i already know what book i'll be
taking with me,
while visiting my grandparents
back in Poland...
    a minor relief of limited
internet access to boot...
            ibn sina's book of wisdom...
beyond "good" and "evil" -
an orchestra of the non-differential
aspect of Nietzsche's philosophy...

always the man who gets the woman
pregnant...
  **** me...
     she's 19 and i'm 21...
  and i implore her to get an abortion...
double **** me...
she's lying about contraceptive
pills,
   while i'm yet to ask her about
a full bodied latex suit to explore
past the *******'s worth of
a ******...
   triply **** me...

    we speak different languages -
on maternity leave as we engross
ourselves in English...
     she wants to speak English as
i've taught myself...

quadruply **** me (and now it's
becoming silly)...

              she's not poor...
she's... minted...
       the best job opportunity i received
after having graduated
was an industrial roofing job...
with m'ah p'ah...
   not an easy job...

       but she still doesn't understand
that i'm made of sugar,
and it kept raining in Edinburgh...
which is why?
   i hate the fact that i went
to university...
   it brought too many people from
too many backgrounds
together...

   the poor are cruel to the poor,
the rich are cruel to the rich,
but the rich can't understand the poor,
and the poor can't understand
the rich...

two languages - running parallel -
the only time these two lexicons meet?
in propaganda machinery.

       so i'm the ******* for
"running away"...
i had a ******* job!
    then she calls me up all schizoid
after having done too much MDMA
and LSD and talks about
hearing voices...
  
            great... put a gun to my forehead
and say cheese before pulling
the trigger...

       i was perhaps this close
to joining a firm after having worked
on the tools for five years...
and could have become a manager...

**** me (again):
           art in your spare time...
   and art in your prime time?
            some ****** exhibition of an unmade
bed? in an art gallery?
  guess my room is also an art
gallery... from time to time...

   no wonder poetry without ******,
virility of going bull's charge broke
remains... spare time...
   a hobby...

                metaphysics:
the study, of what is beyond
nature...
     ontology:
   the study, of what is within
nature... esp. human nature...
but see...
      i see the mainstream doesn't
allow itself enough focus on ontology -

it's either the study of
metaphysics... or it's the study of
nature itself...
    ontology anti-reflective -
ontology pro-reflexive:
   the Darwinism camp of investigation,
cute little monkeys...
   but never, our, own:
     scoop of the whole affair...

but?
   i honestly believe that ibn sina
began work on the pilot, scout version
of the Japanese sudoku puzzle...

    i haven't read the book... yet...
but i figured...
     it's a good start,
elevates the already known to me
Kantian 0 = negation
   "magic"...
  whereby by 1 = the antonym of negation...

and i've never come across
   a philosophy book that balances out
the abstract jargon with
concrete words,
    grammatical words -

   all the cuss words?
     conjunctions -
                  i am not going to slow the flow
of the waterfall,
  or reverse the flow of the Vistula river
with a ******* stick
like some crazed Xerxes telling
his slaves to whip the Aegean...

    and in good company too...
Sappho... among Horace, Virgil,
Homer, Ovid yadda yadda...
     was it always supposedly gay
to write poetry, or somethin'?

       the ibn sina
schematic:

        G            A
         0   0   0   0
     K 0   0   0   0 T
     R 0   0   0   0 S
         0   0   0   0
         D           H

talking about what?
the "line" AG is equal to that
of the diagonal line  GH...
evidently? spot the italics...
he would have hard time
making pixel "paper" succumb
to that rule... just ever so lightly
skewed...
   a millimeter maybe less...
but that schematic, above?
is the genesis of sudoku...
  you already have 8 letters
invoked...
                   add the zero -
and you have your
       0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8...

always the money...
         always...
                     no chemical jobs
available in Scotland after
graduation,
  the only option being to move
back to London and
follow my father's suite of
industrial roofing...
   and having to live with
your future in laws...

   never a pretty option for
a St. Petersburg princess...
       who's father apparently owns
a Siberian logging firm,
working a land size of
of the full extent of
             what used to be
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth
(pre partition) -

   and then? whatever love is...
old wounds don't heal...
apparently not between Polacks
and Rushkies...
   by the way... not a derogatory
term...
    my father wasn't a shoe
and my mother wasn't a coffee table.

the rich are unkind to the rich,
the poor are unkind to the poor,
and the two sorts of people,
have to somehow put up
with the Bourgeoisie....
           i'd still prefer to deal with
new money...
                  political-economic virgins...
not an inch of gangrene crust
on their bodies...

    so much for happy relationships.
no wonder then...
  Byzantine and Templar monk chants.