you might ask: why does he seem semi-sober, almost every night, after gulping down 70cl of whiskey? well, it comes down to a certain type of rage - i was never the one to play the victimhood tarot card - it's a celebratory rage, best summarised by the sort of rage mingling with pride with bruce spingsteen's born in the u.s.a.

mind you - i do have distance relatives over there,
my maternal great grandfather emigrated there
during world war II, leaving his son (my grandfather)
and my great grandmother behind -
lost contact with my grandfather because
his brother smeared **** against him:
how he was misfit, stole & drank & what not...
****** spoke 7 language, was in the MP
(military police): just like my grandfather was...
my mother managed to make contact with him...
original surname? i think it was *żak -
and like my grandfather, so too my father were
in the army - i sometimes wish i was also forced
into the army - rather than joining the ***** brigade
of university: might as well castrated myself
with some humanities degree - thankfully
i wasn't *****-slapped so much... then again?
i was -
            hence the title, mea culpa, my *** -
the most sadistic mantra in any religion -
        and that was the last time i trusted women -
who the **** does that sort of thing?
         i mean, it's the upper tier of the **** concept:
who rapes a man by stealthy managing both
    contraceptive pills and invoking an impregnation?
i thought we had a deal, a loose contract between us?
my fault? mea culpa?
    no wonder i'm annoyed -
         wrath-riddled -
     after all, she did give me back her engagement
ring -
           unless i don't have the full picture,
and have some sort tenacious pair of ***** where
my ***** has built up an immunity to contraceptive
pills, like a virus out-competing antibiotics...
   otherwise... my my, it's ******* shining pearls
and diamonds up my ***: so i stuck my tongue up
a *****'s **** and *** to compete with my own
*******...
      indeed, the mysteries of performing oral ***
on a *******: the puerto rican in amsterdam
was confused ever so slightly -
      but the bulgarian cohort in goodmayes?
            well... 2nd in command of providing the O
with one of them;
and i'm serious about the army regret,
   i regret the notion of there being no conscription
in place...
            british army adverts barely tickle my toes
in terms of wants: mandatory would have been
simpler...
                  at least you'd have rigour & discipline
drilled into you, and made you a less whiney *******
that i've seem to become...
victimhood? hardly: just ******, numb-nuts...
but it is a form of ****: can i have my ***** back
before it starts forming into a foetus?
   hey! that's private property too!
                 i have a slug of rubber ready to flush
it! ah, whatever, talk to me another day:
today is not a good day,
     it's sultry and i'm sweating like a pig
                                            in a slaughterhouse;
one of my earliest childhood memories?
         watching a cow being towed into a slaughter:
the shrill cry of that dumb animal:
  would certainly contend with Clarice Starling's
memory of the sheep: in the silence of the lambs;
yes, i asked her impromptu to have an abortion,
then i obviously came to my senses,
but by then: the fickle mood swings of women
already erased the past: and thereby the future
with it... now? it simply belongs on a page.