well then...
   i have my night ventures to tell too...

what would happened
to the two girls who
had a falling out
at a house party,

   with me walking out a park at
night, having sipped
a whiskey and a beer chaser,
having soaked the London
skyline from Mashiter's Hill,
climbing over the fence
and finding one of the girls?

fueled by a teenage girl's obnoxious
rage against her friend,
giving her a sip of the whiskey
to calm the nerves,
and teaching her how
to roll a cigarette...

and then... incident with a black
cat sitting on a public lawn next
to a bus-stop... never mind...
she thought i was some sort of
warlock or ****...
black cats, 13... whatever...

plus her phone died...
at a time when i still had a phone...
(a) calling her friend
asking where she was...
and
(b) calling her dad to pick her
up from a well known
location, the supermarket...

with regards to
(a) found the poor thing,
laying face down at a bus stop...
took my jumper off
gave it to her...

'it's so big'...
yeah, a 14 year old in a 30 year old's
man's jumper will tend
to disappear...

well, her dad came,
they took a selfie of the three of us
sitting at the bus-stop
and... that was my night...

or that other time when
this *******, irritating coca-head
came up to me,
and starting talking to me about
his estranged wife
and how he was a dutiful father
caring for his child
growing illegal cannabis
using illegal Vietnamese
in his loft,
  
   off his rockers, high as a kite,
talkative, telling me his life story,
showing me his bruised knuckles
telling me: i've had a rough
upbringing...
paranoid as a coca-head would be
talking to strangers at night,
touching my chest thinking
i was an undercover police office...

the ****** strained my patience
for more than half a mile
walking to the supermarket...
mate... i'm just going to get some beers!
relentless, but he ****** off
after a while...

or that time when i was walking
back home, sipping a beer,
and this girl was walking past
and she said:
  don't you dare touch me...
(a) i was sipping beer
(b) i was smoking
(c) one song changed and another
was about to begin blasting
from my headphones
a + b + c =
(d) i was minding my own business,
which wasn't much to
begin with...
   so?
     i gave out the most malicious
laugh...
turned around?
           RUN FOREST! RUN!
well... it was more like a geisha
attempting a high jump...

or... ****...
   why would two girls stop their car,
shove a hat onto my head
and take a picture?
what's that about?
      am i meme somewhere
that i should know about?

*** with a beer in hand
wearing a baseball cap...
    
            or there are the forest incidents,
or me rolling in a bed of
autumn leaves snorting out
the scent of liquorice sickly
sweetness of botanical rot...

   like i said:
  i have zero imagination... ZEE RHO...
if i did, i'd be writing
some fantasy novel,
about some fantasy incarnation
of Lucifer, or a hobbit or...
    some other ******* that's
great, when it becomes a movie,
but otherwise a yawn-read...

i'm pretty sure i could have been
a great butcher's son...
with an Azrael lounging,
and me feeding him shy trimmings
of raw meat...
or fish eyes...
     you didn't know that?
cats love fish eyes...
   well... "cats"... most of them are
picky *******...
last one i had...
loved olives...
                     yeah... olives.

too much fun in the night-time -
and god... the peace...
esp. in the woods...
  given?

     i sometimes like to walk in places
where i can leave my shadow,
and become as one,
with much more than the night...
the murky bile of pure, darkness.        

plus... about lying...
    drunks have this annoying tendency
to tell the truth,
one motto: in vino veritas...
             oh the drinking is not to write
with some bogus variant of
"courage"... that sort of courage goes
into going to a brothel
  and sitting before the court of
the Nazgûl...
                            i drink to write,
not that i write to drink
  (unlike Hitchens, or
                    william Styron)...
                         i need the truth potion...
i leave the lying and the idealization of
their overt-Platonism
       to the brains but no ***** brigade...

**** it, i should have said something back
when it happened,
standing on the edge of a wood with
a quicksilver field of grass before me...
a shape approaches...
but then the mindless happy scuttling
of four-feat...

         came running up to me...
licking, yapping, tails doing the carousel
combo of eyes with unconditional love...
jumped at me, the four of them,
yanked my headphones off...
headphones i was given to by my
neighbor, Joseph,
               which... god... i can't believe it
even today,
i traded for the CD
of Lao Che's album gusła...
which i bought back in my hometown
when my hometown could still boast
having a music shop...

                        that town? ****** as
the rotting **** of a zombie...
once it was fun...
   you had a music shop and an internet
cafe, or at least several of them...
two! two! two music shops!
a man could be a boy!
****'s sake...
     they even managed to get rid of
drinking hubs...

now all it is, is: churches and supermarkets...
i swear to god...
churches and supermarkets...
so much for this nationalistic revival...
pray all day and perhaps shop
if it's not a Sunday...
the Sunday part with regards
to shops not being open, i don't mind...
but...

    then again... i don't mind....
the man's dogs liked me...
and i can never refuse the joy of a dog...
the joy of a dog is like no other joy in
this godforsaken world...
         honestly?
   beats listening to a woman ******...
because?
   it clenches the thirsts of the heart...
and is never about optics or
the equivalent of an opera singer;
never is, never was,
and never will be.