i know the intricacies of english (my second language, my parasite tongue of which i'm the host) so well: that i'd be able to make the native speakers, dance and twirl around a carousel, singing some song by the beatles, and then eating 20 metres of liquorice worth of shoelaces.

i get these moments,
usually after half an hour's worth of walking,
and labouring a steadfast, lead-fastened
chilli of an irritable "cause" for thought...
almost like a sprinkle of sand in my shoe
to my annoyance "being" content
with the zenith: and the view -
mind you, a mountain holds both
splendours:
there's the awe inspiring nadir of the base:
as there's the exasperating zenith -
people really do tend to say the wiser
of the two at the base, at the nadir,
and, mind you: with much more breath
to conjure words and invite them
into a sentence...
at the top? not much is saying,
rather: an onomatopoeia resembling words:
merely a gasp for air...
the mountain, inside out, top to bottom:
better admired from below,
than stretched into an idiotic presence
of a man, on top of one,
since this will never be
      a: 'one step for man, one giant leap
for humanity' moment...
    just be heroic, and stick to the mundane,
but at the same time: enjoy the mundane,
and you'll be only second to achilles...
modern women?
   i thought i said this already...
these days?
the modern helen of troy?
    she would summon a retaliation,
of course, but the 1000 ships would end up
being a single ship...
   and most likely a cruise ship,
filled with pensioners, rather than warriors...
oops... sorry honey bee...
       better luck next time;
            hey! beauty isn't forever,
but it would be nice, wouldn't it?
personally i conjure up eternity,
every time i think about amnesia -
  yeah, i think about eternity,
within the schematic of being
allowed to forget something;
what?
           ah... a nibble, just a woman;
i really would like to spend the crucible
of a "life", perpetuating the circumstance
of amnesia, and forgetting this regrettable
cause for the current circumstance
of, "motivation".

that thing though, the stefan zweig book -
a typical ****** read,
  i mean easy, digestible - something you
can almost do while lying in bed waiting
for falling asleep...
   so i start flicking through it (yeah, i've read it:
the struggle with the daemon -
hölderlin, kleist, nietzsche) - namely?
2 germans that misunderstood kant,
and the first that hard to learn kant the hard way...
ants in my pants and: look at me dance!

so i start toying with it, start squeezing
the ****** paperback (he did commit suicide
with his wife... who? stefan zweig! brazil!) -
so i'm squeezing it... squeezing it...
might as well be called: misunderstanding kant:
kleist committed suicide because of
the *critique: nietzsche just elongated
that into calling him stupid and ending up
with a bushy moustache that begged for
a barber's attention...

hölderlin was the only to get away...
   he married empedocles...

anyway, so i'm pinching and rubbing this book
like your typical bibliophile pervert,
squeezing it...
      a paperback...
   so? well... if you're going to smoke a cigarette
and walk down the street,
you have to shove your other hand into
your trouser pocket... let's face it:
you can't look silly... both hands have to be
busy...
        comparatively?
   i stick my tongue out - and start squeezing it,
having a feel of it,
the one time the tongue becomes
aristotelian arithmetic considering the number
of women's teeth...
     or something like that...
pinch-&-squeeze a paperback book with
one hand, and with the other hand:
your tongue...

         very similar texture to be clarifyingly honest:
huh? what's with the red dots below the word
clarifyingly?
                   why isn't it respected as an adverb
of the verb (to) clarify?
       the ****, is this system
respective of a lack of correction
of english words in pidgin, patois, or just
plain jedi padawan?
    might as well be glaswegian, to be honest,
couldn't decipher that accent,
  even if you lived in essex, and had welsh parents;
ah, **** it, why lie,
   i can understand the scots;
the irish? they probably speak
  a more understandable
version of their english: drunk, than sober.