ms. amber is still not through, lullabying me proper; as much as i have "wasted", it seems strange, that i have yet to wait for so much more.

does it come upon such times, then even
an mongrel irish man,
bestowed upon the shores of goa,
deem himself the classical masochistic
christian in demanding:
our fate belongs from the inheritance
of **** & pillage -
     says one anglophobe to another
native "anglophile" -
the natives speak worse english than
the horde.
              does it really come upon such times?!
let me tell you: for all the "need"
to speak english - english has been
****** into a digital whirlpool -
it's a lost tongue: it has been useful:
up to now, but all their b.d.s.m. anti-inflammatory
rhetoric is bugging me...
their entire ****-load-of-****
in attempt to "erase" dyslexia by,
nonetheless allowing the imagery:
  you want to spell good, mr. gump?
watch some ****.
     get right down to the lingo!
          it's called the universal phellatio...
******..
    you send one more mongrel irish
down my way: i'll ask for you to recite me
the entirety of macbeth: the only
play of shakespeare than borrows from
ancient greece (the graeae,
the missing eye of odin) - and gives
the medieval time a reboot one last chance!
****** eli of anglia my ***...
     whoever honey-suckled that brazilian
briefing: by now, added his spinal bones
to his dentistry's affair...
     the guillotine signalled one affair
an assurance: dead for sure,
i too cut meat on a meat cutter...
last time i remembered it was a clean
cut, clean enough to hear dante speak
for the dead: with the dead asking for
an audience: ex hades in hades -
    from the realm of the dead:
the readiest of a ginette mathiot -
  one shoe fits all: or ask cinderella...
my fingers are starting to glue...
     i speak better native than the natives,
and what rewards do i get?
stay, in, line!
                stay, in, line!
sure, let the idiot come first,
and the intelligent foreigners come last -
because: that's just how the world is...
           **** poo = 1000+ sims of
clappers...
           esp. in manchester...
   my mother said: head north -
i say: **** you to hell and your joke
of me:
       i'll sooner fear living too long,
than your woman-kind,
and being unfretted by living too long...
         i have as much fear of death
as i have of: a life...
buttered by what the stereotype doesn't
give away with me being a single child...
again: being qua mechanisation -
the in-endurable "waking"
of what was to certainly come
free, nonetheless in shackles.
if only history knew a genuine of itself
in itself: the perfected
compartmentalism:
an - *arca in arca in arca in arca per se
(a box in a box in a box in a box in itself) -
cf. a babushka doll...
              western society is overladen
with visualisations that lead to no
potent set of words...
                     these people, currently
going down: do, not, know, themselves;
what they know is that they "think"...
the more a people esteem their cleverness
the more stupider their actions
become... the more replicable...
    the more unsatisfactory - the more
congested in repetitive "plagiarism"...
the more clued-up on cluelessness...
    siberia is not exactly the north western,
the south western, or texas,
         i used to love the idea of america,
****, i loved the cinema,
i loved the music,
  but these days?
       the u.s.a. is about as uniform in
politics as any football team aspiring
  for a chance at the world cup...
  the leverages are even...
      the moral compass is:
omnia in aether est -
            america has suddenly started to
not ask a north korean for a shoeshine -
i don't get the *******
  moral "debate" given that there has only
been one country to have dropped the nuke:
twice!
       what's the defence? the cultural
exchange program? only if they kept
it up! they seem slightly limp **** about
how: creativity is not a competitive
market economy: there's not magnetism
to parallel a market and an artist's blank slate:  
in wall street there's no costello moment
of leprechaun-**** appreciation:
     i'am an artist. you give me a fing tuba,
i'll get you something out of it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
****, shove a woodpecker up my ***,
and i'll get you a canary to play me a,
******* trombone in cough-up beat-box!  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
do these people really think that writing
******* instead of fing will revive
their sadistic dream of abolition?
that's cheap, that's real cheap...
         america, beacon of the west?
beacon of the west?
more like bacon of the west -
never send puritans of huguenots stock:
to do a catholic's job;
just saying...
                who needs these boneless
deflated ******* of "ambition" to
orchestrate the boys they ****** but
never minded to castrate?!
             never send a protestant to
do a catholic's job... otherwise?
you get america...
     pish-poor job you did there:
     america truly is a modern nation:
with inclinations to hollywood medieval -
****, i love my odd exorcism and levitation -
never send a ******* hugh to do a
calvanelli's job -
women complain: 1 period once a month...
sure: and there's me jerking off 30 times a month!
that's what i find wrong with the greeks'
interpretation of the hebrews:
  i was born into a life, and i will live
out a life, in order than, somehow,
archeology can be subverted from
the already given unearthed facts...
                        so they were all pretty ****
mad and irrational...
   or, what?
            for the greek so good with ideas:
as the modern time suggests:
a tad ****** with money.
   or for the jews so good with money:
as the modern times suggest:
a tady ******, and late with their own goal
when it comes to ideas.
born into it: will die in it -
can't shake off the sadomasochism of
christianity, the irrationality of:
back then - even the lunatic was allowed
to talk, and his talk was allowed the freedom
of the talk, given the talk of the lunatic didn't
pick up the sword...
           celebrating christmas
& easter is becoming more and more
uncomfortable for me, year upon year:
since i don't know what i'm exactly "celebrating"...
i'm probably much closer celebrating
keeping my mouth shut,
   than anything coming from
the celebratory gob of cousins who are lesser
read... it's not pedantic,
         it's just what it is...
          i'm already sick with christmas
having a genesis at the beginning of november...
almost coinciding with
the end of halloween...
                         i hate protestant nations
for one concern alone: the joy from lying -
why was lying never a crowning achievement
of sin, that cardinals ought to know best?!
lying was "fun" as a child:
as an adult?
                  lying breeds no thrills -
as apathy being unable to breed a pathology
worthy of being categorised
in that juicing the giraffe nibbling on
a skittels rainbow...
    a lie was never, and never will be:
an elaboration of deception...
a lie always was, and always will be:
a ****** game of chess...
              a lie will always be
the most devastating, yet at the same time:
the most unsatisfactory "revelation"
of a lost sense of trust...
           lies belong to children -
and lies make adult men into boys -
stating the blunt truth is always too
shocking to be said in the "never-to-exist":
unsaid, that is nonetheless said -
without ever encouraging the minotaur's
plague of chasing, and the erosion
of memory -
       it's hard to keep track of lies -
as hard as it must be to forgive oneself
to memorise forgetting,
   as is the opposite scenario of forgetting
to memorise: in the case of alzheimer's...
blunt: sure... the disease of telling lies,
and mismanaging chronology of "this said
unto that actor / that said unto this actor"
and the multiple version of etc.
hey... didn't lord greville janner suffer
from dementia? the most obvious aversion
toward reality is not from the satanic
ritual of "eating the fruit" of
the dichotomy (differentiation) /
dualism (integration) of good & evil...
that's but one act alone -
problem is: to pursue the continuum of
the original sin: lie -
could a crow ever lie that it's not a crow
with a croak?!
  could a dog ever lie that it's not a dog
with a bark?!
dementia is a disease of compulsive liars...
      who lost the plot,
or, to be honest: never had a plot
to begin with: merely: a juggling act.