my first memories of england: the dover cliffs, the red double decker bus, and mr. grey, yes, the earl of the perpetuated overcast skies.

i like the kantian compartmentalization concept,
i like the idea of boxes, and there is no finer
notion of a "box" than the *per se:
christianity gained popularity in the coliseum,
and it will lose (zzz, someone please
tap the snooze button with regards to
more anti-christian augmenting argumentation) -
but kant left a "linear" geometry -
the per se -
                     ant-man galore -
    throw enough of a sense either into
a microscope or a telescope -
  it doesn't matter... the same result ensues:
which is not a result at all,
  but a cul de sac of answers,
vis-à-vis a madman's monologue...
         nice zoo, god, shame about the fact that:
we're all living with exhibiting / inhibiting
constraints!
                       you know, i used to play
the sims game, the microcosmos of sim city...
and then i sat my sim at a computer...
     whoof! shoom!
         a buddha moment: i entered a wormhole...
i sought but didn't find, until i did find
a narcissus moment in gaming:
     der spiegel - i.e. the mirror...
   dei trägheit - i always find that things sound
better in german, given that quebec made
french a ***** 'arry donkey than a stallion,
and that french has lost the vogue...
   and that i like the old french with a trilled R
than a harking R...
      excuse moi... dell boy two miles shy of
the cockney manure of gift of the gab and
the bells, the bells, the bells of bow!
    i'm playing a game where the "avatar" is
playing a game, on a computer,
  and i'm on a computer, playing a game
with a character that's playing a game on a computer...
that's the point where i stopped playing
games "seriously" as a teen boy...
   now when i do, i do play them:
to prolong resting from the chain-train-beast
that's smoking... i still think it's better than
eating a ******* raw carrot...
but i dare say, i love the kantian warehouse;
if any revision of the english language,
****-naked without any diacritical marks,
well, i'd simply start deutsche -
       ß -
              after all, why can't i be a remnant
of the anglo-pomeranian - or anglo-swabian?
    sax boop blippy blippy boo (charles manson
could have said that interlude) -
             but when everything is stored in
a per se, you can at least know a chew po
from a chow pi -
                              it's one way of storing things -
it's consciously feeding the unconscious
storage room...
                  the per se is a tool, akin to a box,
of making the most effective storage space
in that fat sponge lodged in your cranium cage
of yours... tip of the tongue, back of the head
analogy...
                 the chinese don't spell, who told you
that lie? the chinese don't spell because they
don't deal in linguistic atomism -
                               they're a syllable riddle!
a chinese walks into a dentistry practice,
the dentist says: say ah -
             the chinese answer: ah choo...
  bless you the dentist replies.
          i don't know why i settled for kant as my
mentor (even though he's dead)...
  i guess, as the patron "saint" of bachelors,
it made sense.
                     christianity was born in the coliseum,
and it will die in the coliseum...
       why can't it, given that the failings of
marxism are almost akin, although parallel
in the secular guise of crisply ironed shirts
and grey suits, compared with the bishop's red
shoes: dorothy! oh dorothy! take me to heaven!
by criticism i mean: the religion is not monotheistic,
it's poly-schismatic -
           it's a schism-theism;
  i'd sooner pay attention to the deities of hinduism!
how can you tell a greek is telling
a lie? he can't keep up with telling it over and over
again...
   i can't believe i was born into this farce...
i just can't...
                and indeed, the sun, like excess sugar,
makes you mad...
  barbaric even...
   which is why i mention the enclave of
extended scandinavia as the british isles...
         sure, the grey skies...
the grey skies, the grey, skies...
             no one ever **** themselves from not
eating...
                    no one ever went mad from
a lack of sun...
                            point being, those two weeks
in kenya was torture, i don't know how
the colonials managed it...
        sure, send them up north, your sub-saharan
your baghdad possy (funny, tehran isn't
on the move, must be a case of persian pride) -
once they stop hyperventilating in their new
environment: i'm just gagging my laughter,
waiting for them to slouch and slump into depression.