today i realised i will never truly
and fully integrate into english
society, thanks to the irish,
i have to hear of the racism on
the building site, i was there once
too, brave racist slogans in toilet
cubicles, first the polish,
then the romanians, brave souls'
anger on the toilet seat, strange
kinship to the current retardation
of american culture, back to
the time of blank panthers,
when i hear of the racism against my
father my blood boils and my
stomach swells with fire...
like that one boy from liverpool
who asked if the poles had any
famous people... copernicus,
chopin, marie curie, john paul ii,
mickiewicz, tatarkiewicz, kolakowski...
but i guess the dyslexia obstructed
finding that out...
basically a manager of a site
was told to take down the cranes when
the roof wasn't finished,
and the mobile crane wasn't adequate
for the job... it's this irish thing...
the irish are supreme concrete layers,
but they're in the stone age with the motto:
well, the concrete skeleton of a building is
up... people can live there...
this fierce post-colonialism of former
colonies playing the bullies on other nations...
two nations are currently writing history,
the re-emergence of poland and israel,
the unlikely twins of historical matters...
so the crane debate:
it would be easier to spread the 1 tonne bags
of soil with the bag dangling rather than
using spades and wheelbarrows...
but not... leaving 11 one tonne bags on the
ground level, 4 labourers will apparently
shift that volume to the ninth level,
and then throw it over a 6ft2 wall onto the roof...
after one hour of this impossible task
they'll just say **** it, and leave it...
it's like the irish have no ***** after the i.r.a.
failures of killing people, they want to
victimise someone else because: trump moment:
they're just drunk *******!
mozart feared his father, the prodigy who
never made it back to the heart...
i don't fear my father, i'm in solidarity with him,
i'm halfway between integration and
keeping my ***** dry...
after what i've experienced i don't think i really
want to, marvel at a bonny lass or an english
rose or a welsh turnip...
the irish spoiled it for me, the subtler form
of racism and all that passive aggressive ****
is getting to me...
might as well follow suit with the olives of
the middle-east, drink nine pints of guinness
and blow up a pub in dublin;
i'm still adamant on the point about how
the english can't philosophise...
but the thing is... they're superior at history,
actually excelling in history is an english thing,
hence the populist usage of darwinism,
it's a historical debate, not a theological one,
the basic concerns of using darwinism
is to exact the range of historically relevant events
for a dinner party... smocking and pipe
and all that highbrow crap...
as i said, the english can't philosophise
but they can definitely boast of having a piquant
palette for history: england is a nation of shopkeepers
(voltaire) - yeah, and historians (mathias conrad)...
because when i look at it, on joy by tatarkiewicz
was slightly tedious to read...
but bertrand russell's history of western philosophy
was a joy to read: in summer on a balcony.