so i situate my ego on an equilibrium,
i decided to rekindle the old sketch,
engrossing the legs to walk,
while the hands turned purple-numb
   in my care to exhaust parts of my
body: to no relevant pursuit...
well: that's called
the ego situated between the equator
of legs versus hands,
  as the old saying goes:
  the devil makes work of idle hands...
or should i rephrase that:
   better take to walking
for the prime source of inspiration;
and truly,
    if my life was a dream,
a fairy tale, an account of living
in north korea... i'd be more glad
working in a sewer...
              but i stick to the maxim:
my life is so boring,
  i decided to write about it.
that's 9... nine (not nein) years
as a quasi-celibate...
     what between the odd
south african teacher with dry
genitals that i deemed to call
the equivalent of ****...
    and the several romanian prostitutes
who taught me how
the madonna-***** complex is real
in women when they began *******
by smearing cream into
          their vaginas for added lubrication
at the end of the day...
        and i thought that the worst
thing imaginable was me jerking off,
starting from age 7 / 8...
   women have much more imagination
in the realm of genitals...
  anyway...
   or that Thai girl i picked up in a park
drinking beer, a rush of sudden conversation,
took her home, ****** her in
the garden and ******* into my arm...
      so it's not like i wasn't aware of
being sensible about how or where i
plotted those flowery-***** sprouts...
  i haven't been circumcised
so i know what a quasi-circumcision
looks like, i know from ****
how i am better off rolling it back
so my "lack" matches up to her floral patten
of the *****...
    ******* once circumcised
makes no sense... absolutely none...
       the ******* exists for the sole purpose
of allowing a ****** "*******"
prior to the zenith of your brain's completely
development... early 20s is a time
when your brain is fully developed...
    which makes abortions, a tad bit
excessive, riddled with protestant
predestination arguments...
   you can't **** anything
  that isn't exsaxtly human form...
let alone fully developed (minding the brain)
prior to the age of mid-20s...
    the only thing that's killed is a potential...
stacked in the what if universe alongside
the Nazis conquering Britian...
      which is why, i guess,
people source the cogito genesis within
the brain, or should i just call it Brian?
       i'm not saying go for it!
  i'm saying, under the circumstances,
i first ****** her with a ******,
     she said take it off,
so i asked her: please take the pill...
so she took it...
    then she "forgot" to take it...
   she even chose the engagement ring...
    then i finished my "studies"
in edinburgh, went back to london
to start a new degree and work part-time
as a roofer...
         and then all hell broke loose!
  thankfully i am not writing like a Don Juan
might write...
  if my life was as colourful as the exploits of
Don Juan... i wouldn't be writing about it...
   i'd sit idle and watch the movies
provided in the memory-cinema...
   getting a hard-on ever so often
and completely disregarding *****...
       but i'm not...
   so here goes...
                     but you know what's scary?
she told me this, the one i "forcefully"
impregnated and can't stop thinking about?
she told me in her sacred heart of intimacy
that she was abducted as an early sprout of
teen due to her family being well off in Russia
and kept prisoner... and sexually exploited...
   as a kid...
                   now that i think about it:
like i already mentioned,
  i don't have a rhino's horn needing ****
in terms of ******* into a tissue or a ****...
i don't have this urge to be an arsonist
to plop a **** into a woman's womb...
maybe losing my virginity to a third year
exchange student of psychology from
Grenòble / due to the accent on O
   it's actually Grenòbl -
    what, you think i lost it to a *******?
no, *** starved spent a year and a half at uni
i decided to have a poke with one
   when i went to Poland to visit my
grandparents... told you: a total ******* of a story.
yes, she was Ukranian,
  she had one gold tooth...
   and we drank ***** and i ****** her for
two hours...
   after which she was like: you done?
then we lay in an embrace and i kissed her
forehead and cheeks...
  and she said: you're a good person...
apparently not!
     ****!
            the worst is that the brain is so late
in registering all this *******...
   if we're talking we're genital prone
from, literally the word go...
and the brain only catches up to the body
once you pass being aged 20+...
who's to do what when they engage
in a relationship who tells you
they've been abducted, and evidently
*****, and then they twist and turn
   your care to provide, but bypass it
and tell you: it'll be fine, **** me,
impregnate me, and we'll work it out
after...
               i was about to sit my final exams
and get a job in Scotland at some chemical
plant! what the ****, what the ****
am i doing living a sordid life,
paitning my face to a clown
   and "partying" at Halloween?
   now i'm saying what she said to me:
life is ****...
         well... it trully is right now...
the greatest joy i have is: walking, drinking
4 cans of beer...
    passing a winter tree,
the sky hazy with cloud, and a scythe of a moon
looked from under a tree, bald and synapse filled,
scattering it's twiggy centipede arms...
   and i say:
      it's not exactly a scene from a poet
in graveyard,
   more like a drunk in suburbia: but i get the picture.
all i meant to say, is that after the very brief
relationship... i didn't do anything stupid
as to impregnate someone...
     i don't even know if i did...
     but as Nietzsche once said:
no one really tells me anything these days...
and so, the last news i heard concerning
me was my father saying:
   don't you think there's a shaman in your family?
if that isn't a pleasant surprise
much congested with huh?!, i don't know what is.
i said it already:
Thai bisexual girl, picked her up in a park,
she was drinking alone,
took her home, played her some jazz,
then switched to playing her
  michael greilsammer, and we ****** in the garden,
i ******* into my hand rather
than... rather than? this ain't *****-land,
what, her face?! sicko.
             then i walked her home,
put on her a jacket of mine which she drowned in,
and just outside her home
   she gave me a necklace with a ring
attached to it... that changed colour.
              so you want tartar (i.e. raw) poetry?
well... this is it...
         i can't be as systematic as de Sade...
but i can recount a memory or two...
               oh, ** **, don't get all *****
on me... it's a sad sad (insert snigger) tale...
          have i ever ****** a black girl?
yeah... picked her up in a Stratford pub,
this plump middle-aged beauty...
she takes me to her flat...
                two kids in it...
   she throww Hanzel and Gretyl off the bed
and tells me to aim at her squeezed tighs rather
than her ******... i do about two strokes
and then say to her... i can't...
   i remain in her bed, when i wake up
little nergo Hanzel is standing beside the bed
looking at me,
   completely naked i take him up
   and lay him onto my chest where he falls asleep...
  gently stroking his frizz / afro /
scortched keratin...
     and as i endlessly say:
   there no imagination in this, only experience...
if there was any to begin with...
i'd be Colonel Mc-******* Disney
(you know what's scary...
   i'm writing this and there's complete silence
around me... akin to that ancient Polish
proverb: cicha woda, brzegi rwie...
    i.e. silent water, tears away the shores,
tea tie tare tear tears tares... she picks
sea-shells on the sea-shore...
  that's gagging for the tetragrammaton to appear,
if not the already stated arguments
bound elsewhere).