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Aug 2018
.what's that Jack Kerouac book? Buddha of suburbia? more like Hospitaller of suburbia, by the looks of it...

and there's drink and there's drink,
and there's drink drink drink,
and drink...

              am i in Valhalla already?
what's up with ms. Amber?
  that liquid deity of whiskers & the ost key?
****!
    another loose cannon!
           but not orthodox canon, though?
good...
  sign me up for a power nap...
     back in 15... once all the fame game
fizzles out...

      **** me... back on the ***!
like i said to this black guy
  going out with a white girl
in a Liverpool St. pub...
  so... watcha drinking?
   *** & coke...
oh come on...
  that's a ****** name...
   so i eyed him,
thank god he was donning an excuse for
****** hair...

  look!         blackbeard!
you're drinking a blackbeard!
       what was i supposed to say?
nice minstrels?!
the girl giggled,
   the pair left,
but i was still stuck with this
Irish Indian mongrel who asked
the Wong question...
   where you from?
Essex.
  but really really from?
some people put me down as
a German, either the hairline,
the crop itself, the cheekbones,
of the jaw line...
pedigree...
           **** ****** off before
i even began to express my like
for the engineering that wernt
into the Hindenburg,
before, you know, Led Zeppelin
took off...
  
   ha ha!
i'm starting to appreciate
the dementia cinema of old people...
better than LSD...
these memory flashbacks...
           i could pig snout that ****
all day long...
      oh right...
i have half decent memories...
my bad...

   i'm not english but i do know
that when a casual strange
expresses "sorrow" with the word sorry,
the act that appeases saying
sorry, if half intention,
but the sorrow in the word
utilized? it's not there, never was...

or how about -
that's nice: ridicule, par excellence...
does engish have to boil down
to Darwin and not ontology?
which means?
i guess ontology is frightening
to certain peoples,
other than the jolly rogers of
being constantly bothered by it,
like the german...

wait... i thought the Anglicans
were cousins with zee Germans?!

my bad...

           as the saying goes:
either one liners at the Edinburgh
festival, or a decent narrative,
no punchline,
      a disorientating coming together...

dating?
     last time i checked...
walked to the supermarket, passed
a tom boy on a bench imploring her
phone for ****** expression...
walking back with *****
of decent 7% beer, asked to sit down...
offered a lighter...
talked for about 1 minutes,
asked it - not yet her
to come back to mine...

played her some jazz... drank
a bit, smoked...
ended up ******* her in
the garden...

****-naked in the moonlight...
instead of ******* into her mouth,
pulled out, did it in my hand,
and then threw it aside...

walked her home...
while she drowned in my hoodie...
she implored me not to drink...
   i said thank you,
but that's not going to happen...
kissed her forehead,
received a ring
    woven by a neck bracelet...

turns out she was a she...
a transgender
   Filipino tom-boy wearing
a sports bra...
          messy ****...
as all pick-ups are concerning
a public space like a park,
and 2 hours later... ******* in the garden...

but i have to admit...
   i was waiting for the Thai surprise
once i reached into her underwear...
lucky me or thrilled me...
what's it going to be?
       an oyster...
  or floating Alaskan timber?!

dating... ha ha!
    Camden Town...
      next to the station...
sly drinking a pouch of *****...
    oh yeah yeah,
trying to write a poetry  book...
     blah blah...
so what's more important to you
than accompanying two girls
to this other nightclub?
no much...
    but i hate being late...
  i decided to have a drink with
this guy who asked if i was gay
as we discussed whether
Rick Rubin was a better produced
to Timberland...
      ending with:
   why do people stare at you?
with the reply: i just have one of
those punching bag faces...
so she gives me her number...
          i text it the next day...
ghost.
                            
             hey, ms. Amber is always frisky...
with, or without the Valkyries...
  whoever they are...
     if are, at all...

       and thank god i actually competed
with an American over a French
exchange student when i did lose
my virginity,
                then the desert...
then a brothel in Poland,
with a centipede of Ukrainian girl's legs...
way past the Moulin Rouge cancan
dance...
                       2 hours...
              no ******* at any time...
*******...

           but please! Sancha!
  Sancha! i want my DVD back!
         i want the Machinist back!
                 couldn't you have at least
had the *******'s decency after 4 *****
with me the 5th...
to lubricate?
               what was it, ****?
          that's the second girl i slept
with that somehow appreciated
both a dark room, and doing it under
the bed sheets... ****!
can't breath!
     how can cocoon *** with the already
dark room, rather than darkened
say, dimmed lights, candlelight ever
produce arousal?
      
               *** education has,
suddenly, become, much more intricate,
point break, standard...
        Sancha, a Boer South African
didn't have, the same ******* courtesy of
a Puerto Rican ******* in Amsterdam...

****...
                   hence my query about ****...
no ****** would ever go along
and shove his gangrene phallus into,
what feels like... a ******* sandpit!

                  we cooked dinner together!
we watched a film together!
she invited me back to her abode!
then again...
   ah!
        you know where she was hoarding
her ***?
  
    in an all-male boarding school...
the boys were on holiday...
   THAT'S WHY SHE WAS DRY
down below!
                 **** me! what a revelation!
spending all the year
with adolescent boys...
   a man older than hear
didn't excite her!
           ****! **** **** **** ****!
i never saw that coming
at the most reasonable explanation
why i was pseudo-***** by
a dehydrated oyster!

             if you spend so much time
with boys who have only just
embarked on a journey of testosterone...
and you're getting all that
schoolboy affection from them?
no wonder a man who's older than
you will not turn you on!

          that **** i went to a *******
and know what the etiquette is
like, when you've just ****** 4 and you're
about to **** a 5th...

       good to know...
                         what's MGTOW again?    
does it have anything to do
with listening to a choir of monks sing?
Byzantine, Templar... anything?
oh right... not really...
          oops... i'll be on my way...
right about...           NOW.
Mateuš Conrad
Written by
Mateuš Conrad  34/M/Essex (England)
(34/M/Essex (England))   
82
 
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