you know that citation i told you about, mad matt - forks in the road; i get more feeling from tina turner's thunder-dome song than i might get from a human rights tribunal over cold coffee and the 8 years i spent in isolation, in a free, democratic, society - prison within a prison (better still had i been a norwegian terrorist i'd get a savvy ivory plated toilet seat to sit and sow *** goosebumps against!); what a domesticity this has spawned, i'd send all the homeless to commit a petty crime to get shelter... i would; i'd tell them to get a knife and coolly sit with a would-be victim slightly cutting them but not killing them... and repeat... and repeat... tie them with akimbo and hold a knife to their neck... just for a roof over their head... no squalor no rat infestation - i'd make all homeless people fake crime... just for a roof... i'm surprised they haven't already... hello! i say... hello? hey man you know i'm really o.k.?! the pen in my hand will tell you the same... but when i'm writing poetry don't give me no crap; 'cos the smallest thing might make me snap: you stupid dumb **** god-**** mother-******! ah you know, song lyrics when the Canterbury Tales make it to quiz shows and leave the cobweb covered libraries of former educational audits that universities are, no longer training monks or free-thinkers: just little ***** eager to deface their former presence in boarding schools with binges of what it was to be in schools with periodical reality-checks never angling chequers of nod and conformity - universities aren't about being educated these days, it's about an alcoholic allowance for pretty clubbing antics - i've never wasted as much time as i ever did in my life - i got taught to be bored of menial tasks - when, within the framework of human population, people are expected to learn the joy of menial labour akin to having the leisurely capacity to craft thought to no conclusion worth investigating other than as a barrier to accept the menial concordance with what others utilise thought toward: a lack of risk-assessment risking life or limb to climb a transverse in the highlands - perhaps an insect-like life for the former, but then again an insect-like thinking for the latter - how two anonymous timings and how two anonymous spacings occupy what we demand to be relative when it's actually "relative", between people, space is anonymous with regards to time, and likewise time is anonymous with regards to space... not necessarily non-existent, i'm not going into ******* atheism of non-existence over certain uncomfortable truths... i'm stating a lesser hurt, anonymity - a mountain-climber walks into a supermarket... indeed... a man walks into a bar joke series... it's not that space disqualifies the chance existence of time... the mediating connection is that of anonymity, best prescribed by people having different roles in what society allows them to express a hunger for whatever the hunger later invokes... hope you don't hunger what is translated as a chance meeting with that zoological species known as paparazzi.