.and ol' jack is on a discount per
liter,
          at 22 quid a bottle...
         it's good to be back
in the brothel perfurmery of
a bottle of bourbon.

the more i thought about it,
the more i realised:
these youtube video "creators"
they can really drag a man
down into a sour heart pit...
esp. when they make it overtly
clear that they are conscious
of their methods
and purpose...
                    i once looked at
youtube as the most perfect
jukebox, something akin
to the old listening-station
in a ****** megastore...
   i'd but the physical copy
having been given a taste...
           but... with the ongoing
fiasco of these new media /
alt. media outlets...
     for one:
   i can't imagine myself
filming myself, regurgitating
some news article...
      but who's to be blamed
for the algorithm being ******?
i was wrong about
me disliking rap music...
  proyecto tq
from mayans m.c.
   no te metas conmigo...
better i don't understand it:
but i could never buy into
the bragging rights
              of your standard rap
bongo-bongo party...
makes a lot of sense in spanish...
as it would make a lot of sense
in ******...
           but that's hip hop...
maybe proyecto tq
is also hip-hop...
            i'm not a real genre
defining pedant...
       any music:
   is worthy of the status music
beside having to sometimes
listen to the passing of
car on the street...
     the next time i will waste my time
listening to these video-creators
regurgitating
                    in their
                vulture-jouralism style?
i'm going to punch myself before
i don't listen to music
and listen to them spew...
       thank god i chose the less
intrusive medium (writing) into this
public sphere...
               just like:
i can't remember how much fun
german industrial metal
was...
        but having just invested
my attention on eisbrecher's
     '-brekker'
                      album sturmfaht...
one thing i've learned from having
acquired this tongue,
and becoming... a mongrel's worth
of soul...
                    i can see myself
   as an anglo-slav:
yes, add an (e) on the end
and you will... find the real
etymology of the noun of an ethnicity...
only two people ever
conquered Moscow...
    the Mongols and the Pollacks...
or... "pauls"...
              a pole is not really a flag
bearer...
          and to polish...
would imply: paul-on-a-leash...
hence my attention in
the other etymological branch:
   can't exactly borrow from Latin...
nor the English...
         that my ancestors were
slaves in the middle ages...
            słowo: word...
         słowianin: wordsmith...
     swovo - s'w'oh-v'oh...
                which is beside the point...
i remember taking a can of
beer for a walk...
decided to take a train
into central London...
      was chatted up by a single mother
with her child...
the child took a book
and started to explain it to...
           pristine schwabian kleinere...
i now wish i could
        have said a few simple
words:      mein herz ist,      mit du...
having acquired this language,
i had to move toward
a psychology, primordial...
    a return to ancestry...
a thickly obstructed past...
   to the uraltvergangenheit
to the erinnerung von die väter...
                         but unable to cross
further into
   what a German might...
lending himself to the mythology
of the Norse...
                Kiev was founded by
the Norse...
                  as much
    ähnlichkeit as likhet is
              to similarity - like...
                      podobieństwo...
prime words...
for comparison of etymological
convergence...

     röd
         rot
             red
                  czerwony
vit
      weiß
                white
                          biel
jag
      ich
            I
               ja

svart
         schwarz
                         black
                                  czerń

fyrkant
             viereck
                          square
                                      kwadrat

hjärta
          herz
                  heart
                            serce

but i know why i drink...
   it just dawned on me...
any other drug...
   it straps the mind into
exploratory dynamics...
      the waking-hour
to the dream-world
           and there and back...

thing with drinking...
    the only drug that lets
you to explore the heart...
   ugly emotions,
eloquent emotions...
   hidden depths and
    shallow puddles...
a lost rhythm,
a pang, claustrophobic
sensations of the heart
being nothing more than
a caged sparrow...
   then suddenly turning
into a growling lion...
   no other drug allows
you to explore the heart...
  no amount of l. s. d.
or marijuana...
  after all... alcohol isn't
associated with any psychoactive
stratum...
a silent mind...
    a silent mind and the keys
to the heart's labyrinth...
and yes:
  strict obligation
to the peacock pedantry
of keeping a mind sharp enough
to spell the words right.