yesterday was such a bad day for writing...
but only today, did i figure it out...
drinking and listening
to political commentary videos?

bad idea...

        you either drink, self-DJ...
        bug the bopping along on a windowsill
sitting on one of your folded legs,
massaging your **** with your heel...
or you listen to, hell...
as Sartre put it, namely other people...

thank god writing has an in-built
censorship bot included -
  which is more effective than for those
people who make videos...
   hardly any click-bait,
   a censorship that is by sly invitation,
and after having joined
Facebook, when it started in its university
innocence?
   and then seeing adverts pop up?

hell... Facebook is one company...
on the other side of the extreme are
the supermarket chains, German,
Lidl and Aldi...

   this is how advertisement works -
(a) you employ it,
  when either your company is failing
or
   (b) when it's branching out...
growing, on the positive note...

i can actually understand (b) -
a healthy advertisement mode -
but (a)? sick to the core.

     so... yesterday was a bad day for writing,
i've heard too much...
   too much commentary,
i succumbed to a quasi writer's bloc larynx
numbing...
   although i still haven't said anything
within the confines of my outer-urban
"prison cell"...

       hell, have a garden...
sometimes a kestrel swoops and sits on
the fence... the glorious crane...
and come mid-autumn,
   a squadron of migrating Canadian geese...

too much talk, which is always bad
for poetry, however prosaic,
and, anti-schooling in recognizable insertions
of autosuggestion "demands"
for, metaphors and the like...

            too much blah blah...
       worries about censorship...
that got me...
    
   only a few days i doxed myself -
       i already gave the information
to henry westons cider company...
              
em... i used to collect swords?
the first sword i ever bought was a hussar's
lance sword, roughly 1.5m long...
          might as well fetch it from
the attic, and hang in on my wall,
just in case an angry mob comes to my house...

vanity... ha ha...
   no... i already have genuine problems
with my neighbor...
  the problem will bug me for some time...
how can he tell me,
what i can and can't do on my property,
within the confines of sensibility?!
  i howled in the night once,
like a wolf...
    but did he bother to listen to the sound
foxes make at night?
      wolves are nothing by comparison...
you really have to hear
a fox at night...
   to get the picture...

       as the saying goes:
   it's always the darkest under the street lamp...
if i'm having problems with
my "neighbor"...
why do i need to worry about
someone on the other side of the world?

hell... Americans can have their guns...
i have a stash of about a dozen swords...
my favorite?
   a replica...
  bought in Camden Town...
                of a Russian shashka...
b'ah! kitchen knives are for the kitchen...
but there's someone pesky at
your door...
     i guess i'll simply have to bring
the shashka out...
   sharpen it,
    hang it on my wall among the art work...
and?

                                            wait.