valentines is today? odd, i don't feel anything. sylvester's is more depressing anyhow, that catholic name for new year's eve gets me, rough; now for a boxing match; the first kiss went to the bone, we clipped our buckteeth going beyond the lips: clumsy kissing paved the way to quote her, on our first date, buying an edward hopper book in which she wrote: dearest mateusz (mateush in english), thanks for a wonderful day in london! i doubt you'll end up like any of the people in hoppy's paintings. your to good looking, lots of love, a promise with the dot above the i signed with a morphing into a heart.*
these days i laugh for two people, i'm happy for two people, my diabolical laugh like a magpie's cackle call resounds with searching depths, and such contentment is only reserved for the few who rather show a singularity, a monohumanism, akin to monotheism, of a man isolated from his peers, who sometimes plays a broken guitar to raise the dead, and subsequently haunt the living, with him alive, but the living not allowed entry, merely a distance of shutting up in a nestling hope of counters of providing more, not akin to mozart and the others in the + (plus) category, but in the x (multiple) category... of seeing in near proximity a thousand dramas of themselves in grown sperms outside the ova: innocently they craft the tale of the bees and the birds thereafter.