so i just picked up my wine and whiskey,
and heading toward romford from
collier row tesco,
took a seat on the 175 bus -
fours kids and a mother behind me -
god, i love kids, esp. this cute...
in between a nursery rhyme of
twinkle twinkle little star,
they broke into a song of
lady gaga's bad romance:
      rah rah ah-ah-ah!
rho mah ro-mah-mah
                    gaga oh-la-la! -
up to a point where the mother asked
to keep themselves quiet,
only prior, to what happened when
the no. 66 bus (leystone st. to romford
st.) -
     the kids start their infernal
counting 66, 6... 6, 6, 6...
               the cutest part came
with them not able to sing the words
- want your bad romance -
i'm just as bad when it comes to
concrete lyrics...
     they got the
      rah rah ah-ah-ah!
rho mah ro-mah-mah
                    gaga oh-la-la right...
but the - want your bad romance?
they sort of "gave up", w- .....................,
more exactly - the letters had already
started forming syllables,
        but the syllables didn't start
forming meanings -
              children:
    you only have them as selfish
psychologists -
who think that all patients are
   patiens ex infans:
what a demeaning position to hold...
and guess: it only takes a highly
concentrated urban environment to
guess a clock's next tick-tock...
              i love children, such innocent
spies that never fail to amaze:
   never the finished canvases -
always the blank slates...
imagine my amazement listening to
them recite lady gaga's goo-goo-poo-poo'h-drip
sunny glaze... and that ripe red
grapefruit for breakfast alongside
champagne...
          i love children:
as much as their sadistic parents realise
not actually realising:
    nature hates vacuums:
      play with this dough like the
inversion of the child reborn...
    i'd request only one reminder:
ensure you manage to keep a pet toward
its mortal exhaustion, before
you talk of replica...
                 sacrificing ***** as
expandible is one way to make man
omnivore -
then again: with all these eggs without
a yoke: such a ****** egg-white washed-up
world of empty.
               but women prefer the extremes
of either the harem baron,
or the beta male mediocre,
surprises are what?
  christmas presents you bribe children
with for what is: less a disaffection
with a lie, but a dis-valuation of
an archetypal sustenance material in shape
of the paternal...
               these kids already sentenced
your idea of fame:
rah rah ah-ah-ah!
rho mah ro-mah-mah
                    gaga oh-la-la!
     you can't beat that, you can't beat
these kids... don't bother...
the end sentence, i admit, was pushing
it... they mumbled the words -
but as any child would,
  the point was made by the bouncy-castle
of interference...
   and then i sat next to one ******
next to me, reading a book,
and it dawned on me:
   why would a man become so
       overtly-"heroic" concerning his
offspring...
well... it dawned on me...
   merely nibbling a touch with this sprout
next to me in a train seat...
sure, a woman can claim the parasite
incubator, for that is all a foetus is...
   but when the sprout ages to be 5 or 6...
a woman inverts the womb with a:
body to body ratio relevance...
now i know why men really fight children...
women treat children as if they were
frogs, their greatest ****** comes upon
******* a foetus...
                    and they even imply that
religiously: no cesarean!
                            i thought that...
no! that ******* pug snout is going to
get the proper broker pucker out of this
stretch armstrong, whether you like it or not!
now i get the logic,
esp. when i sit next to a child,
   i can fathom the demand for a man claiming
custody of a child,
and **** me, it seems too good to be true
but is nonetheless the truest anti-mantis
rhetoric available...
             man, wake up...
you think that evolution is in your favour?
it's heidegger - he said:  
  the pluralism of being in beings as
accommodating an easy example is what
man is to chimp, but it's also what
woman is to mantis...
                         in dealing with
a "there" or the antithesis of pluralism of
being in man is to look away from
a history in a collective: congratulatory
tone of ex simia ad **** -
     a woman was never a collective -
and never will be -
   femina ex mantis ad mantis reditus libido;
as men who provide the expendable world
of actor -
women provide the expendable world
of: an empty stage - their **** -
both jerks hanky-panky the same
gamble...
           with as many expendable
tadpoles as given, the more incomprehensible
the world becomes...
if i were a man, i'd look beyond
the ape, as woman already knows to
look into the role of the widow...
      as it stands: **** sapiens is a pathetic
argument contra femina vidua...
the rational man is no match for a female widow...
           only an un-understanding man
can match the poker mastery of the femina vidua;
makes sense why a man would
argue for a child -
given the fact that a woman only
took care of a quasi-amphibian -
                           9 months doesn't necessarily
translate into 90, *******, years!
i'd still say you're a cheat if you
think you can shortcut your specialisation
in the field of psychology, by having
both the template of "a priori" in your
children, and an "a posteriori" template
in your grandchildren...
    sure, you'll see more patients,
but none of them will actually be as sick
as you are, in your little short-crust
           shortcut of keeping numbers
to the prim, rather than the meaning of words
absolute, than the ******* mingling
thesaurus relativism of "debate" / "nuance";
psychologists already know that
their children and their grandchildren
are collateral damage in theory,
   and all the more ****** up in real life.