my mother went mad, beat me with
a belt,
after she found me walking back
with hubert from an abandoned house,
just days prior hubert's mother
committed suicide by drinking
vinegar, and then eating a whole
chicken, bloating her stomach till
it exploded -
   me and ol' hubert,
        who-ber-chique -
apologies for missing diacritical marks...
i remember those two belts
and the warm bath afterwards...
      but i also rather prefer
hubert and his mother's suicide,
and his mother drinking vinegar
to shrink her stomach...
        and why do i still remember that?
the sunset...
         doesn't matter if i still live
with the people that used the double-belt
snapper of correction...
     i've become immune to a lot of
things down the years:
it's almost a boring affair to hear of
lawsuits...
           to hear of whatever "needs" to
be heard...
                   i'm more interested in
oysters whistlings,
or lobsters singing an opera;
than the elevated simultaneously disgraced
humanity: weak, as if collectively
stricken by a holocaust memorial need
to rather remember: than to celebrate!
these days, man is just that:
a creature memorised,
   rather than a creature jubilant!
         **** sapiens is dodo!
these days we are talking:
          **** memento versus
**** celebro!
       we cannot be conditioned by
the schizoid fabrication of the supposed
"sapiens" by both the memorisation
and by both the celebration...
it's rather irrational to celebrate while
forgetting, while at the same time
"rational" to remember while
not celebrating...
                         it's 5 am and i'm drunk,
and i don't actually feel like
guiding what could have been
a rather decent dialogue,
but is, rather, a perfected drinking
insinuation of a . being the:
reclining artefact of a full-stop.