i don't know how many variations of flowers
and herbs i have in my garden,
but there are plenty,
    i have mint, i have roses, begonias,
         pansies... rosemary...
              chives of some sort...
                     an eucalyptus tree... a calla...
     a plum and a cherry tree... some sort of moss...
      thyme               &         oregano...
   i'm going insane with this perfume!
   drinking *** is one thing... but the perfume
coming into my room, after it just rained?
it's like seeing a striptease...
                    but the sense of smell hits
the brain... eyes? they hit the groin. psychedelic
or what? i swear i must have missed some major
ingredient in this recipe for brain over-load...
      i know i have... but
the sigma of the ones stated and so arranged,
                                  as they are?
is ****** to my scent of smell...
         my nostrils start to dilate and i become
a dog, a sniffer dog of, rather than
                 drugs at airports, who later become
addicts...
             rather, mmm... perfumes...
   and god almighty, i'm so fortunate as to have
this perfume oozing from my garden
after all the plants and herbs have been
given a quench to their thirst...
      like that glasgow tool gig,
                where i passed some water to a german
girl that was handed out from the front,
rather than drinking it myself, first her...
        and... crescendo! snogging in a maggot pit
of men; ****, i don't even want to erase that
memory, or forget it, or not mention it,
over and over again...
       let my soul become siamese with this
perfume of the night, oozing from my garden...
                    i already know how to encompass
eternity... with a few memories and this scent,
you can fear less terrible things as death...
   by the way... on a bogus note...
    doesn't atheism became to sort of represent
solipsism?
                 i mean, all this people being worried
about the cartesian "i am" toward identifiers such as
atheism, and need to talk about it...
                    not much to think about then, i guess;
i like to label myself, like descartes did,
                                  capable of silence,
and not making a ******* market square selling
bananas of an "idea" / "ideology" / "doctrine"... whatever...
oh come to romford... *** yer bananas!
           tou fir 'un!                        *** yer bananas!
   and this city is also famous for what?
    the prodigy's music video for
                 voodoo people (pendulum remix)...
that's where i live...
                                                come on over.