well... i can tell you which knuckle
is the weakest
from waking up to a previous
night's worth of drinking:

   if the violence will not come
to me, i'll provide the violence...
scams...
see... that's like stealing
but... i'd at least appreciate
a precursor threat
at the end of a knife...

                   one word: sad'oh...
   i'm far from performing nihilism...
me?
   more a fatalist...
        as long as the **** buckles
i'll keep frowning or be
in tune to keeping
smiles in emoticons...

the weakest knuckle?
ring finger...
left hand: cigarette burns...
right hand: a slight plum shade...
       same knuckle...

but my cat likes me...
  snugs itself into the bed
curling to an "inside" with
its spine-extension of a tail...
and...
******, i asked...
   i can't seem to be ever
rid of my shadow...

for the concerns of
a freedom to speak...
           i forgot what i was
going to say to begin with...
tenor trauma
   of an over inflated
       phobia of speaking
in public?
  
   i have succumbed
to a pact that says:
your hands will feel irritable...
itchiness...
    constant puppeteering...
shame...
your tongue though?
shy slug...
       immovable Fuji...

like always:
i don't entertain much of
the freedom associated
with speech...
sticking to the proverb:

cicha woda brzegi rwie
(colon and italics...
yes, but only when
the words in italics
are in a foreign tongue...
overwhise - sure... no)

  silent water eats
at the banks...
    of the river

(however unnecessary that
was to add... of the river)...
i guess no ***** loose
or not the basic standard
of IQ to match-up
to the front-line players...

        all the front-players
are playing for are scraps
to begin with...
                     voice to mic.
and face on screen...
                    sure, sure...
              the whole kulturkrieg...
    
i have the minimum
of a blank to fill...
            dream big... end up small...
whatever fame is...
and the current globalist
"agenda"...
                  eh...
                           sounds pretty
much as silence just outside of
Beijing...
                     and all that will
forever remain: literature
for tourists, sun-soakers,
frying both brains and *****
on the beach...
          attempting to
shove in some ping-pong
excrutiations of passing
time...

                        i'd rather choke
a ******* macaque to death,
and revise a reaction
of seeing the face of death,
or the face of the hindu
recycling process
of reincarnation, or... whatever.