Oct 2016
so i have this book my Steφan, and here the
unpredictability: Steven? even elevens?
Stephen
Steven Stephan? no matter, the joke
comes with the diacritics in the surname...
they wrote /ˈʊmlaʊt/
when the diacritical marks weren't investigated:
is that Körner as in ariθmetic
Koorner?
or is the poncy
Kœrner - which is
softer and therefore almost Kerner?
the book? fundamental questions
of philosophy -
hence the dialectical applicability
of diacritics: archeology in vivo:
oh no glass chandeliers darling:
butchery rather than anatomy:
chop
chop
chop
(oh looky looky, Jacob's ladder).
y = id est.
w? haven't figured it out,
looks like trigonometry to me,
all that sine and cosine jazz.
you know that mystery of lawlessness?
English, plain and simple,
the English language: good that we had the Scandinavians
and the Dutch learn it better than the natives,
mind you, also the Belgians,
they speak a foreign tongue better than
the ****** natives:
the natives? they speak some urban slang
profanity: diabolical verse;
putrid ****:
sulphuring smoke, astounding.
reverse dead Latin / living -
was that comma necessary?
or should i have written astounding sulphuring
smoke?
or Sartre: existence (quantity)
precedes essence (quality) -
qua qua either way, a mode of being,
duck here, duck there.
oh me, right? *******, maddened,
i was hanging in the trenches and had a drink:
now i'm really mad, bursting like a tense
soap bubble: (a bit of nostalgia to cool the nerves)
i come from a generation that listened to
mortiis - and we actually bought the silverware
(c.d.) rather than the liquorice (vinyl),
and we were the ones that translated hardware
into software (mp3) -
but as a thoughtful suggestion:
scratched c.ds,
right, you have a c.d. and you try
to encode it into mp3... right...
why is it that scratched compact disks can completely
**** up an iPod? i.e. why can't iPods encode
scratched compact disks?
cheaper mp3 players can do it,
no problem, you have a scratched c.d.
and translate it into mp3: boom, the whole iPod
shuts down... try a cheaper mp3 player
and the whole thing still works...
well, it's just a curiosity...
the bigger ones comes from:
i'm probably one of the last dinosaurs to have
actually bought a ******* magazine
from a newsagent,
the glamour model type,
nothing **** included,
and feel the agonising shame of
predicating a ******* session -
bony **** of the hand -
looking for soft pouch kangaroos and all,
but how many people these days buy this ****?
in Belgium i bought one and the woman
was so not condescending that i thought i was buying
penny sweets...
there's this culture of ****** shaming
in England that surprasses me in engaging
in relationships, i don't know what these slags
are on, but it's certainly not tango in stilettos
on cobblestones.
of course i'm mad,
i tried to rebel against Christianity and got
****** into practising it, i actually forgave my
enemy, a jealous **** who almost killed me,
and as Nietzsche said: a Christian is a
sick domesticated animal -
i could have been still rooted to the longship
roofs while roofing, or metrosexual lumberjack
in an office, concerning paper rather than
blocks of wood.
but good to know that all of Europe is known
as the bloc, rather than the eastern fringes,
god i love English arrogance, which = ignorance,
now wave bye bye to the Galactic Empire:
******* engraved Latin without barbaric diacritical
marks and had a shot at world *******...
**** me! even the Greeks are applying refinement,
no wonder the digital sprechen dragged
English into the dark ages if not the caveman
chant Darwinism! chant Darwinism! hoot, hoot hoot!
rarely do i desecrate books,
but i had to write on something,
i have a copy, of Kant's critique,
and in it my macabre Dionysian zenith fury
statement:
power is never a cul de sac,
for a king to don a crown,
a peasant must pocket a penny,
if a peasant doesn't pocket
a penny, a king doesn't don
a crown (note, colon and italics
translate as bold inscript, double emphasis) -
this isn't cryptic, it's ****** obvious,
it goes way back in suggesting
we're either smart or naive -
or playing the adult version of hide & seek
doubt & negation interplay,
so when Charlie Chuckles the Third comes to
power i'll be thinking of Charles the First:
as i told one homeless woman i sat down with
for a cigarette under a bridge and told her
of the Henry VIII likening in terms of the
decapitated wives...
she got up and ran screaming
down the street. true story.
only in America a humming sensation
and a deliberate ploy to create a monarchy...
call it what you like:
you appease the illiteracy of people with only
one book, and have people speak about it
without pontiff or priestly attire: you're bound
to breed a viral infection desiring a king.
is this the second Elisabeth-ian age? might be,
well, it's nearing an end, anyway...
still, English is a lawless language
that transcends all tact of French flawlessness -
those nasal harking buggers know all too
well the covert aesthetic they write
and the counter they speak -
leave the exactness of spoken and written
to the Poles, and spaghetti chemistry to the German
excess of compounds hydrocarbon etc.,
di-proxy-blah-blah in hyphen-centric
Essex.
well, because if we can't have proper discussions
about our beliefs, we might are well apply
diacritical investigation into diacritical markings,
or how long you hold your breath between
. , ; -
because that's what i'm suggesting:
invariably this suggestion is pulverising -
or how that famous category
of universals (metric)
is usurped by particulars (imperial) -
within the bracketed suggestion: units,
Francophile centimetre
Darth Vader inch....
Charles de Gaulle kilometre
a Heathrow mile.
if this was a chemistry experiment, which it is,
i'd suddenly realise it's over,
and it is
because i feel a sudden rush of radiant cooling down
from what charged this outburst in the first place.
unpredictability: Steven? even elevens?
Stephen
Steven Stephan? no matter, the joke
comes with the diacritics in the surname...
they wrote /ˈʊmlaʊt/
when the diacritical marks weren't investigated:
is that Körner as in ariθmetic
Koorner?
or is the poncy
Kœrner - which is
softer and therefore almost Kerner?
the book? fundamental questions
of philosophy -
hence the dialectical applicability
of diacritics: archeology in vivo:
oh no glass chandeliers darling:
butchery rather than anatomy:
chop
chop
chop
(oh looky looky, Jacob's ladder).
y = id est.
w? haven't figured it out,
looks like trigonometry to me,
all that sine and cosine jazz.
you know that mystery of lawlessness?
English, plain and simple,
the English language: good that we had the Scandinavians
and the Dutch learn it better than the natives,
mind you, also the Belgians,
they speak a foreign tongue better than
the ****** natives:
the natives? they speak some urban slang
profanity: diabolical verse;
putrid ****:
sulphuring smoke, astounding.
reverse dead Latin / living -
was that comma necessary?
or should i have written astounding sulphuring
smoke?
or Sartre: existence (quantity)
precedes essence (quality) -
qua qua either way, a mode of being,
duck here, duck there.
oh me, right? *******, maddened,
i was hanging in the trenches and had a drink:
now i'm really mad, bursting like a tense
soap bubble: (a bit of nostalgia to cool the nerves)
i come from a generation that listened to
mortiis - and we actually bought the silverware
(c.d.) rather than the liquorice (vinyl),
and we were the ones that translated hardware
into software (mp3) -
but as a thoughtful suggestion:
scratched c.ds,
right, you have a c.d. and you try
to encode it into mp3... right...
why is it that scratched compact disks can completely
**** up an iPod? i.e. why can't iPods encode
scratched compact disks?
cheaper mp3 players can do it,
no problem, you have a scratched c.d.
and translate it into mp3: boom, the whole iPod
shuts down... try a cheaper mp3 player
and the whole thing still works...
well, it's just a curiosity...
the bigger ones comes from:
i'm probably one of the last dinosaurs to have
actually bought a ******* magazine
from a newsagent,
the glamour model type,
nothing **** included,
and feel the agonising shame of
predicating a ******* session -
bony **** of the hand -
looking for soft pouch kangaroos and all,
but how many people these days buy this ****?
in Belgium i bought one and the woman
was so not condescending that i thought i was buying
penny sweets...
there's this culture of ****** shaming
in England that surprasses me in engaging
in relationships, i don't know what these slags
are on, but it's certainly not tango in stilettos
on cobblestones.
of course i'm mad,
i tried to rebel against Christianity and got
****** into practising it, i actually forgave my
enemy, a jealous **** who almost killed me,
and as Nietzsche said: a Christian is a
sick domesticated animal -
i could have been still rooted to the longship
roofs while roofing, or metrosexual lumberjack
in an office, concerning paper rather than
blocks of wood.
but good to know that all of Europe is known
as the bloc, rather than the eastern fringes,
god i love English arrogance, which = ignorance,
now wave bye bye to the Galactic Empire:
******* engraved Latin without barbaric diacritical
marks and had a shot at world *******...
**** me! even the Greeks are applying refinement,
no wonder the digital sprechen dragged
English into the dark ages if not the caveman
chant Darwinism! chant Darwinism! hoot, hoot hoot!
rarely do i desecrate books,
but i had to write on something,
i have a copy, of Kant's critique,
and in it my macabre Dionysian zenith fury
statement:
power is never a cul de sac,
for a king to don a crown,
a peasant must pocket a penny,
if a peasant doesn't pocket
a penny, a king doesn't don
a crown (note, colon and italics
translate as bold inscript, double emphasis) -
this isn't cryptic, it's ****** obvious,
it goes way back in suggesting
we're either smart or naive -
or playing the adult version of hide & seek
doubt & negation interplay,
so when Charlie Chuckles the Third comes to
power i'll be thinking of Charles the First:
as i told one homeless woman i sat down with
for a cigarette under a bridge and told her
of the Henry VIII likening in terms of the
decapitated wives...
she got up and ran screaming
down the street. true story.
only in America a humming sensation
and a deliberate ploy to create a monarchy...
call it what you like:
you appease the illiteracy of people with only
one book, and have people speak about it
without pontiff or priestly attire: you're bound
to breed a viral infection desiring a king.
is this the second Elisabeth-ian age? might be,
well, it's nearing an end, anyway...
still, English is a lawless language
that transcends all tact of French flawlessness -
those nasal harking buggers know all too
well the covert aesthetic they write
and the counter they speak -
leave the exactness of spoken and written
to the Poles, and spaghetti chemistry to the German
excess of compounds hydrocarbon etc.,
di-proxy-blah-blah in hyphen-centric
Essex.
well, because if we can't have proper discussions
about our beliefs, we might are well apply
diacritical investigation into diacritical markings,
or how long you hold your breath between
. , ; -
because that's what i'm suggesting:
invariably this suggestion is pulverising -
or how that famous category
of universals (metric)
is usurped by particulars (imperial) -
within the bracketed suggestion: units,
Francophile centimetre
Darth Vader inch....
Charles de Gaulle kilometre
a Heathrow mile.
if this was a chemistry experiment, which it is,
i'd suddenly realise it's over,
and it is
because i feel a sudden rush of radiant cooling down
from what charged this outburst in the first place.
