oto historja z kantem, co podwójne ma dno, gdyby napisał ją dante, to nie tak by to szło.*

existentialism never caught on in england,
it was under the scalpel of an autopsy,
divided in the extremes,
i style magazines, or in the saturday newspaper
edition of gloss, ensuring the world knows
about modern gladiators' (footballers') antics
with boyfriends at home and the girlfriends
on the prowl - feminism's by-product - hmm -
there's a common saying in england:
'i have an existence, i don't have a life',
well... ex- (out of) every instance, it's a life,
i know the big words sound foreboding,
but let's not make it a life of any concern,
unless you're dressed like Mr. Portillo
traversing the American continent in yellow
chequered shirts and pink trousers and green blazers...
style... gotta have style walking in Wisconsin...
the pretty english 'have a nice day' air about
you without perfumes... yes, Mr. Portillo is
the epitome of dressing like an englishman
cursing Voltaire... lollipop goo to my liking, mm...
hey, i'm just a drunk with an itchy feel for
language... me poet, me poet de facto...
ever heard of midorexia? me neither, until today...
even the rich aren't immune...
tan-lines and short shorts aren't enough to
define this odd anorexia of lost youth...
it's supposedly defined by wearing sunglasses
anywhere than on holiday -
see... this is where french existentialism led
the english - it led them to an answer: itemisation,
overt itemisation - born from every believability -
born from every centric to the the european
continent measurement loss exporting flesh from
the ivory coast to the florida measurement -
a pint for above half a litre - the statue of liberty
had many ******* under her skirt...
including king john as one of the fathers...
they really didn't think about existentialism,
no thought invoked made the shopkeepers sigh
and say: excess itemisation is required -
we need cuff-links, orange juicers via ponce,
we need smartphones, we need leathered shoes
(18 carat-hark pig), and belts...
we need all these distractions to go against
the french suggestion of a 35 hour working week...
live to work, don't work to live...
it never caught on... they decided to protest
against Sartre... because he lived with his mother...
**** me... i should have asked for a surrogate too,
and two daddies... and I.V.F., i should have,
because suddenly everyone became neurotic
with Freudian misuse of the Oedipal theory -
Mr. Portillo and Alan Shearer just left the game early,
one's a backpacker with a camera
and the other is a football analyst - left the game
of chance political slander... wise guys; bravo! bravo! encore!