/                                          it's noon, july,
              and i find myself
         in possession of the shortest shadow -

so eager,
to anticipate die nacht:
and become...

schatten im selbst -

  or perhaps that's what
a whiskey and indian tonic
water does to you,

   having allowed
almost half
a year to read heidegger's
ponderings VII...

now having arrived at
aphorism III of ponderings
VIII:
              actually
suckling on some sort of
philosophical-poetics!

                i'm the drunk,
  there's no actual poet
to mind,
  and he's a necromantic
reading into the living...
he was the sober peasant,
i'm still the drunk
peasant...

          airy-fairy
and the *****-nilly americanism...
it's still a whiskey
mixer with indian tonic water...

throw the american out
with the coffee from the window...
  
   a whirlwind!
  of conjunction mingling with
interjections -
   always the abrupt...
                        hyphen or a colon?

rules?
                borrowed...
   we'd like to call colon the boss
of both lists (hyper inflating
comma usage) /
                       not using italics,
and...
             what the hell happened
to the origin and upkeep
            of the apostrophe?!

russians?!
   russians are a limited diacritical
application types of a people -
russians are like the english:
   they have no origins in language
encoding,
  in thinking:
                sure, they "think",
but in fact they:                        thing.

this does that this does who,
who does what, what does this.

they "think"... but instead they...
   thing...
                     like any technocracy -
if it works, it works:
   so we don't need the dumb peasant
having been given the instruction
manual...

    top rubric genesis:
bottom rubric exodus...
   hope it works out...

           and since i'm drunk:
and you're probably sober...
                      where's the boxing match
taking place...
  because i was having this
conversation with an english lady
showing off her tattoos to me,
and this guy with a dog
started spewing words like
  filfth, filfth! over
our conversation...

    he can bring the dog...
   i'll bring my belt...

       'cos' at this point i'm:
  ******* frothing at the mouth!
and if i wasn't drinking my usual
suspects of sedatives of
count jameson, and baron daniels,
and king absolute of shveeden...
                      you know what
biting down on your teeth
does to you?
                          ***** parade...
seriously!
     pusshy parade!

                    it's like they're there,
those sort of people, but you're like:
so where's the goliath?

         i want the goliath...
                      i don't want someone who's
dog i'd rather wrestle...
          
katie:
    i'd rather fight his dog, throw myself
into a bush of nettles like
an ancient roman
         than smack that gobshite!

call me, and the night:
   i'll still be frothing at the mouth
like a mad infestation of cattle...
which probably originated from
castrating the bulls.