you know you've crossed
the rubicon,
   when...
you have finally
     sifted through enough
material
beside the music videos...
  red ice tv.
   dr. edward dutton...
   dr. steve turley...
    jacklyn glenn...
sytxhexenhammer666...
tim pool...
computing forever...
   louderwithcrowder...
   paul joseph watson...
roaming millenial...
    millenial woes...
lauren sauthern...
                 shaun...
roosh v...
the amazing atheist...
    contra points...
                  blaire white...
black pigeon speaks...
             eugenia cooney...
and...
                                 etc.
   what once was
the english variant
of a soap opera akin
to eastenders...
           every trivia question,
that concerns itself
with english soap opera?
i'll probably tell you
more about
a mexican import
of a tele-novella into
                    poland...
me?
     at this point...
           i feel like a crab...
sieving through the ****
on the baseline
of an ocean...
           tried floating
to the top,
       but i was told to make
language funny,
sieving through
what remains
            recycled vocals...
                     mir, schreiben...
sorry: i just have this
a priori fetish for
   the deutschezunge...
can't help it...
i'll try...
      but russian is off-limits
for me,
  sure, i'll tease greek...
given that...
                   i've spent
a decent year trying
to memorize it...
            oh, esp. the twin-F
scenario...
          but clearly i'm
way back in the audience...
fame... b'ah!
   what is that?
                it's here one minute,
gone the next,
     infamy is in vogue
these days...
                i don't even
know what that term implies...
   fame...
             nice bandwagon
though...
       looks nice from where
i'm perched...    
esp. the whole eugenia cooney
affair...
         no... no chance for me
leaving a comment...
i just accidently came across
it...
    and...
            i'm like:
   who's going to side
   with the man who drinks
a liter of whiskey,
looks bloated,
       and...
   then... makes an afternoon
of it listening to
some polish radio station...
having fallen out of bed...
lying **** naked
on a wooden floor
to ease himself from
the odd mid-winter
heat-wave piercing
        through his
                           window?

dunno...
       i'm latched on...
and....
     i'm paying squint....
of the eyes...
         and i'm entrenched...
and...
     then i fiddle with
my beard
    for 10 minutes...
   pretending to be playing
some song from
   fiddler on the roof...
i knew this beard
was going to come in handy!
i knew it!
   i didn't a sensation
of ***** hair, somewhere north
of the groin...
  and... for obvious reason,
i couldn't just fiddle
my ***** region
for a worthwhile
   procrastination outlet,
and sure as **** i didn't
learn to play the violin...
   beard it is, beard it was always
going to be.