.i still can't get over the genius of W. H. Caruthers, the man who found polyesters, esters were usually used to make the prime composite of perfumes, when their application took off in the realm of clothing? ****... that's when their actual property exfoliated...

early Winter, in England...
ugh...
   wet... you know the harrowing
aspect of when the cold
mingles with wetness?
ugly... i can't say it better...
it's like... stroking an Irish
wolfhound, which just came back
from a run, all muddy,
cold, wet and... somehow sulky...
jeez!
            give me a teddy-bear,
real quick...
  i can appreciate the continental
cold...
   it's dry... there's frost...
sometimes the snow, an insulator,
and when it's really cold,
and there's frost,
whatever remains of
the water, turns into a glittering
expose of a metaphor for
a red carpet... tilt your head
to the left, tilt your head
to the right...
oh look! the paparazzi are taking
pictures!
the frost... my god...
it just glitters!
only when the winters
are dry, but they rarely are,
in England...
i hate England during the winter...
the rain just ****** me off...
i can do a dry minus 10...
but a minus 1 with the rain?
you have to be kidding me...
****'s sake!
    cold & wet don't work...
cold & dry?
  after a while you build up
an immunity,
there are invisible ***** in the air,
pinching your face as you walk
to the local supermarket
for the groceries...
i have to admit...
this is the first time i'm actually
anticipating leaving England...
****! i need a holiday!
the current state-of-affairs
is bugging me...
i want to turn this *******
time-bomb off...
even  the alt. media has succumbed
to the legacy media
sensationalism...
just give me over a month...
a grandfather with dementia,
a grandmother with neuroticism
humming some unknown song
in between staying silent
while drinking coffee and solving
crossword puzzles,
and then... a ******* thistle flute
jamming her imaginary
didgeridoo...
   wait till she hears my
mouthpiece...
**** it... throw me into
the monolith...
i'm tired of these tirades
of language anchoring in England...
there were three partitions
of Poland... how many,
are there of England...
too many to draw a geometric...
i can't watch this...
i need a break...
within the confines of a logic...
why would you go to somewhere
where it's warmer than where
you left from?
i'm going to a place that's
colder from where i came...
so?

well... the genius of polyester
clothing...
   i anticipating to cut my internet use
to a minimum this time...
i have the massive task
of reading potop by Sienkiewicz...
winter... it's either chess
or it's reading...
the second chapter of the trilogy...
the Swedish deluge of
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth...

oh... now i remember why i wanted
to block that fella...
he started to sound, a bit too much
like my "friend"...
you know... that Anglophone
overlord...
who could have said:
you're not properly integrated
if you still speak your language
of birth... ******... THEN LEARN
FRENCH! OR SPANISH!
your pick... i hate people that
begin to sound like the friends
i had in high-school...
i hated all of them...
now i hate them even more...
like i'm responsible for him...
having a ******* apartment
provided by his father...
the fact that his mother and father
filed a divorce,
that he has a ******* younger
sister he might have to take
care of...
               my fault?!
what am i, god? i fake the rules
of the existential roulette?!

no, i need a break from speaking
this tongue,
what i will need is some Polish
radio,
some Polish t.v., and forgetting
this language, momentarily,
when i return, in situ,
while reading a book in Polish...
about the Swedish deluge,
when the democratic monarchism
model failed, when a king
of the Vasa stock was enthroned
on the "rule of thumb"...

generation prior, to mine?
***** off to Costa Rica...
to the beach...
i? i ******* to a place much colder
than, this here England...
winters in England would
have been just fine...
but i need a release from
this... island claustrophobia...
i need the continent about
2 times a years...
ha... funny...
the two times i tend to ****...
are... with the Bulgar women
in the Goodmayes brothel...

once after Christmas,
and once after Easter...
which makes me practically
the ugly twin of Jesus...

but you know what i learned
about home-grown terrorists,
that i learned about immigration
in Australia...
the concept of... heritage...
watching Australia's Master-Chef
i've learned how
Australians acknowledge the concept
of... heritage...
in England? you know why England
has home-grown terrorists?
the concept of heritage
is... completely... missing!

who are you, without a past,
but only a future, and a present?
i know i'm a psychological
mongrel...
but do you know...
you're a mongrel, through and through...
no... you're worse...
what they have done to you,
with enforced assimilation
by your parents...
you know what i said to my parents
when they suggested
that we only speak English
in private, at home?
******* - well...
it was more a subtle: NIET!

- and how do you respect a foreign
culture?
by respecting your own...
you can't have one, without the other,
otherwise the mimic subversion
of yourself will not work...
please, tier the cake...
there's more depth to a migrant
than merely talking the *******
tongue of the natives...

yes, i will speak English among the English...
that much is requested of me...
but... to... do... what prior migrants
did... and ****-up, ****-***,
****-**** of the natives?
how about the natives learn a second
language?
and not come out as the tourists
that can, truly be, sedated by foreign
cultures of H'america,
or Australia...
       being the... "tropic fruit"...
the... "exotica of diacritics"...
while, forgetting...
you go anywhere else...
guess what?
     what?
                   what?!
                           intimidation;
yeah yeah, some anglophiles in those
places...
   but guess what, tourist...
i speak yours, i don't expect you to speak
mine;  
  the moment you "ask" me to
translate speaking yours into
thinking "yours"... guess what...
i, have, mine!

- i still can't get over the genius of how
polyester clothing interacts with
the cold... i feel the cold... but i don't feel cold...
ingenious!
W. H. Caruthers... Michael Faraday...
my "new" two favorite people.