you know, i sometimes wish i didn’t learn this language with as much liberty as primary school might allows... given the ageing tend to censor words for the definition of boxed ******* of the turtle; honest it was pointless... in parliament the debate started off with: let’s mime! cube... six handshake proof... boney m... clap clap clap... love... mo farah... panda enclosure of m... only drunk priests attire the power of furthered expression otherwise powerless in status quo for the tsar, the tsarine and familial pyramid extension into the serf of non vox.*

i have to be the rasputin of my day,
the non-plural zeitgeist
that defines a generation...
even if my generation is keen
to hunt nazis that don’t exist
in order to feel morally superior;
as a neo-con said;
it’s pathetic it really is,
they have a life that’s not really lived,
they enter the realm of dialectics without
strong opinions to defend...
so their placebo dialectics is residual of just talk:
talk that might just as well be about politics
as it might just be about weather.