the dialectical limit of facts / opinions:
there is a limit,
before you start to gravitate toward
the "fact",
that there is only a limited
availability concern for fact(s),
   for opinion(s),
before simply regurgitating facts,
and not engaging within
the medium of applied dialectics
being made
     (absolutely) necessary...
          you can attack me in my dialectical
playground of discussion,
about "****" i care about...
the question of orthography within
the confines of the english language,
and the utter lack of diacritical
application within the language per se,
there....
            that's about it...
those opinions are my real,
very real concern,
everything else, is?
                             click-bait *******...
regurgitating a fact,
making a Samson's pillar of it all,
       crutch, spine and brain of it all...
n'ah... doesn't sell...
doesn't even begin to bother me...
  i'm less interested in the plain obvious
dialectics no being:
   investigated by the counter rhetoric
of: STOP, THINK, stop stuttering,
dialectics...
            i'm not a native:
i don't just spew the native tongue,
spinning it off via
some cosmopolitan leftist narrative...
papa, sure as ****,
was no rolling stone,
but grand-p'ah? sure as ****,
was a communist party member...
           so "now" that i've learned /
perfected the equipped use of
the language,
   guess: i just have to deal with
the local idiosyncracy...
  fun fun!
                  no, i believe in jack-****...
there's a dialectical limit
on what facts / opinions you care about...
unless you're a freak,
like Socrates,
   and...
   you have no facts / opinion to care
about...
  then, sure, hellraiser...
**** it: **** this, **** that...
my prime concerns?
orthography, not metaphysics,
and the application of diacritical
markers, missing in the english language...
which, somehow,
bypass the linguistic elitism
of faking, but nonetheless applying
these "nuances"...

every time i revisit Poland i'm inclined
to succumb to the following thought-thread:
me, here, back 'ere?
  you have to be kidding me...
they somehow managed,
i somehow managed:
we moved along to pass
the crux of time,
some partial learning of year 0...
i can't go back...
   i'm perpetuated to exhibit
awe-struck behaviours
of this, this,
this current multi-cultural affair
of a succumb to
experience a plateau weekend
of a worth of distractions...

yet i somehow resemble
the natives...
  but that's not a selling point
of midning inclusion
  plus pointers...
              but i found that i speak
their language,
that's alienating their
curiosity with owning
a pair of testicles...
   fun word: "out of context:
salient...
  
   i too had dreams...
   visiting the city of Danzig,
notably the old quarter...
Breslau...
           the Białowieża Forest...
i had dreams, i had ambitions...
instead i was only given
the allowance to reiterate
this language, to the natives...
as some sort of variant
              of recuperations...

no point regurgitating facts,
if one cannot entertain
oneself in the medium
of dialectics...
          who the **** needs
an encyclopedic man of
pub quiz trivia, later labelled:
                                                  geniu­s?

back in Essex?
i had to learn the second tier
of integration,
what the English call...
the somewhat loss of
geogrpahic triviality...

      i missed Newcastle,
i missed Liverpool and Manchester,
and Leeds,
went straight toward
entertaining the Scots...

            i still know what
the flag of Cornwall is
a white cross against a black
canvas...

          but... i'm still not comfortable...
i don't have an accent,
ergo?
it is just easier to treat me
as a schizophrenic...
              but... i'm happy...
             happy... funny word...
i integrated too successfully,
                i wasn't too: dissimilar...
and that a problem,
living in a country where
cultural enrichment is mandatory,
and there can never be
a cultural variance /
                       "xenophobia"
              
       point being?
i have about 2 / 3 subject matters worth
of keeping my opinions secure,
the rest?
    eh...
            changes,
changes as the fickle quest
of a dictated to flag on a pole
by the wind...
      it, naturally varies...
   i'd love to entertain the dialectic
medium on orthography,
diacritical indicators...
the variation of
accents in the anglo zunge;

but seeing how the originator
of the dialectical medium
was instigated by
the illiterate Socrates...

                                       well...
i've read enough,
in order to allow myself
to craft an original spew
of content...
                 reading anything beyond
what i've already written,
will still make me succumb
to pandering
to a furthered circumstance
of being, more and more,
entrenched

  (no wonder there's a bias
nuance
   concerning to have to
                   stage            a ?).