when i feel, when i really feel like writing,
i turn from being a snowman, and become
an avalanche.

god, i love the tease!
  it's like tickling a bear -
ever wonder why large dogs
rarely bark, and you always
see these puny chihuahuas barking?
it's a phenomenon i've considered
a great deal of times -
puny dogs bark all the time,
even if there's no impedeing sense
of danger, while large dogs
      bark: as their last resort:
or a hello! look at me!
i'm lord of the manor, come near
me and you're chow mein,
or a tartar steak!
    god, i love big dogs,
   gifts me with the idea of
a **** the size of an elephant's trunk:
to boost my ambitions.
ha ha.
    
i always wanted to speak like
sean connery, or shaun o'connery,
or shea mac'connery,
can't remember which one was
catholic, and which one was protestant,
or which one was supposed
to be my uncle...
          evidently? none of them!

point being... i'm not a ****** predator,
i'm ***-prone: as any man finish
a 100m sprint **** first, head later,
but i am a predator of some sorts,
i hunt for observations,
you know, the type that looks
for telescopes without the astronomer -
the microscope without the biologist,
the kaleidoscope without a john lennon...

god, i love this word: *kauczuk -
imagine a monkey without
   a rubber ball -
what you gonna give poor gorilla heirmondo
next, a drum kit?!

funny you should ask...
i'm actually gagging for the day i'm called
a ****...
          i sent a letter to santa claus for
confirmation date that it could or would or
will happen...

    don't you *** it?!

come one, everyone knows the holocaust
happened,
   but people are still complimenting
the **** army uniform, how chic it was...
for all the wrong, the nazis always have
that one stable and historically bulletproof
observation repetition...

mind you, being a predator of observation
lists two individuals, the maxim perfectionists,
nietzsche & la rochefoucauld -
  no, no bongo-bongo parties around here,
predatory subtleness -
      a teasing voyeurism -
  a tickling sensation - nothing more,
enough for the eyes to feast,
and the rest remaining: grave ridden (as if
it were);

that's why i'm waiting to be teased as a ****,
everyone says: they were the best dressed army,
seems to me that ****** did become an
artist after all... albeit an artist in the fashion
industry...
    and never, was such a worse-attired army
of men defeat the best dressed of the lot...
i admit, the winged hussars of
the polish-lithuanian commonwealth were
a charity shop of pick & mix...
    
     call it: the ***** of "dolce & lagerfeld* -
carlie, dear, come on other,
suit up these ss boyscouts...
  
      as sylvia plath said: all women love a fascist,
except women that... don't know what
the answer to that is...
  nonetheless, fascists seem rather pseudo-****,
given they put so much effort into
their uniforms...
      ****** & mussolini,
i can see that brand selling,
given the backlog of nostalgia behind the brand,
you can see why so many wartime movies
have been made,
  and why americans and others are so
eager to don the **** uniforms...

       they called the catwalk:
khaki on black... it's the nuo white & black...

    and so whittle dolphie became the artist
in a double-edged sword moment,
an artist in auschwitz, and an artist in
fashion!
           this is exactly what british humour
looks like, i remember this one time
in edinburgh, this poncey english guy came
on stage in a comedy club,
  his opening line?

'you might recognise the accent...
  it's educated.'

beat that! mind you, beat the persistent fascination
with the **** army uniform,
   the totenkopf insignia...
look at them, poor buggers, slobbering as ever...
always tempted by the fashion,
it's always the fashion!
     nazis did one thing better than their
genocidal psychopathic mania:
  army fashion...
  the crispness of their attire is still
the most formidable apple of eden to be bitten,
and how easily people don the attire,
almost with a sense of pride & a chance of
bagging a bride too...

amazing... it's called something else in asia...
something about
   hsinchu city of taiwan with a bunch
of black geese marching...
      chan something...
haven't figured it out...
  but it seems there's a translation back
from asia among white men:
     kamikaze: hey, i'm all up for cultural
exchanges...

there we have it the new dolce & gabbana -
   ****** & mussolini -
      the best dressed pair of ****-wits
the world has ever seen...
     staggering as it is:
people will remember the nazis more
for their uniforms and a perfected sense
of fashion of military personnel,
   than their crimes;
****** really was an artist, although
i'm sure he never expected to become
a fashionista on the side;
it'd be nice to see a history in a universe,
where he really did, settle for
a career in still-life painting;
  i'm already speculating that:

his inspiration came from
                                   paul cézanne,
  and somehow precipitated into examples
of l. s. lowry.