3 weeks in Poland, and i'm naturally depressed...
this place really has that feel about it...
don't know, living England
feels worse than living in Alaska,
Scandinavia... or god forbid...
Siber.
      i swear i could hear a sober
me talk in Siberia at some point...
then look at a meteor
falling to a full-smitherings' load
of *******...
i did say 3 weeks in Poland
and i did say: not in any major city
as noted by weather forecaster,
didn't i?
       i see english society,
not so much: looking up its a-hole...
but more akin to looking at bugs
and their ontology.... their way of being
remotely too near but best described
as human... i don't get this
need to glorify d.n.a. and monkeys...
i simply don't get this *******,
given i spent 3 weeks in a country
that doesn't seem to care much
about such "discoveries"...
   i can seem old fashioned
but half the Tudor...
          maybe i'm just a senile
example of man... maybe it's just that...
i'm drinking and i have half the wit
of an intelligent person giving
a snarky reprimand... while the other
half of me is just saying: huh?
why are books supposed to
be akin to movies in the west?
what's the west, really?
       i'm with the chinese,
complately bedazzled by these futurists,
these positivists, these:
   i'm god-clad eternal aged 20...
wait for a video when i'm 60!
       i'm originally Polish
so i can speak to the subconscious of a nation
alien to me... well... why...
because the consciousness of a nation
is given the pinata whack on its testicles...
   i don't speak for super stars...
  there's Joe, and there's Alfred...
i'm so apathetic with my life
(counter claim: given the a-
meaning without: i'm brimming with pathologies
that can't be counted, or be worth
   a medical student... **** the doctors:
i need someone moved from  a McDonald's
drive-thru moved into a Michellin
restaurant, and geared up to be "ready").
with a mass influx of man, there comes
a person, once in a while: who has
the "delusion" of necessarily feeling
       lost, but more or less about to *****...
it comes when civilisation arrives...
   this pendulum... this
                   whatever it is that makes
people so **** adamant in being
constantly vehement on being solely
momentum prone...
    and yes, the meta- prefix
really does show you alternatives...
  it might as well be called counter-
physics... but it's still a case of pressure,
being pressed against a brick wall...
my neighbour is having a baby,
he's circa 55 and she's 44...
i admit, i was a bit of a rascal
writing poetry and laughing,
sometimes imitating a fox's howl
(dry laughter)... but i became motivasted
to live next door, and sorta stopped my
antics... now i'm not smiling:
i'm frowning...
                    the peacock is about:
he's just less demanding to showcase
his feathers... but at least the t.v. works...
      but that's english society for you,
i should know... spending 22 years in it
has left me... sick... alias Christian...
the fern in a flower-***, a negating-ease (dis)
animal...
           and i really do feel only capable
of writing ******* after ******* to make
the day make any sense...
         i really have no competence
to deal with the metaphysics of pebbles
to make up a mountain:
   coins to make a bank...
            it's too amphetamine for me...
      but coming from a "failed" culture
               with its Marx this that and the other...
i have come as a zoological curiosity:
in that i simply, don't know, how to compete...
   it's one thing championing
democracy against an autocracy...
       but another when the democracy
is a thousand ******* Hitlers...
                and all their proxy wars...
  i don't see the point of wars anymore,
all of them are proxy... like the 2003 war
in Iraq... it was proxy! proxy by was to
revise the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait...
          you sorta lose the will to live
anything true akin to: blood sweat and tears,
9 to 5... a pension... life insurance...
each day the point of these "truth"
constructs clings to you like an asbestos...
and you start peeling like a *****...
itchy... just itchy...
     you give up, not because it's the easiest
thing to do... but the hardest.
      giving up is hard...
       people going about like horses in a race
that people gamble on
  becomes easy to watch...
          and not engaging in these
examples becomes hard...
it becomes hard to give up,
          to not give a toss...
     such as England, a hopelass land
of what i best remember having come
here 22 years prior: grey skies
       and red double-decker buses...
it's hard to not guess why Scandinavian
made this place...
        i can't see a ******* candle
of hope in rising above this grit...
for miles...
         and then the media states:
oh *******...      22 years though, mate,
and i'm not exactly feeling a Disneyland
vibe... or that i'm peering into
King Solomon's mine of opportunity...
            it's bad to be exiled...
but it's doubly harrowing to write in a foreign
tongue...
                        because if i wrote in
my native tongue: i'd probably buy a gun
and shoot and shoot into a cave
to hear a very profound echo...
                writing down the meaning of sounds
and then overpowered by incorporating
the tactic of onomatopoeia, rather than
just leaving a dog barking alone...
reducing language to strain a barking dog
to a woof! then going a step
further with a wolf and a howl and awoooo!
that's the tip of a baboon's pear-pink buttocks...
   oh sure: flamingo-step next to the goose-strutters
why don't you...
           England is naturally depressing,
i must be a ******* living here...
but at the same time i can only say:
it's so refreshing to hear a non-global tongue...
a niche verbal...
                      at least it's not as insomniac
as the four coordinates:
   new zealand / australia, south africa,
                                  england, u.s.a. / canada...
where do people get so much energy from?
Miłosz? lazy **** wrote in his native tongue
till the end...
   i have an accent and it's not helping...
i have a knowledge of the tongue... and it's not helping...
    and what is it with
literature-movie-making hyphen akin to parabola dip?
if i write a hyphen orientated word,
i really can't see a =, however much i try...
readings books is a bit like
doing arithmetic, although the difference is:
you are less rigorously puzzled...
    you're not suddenly gauging your eyes
out to find out what's underneath: 1 + 2 + 5 + 8 - 1 + 9 = ?
and the result? probably a chance to set out
to handshake mr. dictionary when the answer
comes back as taciturnity...
   how can you live an interesting life
and then end up writing a book?
what compels somone like Don Juan
to write a memoir... what makes someone like
Alex Ferguson write an "autobiography"...
  you hear of pillage and **** in history...
      it's a standard unit of the complete
capitalistic individual...
                ghost writers... ****!
   capitalism is less venture and discovery
and more Las Vegas...
           it's less colonialism... and doubly Las Vegas...
well i do get the original principle...
but what i'm seeing now?
  it has no principle...
               it really is starting to look
a bit like Germany post world war i...
   what with the deutsche mark spiraling out
of control...
       no matter how many 000000 you put onto
a banknote beginning with 1... wouldn't
make you do anything with it: other than burn it
in a stove to keep warm...
    the same with the concept of a book in
western society...
      it's dead...
     i don't even know why people bother to write
books or print them...
             care to tell the Uber team where
the last taxi is stationed?
                      can you imagine this coming
from someone aged 30? i should be writing this
and be aged 70... but even i can't keep up...
        perhaps its darwinism and its gaping hole
for a mouth telling me to look to imitating
insects and reptiles and discarding mammalism
(ha... minimalism)...
     you go to Poland and there's absolutely
no fascination with the big bang, there's no mention
of a black hole... and there's seriously no
darwinism... what you get instead is:
news... current affairs... all the motives for
a carpe diem shabang...  
         which means i have to be a *******
of some sort and give a care to live in a language
that has: so many important answers to
give unto humanity...
                             white boy to white boy:
man... why do you even bother?
i'm exhausted just listening to it all...
never mind next Tuesday!
            well... you can't get any more raw than this...
it's a misery speaking in a foreign tongue
incubated in an alternative ethnicity...
i'm starting to wonder why african-americans
adapted so well...
               looking at the native americans
who commit suicide in their youth,
and given they live on "nature" reserves with
yogi bear...         african-americans are a perplexing
sort... maybe that's because i'm 1st generation...
            i guess it sorta passes you by
after the years and allows you to make a living
from playing basketball, and talking really fast (rapping).
well, saying that: 1st generation and last...
    god forbid i would have to *******
into a *****, wait for a cake for 9 months
   and give it social securities... too much darwinism
and the impetus to survive, reproduce
   and keep the d.n.a. diesel running... sorta dies;
oh sure, god comes into it...
he's the only constant in it... the constant that
    gives... but only nurtures via a crucifix.
i just heard it too often and i'm yawning -
too much history in between
and too much biology and physics theory
at the start.