a truly tiresome day:
namely - i was not labouring
to suit a fulfilling exploit
or either tongue
or arm...
   or leg, for that matter...

the table or the chair
  had a more eventful day,
in that it stood,
while i did nothing
more than anticipate
myself: furthering
a lounge position...

i went to the supermarket,
bought two italian beers
and a russian *****...
it snowed:
   i tried to block out
any romance with the falling
snow,
   everything metaphorical,
like: ballerinas &
whatever comes in
close association with snow...

i opened a beer,
put on pink floyd's 1977
animals album on original
black vinyl
  on the gramaphone...
had the france vs.
  wales rugby match
on mute on t.v.
and...

     how can you tell
an original vinyl
      from the 70s
         apart from a modern
vinyl?
      that subtle feed from
a coarse surface:
it's not scratching,
it's... a labouring
              crispness -
      a background noise
of some sort...

well: it wasn't much
of anything,
10 hours of me is hardly
a minute's worth of
Achilles...

        nirvana:
if only it were some form
of geometry,
or a colour...
      suffering in
the slightest:
   apathy is a subtle pain...
since no grand tooth-ache
is to be readily acquired:
a numbing effect
cannot be squandered...

unless of course
   there's that other nirvana...
(for some reason,
it was even remotely
enlightening
to listen to the opening
track from o.t.t.'s album
blumenkraft)
where...
     i'm not so much free
from suffering...
  but am, free,
from envious assimilations
of the current state...

how: to be free from the wants
that make others
their self-invigorating
hey presto!

       i am almost there
toward a nowhere whereby by:
even having to gloat
myself and ingest opinions
i will never hold
as convictions,
but only entertain them:
for a passing fancy
of mere tongue waggling...

lethargy is certain
a crux in all this...

                  but i am tired of
wanting what subsequently
becomes a vanity display
counter of that...
see? i have it, you don't! ha!

      that seriously sounds
too... infantile...
             well:
nothing grand about a life
of seclusion in an English
suburbia...
           many a bogus
worth of hours of thought
that, some time ago:
could not entertain
a piece of paper...

    so... a few poems by frank
o'hara sitting on my folded
foot on a windowsill,
drinking the ***** and lemon...
i'm still not moved...
whatever apathy
   was in me has become
a physical side-project
of the foot being folded
and sat on,
namely a one-foot
  the other foot numb
and funny-pain i.e. numb
dance to replenish
the flow of blood to it...

                  it's not even that
i want the things that
some people have:
             comparison:
i am ******* hypnotized
by a spinning vinyl
and could do with as much
of similar entertainment
as a cat does away with
a discovery of its own
shadow...

only recently i finally
convinced myself
that animals could see
the 2-dimensional phenomenon
of the t.v.'s content...
over 30 years
with a delusion:
   animals can't see what's
on the t.v.,
imagine my disappointment...
so many years spent
being convinced that
animals do not
see 2-dimensional
objects...

         which is probably one of
those very necessary
observations disguised in
the maxim

     viz.: nature abhors vacuums...

to be free from wanting
to have what others wanted
and strived for,
        and then subsequently
gloated about...
   anything... but that...
          it doesn't change
the person,
it has to be innate -
                  an ability to hide
in being: humble...
                      
and to think: that this was bothering
me for an afternoon's worth
of a hour...
    maybe it was just that,
or being pandered to by
a persistent lie of:
   and the romans were so
******* dumb,
  that they executed a seemingly
innocent man...

sure: this isn't a 19th century
Nietzschean diatribe counter,
or a 20th century Marylin Manson
****...
    what is it then,
         being born into a lie?
even with the coincidental
archeological findings
circa 1945, in Egypt,
    the nag hammadi library...
these texts,
  and the contemporary texts
of josephus ben matthias...
associating the same man,
hey zeus!,
and a time shift to the time
of emperor Nero...
   the book of revelation
(which was probably the first
book, written,
for the new testament,
that:
judeo-greek propaganda
against the Romans)
        
       maybe that's what is
so tiresome...
                   it exhausts me...
and no one even mentions
this coincidence...
even if the mainstream media
does anything,
it's to cite
    the dead sea scrolls:
which have no relevance to
Christianity,
    but are intrinsic to Judaism,
notably: what they did
when they cut up the prophet
Isaiah in two...

        i hate waking up
into a lie...
                all prior to ambitions
for the good
are... like... *******
into champagne flutes
while holding a knife
    &
   hanging upside down
on a crystal chandelier
in a Viennese opera house
and titilating the idea of
singing nessun dorma
                     castrato!