you can never believe yourself sometimes,
how stupid it can get,
i could have spent my evening
watching, what would become:
a very thrilling game -
   instead? i gave up after the first half,
thinking that watching a few you-tube
videos regarding stale political affairs
from 2016 and drinking a beer would
be better than the second half of
france vs. the netherlands,
in a historic drama, whereby the netherlands
would be ousted from playing
a major tournament, in 40 years!
****... 4 - nil to france... and i missed that!
i watch these videos and think to myself:
i'm starting to build fatigue around them:
i used to be much more immune to the content,
it's literally becoming a brain-drain,
whether it's "legacy" or "alternative" media,
media's media, doesn't matter which side
you listen to: it's still the same economic model:
views...
     and that's what's tiring,
this, dare i say, diacritical(?) complacency?
well, i just did,
               at least i can admit that even within
the confines of my monologue,
i have the promiscuous (2nd dictionary definition)
audacity to argue with myself -
   something that is quasi-schizoid,
but: just necessary -
     and given that the medium where i encounter
this dualism is in terms of thought -
well: so much for being objectivity-crusaders,
when all i hear on the news interviews
is a bunch of, brats, shouting over each other,
and going into gear of being too emotional...
first of all, what's wrong with subjectivity,
if it can be contained by some sort of calm rationale?
why the sudden: oh, it's subjective,
ergo it's not credible! huh?
            a ******* peddle-stool moment from
i'm seeing and hearing, i just missed
the second half of a historic football match,
to simply get ******* watching you-tube videos
and drinking two pints of stella -
   and no, they didn't go down well,
          i had to walk an extra mile to burn off
the indigestion; **** knows, might have been
the beer, or the you-tube content.
you know, watching these videos,
   i sometimes wish i was able to watch
a hot-air balloon festival...
    it would make sense then,
         just chilling, with a beer, watching these
grand auroras of: mushrooms in the sky unfold
and startle me...
              and as god is my witness,
i've seen more foxes and deers in plain myopia
distance of sight, than i've ever seen hot-air balloons,
plenty of inflatable bouncy-castles of ego,
i mean... does anyone even consider revising
dialectics any more? sitting with some old
man on a park bench, and discussing a raleigh
bicycle? while at the same time having
the audacity, dare i say: tenacity to boot,
of: just chilling out and playing opinion ping-pong?
huh?! if i want a heated "debate", i'll strike
a conversation with someone... in a sauna...
and no, there's this blatant disparity via the old
world and the new...
  just because i've written something on
pixel "paper" doesn't mean i'm talking,
        unless it's in the comment section -
that's fine, i understand that -
   i'm writing this into thin air -
      it's called thinking aloud, and yes,
you're welcome, you should feel privileged that
i share this much, or as much as:
  so i was sitting there, as usual, on the windowsill,
opened a can, poured it into a glass,
wriggled my heel into my grand canyon of ****
and... that familiar sensation...
    well, i can't just leave the poor thing on its own,
and return to it as it turns stale...
i was already listening to some music,
and reading a magazine article about
the phenomenon of the once unfashionable trend
of beards in england, not so, post-circa 2013...
off ye went, to sit and **** into the throne
of thrones...
  i swear, this was the only compensation for
missing the 2nd half of the football match...
and that's, what you call "multitasking"...
my uncle does a better one though,
  i would too; he always has a cigarette while
taking a ****;
so no... this isn't talking, this is "talking" -
you agitate the white flag of a pixel page,
you attack everything worthwhile -
   what, just because thinking is confined to books,
who have censor publisher authorities
who demand the thumb of law, with re.:
(a) will it sell, be a hot crumpet,
   or (b) will it flop, and only be a niche product,
   like the niche product that raw herrings
are the counterculture misappropriation
  of the multi-cultural daft fascination with sushi?
i'm a raw herring boy, in cream sauce,
after all... baltic's the baltic;
ah... so much for these "alternative" media
outlets...
     i'd still prefer to chill with a beer,
                          watching hot-air balloons;
4 - nil... **** me, now that's a scoreline -
and i'm peeved to mind that the pitch was too
wet in 1974, and that the game should have
been postponed, semi-finals...
west germany vs. poland...
                 the poles were quick, the germans,
well, like any german: custard-limbs...
slow...
            ah... i can just picture that 1974
final: poland vs. the netherlands,
   grzeorz lato, szarmach, deyna...
hey, johann cruyff...
               now picture the fonzie pose.