and i listen and i listen and...

this is the current reality?
and, i am not part of it?

where did i go wrong?!

'you're fringe'

ah...

                "it wouldn't even
matter"...

     because if i were
to mind these arguments...
i wouldn't be
the one walking into
an alley
on a Friday night,
when the best of the jovial
come out like
cysts or zombies...

       if the script of humanity,
backlog,
and books became
akin to bricks...
there wouldn't be
a ******* mud-hut standing
to alleviate
a compensation
for "progress"...

truly:
i've been looking for a ****
for two days...
    holy man looking
for ****:
    that's deliberately
a Hindu tabloid headline...
constipated like
a cat...

i am attempting to make
myself care,
and i care: to attempt to make
myself
burden anything that
requires:

being explained gender
post-science...
          not in "biological"
terms,
but in terms of physics...
via: what reproduction
scuttle-rope implies
for the... non-Olympic
tripple-jump
   competition...
and how pistons work,
or...
the basics of:
a key and a keyhole...

what banana is to mouth
to chew to being
******* out...
i need, i need to relearn
the basics!
i need: caveman talk!
god, i'm gagging for it...

can anyone tell me
what cis is?
i'm missing that branch
of the benzene ring...
i should know the cis-
prefix antonym...
  (oh look,
no possesive "article"
of an ascriptive 's to be added)...

but i need to
reiterated on the basic
difference of
the pork-eaters united...
the criticism of
Islam against pork-eaters
that does not include
the other champions of
pork, the Xin Ching and Chow
dynasties of Cha-Cha'I'N'AH...

can i be ortho-
or meta-
             on this, grand grand,
ferriswheel of applying
vectors to attatchment groups
on a benzene ring?
     can i be meta-******?

but please explain to me
the working of a key
a door and a keyhole...
i'm sure we can settle for...
touching bums
as the only worthy explanation
for the purpose of doors,
or walls...
or houses...
        emotionally orientated
atoms...
oh i feel...
          i too feel...
             i feel like...
i've been looking for a ****
for the past two days...
less contemplative
and more... constipated...
and i can't seem to find it!

great terms...
  i noun-dodo...
                    i wet sheep
under a dry umbrella...
and i'll listen,
and i'll listen...
and i will not say much,
eventuality writing
something akin to this...
and...

              i'll want to entertain
myself with...
             watching a pit of maggots
wriggling...
   or...
remember...
the time i took my pet doberman
for a walk, and he pit into
a pile of ****,
and, unearthed,
was a wriggling
              compound of parasitic
worms inside the ****...
worms...
wriggling in ****...

    come to think of it...
the more i remember a past,
the more i strain my faculty
of memory...
   the more i find myself
at odds of being robotic...

             or at least: having been...
but only via the reference
point of memory,
being extracted and posited
on my now, current, self...

and i live in a time
of the architecture of
the faculty of memory being:
inexhaustible...
         i guess by being mortal,
i have been implanted
with a faulty faculty of
memory...
       whereby memory is also
erosion...
   double erroded by
the rubrics of the education
system...
prior to: world,
made subject to the ambitions
of applying 2 x 2 = 4
in the day-to-day life...

never ******* happens
for serious reasons...

                does it even matter
to have made a point
in the first place?
   it's a blank canvas...
which has to be equivalent
to a punching bag...
so... it requires
   being bashed...
          less by fists
and more by the tips of
fingers...
               such purpose
and the purpose's coincidence,
timed, to a suitable
awareness...
               less deus ex machina...
and more:
           **** in machina.