ever watched that film
hostel (Eli Roth, 2005)...
and then...
watch the video
by lindsay shepherd:
the ****** string
enthusiast of british
columbia?

no?
i guarantee you
it's worth a night to
remember...

also, when i was in Poland
and i took my
grandmother to
hospital,
i went outside
the hospital for a cigarrette
only to be approached
by a man
who told me of his
emigration experience
after Poland
joined the E.U.,
in England,
of all places...
working the conveyor
belt of a recycling
center...

what did i hear?
oh, you know...
how he used
to sieve through the plastics,
the papers, the tin cans,
and find ******,
or the miscellaneous
of *** other toys...

bag them,
wash them back home
in a bath...
pack them...
and sell them in
*** shops
back in Poland
"as if" unused...

my *******
practices?
quiet... sterile...
i wish this story
just came akin to:
a cat in a bag...

the conveyor belt guy
simply assumed
that the British
were hyper-******:
erotomania...

i guess...
i noted the same observation
with regards to
h. p. lovecraft...
or any other anglo-saxon...
the hyper-inflated
dream-world,
or, rather:
    why do the anglo-saxons
dream such elaborate dreams,
most of my dreams are
welcomes trivialities,
i honestly prefer
the sleep, minus
the elaborate world-craft
inverted delusion of:

no one really considers
dreams as equivalent
to hallucinations...
but they are a form of
hallucination...
so... in the safety of
the lab. of the unconscious:
you can dream...
but waking hour deviances
are... prohibited...

ever watched that film
hostel (Eli Roth, 2005)...
and then...
watch the video
by lindsay shepherd:
the ****** string
enthusiast of british
columbia?

i find the encompassing
"character"
by the latter,
to be the minion
entombed in the case
of the former...

well... we are living in
a world that's:
post-homosexuality is taboo:
who knows what
was smuggled in
and ascribed the vanguard
orthodoxy of
the abolished asylum...
schizophrenics?
what? those docile
bonkers wanderers?

  oh, i wouldn't be
too afraid of them...
they're the lethargic
gatekeepers of
cruises,
anticipating a sunset
on the glittering glitz
edge of an ****,
in a Beijing dumpling...

when the world goes
to the *******,
why even play O Fortuna?!
it is always a worthy
cause to celebrate:
the total ****-up
of it all...

               yes...
the anglo-saxons are plagued
by erotomania...
which subsequently
spurs them
to excessively dream;

i guess the architecture
of the phallus
needs to promote
an incubation
    of the form in a "more"
meaningful guise:
veiled by dream,
contorted by
     the sanctity of all
that is science, and all
that, unearthed from
the precursor stages
of pseudo-,
becomes the wisdom
of the mob...

             quasi:
sort-of,
but by the general
concensus: by god:
we will charge,
and stomp and...
make it our...
   pathetic...
in the old days
the eunuchs were walking
******...
the favorites of
the harem were impregnated...
the rest: m'eh...
in need of a *****,
since the king walrus
has no blue pill
back then...

but who would have
thought, that these eunuchs
became the castratos!

- never you mind...
the genre of horror
reiterates...
what i have just seen.