Jun 2018
foremostly: drink a little, and then write something,
there's absolutely no point in drinking
and rummaging an abdandoned house,
better still, what use would a spider have for
an abandoned spiderweb,
that hasn't been kept in order, for two months?
what of the old hunched
crow-shadow posture in a chair?
in poland i remember having trouble
associating myself with writing
in turkish akimbo on a hard communist concrete,
and the bare minimum of what
could be called a carpet...
let alone the insomnia grandfather
snooping around at 12, 1, 2am...
begging me to pretend to be falling asleep
while smoking cigarettes indoors,
writing by candlelight in the kitchen...
it felt as it feels now:
having lost a limb... but subsequently
having regrown one...
there is no technique to what's
closely associated with: rigour...
drinking is one thing:
writing habits? quiet another!
for starters there are offshoot verses
of nonsense, or: exploring the consequence
of simulating alzheimer's of some
sort...
less metaphorical than the romance
with schizophrenia, the romance
that is a razor blade thrown to a person
drowning from anxiety...
list: US consumes 50% of Xanax
production,
the UK consumes 22%...
2017 sore 240 call-outs
for Xanax abuse by children aged between
11 and 14...
half of mental problems
begin aged 14, three-quarters come
sober 18...
70% increase in rates
of depression in >25s...
2 to 1 (:) ratio of women hiding
the same problems men have...
50% increase in suicides in
England in the past decade -
hello Bristol university!
now that we juggled with the facts,
like we might pass taking shots from
a bottle of ***** like some rude
teenagers in a playground in a park
come the last solar hours of
a sunsent...
facts: you can plagiarise -
that's what they're there for -
no need for citing where i got them from,
one source is as good as the next.
now... routine and writing...
england is so different from poland -
namely, big town small town ergonomics -
small town? good chance you'll
get a romanticism bug... read a book
and start seeing swans in clouds...
big town?
no real chance...
talk-the-there's-no-talk scenario...
i had to remember how i used to function
in england, when the tactic i had for
treating anti-depressants as sleeping pills
actually worked...
and no... it didn't involve
the affair of a bottle of ***** per
night to imitate an executioner's axe...
or a mike tyson upper-cut for:
seeing black-holes, of former stars...
god!
death?!
black holes are the death of
stars, and yet they fascinate physicists more
than actual stars, which they reduced
to a hydrogen-helium interaction...
what i clearly forgot is my routine,
and the rigour involved in ushering in some
worthy blah-blah...
my day constitutes of 48 hours...
which technically is two days,
but that's debatable...
stay up for a minimum of 24 hours...
actually, 24h is a breeze,
not even worth contemplating since i only
stopped myself shy of doing a 48h+ stretch...
but, see... i became bogged down in
video-books...
billions: ******* genius soundtrack,
very much akin to baby driver...
but **** the precision of acting...
favourite character?
WAAAAAAAAAAAGS....
a bit like snooping in on the wives of
european footballers once every four years...
binged the ******* that ****,
finished season two and just waiting for
the next two installments...
and?
versailles: on a techical
note... addressing Kant while watching
this ******* of a show?
power is better understood
than knowledge, visually, when contemplating
power: a priori,
so much easier...
knowledge doesn't have the same rich
association attached to it...
because? knowledge a posteriori
diffuses into perfecting replicas -
say the original cobbler...
and subsequent cobblers and, "cobblers",
or trivial Cains...
visually speaking,
since the dynamic of power, a posteriori
is just blinding in terms of hierarchy...
well, "blinding", i mean: illuminating...
another welcome routine prior to writing
something down and drinking at the same time?
solving a sudoku.
this is the sudoku interlude -
scatter-brain sequence (if you like):
visually speaking power a priori creates
a more sensible visual explanation of
of power a posteriori...
given that a priori power is a vacuum -
a priori knowledge doesn't exactly have
an agreeable imagination basis -
to the pop. scrutiny...
****... even retards know how
to laugh, even though they might not even concern
themselves with stand-up schematics
of a joke...
knowing how to laugh, is just like that...
the a priori knowledge of laughter
is not designated to an exclusive
a posteriori knowledge of laughter...
intellectual brown-nosing is the same
as a ****** laughing: although i bet my wet-winkle
that i'll laugh with the ******,
than the intellectual pop-****.
power though...
god, where do you even begin?
the power that comes prior to
the subsequent compenetration of
the anti-cartesian: res vanus replaces res cogitans,
yet res extensa remains intact...
louis the 14th and the "thought" project
that became versailles...
and it would have been a "thought"
fabien marchal...
it used to be monsieur philippe I,
but then i became bored of
my irritability of being unable to assimilate
the deviances to such carnal finalities...
best of all, just recently,
the appearance of marquise de montespan
with her keen observation -
purely a priori, well, 3's the lucky number...
the inverted crown woman...
the crown of thorns woman...
how she took hold of bouffon gossip cueues...
and became...
sorry... she can't be defined as
the king's favourite "mistress"...
ha ha! she was the ******* madame!
feed the hydra another hungry bite at its
neck...
and you can make a brothel legitimate
without the concept of money...
worded-"bribes"...
if she was a mistress of louis xiv
then i was the nun
in the rocky horror show, if there was
any nun, in that movie...
madame through and through,
because she became more obliged to the queen
than the king:
misconcept of pushing women
rather than allowing them to fester
like sores?
heart becomes detached...
less... clingy...
boyish...
packed with dormant dynamite lodged
in stone...
but without the fuse of
an authentic woman's tongue that asks
for bribes in acts outside of the most piquant
affair of carnal festivity...
endless ******* "metaphors"...
which is no wonder why adultery is
what it is: an emotional and an even cognitive
investment in a: story, rather than
a mere body...
which is not to say that
the body isn't cherished:
last time i checked...
i forgot to take my genitals with me to
the brothel... left it in the dollhouse
of Barbie & Strappy...
yet what's persistent is the rigour in
writing the casually sporadic...
sleep deprivation and a diet of
decent video-books...
a drink... a sudoku...
and the chance to catch up
with about 10 hours...
and having the ******
decency to do minor things that involve
other people's boring trivialities...
like cooking dinner...
feeding the cats...
watering the garden...
and trying to figure out:
that teenager who gave me
the ten quid he probably found
(since it was so scruntched up) expecting
me to be his "good uncle" while buying
*****-juice?
****, i thought i was gullible...
he didn't think i was going to
buy something beginning with vod-
as anything less than 37.5%?
he screamed and shouted at me...
apparently the "good uncle" was
on his way, and instead a drunk father stood
before him, telling him:
now you can take it from me and run
along to what's going to a heart-break
since the other guy and the girl you're trying
to impress have already run off
and you're standing with someone twice your age...
or?
so putting the goods on the pavement
taking a step back and putting my hands
on my head said: your choice...
it was your choice to give me the tenner...
but hey, i even put in a little extra
because i probably misheard you...
just a madman's luck that he was screaming
at me as if i was scalping him
which allowed for the attention
of the supermarket
security guard to be prompted
and some people in the carpark...
rare event...
very plain... nothing too spectacular
like climbing mt. everest...
if he started screaming:
you're buying alcohol for minors!
what, with my own money?!
i gambled putting in 6 quid of
my own so that he wouldn't take a litre of
*****...
hence he shouted: theft!
which made no sense since
he voluntarily gave me the ten quid...
fascinating conundrum...
like **** i'd buy minors
alcohol using my own money...
some, the bigger the group:
are smart enough to know the difference
between a common interest,
say, 5 guys and then the scenario becomes
two pipsqueaks and a smurfette...
i already said it once:
me, beer, straight road...
some honest cases you can work with...
teenage tantrums of that sort?
lucky madman loser...
saved ten quid on a bottle of *****.
there's absolutely no point in drinking
and rummaging an abdandoned house,
better still, what use would a spider have for
an abandoned spiderweb,
that hasn't been kept in order, for two months?
what of the old hunched
crow-shadow posture in a chair?
in poland i remember having trouble
associating myself with writing
in turkish akimbo on a hard communist concrete,
and the bare minimum of what
could be called a carpet...
let alone the insomnia grandfather
snooping around at 12, 1, 2am...
begging me to pretend to be falling asleep
while smoking cigarettes indoors,
writing by candlelight in the kitchen...
it felt as it feels now:
having lost a limb... but subsequently
having regrown one...
there is no technique to what's
closely associated with: rigour...
drinking is one thing:
writing habits? quiet another!
for starters there are offshoot verses
of nonsense, or: exploring the consequence
of simulating alzheimer's of some
sort...
less metaphorical than the romance
with schizophrenia, the romance
that is a razor blade thrown to a person
drowning from anxiety...
list: US consumes 50% of Xanax
production,
the UK consumes 22%...
2017 sore 240 call-outs
for Xanax abuse by children aged between
11 and 14...
half of mental problems
begin aged 14, three-quarters come
sober 18...
70% increase in rates
of depression in >25s...
2 to 1 (:) ratio of women hiding
the same problems men have...
50% increase in suicides in
England in the past decade -
hello Bristol university!
now that we juggled with the facts,
like we might pass taking shots from
a bottle of ***** like some rude
teenagers in a playground in a park
come the last solar hours of
a sunsent...
facts: you can plagiarise -
that's what they're there for -
no need for citing where i got them from,
one source is as good as the next.
now... routine and writing...
england is so different from poland -
namely, big town small town ergonomics -
small town? good chance you'll
get a romanticism bug... read a book
and start seeing swans in clouds...
big town?
no real chance...
talk-the-there's-no-talk scenario...
i had to remember how i used to function
in england, when the tactic i had for
treating anti-depressants as sleeping pills
actually worked...
and no... it didn't involve
the affair of a bottle of ***** per
night to imitate an executioner's axe...
or a mike tyson upper-cut for:
seeing black-holes, of former stars...
god!
death?!
black holes are the death of
stars, and yet they fascinate physicists more
than actual stars, which they reduced
to a hydrogen-helium interaction...
what i clearly forgot is my routine,
and the rigour involved in ushering in some
worthy blah-blah...
my day constitutes of 48 hours...
which technically is two days,
but that's debatable...
stay up for a minimum of 24 hours...
actually, 24h is a breeze,
not even worth contemplating since i only
stopped myself shy of doing a 48h+ stretch...
but, see... i became bogged down in
video-books...
billions: ******* genius soundtrack,
very much akin to baby driver...
but **** the precision of acting...
favourite character?
WAAAAAAAAAAAGS....
a bit like snooping in on the wives of
european footballers once every four years...
binged the ******* that ****,
finished season two and just waiting for
the next two installments...
and?
versailles: on a techical
note... addressing Kant while watching
this ******* of a show?
power is better understood
than knowledge, visually, when contemplating
power: a priori,
so much easier...
knowledge doesn't have the same rich
association attached to it...
because? knowledge a posteriori
diffuses into perfecting replicas -
say the original cobbler...
and subsequent cobblers and, "cobblers",
or trivial Cains...
visually speaking,
since the dynamic of power, a posteriori
is just blinding in terms of hierarchy...
well, "blinding", i mean: illuminating...
another welcome routine prior to writing
something down and drinking at the same time?
solving a sudoku.
this is the sudoku interlude -
scatter-brain sequence (if you like):
visually speaking power a priori creates
a more sensible visual explanation of
of power a posteriori...
given that a priori power is a vacuum -
a priori knowledge doesn't exactly have
an agreeable imagination basis -
to the pop. scrutiny...
****... even retards know how
to laugh, even though they might not even concern
themselves with stand-up schematics
of a joke...
knowing how to laugh, is just like that...
the a priori knowledge of laughter
is not designated to an exclusive
a posteriori knowledge of laughter...
intellectual brown-nosing is the same
as a ****** laughing: although i bet my wet-winkle
that i'll laugh with the ******,
than the intellectual pop-****.
power though...
god, where do you even begin?
the power that comes prior to
the subsequent compenetration of
the anti-cartesian: res vanus replaces res cogitans,
yet res extensa remains intact...
louis the 14th and the "thought" project
that became versailles...
and it would have been a "thought"
fabien marchal...
it used to be monsieur philippe I,
but then i became bored of
my irritability of being unable to assimilate
the deviances to such carnal finalities...
best of all, just recently,
the appearance of marquise de montespan
with her keen observation -
purely a priori, well, 3's the lucky number...
the inverted crown woman...
the crown of thorns woman...
how she took hold of bouffon gossip cueues...
and became...
sorry... she can't be defined as
the king's favourite "mistress"...
ha ha! she was the ******* madame!
feed the hydra another hungry bite at its
neck...
and you can make a brothel legitimate
without the concept of money...
worded-"bribes"...
if she was a mistress of louis xiv
then i was the nun
in the rocky horror show, if there was
any nun, in that movie...
madame through and through,
because she became more obliged to the queen
than the king:
misconcept of pushing women
rather than allowing them to fester
like sores?
heart becomes detached...
less... clingy...
boyish...
packed with dormant dynamite lodged
in stone...
but without the fuse of
an authentic woman's tongue that asks
for bribes in acts outside of the most piquant
affair of carnal festivity...
endless ******* "metaphors"...
which is no wonder why adultery is
what it is: an emotional and an even cognitive
investment in a: story, rather than
a mere body...
which is not to say that
the body isn't cherished:
last time i checked...
i forgot to take my genitals with me to
the brothel... left it in the dollhouse
of Barbie & Strappy...
yet what's persistent is the rigour in
writing the casually sporadic...
sleep deprivation and a diet of
decent video-books...
a drink... a sudoku...
and the chance to catch up
with about 10 hours...
and having the ******
decency to do minor things that involve
other people's boring trivialities...
like cooking dinner...
feeding the cats...
watering the garden...
and trying to figure out:
that teenager who gave me
the ten quid he probably found
(since it was so scruntched up) expecting
me to be his "good uncle" while buying
*****-juice?
****, i thought i was gullible...
he didn't think i was going to
buy something beginning with vod-
as anything less than 37.5%?
he screamed and shouted at me...
apparently the "good uncle" was
on his way, and instead a drunk father stood
before him, telling him:
now you can take it from me and run
along to what's going to a heart-break
since the other guy and the girl you're trying
to impress have already run off
and you're standing with someone twice your age...
or?
so putting the goods on the pavement
taking a step back and putting my hands
on my head said: your choice...
it was your choice to give me the tenner...
but hey, i even put in a little extra
because i probably misheard you...
just a madman's luck that he was screaming
at me as if i was scalping him
which allowed for the attention
of the supermarket
security guard to be prompted
and some people in the carpark...
rare event...
very plain... nothing too spectacular
like climbing mt. everest...
if he started screaming:
you're buying alcohol for minors!
what, with my own money?!
i gambled putting in 6 quid of
my own so that he wouldn't take a litre of
*****...
hence he shouted: theft!
which made no sense since
he voluntarily gave me the ten quid...
fascinating conundrum...
like **** i'd buy minors
alcohol using my own money...
some, the bigger the group:
are smart enough to know the difference
between a common interest,
say, 5 guys and then the scenario becomes
two pipsqueaks and a smurfette...
i already said it once:
me, beer, straight road...
some honest cases you can work with...
teenage tantrums of that sort?
lucky madman loser...
saved ten quid on a bottle of *****.
