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call it a mixtape of hannibal lecter's thirst, and a throng of rats nibbling.

well, according to a well known canadian
psychologist,
   hierarchies, the golden pyramids
of giza -
   as heidegger pointed out: we don't
question enough, with "enough"
answers being given -
    i wonder, what's the answer to a question
that begins with:
    the negative emotion of a question,
is fuelled by a positively adrenaline fuelled
answer?
does the bone translate?
i.e. do the mawlers, the incisors, the K9s turn
    into the brazen knuckles,
later munching on the resorting
    last "defence"
         of cannibalistic intent?
sharing,
as much as anything: being part of a crowd,
it's a bit like as shallow
  as competing for the linguistic fashion
kórwa!* - and very much an acute u -
for the syllable stressors are in place,
as one german student told me:
scheisse is simply not enough...
    same with the word rat...
   szczór -
          if you ever had a problem, my answer
is as simply put as: sz = sh,
          cz = ch -
                       just that...
            sh / choor...
           there's no crowd here, there is no
sense of "belonging", there's only the sense
of sigma -
     beyond that we delve into dreams;
mind you, you already say the czech
republic, and seem to have no problem with
that...
  check, cheque - checkers & wine & cheapskates
& chips &... charcoal chips...
  what's the ******* problem then?
               cat got yer tongue?
you seemed like the sort of people
proficient with language -
  seems like an egyptian plague
has suddenly been showered on you
in the form of a diacritical / meteorite shower:
signs from above!
         and if we don't address the theme of
slavs turning into the next jews of europe,
we'll be handled down the phrase currently
established: vermin...
      vermin likes a bite, likes to bite back...  
as said by king (król) rat (szczór)...
                                gehenna chatter ensues;
mind you, those sadistic gehenna dentists
are itching to make the next patient:
   a marathon man.
you begat it all wrong with your genesis story: i don't think i'm hot ****, i doubt that i am, hot ****.

when i cite communism i don't imply:
a redistribution of wealth -
me? i'm happy with a good night's sleep...
i mean capitalism has lost the essence
of work -
         in that: there is no respect for labour...
such a trivial "thing"!
god... this sounds oh so awful -
      and in "career" one always ends up
sounding a crude as a lumberjack's echo
in a forest - chop chop - gunner on the tilt -
crude writing that comes when one has
ingested too much of foreign opinion,
via audio, and not via reading...
            i have to find myself apologising
for this outpouring -
       but then again sometimes the most
mundane "things" have to be said,
for *per se
reasons, than for any vector
purpose culminating in a reached point (b)...
when people trivialise work is the worst
kind of times...
          when so many trivialise work by
contesting in karaoke sundays in england,
or "masterchef" kitchens on mondays
tuesdays through to fridays...
  how about honing in on the immediate
concerns, the near-breathing-aching-tomorrows
of these closest to you?
   how a father will complain to a son
that he made him too much lunch food:
what? it would be easier to complain had
there been too little, and that you didn't have
to throw excesses into the bin?
i had to outthink heidegger in his "fetish"
of dasein... it was too remote for me in
the end...
      and since i've never come across
a philosophy book that utilises grammatically
categorical words (e.g. noun, verb, adjective etc.)
i feel a veil has been lifted...
  the curtain of sleep -
and when i see how heidegger took to stressing
dasein: being "there" - i think of
journalism first, and how to excuse the world
and turn to hermitic ways,
  for there is a there, as there is also a "there",
i.e. there isn't any!
but that is much more an allocation of
counter-verbalising events -
      there's no talk of adrenaline when speaking
of a terrorist attack far far away,
       there's only the word: tragedy;
the terrorist is immediately felt,
but the post-scriptum is but a "loser" in
the descriptive allocations -
would you fancy facing this "loser" face to face?!
i envisioned heidegger's dasein to be
more procreative, more centred to
       a fickle coordinate of media attention...
   more the engaging "plotline"...
less a case of demanding aristotelian
post-etymological correction facility of nouns
i.e. calling things by their proper names -
and more engaging, always engaging,
even if by a centimetres' worth of engagement...
that old shambles of tornado in the west,
a butterfly in the east with equal event impressions
complimentary...
    of all places, my grandfather managed to
visit auschwitz three times, upon the third
he resigned from the encounter with the gas chambers,
but i somehow always seem to be trapped
in these barbwire confines, given that i've never
visited: romancing h. h. holmes earth...
    but i took to this **** philosopher like
a fish takes to water: the reason?
        defunct complexity of the prose
     in other writers...
                        notably aristotle;
i had to chop up history as some sort of
inheritance, that had to be kept for reasons
of posterity, rather than nostalgic romance:
for one, i hate history to be kept for
reasons of posterity,
   achilles or homer was not kept to this day
for reasons of posterity, they were kept
out romantic reasons...
      history as posterity belongs to scare children,
in the classroom...
      and nowhere else,
  but authentic history: desires no teacher
and no pupil...
           it just has the authenticity that becomes
ultra-history... myth!
   therefore my gateway to the ancient times
resides with heidegger's dasein
with? zusein -
         and yes, not being a native german speaker
i can understand the "mistake" of
this sort of "nuance" -
             again in inverted commas,
for lack of a better word, or a desire to open
a thesaurus (rex) -
           in auschwitz 2.0:
                     respect work, to be free -
it is this, in the concentrate form that's most
demanding: toward being -
     in a cubicle, in a tightly knit tartar patchwork
on a kilt...
     we're not going anywhere if
work, esp. manual labour is not respected,
or is frowned upon...
              when work becomes all software,
and little if no presence of work as hardware;
i guess that's one of the reasons
   i'm on comfortable terms with the supermarket
staff at my local...
  i go there so often, i'm so *******
predictable with my purchases i am almost like
the one ready to become part of
the flying dutchman ship... immersed in
my everyday recurrent predictability...
no qualms with the staff, just the frankly friendly
            'alright mate, how are you?'
'fine mate, how are you?'
    'oh, not bad.'
          'good good.'
i know i can be the most pompous ***** on
paper from time to time,
  but then my writing is one thing,
and i know there's an umbilical chord of segregation
between the hungry foetus of a blank page,
and me binging on pickled gherkins and
     raw herrings in a cream sauce with this
blah, as every over blah, turning into a blur
the moment i wake up the next day;
and in grammatical terms (i.e. categories) -
i have already given dasein a name (a noun)
in that i call it an offshoot of journalism -
whereas in the instance of zusein:
i invoke the notion of some act (i.e. a verb
dimension) - i.e. the acquisition of action
through non verbal involvement -
beyond the hier & the da...
        something that becomes a mongrel
of the two positions, to a non-relativistic
  compendium...
      and if we all assembled ourselves,
or simply had the ambitions of simple verse,
or complying to simplifying language
in order to "appear" simple -
well, what would happens to those of us
who wrote to attain complications -
and thereby remain the simple brutish folk
of easily understandable manners,
   and tactful hushes -
                and the awry grafts of hubris?
the worst enemy of staying awake is
the enemy of all of us: the simplified &
therefore overused craft of using language...
i am not writing a ******* lullaby!
       josé! pronto! yalla, imshi!,
i don't write for either children or for rhyme,
i have my reasons for this being
more than true...
        simple language is repugnant to me,
it just serves the purpose of itemising
the person who writes it as:
    well, **** me for trying to understand
that sort of writer for a year,
  i can sniff a rat with one line of verse,
neurotic, despotic,
      cleverly encrusted in homogeneity,
******, under-fed, just *******,
       language is there to be mishandled,
complicated, diversified, turned into
an amazonian cocoon,
                   something out the blue -
  something lost in space -
  opulent, high on fibre -
             i can't stomach reading works
that are nothing short of a geometric
precision & predictability of drawing
a circle, or a square...
  which is why, whenever i watch american
films i get bored...
   because i managed to integrate this
knack of seeing past the already recurrent
plotline predictability...
  so much for those "creative" writing courses.
a fast skirling wind
raced through the gumtree limbs
bending their branches
touch and allure
blush  lipstick  make me see
the horizon surely
where the trees gray clouds
the lake all merge
into cerulean
indecipherable
jumbles of arms  legs lips like the clouds trees
lakes green
melt into distances
the soft eyes see
everything
Sharp shards
Shine on
Cracked glass thoughts
Of you
Cut my fingers
& transcendence
Took over
I wrote us
In sticky scarlet
I stroll
Under white clouds
Wish for a sunny fall
Bury myself
In your arms
Kiss you till sparks fly
As you stand
Dreamy eyed
on
  the
     river
where
  
a twig
  leaf
    a bit of
there

float
   down
       stream
aware

the tug
    tow
       drift
abounds

I feel
    almost
        calm
surrender

to life's
     magnets
         cores
electrons

all that's
      in me
          deeper
where

I feel
      that
            draw
that

picture
       of a curve
            an undertow
framed

in sudden
      cold a
           splash
wetter

than any
       euphism
            I spew
******
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