.Poland is getting too much, anti-touristy attention, i don't know what to do with it, i don't like it, that's for sure... this is not going to end up well... just saying... no tourist advertisement, and yet people flocking? i've spotted one mosque in Warsaw, traveling out Western Warsaw bus-station... hidden in the architectural *****...

not a great night for writing,
i feel like...
              can i just drink my cider,
*** and bourbon *******
and write nothing?
     no... not going to happen...
something was always going
to hang in the air...
           and the day they they learn
the language... hell...
i could levitate around
the concept of making you unlearn
English...
what's that?
          really pretty pretty...
i feel prettyoh so pretty
          literature from the 20th
century?
20th century... that's like a bad dream...
isn't it?
go back to... that?
  i'll settle for the current
mediocre...
               no grand war,
and no grand artistic expression...
case sold.. NEXT!
    we do live in the time
of the mediocre...
let, the, middle, speak!
    i don't need to be reminded
or induced to remember...
with great wars,
come great artists...
  responsibilities aside...
            death told me to stalk
my shadow...
  and you know what
my shadow showed me?
something, grander than learning
the literacy confounded to
the constellation of stars...
my shadow showed me the elevated
night...
              a camel walking
through an eye of a needle...
into anti-matter...
oh... you think that... even after
a star dies, the star, dies?!
what about the black hole?
the star continues its vivacity,
clinging to life like...
thought is what ego clings
to,
     faced by the mortal basis
of being... that great ontological
abyss...
                    thought is the ridge...
that the ego clings to,
holding itself tight,
with memory, imagination,
on the tip of the tongue cusp...
before falling into the abyss
of being, as being dislodged from
an accountability....
death and life...
          in mort et in vivo combine...
in the matryoshka doll...
or an onion doll...
    peel one layer...
another layer appears...
peel the other layer,
   another layer appears...
ad continuum...
             or rather, etc.,
    well then...
             VIII, 27, of Heidegger's
black notebooks...
               see...
it's not that you will not finish
a philosophy book...
some books, are like wines...
you need to allow them
the same treatment,
they need to mature,
in you, and... without you...
some philosophy books
can only be completed over
a period of, circa... 3 years...
     you need a ******* life outside
of them, however meager it is,
however despondent...
however: trivial, grey or
alternatively: predictable...
i required 3 years to read
Kant's critique of pure reason...
       now... if i had an elevated
imagination faculty...
i'd write a YA novel... including
vampires, werewolves,
zombies, etc.,
         but i have an elevated pivot
on the focus of memory...
Paris? alone....
Stockholm? alone...
     Athens? alone...
      Amsterdam? alone...
    Venice? alone...
        Krakow? alone...
   i'm already burned with a shadow...
why would i require, company?!
Barcelona? alone...
     the mere fact of
a shadow attached to me feels like
a claustrophobia...
i'm... unimaginative...
which is why i write this sort of ****...
oh... and if you're looking
for eloquent literature...
without words like **** that act
as more or less conjunction words?
Marquis de Sade didn't exactly
spare his fleeing tongue with
an exercise of courtesy...
    i won't either... i might stutter less...
not that i ever did...
by the way...
you want to go to university?
choose chemistry...
30+ hours of learning and...
              practicality of engaging
in experiments...
  funny...
        i'm a graduate, but also a drop-out...
thye chemistry i graduated with,
a silly number of hours in the laboratories,
12? must have been over 12 in
the third year...
        Esters and perfumery...
   like... my love for cooking...
organic chemistry experiments...
            cooking, basically...
and that stood at £1,250 a year,
tuition fees...
         but when i decided to take on
a degree in history at U.C.L.?
and the tuition fees rose to
£3,000+... dropped out, halfway
through year one...
    for what? 6 hours a week?
i was doing a roofing job and...
"studied"...
                 *******...
                   it started to feel like a *******
Dire Straits song: money for nothing...
which it was...
oh but i did meet strangers
in those towns...
   and of the towns i visited?
Paris...
        Paris...
        Paris circa 2004 - 2007...
            that's when Paris... was what Paris
was always supposed to be!
now...
    if i want to visit Tangiers...
i'll ******* let you know, o.k.?!