Jan 2020
.if you want the fresh impromptu, you might as well skip this unpublished draft, i'm even starting to think about leaking my hellopoetry.com password... but given my suspension... FOR 8 MONTHS because of some soccer mum not having encountered something akin to a harlequin novel... i'll leave it at that: •••••••••••••••••, here's to some depeche mode... last time i checked, even africans have the same inside of their hands "whitened"... there is no racial difference to be allowed to read into chiromancy... i met one ***-, tomikuni... he also inquired about reading my hands... we're all pale, governed by the thumb, when asked, or not asked, to hold "something".
and what is the only variant of classical
music, heard on a radio?
well... there's the fama radio night
sessions - with not adverts
radiofama.com.pl -
it might be your take on what the french
tell the english, i.e.: euro-trash...
but no adverts...
and there is no reason
to concede to reviving punk,
hippy music didn't see a revival,
why should punk?
a variant of classical music radio,
akin to bbc 2, or classic fm...
that "oddity" of a morphed bbc 4
internet coverage, akin to lionel nation...
and what i mean by that,
is not h. d. thompson's gonzo...
the allure of the, un-scripted...
and all of this is raw, flesh,
language at a smithfield
or a billingsgate...
talk-radio as the logical conlusion
of exposing your child to classical music...
it's genius -
reverting back to classical music
once you're older, and don't play
an instrument?
what's the point?
dr steve turley bashing out a medieval
mash-up on the guitar...
and that's "not" even
inspiration for a rock star status...
i like his smugness -
it's... zesty, lime-like:
certainty of the twinkling
of the eye that consists of:
a remaining - intact, i.e., sane.
bbc radio 4?
what, with zee archers nonsense?
this radio novella
that keeps propping itself up
like a bad take on eastenders without
the kray brothers?
talk-radio is all about
a non-existent "script":
the flamboyance of spontaneity...
with the crux, being?
ensō -
the only aspect of ζεν, a ταoιστ might
respect.
p.s.
do i believe in u.f.o. s?
(****, acronyms and the plural article
attached to them, mind boggling)
no... but i've seen one, so the belief impetus
is, kind'ah missing in me...
i've transcended speculation,
a question-worthiness on the matter...
since the question no longer manifests
itself in the narration impetus?
the impetus for narrative, is narration per se;
and how lovely, it is to see
a noumenon...
when the world of phenomenons
reads like this:
the times newspaper, saturday, july 21,
2018,
OVER 70,000 CHILDREN
PUT ON PILLS FOR DEPRESSION...
great headline...
alas, a chemistry degree (3rd)
from edinburgh uni.,
am i chemo-phobic?
i should ask myself that
same question, when i next
brush my teeth, apply shampoo to
my cranium,
or wash my hands.
__________
as any drunk might,
now i know why my parents decided
to leave Poland...
Chernobyll...
when you hear the facts...
about a single gram of Uranium, U-236,
2.34 x 10 to the power of seven, years
being the "half-life" or...
****, i should have read over my
chemistry notes from Edinburgh...
before the particle fizzles out...
i was lucky...
i am to born again with the age bracket
of 33... which means i only received
a Cain tattoo on my right shoulder-blade...
birth-mark,
apparently i suffered greatly as a child,
hernia and all...
i had the birth-mark removed,
i'm pretty sure i was a donor,
my flesh became donated to
some scientific lab and studied...
here's my Shylock pound...
given what's currently happening in my
home city...
with the slow decay, the ever more increasing
number of cancer victims, middle-aged....
they're talking about the sort of cancer
that... moves, visibly, under your skin...
people are freaking out...
it's not a joke,
the soviets wanted to hush hush the whole
affair...
3.2 of whatever scale...
was hushed... but the reality was
aquivalent to 400 x-rays in a spell of a minute...
i was under the impression that i was
the child of economic migrants...
eh eh...
i don't think that's actually the whole
picture...
come on! if people were hot and bothered
in Minsk... Belarus...
this wasn't a ******* tornado...
tornados come and go... we're talking
500 years of after-effects...
even my great-grandmother
remembers how the trees in the local park
were affected... streaks of autumn trees...
among streaks of actual spring green
phosphorescent trees illuminated
by street lamps...
like the current phosphorescent green
oaks in england...
they fled... and took me with them...
who gives a **** whether i came to england
without speaking the language...
hiding in toilets at my primary school...
but then... one day...
after self-teaching myself the language,
studious, labour of the mind,
books and books...
i was the teacher's pet...
i remember this one time...
st. augustine's, near barkingside...
i was the only kid doing long arithmetic...
while the "natives" decided to
stage a: lord of the flies sort of coup
against the replacement teacher...
and what happened when our...
****... ms. mcguire! can't believe i still
remember her name...
i wasn't happy that the children
were scolded,
i did my work, they didn't,
and i managed to do whatever i wanted
while they had to catch-up
on what i already did...
for whatever childhood i had,
i still remember it fondly...
my father being unable to teach me how
to swim in the english channel,
me teaching myself to swim out of sheer
will and determination: competition...
i know people brag about:
how smart they were so early on:
yadda yadda bull... ****!
now i am here to take out my investment
in this language,
to... peacock and strut...
as i am also glad to not brag about
being a polyglot or a... eh... somewhat polymath...
either this... or a slump in depression
and suicide thinking:
as always... i don't get out of bed
and think of one impossible thing,
i get out of bed to overcome one suicidal thought...
not all suicidal thinking is the end game,
some of it relieves you in having
integrating a kick-up your **** to get out of bed!
so... the picture...
well like any past-time of any: happily to be drunk...
walking is one,
the other...
i wanted to experience a hamsa...
i was going to do the whole hand,
but i figured: spare some of that ink
for what you're going to write on your grandfather's
80th birthday card...
poor ******...
he still remembers getting sweets from
two SS-men in black,
sweets that would stick his hands together...
he still remembers how his uncle
laid in a patch of green, shot dead,
how the russian soldiers would rather prefer
to sleep in the barns with the goats
on hay rather than in beds,
how most of them were teenagers...
and how my grandmother's ultimate insult
to him was: that he was a skurwysyn:
*******...
well... he does have 3 other brothers...
half-brothers...
eh... clown needs to juggle?
however bad he was...
we did go fishing together...
but now that he's demented...
and has a dementia routine...
it's hard to tell what it feels
in this, transition period of the perils of
us, the mortal men...
i could never associated mortality
with any sort of morality,
other than it being dictated by one's
own ambition: to keep as many people
from my private life as possible.
so when my jewish neighbor
recently converted to islam drops by and
comments about my barber skills:
you and my son look like you've just been
released from auschwitz birkenau...
we laugh...
and how it suits me... beard and all...
monk...
cool cool...
i'm still studying the qabbalah...
christianity became... too poverty
stricken for me, in terms of points of reference...
although not circumcised...
why would i be?
that extra bit of skin is
for me to not be ashamed of jerking off once
in a while...
pije... pali... konia wali.
and this is where the: right hand doesn't
know what the left hand is doing...
regarding chiromancy...
tzayach's...
i tattooed over chokhmah,
chesed and netzach....
for the love of god...
there's no girdle of venus on either
of my hands...
either hand looks like there's
a letter imprinted on them: M...
i had a "fwend" in high school
once... god, what is it with the muslims...
either they want to **** you,
or convert you!
started his own muslim chiromancy...
talked **** about how there's
the number 72 on my hands...
the number of names of the goat-blood
allah god...
no... i'm pretty ******* sure that's an M...
anyway...
p.s.
and then you look up those words ref.
chiromancy...
as ever, better to bewilder yourself
with what's in front of you,
in your posession than to *******
yourself around the zodiac brothel of
... well... even the zodiac killer
is more fascinating than all this: "constellations
talk"... yeah, and a paragraph of
marquis de sade's writing is more
of a hard-on than some harlequin novel!
i tattooed over the words:
chokhmah... in the sefirot tree:
wisdom... yah...
chesed... ditto:
love... el...
netzach... ditto:
victory... adonoy tzevaot...
2, 4, 7... those are the allocated numbers
to the sefirot tree...
whether or not gematria is your thing...
because i'm the type of, "guy",
that likes the maxim: i'll meet you half-way,
now you meet me, half-way...
how could any muslim,
think i could convert,
to the brat ******* son of christianity,
who keeps nagging,
and nagging, and punching and screaming...
if, that is, monotheism is a noble cause...
why would i look toward
the evolutionary direction...
no past, only forward,
how much of darwinism is about:
forward...
all our ancestors were idiots...
ah... but what will those,
who will inherit what we... floundered think,
of us?
not much, by the looks of things...
what have i done?
to love wisdom,
is to find victory...
the will, will come from itself,
and the power, vested in it,
i don't need to look for the "logos"
via the christian deity...
i merely look at the genesis of the idea...
Heraclitus...
and that's it...
and why do i do "stupid" things when drinking...
like pretending to tattoo my hand?
i do not possess the luxury of dreaming...
rarely... i do, but mostly:
it's the abyss that entertains me...
so i have to do something stupid
within the framework of a "today",
that i might sharpen my memory for
a "tomorrow"...
i have nothing to learn from
the christians...
i might as well turn to paganism
if, and only if,
my... deposed fascination with
judaism diminishes...
i don't even care whether
i'm a jew or not, a yew: paraphrasing
the prefix from yiddish...
those people, were citizens of Paul-on-a-leash...
land...
this is the best i can offer...
i'm not... **** like the ******* caduceus
of protruding veins wrapping
the ******* intact?
****... here's a chimera for you:
**** of a Hermes, heart of a...
head of a...
feet of a...
and a tail of a dobberman-albino-monkey:
when it was still aesthetically pleasing
to trim the ears and cut off the tail
of that particular dog breed!
and... i'm still drinking...
what have you...
bitter, inconsistent, whatever you like...
i'll just trap this in the internet index,
open a newspaper from sunday,
that big one, format,
the old school way of reading
an english newspaper:
having once tried folding a page
on the tube (underground)...
never mind, thank god i still have
my *******...
i don't look like a ******* loser
all of the time jerking off
without having one...
yeah: i'm pretty sure the kippah
has something to do with:
the imitation game, of medieval monk's
donning the tonsure haircut.
p.p.s. em... revision, it was actually U-235...
and the core of a nuclear power-plant...
being exposed...
like 40 ******* Hiroshima explosions
in one hour, non-verbatim...
but Chernobyl was a ghost town
without the sort of tourism manifesto
of Zionists...
who would have to revisit
the grave of their ancestry...
no "big" deal though...
m'eh, just a little glitch...
no children in Frankfurt being told
to not play outdoors...
just a glitch...
the holocaust is forever
the major no. 1 human disaster...
pre-planned...
say... why study jurisprudence,
when not having studied the thesaurus
helps, i mean:
isn't all of the jursprudent concept
based upon access to a thesaurus,
aren't all nouns: "suspect",
readied for the synonym spaghetti
counsil? no? my bad?
oh, oh... good to know! really great,
great to know: who the ****
is peddling this sort of *******!
weasels.
even your own shadows will
not forgive you...
mark my word...
whether angels, demons,
your own shadows will not forgive
you...
you'll be dancing the *******
1518 dancing plague:
whether you like it or not!
let's take a summary:
what looks worse,
Chernobyl or, Auschwitz?
how many tourists visit Auschwitz,
how many tourists visit Chernobyl?
hmm...
tough number to crack open
for comparison...
this is the one time i will
craft a crux for / of moral relativism...
who was gagging for it,
and... who wasn't... when it happened:
"out of the blue"?
let's just say:
Chernobyl wasn't premeditated...
Auschwitz, was...
now i did start learning
about the qabbalah for a reason:
the holocaust wasn't the worst horror
of the 20th century,
the 20th century prime tattoo of historical
events: wasn't Auschwitz...
and i will, continue,
to learn qabbalah, denoucning my "christianity",
for this, sole, reason...
the yews, jews, yids,
aren't the only people alive in this world,
i'm not going to buy into this
solipsistic narrative complex...
esp. when i will, forthrightly:
denounce who was crucified...
i'm done... with the unearthing of
the nag hammadi library in 1945,
complimented by the josephus ben matthias
historian...
how jesus, "son of god"
played chinese whispers in the gosepl of
st. thomas...
n'ah... n'ah mate... i'm done...
find yourself a ******* imam
or a rabbi: my mind is made up!
ich will tanz diese tango...
egal du wie es, oder nicht!
sorry... whether deutsche or not,
west saxon grammar translates itself:
*** essex bound.
and what is the only variant of classical
music, heard on a radio?
well... there's the fama radio night
sessions - with not adverts
radiofama.com.pl -
it might be your take on what the french
tell the english, i.e.: euro-trash...
but no adverts...
and there is no reason
to concede to reviving punk,
hippy music didn't see a revival,
why should punk?
a variant of classical music radio,
akin to bbc 2, or classic fm...
that "oddity" of a morphed bbc 4
internet coverage, akin to lionel nation...
and what i mean by that,
is not h. d. thompson's gonzo...
the allure of the, un-scripted...
and all of this is raw, flesh,
language at a smithfield
or a billingsgate...
talk-radio as the logical conlusion
of exposing your child to classical music...
it's genius -
reverting back to classical music
once you're older, and don't play
an instrument?
what's the point?
dr steve turley bashing out a medieval
mash-up on the guitar...
and that's "not" even
inspiration for a rock star status...
i like his smugness -
it's... zesty, lime-like:
certainty of the twinkling
of the eye that consists of:
a remaining - intact, i.e., sane.
bbc radio 4?
what, with zee archers nonsense?
this radio novella
that keeps propping itself up
like a bad take on eastenders without
the kray brothers?
talk-radio is all about
a non-existent "script":
the flamboyance of spontaneity...
with the crux, being?
ensō -
the only aspect of ζεν, a ταoιστ might
respect.
p.s.
do i believe in u.f.o. s?
(****, acronyms and the plural article
attached to them, mind boggling)
no... but i've seen one, so the belief impetus
is, kind'ah missing in me...
i've transcended speculation,
a question-worthiness on the matter...
since the question no longer manifests
itself in the narration impetus?
the impetus for narrative, is narration per se;
and how lovely, it is to see
a noumenon...
when the world of phenomenons
reads like this:
the times newspaper, saturday, july 21,
2018,
OVER 70,000 CHILDREN
PUT ON PILLS FOR DEPRESSION...
great headline...
alas, a chemistry degree (3rd)
from edinburgh uni.,
am i chemo-phobic?
i should ask myself that
same question, when i next
brush my teeth, apply shampoo to
my cranium,
or wash my hands.
__________
as any drunk might,
now i know why my parents decided
to leave Poland...
Chernobyll...
when you hear the facts...
about a single gram of Uranium, U-236,
2.34 x 10 to the power of seven, years
being the "half-life" or...
****, i should have read over my
chemistry notes from Edinburgh...
before the particle fizzles out...
i was lucky...
i am to born again with the age bracket
of 33... which means i only received
a Cain tattoo on my right shoulder-blade...
birth-mark,
apparently i suffered greatly as a child,
hernia and all...
i had the birth-mark removed,
i'm pretty sure i was a donor,
my flesh became donated to
some scientific lab and studied...
here's my Shylock pound...
given what's currently happening in my
home city...
with the slow decay, the ever more increasing
number of cancer victims, middle-aged....
they're talking about the sort of cancer
that... moves, visibly, under your skin...
people are freaking out...
it's not a joke,
the soviets wanted to hush hush the whole
affair...
3.2 of whatever scale...
was hushed... but the reality was
aquivalent to 400 x-rays in a spell of a minute...
i was under the impression that i was
the child of economic migrants...
eh eh...
i don't think that's actually the whole
picture...
come on! if people were hot and bothered
in Minsk... Belarus...
this wasn't a ******* tornado...
tornados come and go... we're talking
500 years of after-effects...
even my great-grandmother
remembers how the trees in the local park
were affected... streaks of autumn trees...
among streaks of actual spring green
phosphorescent trees illuminated
by street lamps...
like the current phosphorescent green
oaks in england...
they fled... and took me with them...
who gives a **** whether i came to england
without speaking the language...
hiding in toilets at my primary school...
but then... one day...
after self-teaching myself the language,
studious, labour of the mind,
books and books...
i was the teacher's pet...
i remember this one time...
st. augustine's, near barkingside...
i was the only kid doing long arithmetic...
while the "natives" decided to
stage a: lord of the flies sort of coup
against the replacement teacher...
and what happened when our...
****... ms. mcguire! can't believe i still
remember her name...
i wasn't happy that the children
were scolded,
i did my work, they didn't,
and i managed to do whatever i wanted
while they had to catch-up
on what i already did...
for whatever childhood i had,
i still remember it fondly...
my father being unable to teach me how
to swim in the english channel,
me teaching myself to swim out of sheer
will and determination: competition...
i know people brag about:
how smart they were so early on:
yadda yadda bull... ****!
now i am here to take out my investment
in this language,
to... peacock and strut...
as i am also glad to not brag about
being a polyglot or a... eh... somewhat polymath...
either this... or a slump in depression
and suicide thinking:
as always... i don't get out of bed
and think of one impossible thing,
i get out of bed to overcome one suicidal thought...
not all suicidal thinking is the end game,
some of it relieves you in having
integrating a kick-up your **** to get out of bed!
so... the picture...
well like any past-time of any: happily to be drunk...
walking is one,
the other...
i wanted to experience a hamsa...
i was going to do the whole hand,
but i figured: spare some of that ink
for what you're going to write on your grandfather's
80th birthday card...
poor ******...
he still remembers getting sweets from
two SS-men in black,
sweets that would stick his hands together...
he still remembers how his uncle
laid in a patch of green, shot dead,
how the russian soldiers would rather prefer
to sleep in the barns with the goats
on hay rather than in beds,
how most of them were teenagers...
and how my grandmother's ultimate insult
to him was: that he was a skurwysyn:
*******...
well... he does have 3 other brothers...
half-brothers...
eh... clown needs to juggle?
however bad he was...
we did go fishing together...
but now that he's demented...
and has a dementia routine...
it's hard to tell what it feels
in this, transition period of the perils of
us, the mortal men...
i could never associated mortality
with any sort of morality,
other than it being dictated by one's
own ambition: to keep as many people
from my private life as possible.
so when my jewish neighbor
recently converted to islam drops by and
comments about my barber skills:
you and my son look like you've just been
released from auschwitz birkenau...
we laugh...
and how it suits me... beard and all...
monk...
cool cool...
i'm still studying the qabbalah...
christianity became... too poverty
stricken for me, in terms of points of reference...
although not circumcised...
why would i be?
that extra bit of skin is
for me to not be ashamed of jerking off once
in a while...
pije... pali... konia wali.
and this is where the: right hand doesn't
know what the left hand is doing...
regarding chiromancy...
tzayach's...
i tattooed over chokhmah,
chesed and netzach....
for the love of god...
there's no girdle of venus on either
of my hands...
either hand looks like there's
a letter imprinted on them: M...
i had a "fwend" in high school
once... god, what is it with the muslims...
either they want to **** you,
or convert you!
started his own muslim chiromancy...
talked **** about how there's
the number 72 on my hands...
the number of names of the goat-blood
allah god...
no... i'm pretty ******* sure that's an M...
anyway...
p.s.
and then you look up those words ref.
chiromancy...
as ever, better to bewilder yourself
with what's in front of you,
in your posession than to *******
yourself around the zodiac brothel of
... well... even the zodiac killer
is more fascinating than all this: "constellations
talk"... yeah, and a paragraph of
marquis de sade's writing is more
of a hard-on than some harlequin novel!
i tattooed over the words:
chokhmah... in the sefirot tree:
wisdom... yah...
chesed... ditto:
love... el...
netzach... ditto:
victory... adonoy tzevaot...
2, 4, 7... those are the allocated numbers
to the sefirot tree...
whether or not gematria is your thing...
because i'm the type of, "guy",
that likes the maxim: i'll meet you half-way,
now you meet me, half-way...
how could any muslim,
think i could convert,
to the brat ******* son of christianity,
who keeps nagging,
and nagging, and punching and screaming...
if, that is, monotheism is a noble cause...
why would i look toward
the evolutionary direction...
no past, only forward,
how much of darwinism is about:
forward...
all our ancestors were idiots...
ah... but what will those,
who will inherit what we... floundered think,
of us?
not much, by the looks of things...
what have i done?
to love wisdom,
is to find victory...
the will, will come from itself,
and the power, vested in it,
i don't need to look for the "logos"
via the christian deity...
i merely look at the genesis of the idea...
Heraclitus...
and that's it...
and why do i do "stupid" things when drinking...
like pretending to tattoo my hand?
i do not possess the luxury of dreaming...
rarely... i do, but mostly:
it's the abyss that entertains me...
so i have to do something stupid
within the framework of a "today",
that i might sharpen my memory for
a "tomorrow"...
i have nothing to learn from
the christians...
i might as well turn to paganism
if, and only if,
my... deposed fascination with
judaism diminishes...
i don't even care whether
i'm a jew or not, a yew: paraphrasing
the prefix from yiddish...
those people, were citizens of Paul-on-a-leash...
land...
this is the best i can offer...
i'm not... **** like the ******* caduceus
of protruding veins wrapping
the ******* intact?
****... here's a chimera for you:
**** of a Hermes, heart of a...
head of a...
feet of a...
and a tail of a dobberman-albino-monkey:
when it was still aesthetically pleasing
to trim the ears and cut off the tail
of that particular dog breed!
and... i'm still drinking...
what have you...
bitter, inconsistent, whatever you like...
i'll just trap this in the internet index,
open a newspaper from sunday,
that big one, format,
the old school way of reading
an english newspaper:
having once tried folding a page
on the tube (underground)...
never mind, thank god i still have
my *******...
i don't look like a ******* loser
all of the time jerking off
without having one...
yeah: i'm pretty sure the kippah
has something to do with:
the imitation game, of medieval monk's
donning the tonsure haircut.
p.p.s. em... revision, it was actually U-235...
and the core of a nuclear power-plant...
being exposed...
like 40 ******* Hiroshima explosions
in one hour, non-verbatim...
but Chernobyl was a ghost town
without the sort of tourism manifesto
of Zionists...
who would have to revisit
the grave of their ancestry...
no "big" deal though...
m'eh, just a little glitch...
no children in Frankfurt being told
to not play outdoors...
just a glitch...
the holocaust is forever
the major no. 1 human disaster...
pre-planned...
say... why study jurisprudence,
when not having studied the thesaurus
helps, i mean:
isn't all of the jursprudent concept
based upon access to a thesaurus,
aren't all nouns: "suspect",
readied for the synonym spaghetti
counsil? no? my bad?
oh, oh... good to know! really great,
great to know: who the ****
is peddling this sort of *******!
weasels.
even your own shadows will
not forgive you...
mark my word...
whether angels, demons,
your own shadows will not forgive
you...
you'll be dancing the *******
1518 dancing plague:
whether you like it or not!
let's take a summary:
what looks worse,
Chernobyl or, Auschwitz?
how many tourists visit Auschwitz,
how many tourists visit Chernobyl?
hmm...
tough number to crack open
for comparison...
this is the one time i will
craft a crux for / of moral relativism...
who was gagging for it,
and... who wasn't... when it happened:
"out of the blue"?
let's just say:
Chernobyl wasn't premeditated...
Auschwitz, was...
now i did start learning
about the qabbalah for a reason:
the holocaust wasn't the worst horror
of the 20th century,
the 20th century prime tattoo of historical
events: wasn't Auschwitz...
and i will, continue,
to learn qabbalah, denoucning my "christianity",
for this, sole, reason...
the yews, jews, yids,
aren't the only people alive in this world,
i'm not going to buy into this
solipsistic narrative complex...
esp. when i will, forthrightly:
denounce who was crucified...
i'm done... with the unearthing of
the nag hammadi library in 1945,
complimented by the josephus ben matthias
historian...
how jesus, "son of god"
played chinese whispers in the gosepl of
st. thomas...
n'ah... n'ah mate... i'm done...
find yourself a ******* imam
or a rabbi: my mind is made up!
ich will tanz diese tango...
egal du wie es, oder nicht!
sorry... whether deutsche or not,
west saxon grammar translates itself:
*** essex bound.
