhedonia":
but only to excess!

       by now the fiend would reply:
past the 35cl mark... smooth sailing on
the rough seas...
otherwise... prior to the 35cl mark...
boat crashing and toiling on a lake's serenity...

i promised myself a month inside
my own head... to rekindle a reading list...
the old Libra: never write more than
you read: read more than you write...

away from the city on the Thurrock platitudes
like lyrics from a Leonard Cohen
song: you don't really care much for music,
do y'ah?
i've wasted my youth on music...
probably as much on movies...
now for the privy of a well-worked-out
bicycle... no need to sing a praise
for sparrows: they're off on their own
chore of song...
sober crow... eternal sober crow...
gallows keeper... the bird than splinters
a pine tree into a thousandth of a thousandth
needle... then threads...
ghostly cotton figurines...

2

a week passes: it's already too late to leave
a carbon footprint, only circa dating...
one approximate late, or later than usual...
Kabul has been resurrected
and is standing face to face with its original
indentation against the mountains...

pity the other commentary:
in Plymouth i see no need for psychiatry...
not that... a Jihadi has any "mental health issues"...
can't see the forest for the trees...
well... it's like that joke i half finished...

an incel, a jihadi & a... pornographic actor...
walk into a bar...
like i said: half-finished...
give terror its due where it's... not hiding behind
some waterfall of milk...
although... as all social commentaries go...
give a jihadi a bride...
                  and you'll probably get half the jihad...
but what to do when the reward is
rejected? by those who... would sooner
**** their own mothers than ****
with an allahu akbar?!


3

what ought to have been a month was only
but a week...
this inflammable whimper of time begun...
by some yesterday... toward some:
but even vaguer tomorrow...
  whimsical whimsical one two and three:
a measure to count with...
a measure to overcome a horizon with...
from plateau to hill to a bundle of curated
forest...
a sea of Thurrock's wheat...
  kinder than the actual sea...
                           i suppose no more than
this... spare me more time away from
this canvas of burning eyes
and skeleton-key letters...
                       i'll return to a time...
when words were sacrosanct... and written
by a priestly class...
when they didn't pierce all things...
so that things were kept intact...
but not here... among the rubble...
   the atoms... the stretched audacities of
a prison cast(e).

The big city is beautiful
All the lights so bright and plentiful
Sadly the natives can’t live there
Because of costs and politics, just not fair

Growing up there was my life
I went bicycling all over town to town
Cost kept rising and pocketbook sliced
Mom took me and sis as we both frowned

Everyone loves my home and state
I can’t blame them, it’s California and the Golden Gate

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i sort of lied when i said that i don't dream:
but it was a white lie -
i do... but with the frequency of a solar eclipse...
that's why i prefer saying: i just sleep...
but sometimes... i wake up: but on the snooze
button for, say... about an hour...
and i fall into a gentler sleep: nothing too deep
where the body rests... blink a few times to catch
some sunlight and then hope...
just one more hour... maybe i'll conjure something
up...

           i was lucky today...
that code above? it's for a right angle triangle...
i remember this dream from... ages ago...
i was on a *****: ergo... it must have been a right-angle
triangle... right at the bottom...
and i dreamt that i was running backwards and
forwards on this *****...
while... sheep-like creatures were rolling down
the *****... followed by demonic-like creatures
chasing after them with scythes...
chopping their heads off... but...
i had the duty of saving these sheep-like creatures
from a fate mush worse... a fate worse
than getting your head chopped off?
behind me: nothing... an abyss... non-existence
or... as the Biblical translation puts it:
you get to meet God... you are not coming back...
into anything, even remotely resembling
either a heaven or a hell...
   and since nothing: the word itself... is categorised
as... a pronoun... nothing once said:
ehyeh asher ehyeh... so... any more "pronoun" debates
on the plural market of they?
hell... i already absorbed some of this propaganda...
if i had a twitter (****-er) account: in my bio
i would write a royal spoof: preferred pronouns...
one, we...                 there... sorted...
the royal route...

                      people really have degenerated English
grammar very quickly... i'm not even native to
this language and i have more respect for it
than the natives... and... whatever the **** they're
doing with it: it being disgusting...

if you don't respect your language... well...
who the hell is going to take you seriously: in other matters?

but i was truly lucky today... for that one hour
i... i ******* managed to conjure up a dream...
well... when i say: i... it wasn't really me...
        i was sent a postcard from a "celestial power"
that said: well... you're not going to be the sleepwalker
Joseph... but here's a taste of that sort of power...

i found myself sitting on my couch... watching...
the Indian Wells men's final...
Nadal vs. Fritz... i already watched the women's
final Sakkari vs. Świątek -
so i'm supposedly watching the men's final...
because: like hell if i'm going to stay up till 4am
to watch that...
   i look around to my left... moths?
first i checked the meaning of dreaming of moths...
no... wait... it wasn't night-time...
i could see clearly... after all... the men's final
was in the high Californian afternoon...
i wasn't dreaming of sitting downstairs literally
watching the match...
it was daytime...               ah... butterflies...
i can't remember how many... but they were just
fluttering around a vase of flowers...
and some... weird looking cloud of...
    dried leaves... like a glib... was moving with them...
like a jellyfish... like a this like a that blah blah...
and i remember saying in the dream:
what ****'s this?! i have butterflies in my house
randomly fluttering in circles...

obviously since i said something i had
to follow it up by doing what i thought i'd never do...
this had to be an archetypical dream...
nothing truly personal but rather universal...
i.e. not particular... since... like the colour red...
the butterfly is a universal "thing"...
like a dog is... a dog is universal...
an Alsatian is a particular...
                        butterflies... so i looked it up...
wow... oh, cool... i get it... i did write about butterflies
i.e. the metaphorical sensation of falling in love...
yesterday with the sly **** having fire in my eyes
and fire on my face and cold-sweats all over my torso
before i gave "birth" to that abomination...
i get it... this ties in with... my attitude towards women...
i'm transformed beyond belief...
        
    how else would to interpret receiving a dream
of butterflies... dreams, i believe, don't work around
the Cartesian proposition: cogito ergo sum...
i think dreams work in reverse: sum ergo cogito...
i'm dreaming... i wake up... now i have to think about it...
Nietzsche made a footnote: but in the lucid waking
hours of his day... completely ******* wong...
sorry... wrong... perhaps some people are deluded
enough to think they're the architects of their dreams...
a delusion that extends into them having recurrent
dreams... duplications... they think they're the dream
conjurers... they're not... dreams are sent...
you're always on the receiving end... that's why you
get to interpret them: get a postscript angle on
the meaning... i was lucky with this archetypical dream...
there was clear enough symbolism to work with...

that being said: my attitude towards women...
at 35... meeting women of similar age is... rather a revelation
in itself... they have already made their beds...
they're either single mums...
well... Jeminah was... is...
she was probably impregnated by some older
guy in the financial realm of careers...
he pumped her and dumped her...
then she started growing old(er) and figured...
play the cougar card... she met her ex-boxing champ
through her son... her son was friends with
another kid in primary school... who had an older
brother... blah blah...
                beta-not-many-bucks-deluxe...
women: men are supposed to feel ashamed of
having parents... that's what i never understood...
i have to... forgo having my own parents...
so i can have a relationship with a woman
and thereby reject my parents... in order to embrace
her parents?! i need... ******* surrogates?!
well... it worked for my father...
since his parents rejected him and he was raised
by his grandmother and her second husband...
sure... it works perfectly for a man
if his parents are not in the picture...
if he was raised by his grandparents...
but the whole idea of... breaking away from your
father and mother... to be with a woman...
all the while as her gravity pulls you toward
her parents... this whole son-in-law *******:
very unbecoming to simply shun your own
origins... sure... perhaps my mentality is that
i'm being "clingy"... i wasn't raised by my father
from the age of 4 through to 8...
or by my mother from the age of 6 through to 8...

clearly there's a gap... but...
just giving up on an "alliance" like that...
in order to satisfy a woman's needs of HER being
clingy to her parents... a man's parents simply
fizzle out... well then... the woman can fizzle out...
if she's armed with all this ******* feminist propaganda:
i don't need no man... good...
it's not the 19th century... there's no Jack the Ripper
mentality out "there"...
            there's a shaming tactic in reverse...
men vs. men... what's generally termed: simping...
paying E-girls for bath-water... perhaps even a sample
of her glorious juice that's only really her ****...
strip-clubs... well... unless you were me in Athens...
with two strippers either side of me... snuggling...
giggling...
           touch touch... you're going to be spending
money anyhow... i don't want to spend money
on food... i want to spend money for an hour's worth
of intimacy... no dating game...
hell... if she gives you a line of ******* to boot:
not that it did anything for me... i prefer my cognac,
my bourbon, my ms. whiskers - all the right spirits...
and hey... *** olympics are good to go...

   recently i've picked up strange adverts...
erectile dysfunction *******... if i'm not in the mood...
i'm not in the mood... my phallus doesn't have
an inbuilt on/off switch... i have to prep myself
to perform in the bedroom... lucky me for not getting
it regularly... i stop drinking... i ******* without
******* a few days prior... i do concentrated
cardiovascular bicycling sessions... i try to relax...
and then i go in for the ***...
it's a bit like... the comfort of being married:
but sleeping in separate beds...
      
         obviously i can't **** shame any woman
if i'm celebrating my "campaign" with prostitutes...
"body count": that sort of died a long time ago...
i like well worn leather anyway...
mandible beauty... virgins seem tense... frigid...
ergo: i'm no Jack the Ripper... it's not the 19th century
where one starts killing prostitutes...
one celebrates them...
           why? well... if the remaining "available" women
are all single mums... or they have a bad credit score...
in shambles of debt raised by their ex-boxing-champs:
didn't she (Jeminah) mention that he went
to rehab in Thailand?
          **** me... i tried psychiatrists once...
or rather: they tried me... i was usually interviewed
by a professional and a budding student...
i was a case study most of the time...
          they couldn't figure me out... i was never subjected
to the confines of a mental institution...
they... i guess... just let me roam...
they let me loose upon society...
           and my my oh my... what a bunch of fun years
that has been...

but i did tell on psychiatrist...
  i'm reading Kant, Heidegger, Kierkegaard,
R. D. Laing... no... not all at once...
i'm getting my armour ready...
                there's absolutely no chance i'm going
to lose myself in fantasy literature...
i'm not going to be day-dreaming since:
i dream so little... i'm going to be attempting
to chase dreams...
               i was lucky today...
   hmm...           huh?          ha!
                     who would have thought...
                              of all creatures... butterflies...
i'm not even going to look up dreaming of an elephant...
better still... imagine dreaming up a mammoth;
anyway... this is already proving to be a bountiful day.

title: rama
body:
am Ra:
or what's...
Rushki
shh... shh... please.   502 bypass

when i think about myself having ***, after i just had ***...
i think about... rather... listen...
to all the possible Nine Inch Nails songs...
i don't know: no music is better to decipher my face
during *******...
i encircled the brothel a few times...
armed with 200cl of brandy and some Pepsi...
listening to the Fragile on repeat...
i was waiting for the cockroaches of the early night
to disperse... huddle into some oblivion of a corner...
it's almost 1am... i've returned from all sort of
debauchery... listening to... Nine Inch Nails'
Heresy (version)... i'm feeling pumped...
no point going to the gym...
i just ******* twice...
odd... very odd... i think i'm going to get myself
a girlfriend...
i sort of knew this was coming... coming...
i don't remember the last time i ******* my *****
into a woman... this time... felt odd...
felt like i had a filter on... it's so different when
you do it inside of her into a ******...
it sort of... accumulates...
when you ******* without a ******...
it's like... stars are born... 1 million lightyears
away from the present...
mind you... i'm not a teenager...
i gave her the look... i'm about to ******...
should i pull out? do the whole tissue project
of cheap abortions?
even she looked puzzled... you actually know
when to pull out?
so i asked... can i? ******* inside of you?
sure... it's not like i'm going to get pregnant...
later on she asked me:
you, poet, in shallah... you're going to become
a meteor... missionary, throughout...
oh she liked it... she even said that she did...
tongue waggling... *** slapping... lip biting...
tongue wriggling... tongue *******...
oysters galore...
        she showed me the bruises her ex left her...
burned her... stabbed her... whatever...
showed me pictures of her daughter...
her daughter's father... an Englishman... ******...
blah bah... if only the people i interact with knew
that i was diagnosed as psychotic...
second time i *******... well... let's put it this way...
she's just a little taller than me when i kneel
before her... we were smoking, talking...
i brought some leftover brandy... she tried to feed me
some... ****** *******... i said no...
she smudged her finger in some of the ash...
fed it to me... ugh! what's this?! pharmaceutical big
heaven?! what is this... paracetamol for... *******?!
exchanging life stories... i tell her...
i came to England aged 8... she started drawing the figure
for me current age: 35...
so i tell her... here since the age of 8...
but never been with an English woman...
why?
  the ******* nunnery...
they're all pretend nuns...
          nun?!
    rahibe... she used some bogus translator...
they pretend to be nuns...
uptight Jane Austen meets Charlotte Bronte types...
no... nothing horrifying
akin to the only female genius out there...
Shelley...
oh, ****... a woman tells you she's not going to get
pregnant... quizzical look:
you're going to ***** into me or not...
can i? well... i'm not going to get pregnant...
second time the lubricant was out...
jerking like mad... tongue out... spitting on the phallus...
what's not to be loved about women?
more talk...
might as well... chances are... i might still get
a third child into the bargain...
we're already planning a date around her free Sunday...
i'm thinking... cinema? n'ah... i'd rather take her
for a walk... perhaps spot some deer...
  beautiful daughter, mind you...
but the tactic worked...
   2x 20minute excessive bicycling sessions...
fasting... i only ate some cottage cheese
     with a hot-cross bun and some jam...
             a bottle of white wine: *** vino virilitas...
****** off without actually climaxing...
chill... chill... now i'm completely relaxed...
i'm looking at having a girlfriend that's also
a *******... hell... let's not judge...
we all have to share the same ******* pavement...
ride the same bus...
     ooh... the universality of gravity...
all get dragged down...
                  but taste this...
   how must my personal hygiene be up to scratch...
if she allowed me to ******* into her?
even she said: it doesn't matter if you're wearing
a ******... all those Indians are aqua-phobic...
and this is coming from a Turkish woman...
see! i know there's a third avenue of Islam waiting
in the fore... unlike the H'arab "orthodoxy"
and the Persian "unorthodoxy"...
there's an itching third branch of Islam waiting
to be spawned... spearheaded by the Turks!
we agreed... in this profession...
what sane woman would allow a pundit to...
******* into her...
wait... wait... there was a pause before i actually did...
well lucky me...
all in the *******...
how beautiful i am...
how intense my look while *******...
blah blah... i take these things to heart...
because: i have a heart...
no western woman would ever say such things...
proud nunnery *******...
stiff *****... i'll take the Turkish *******...
to hell with wanting to idolise all that that sells crap ****-in
-ing;
my god... i still have the scent of her skin
on my skin...
    petite little creature... ol' raven hair...
when i kneel before her she's just a forehead's height
above me...

right now: the world can *******...
it doesn't even exist...
that's the beauty of fathoming relationships,
however imperfect they are:
they are nonetheless: EXCLUSIVE...
i guess i could think of something...
she's already thinking of exporting my writing...
she wants out: and i want in...
i already messaged her back:
you know... i never felt this good since
the last time i played hide & seek as an 8 year old boy...

i gave her a copy of a book of poems
i wrote... not that it was a massive sample...
signed it... all my love: Khedra...
let's see what happens next...
    a life in Istanbul doesn't seem that bad...
i'd get the best beard trim in the world...

it was worth it... standing pointless... pointless...
at those stadiums... in the cold...
dealing with football hooligans...
as... steward / security guard...
      yeah... all those hours... worth it...
for this one hour spent with Khedra... worth every moment...
that's what i intended to spend
the earned money on to begin with... prostitutes!
why would i spend it on anything else?
mind you... how charming... have i become?
extroverted... she's now asking me
whether i'd care to spend time with her outside
the brothel!
    why judge... it's not like she has an only-fans
account... like she's bribing sim-ps-on-loans...

who the **** am? odd...
                     i love it when she strokes my beard...
tells me i'm her type...
oh man... and i thought i had the charm offensive...
but with English girls... you try it...
and it's like: talking to someone with prosthetic limbs...
a bit ******* awkward...
they look sort of horrific when trying to
speak let alone move...

at least here... i paid for ***...
i didn't pay for lies or... ****** *******...
but i got all three... well... why would she lie?
well... now i didn't just impregnate her...
what's that, she's going to leverage my *****
on some poor schmuck?
could happen... felt strange when compared
to the first time when she managed to stretch my
imagination of relief into the concentrated
presence of a ******...

i'm past living a safe life... let what may come:
come;
even my madness turned out to be,
rather... unsatisfactory... it always missed the mark of:
well... if there's no woman involved?
i'm ******* sane, by all accounts!
even if i've been diagnosed as mad...
it truly takes a woman... to... make the full transition
into: being a madman...
what's that... child no. 3?

               ha ha... quizzical: you're going to *******
into me? can i?
do you want me to? well... thank god there was no:
"oops"... i asked for permission...
she gave it... now i'm sort of waiting
for... payback... maybe i can draw on the insanity
card...
eh... life's great lottery.

Love comes in all sorts of shapes, forms and sizes
It’s beautiful in everyone
Mysterious and wonderful
Cool and sublime
No more at the corner of sad and lonely
No, we’re gonna be just fine
It’s you and me and the wild blue yonder
It’s barge cruising down the Nile
It’s bicycling in the South of France
There’s no denial
We’re on to something and we won’t let go
I’m your man
And you, you’re everything
My woman
My woman for sure

A million passing faces
on the highway and back roads
a two finger salute from the steering wheel
anonymously passing, never to be known.

Eye contact and a nod or a hello,
passing down the hospital hallway,
in 12 different facilities over 17 years
simply another possibility passed by.

A road passed by, and a wonder
where does that go, as a bicycling child
heads down it at full speed
with a look over his shoulder.

Random chance, or is it fate or destiny,
that set people in our path?
I like to thinks it's free will,
as I like to be in control.

Oh how we may be different,
if we knocked on random doors,
with a smile and conversation,
in a huge sky rise apartment building.

The many combinations,
mind-boggling statistics,
of the paths, we could cross,
yet we are unable, due to time and distance.

perhaps REM had that song: night-swimming...
if i could write a song it could be
something along the lines of...
   night-cycling... esp. in winter... gloves, long sleeves,
t-shirt... jumper...
a wooly hat...
and... U2's electrical storm (the william orbit mix)...

what was once a Thai trans-gender phenomenon...
transcendental-genderism...
the Thai-surprise... emerged in the west
like some, language restrictions...

fair enough when the transition period
ends up convincing me,
but what if i can't call a "hammer" a 'hammer'?!
what then? am i supposed to pluck my
eyes out, lie to myself...
if a trans-male passes off as fuckable,
if a trans-male passes off as attractive
to the opposite ***...
fair game... open season...
but if that's not the case... let my just
amputate by ******* phallus...
raise it in the air and swing it like some
raw deal mr. *****... for ****'s sake...

so much for mere burning bras...
if this subject matter has its recurrence gravitas...
i think i'll just stop merely thinking,
and writing: altogether...
it was fair enough when the Thai lady-boys
did it... but those Thai lady-boys,
those Thai-surprises didn't invest themselves
in changing language:
i can see authentic dysphoria when i see it...

don't change my language: ergo....
i will not change your feelings, decisions to change
your preferred ***...
the ancient Greeks had a notion of reincarnation...
they deemed men reincarnated as women
as lesser creatures, a form of punishment...

if reincarnation is to be minded: well, originally,
there are only a fixed number of individuals
that pass from one life to another,
the rest are just zombies...
parasitical souls... host bodies...
there's currently a backlog of reincarnations
taking place... it's almost like we're living
in times where the last judgement is taking place...
in the metaphysical realm...
hence we're noting all these... outlier concerns...

"concerns"...
if the topic wouldn't creep up, i wouldn't be
writing about it, but the topic infringes on my language...
gender neutral pronouns, which were already
available via the Royal One and the Royal We,
for ****'s sake! for ****'s sake!

one ought to...
we ought to...
                 what about languages that employ
noun distinctions via: a masculine form, or a feminine form?
i know that English (as a language)
doesn't apply these distinctions...
can't a chair be masculine?
you can't rid certain languages of... "sexing up" their nouns...
it's inherent in them... that's why this
lineage of argumentation is so successful
in the English speaking word... grammatical bypassing
techniques...

it;s like a pet peeve...
but... there's winter...
(a) you get drunk quicker,
(b) you breathe cleaner air, air so clean you almost choke
(c) the insects are hibernating
(d) the trash doesn't stink
(e) people are dulled, lullabied into submission...
(f) the nights are longer
(g) you get to employ the use of pockets more
often, not to hide items of interest,
more... to shelter your hands,
should you not be equipped with gloves...
(h) snow, if, any...
(i) the moon entertains the night sky more often,
more so than in summer,
it's the winter sky riddled with constellations...
+ the moon....
evidently missing during the spring or summer
months...
opaque nights, when the moon is absent...

some (j)? maybe.... pull me up before i decide
to drown....

i better be doing the duties of chores,
than merely lounging...
women live a waste of tine....
my mother best invoked...
if i can't invest in my mother,
i can't translate that to a woman
i'd ****... period...
whatever, seriously, whatever...
time's up!

  language ambiguity...
there's either a formal rule of language...
or there's an informal rule of language....
some schizoid framework...

i want to rub my hands together...
i want to make fire from friction..
i want to doubly desire a skeleton...
i want to "hush"... rather... breathe into my cusp
of hands to warm them up...
  
pouring cold water onto cold hands...
it sometimes makes them feel:  warmer...
god... girls... even 50+ with fringes...
then again: i prefer pixie girls
with short-hair... but that's just me...
toy bring toy...
**** it... let's play the proper sort of games!

ha ha... Alexander Dumas taught me one thing,
and one thing alone:
don't give advice... some people will regret it...
Alexander Dumas or... Athos, Oliver Reed...
how "they" treated this poor drunk when he was
shying away from his prime...
little, suffocating, sociopaths...
   little people, terrible people... somehow...
"necessary" people...
i'd die twice to be thrice honest...
i'd live this once... to...
    ensure everyone lived it so, under their disguise
of individual rights...
best be left, forgotten...

coaching packages, blah blah... just, *******, swim...
or... better... take up bicycling!
Athos or Aramis? Athos.... but i'm renowned to be prone
as the joker, team player... a Porthos...

ugly truths... i also fancied a richard chamberlain...

you don't come against my use of language
without consequences...
a Thai surprise is one thing,
but telling me, what i ought and ought not say?
is another... i will raise Adolf & Satan himself
should you overbear your concerns:
which are no concerns to begin with!

don't tread on eggshells that become
hostile objects! keep me in mind, don't leave me out
on hostile grounds... you want to go home,
i want to go home, there's a football match taking place...
appease me, while i tease you... let's pretend i'm
in a position of authority...
let's, just, pretend... savvy?

thank god for my figure... 6ft2... 98kg.. a beard... i might just look menacing enough, when the park has been emptied... that's the reception i got, from the faces in the crowd... they read: i saw you in my dreams! i liked that...

i forgot about love a long time ago,
i forgot about being endearing to toddlers,
even though, i can't tell them apart to cats, or dogs...
it was almost a pleasantry to forget about love,
i don't think i want to experience that
uprooting of sensation...
i don't want to feel loved,
the sensation of feeling loved would...
weaken me...
i don't want to feel being loved...
i like this... impartiality of the impersonal...
it leaves me with a three-dimensionality of a a person...
what good is love,
when you can't trust someone?
what good is love,
when you can't... be assured?
what good is love...
when it's only mitigated via
being loved: rather than also: loving?!

i curse these days!
so seemingly pristine! best they be kept
forgotten!
there's no love here...
at least there's minding a civil obligation...
but love?!
i can't be ***** into loving someone,
whatever trans-racialism is invoked...
you want me to **** a man
pretending to be a woman?!
no thank you...
you want me to **** an African woman
pretending she's Asian?
what, you're going to inject me with
some Sildenafil? am i to receive an
"auto-correct" hard-on, for ****'s sake?!

the war is staged... it's not yet physical...
come on... it's still in its infancy... wait a while..
give the chess pieces a moment to somehow
"reflect" on their re-coordinated repositioning...
wait a little... it takes time...
me being ******* is no clear assumption that
things will turn awry...
it takes time, dedication, repetition of already
stated mistakes...

wait a little... live a lot...
come to think of it... if they, "they" gave me a rifle...
tomorrow... i think i'd be bound to being found as:
trigger-happy... sowwy... i think i could... i would be...

oh but i'm pretty sure this current zeitgeist of politico has already ******* a wrong type of crowd... the schizoids & the psychotics... if i'm on board, if i'm being receptive to, their sentiments and i think them bogus... n'ah... n'ah ah ah ah, ah... sorry... this will not pass, not even: nicht sogar mich! not even me!

as a man in Warsaw:
i feel like a fox in London...
as a man in Warsaw
i feel like a fox in London...

why do crows only fly in pairs over the skies of
England... why do they,
flock on the continent, in swaths,
in such numbers as to secure them
the stature of intimation?
as if, Barbarossa is to be resurrected?

A 7.5 lb new born begun crawling
soon falling down ; crying
stood on legs at four months
never knew when they learnt bicycling
now, the 16 year old legs are running

the legs abhorred the path at first
days passed by, the road is now familiar
each face passing by  "unfamiliar"
feet tapping the ground sitting on bench
the park holds sillage of sonder
lingering in the air

the smell petrifies everytime
but the mystical force of human
made everything cherished till dawn
there goes the strides towards sea side
they walk into manganta

it is the cellar door of luna
leading to different world of galaxies
of consisting astrophiles, ceraunaphiles specially there is a room of selenophiles
footslogging fastly legs made a way in

the moon hare's song is euphonic
the legs which don't know to dance
started to dance along with others
happily ever before, will it occur after!
and the legs found the abode

a light focused, through the window,
the morning light ; eyes opened
while the legs were laying static
the utmost magical dream ,
one could ever experience.

Sun kissed evening in Paris;
While drinking coffee in a quaint coffeehouse
With a candle on the table casting a soft glow
Everything feels so fast and so slow at the same time
Strangers;
Walking by , talking ,kissing,laughing

A small town early morning drenched in rain
Only a few walking on the cobbled roads
Sitting on the balcony of one of the many coloured houses
While the fisherman play a mellifluous tune on their harmonicas

On a champaign drunk cold midnight walk
With the deserted roads of the town bathed in a sweet hue of the moon's glow
While singing a 50s jazz tune with a slur
Hand in hand with a lover

Summer day on a countryside valley
Warm breeze filled with the scent of summer flowers
Soft sunrays kissing the skin
While bicycling around the town's stone fountains and statues

How I long to experience these simple pleasures of life
Where for a moment;
It feels like heaven on earth