what became of real-time language:
an over-baggaged monstrosity
of nuance -

                    and of course:
all those beautiful handwriting
examples -
   lost to the digit of
an A whereby, once upon a time...
there would be some idiosyncracy
attached...

graphology, was it?

              - but yes, over-burdened
by nuance:
how - you almost have
to explain the joke,
to see a low-hanging fruit
of a punchline...

the camel broke on the nuance,
it buckled before it
even arrived at the eye
of the needle...
                   and...
the rich man squeezed past
a penny...

only today, after remaining
for over 24 hours,
i started thinking
of the schizophrenic quadratic
equation,
genesis: subject-object
dichotomy...
rather than the mind-body
duality of Descartes...

        and i tried to invite
myself to be entertained:
you know...
   the more i found myself
being, ahem, "offended"...
the more i found my heart
to increase the threshold
capacity for the variety
of feeling...

     a-pathy...
             less...
             without a pathology
and more...
         pathology-in-itself...
yes, i know the letter
with the hyphen a-
   implies "without"...
   but there never really is
an a-pathy...
            so? pathology-per-se...
i can't even begin to
understand why feelings
are so alienating
to some people of cold
logical concerns...
           sure:
   if someone has to succumb
to... mouthing-off...
            when feelings
cannot feed of the succor
of the grand silence...

my heart my anchor -
even if my mind, my ship -
        is sinking into
the yawning gnash of the waves
of existence before me...

only today, a film about
r. d. laing from 2017...
me?
         less about l.s.d.
and more:
    a tongue riddled (rather than
plagued) by metaphors...
   or...
          trans-***?
  hey, hello...
     how about you meet
the meta-mind?

         but such a complete disregard
for feelings?
what other feelings?
the grand oratory feelings
of being: "one of the tribe"?
the logistics of the +
    in 1 and 1 equals 2?

           i too once had
the faculty of treating my thinking
as a labyrinth basis for
a fraction of, reality's narrative...
but i lost that, capacity...
now all my thinking is
a spiral,
    devoid of an ethic that
would require something more
than:
               and what would
a hypothetical autism of
solipsism (man) think of all this?

bouts of the hermit stuppor...
conversations with one's
own shadow...
  and... trying to topple what
has survived from:
ensuring the word: philosophy
is excused the peddlestool
of pretentious cloaking
and staging for a theatre of...
'not another decade of
unanswered questions!'

    in handwriting,
on a napkin...
    'if i were sane enough,
i'd be entertained by the
speculative reality of, physics...
because what is physics,
once the determinate act of
the bhagavad gita
has been cited...
      of no god but of man
the argument: regarding
"who" is to play the dice...

it's almost "wrong" to claim
the sanity of people
who are entertained by
a speculative reality of physics...
unless you've read enough
or became engrossed in
enough science fiction...
that... that isn't speculative
reality... is it?

       so i'm mad...
               and more attune to
something called...
   engrossed reality (of philosophy)...
but again...
    that is such a pretentious word...
a charlatan's word,
a sophist's word...
                but i am haunted
by questions... no one can answer me...
for every step physics takes
forward,
       ethics takes two steps back,
and metaphysics takes
three steps back...

- and yes, a rigid vocabulary
helps...
   to make the "words in between"
fluid...
               gaseous ego,
gaseous god,
                       suckling parasite
at the end of the umbilical cord
the grand nihil...

primarily:
    you can spend 7 hours in bed,
listening to a radio station
from Kielce, radio FAMA...
    toiling in sweat and in
a spiral where once was a labyrinth...
with an empty heart...
and... get up to find
a dwadzieścia groszy
             coin in your bed...
      if i only found a radio station
as good as this...
i wouldn't have bothered
collecting all these *******
hoarded bricks of either
compact disk or vinyl...
       alas...
             irony...
      you only find a decent
radio station...
                    once you started
to not bother buying your own
d.j. coffin...

     what was that quadratic
about, though?  
   to internalize 'weeling and not
externalize "thinking"...
         i don't know...
              numb heart shield
of 1 + 1 = 2...
             reality instructor of:
swam, and didn't drown...

come the inner-circle joke...
       yet what is more... "interesting"...
the feelings of the individual,
when they do not morph
into the feelings of... mimic...
        surely...
             it is good to be in possession
of an agitated heart,
  prone to... throbbing of feeling
which are not coinciding with
feeling...
   whereby said feelings...
need to be... internalized...
eaten raw on the count
  of the throbbing count...
muddling the mind...
but not to the point where
the muddled mind is allowed
to translate itself into
a tongue that... primarily wants...
a telepathic-congregation
of: the zoo of zombies let loose
on the suspect...

        i say:
forget eating the bread and
drinking the blood...
i say:
   eat your own heart first...
         and... enjoy the silence.