i have become tyrannical in my writing,
lest you know,
the more frequent the phrase might be:
the more undisturbed you are in writing,
the more iron-maiden clad you become...
i never seeked readers,
i seeked... scholars...
              and there's a difference...
newspapers seek readers,
            cheap novels seek readers,
i made it my "ambition" to seek the schools
of scholasticism,
perhaps a vanity project,
  perhaps anything, you can think of,
and all those things i would dare say:
are true!
               but the difference between
a reader, and a scholar?
                    i wish no drama upon myself
and upon my "readers", prior to
the finicky wavering of time compared to wind,
prior to: the finicky wavering of fashion
(that's still rather a momentum of being
repeated) -
               the numbers do not, suffice,
the reader count does not oblige me to succumb
to the same, what would become:
a caricature endeavour, of the original promise,
let alone a premise.
     i once did stoop low before the idiots,
and i had my share of possibly narrating such
events: the so-called "intellectual-*******"
of a blank page... by now, calling someone
a pin-point, a (0, 0) coordinate doesn't seem
so shallow, and demeaning,
  as when the person is adjusted to a posit
stand-still... but when an endeavour is being
criticised? that's when **** hits the fan...
       i don't mind mechanisation of a man...
i think it takes great skill in perfecting
       a profession akin to a carpenter,
               or a roofer...
       esp. roofing, since i cannot see any machine
replacing these men...
esp. on an industrial scale...
   but, when, an endeavour is compared
to jerking off... and is done so, by both mental
as both physical slackers?! the gloves
are off!
            i've had enough patience with these
surrogates of maggots! these parasitical
inbreds!
               who'd prefer to throw books
rather than bricks in a solidarity unison of
protest! enough!
i don't need idiots to read me,
    i just need, a pinch of salt to water
the eyes on the opposite end of these words:
i need, scholars...
        the ambitiously determined leeches
of attention...
                       the more the hunger grows,
the more i compensate with a symbiosis
of giving those, who seek the same amount of
attention, i am fed, in return, and in return:
spew into the submission of a blank canvas...
hard to find a symbiosis these days...
easily the gloat of book-sales...
                 but to find a classroom of
"children", who have an un-contested frame
for not losing attention?
                       well...
        who needs a book that only allows
the reader to take it to bed, in order to fall
asleep to?
                   give me hellraiser ii: hellbound
sountrack, every day, throughout the year,
i'd i'm k.o. at track no. 3: something to think
about...
                as i once said:
if a book is difficult: read it in an uncomfortable
position, e.g.: perched on a windowsill,
sitting on a folded leg...
           no point pretending to be
hindu / buddhist guru, spewing out
alts. to self-help guides...
    just read a difficult book, in an uncomfortable
position, overcome the body's discomfort,
and reach the potency: of a comforted mind,
an ego in an arm-chair.