.by now, just, plain, weird, but that's life... sometimes it has its magic, oh nothing spectacular... i once befriended a real outcast in school, who was into pokemon cards and finally fantasy VII... hunchback, really crooked teeth... well... the english sort of "crooked", that's what gets you in the deep water when associated with the french, the french critique of the english: bad teeth and the perpetual english cold... bad breath too... but i figured... might as well help the poor ****** in getting a C in double-standard science at a g.c.s.e. level, i even took graphic design and joined with him in making phone-cards for phoneboxes, back when that was a thing, alongside spare change... martin... martin elliker... as far as i'm concerned, he wasn't bullied... but my other fwend reminds me how i "bullied"... ****... forget his name... no, i just punched him once... when i heard that he ate dog **** because some girl said so and he thought he was going to get laid... bullying, or sense-bashing? take your pick. like today, poker-faced matthew... waiting in line at the supermarket cashiers, in front of me? mr. penguin... literally... no hollywood makeup... kitkats, wipes... and tangarines... altogether the whole lot worth about 40 quid... trousers too long, you couldn't even see the shoes... disorientated, clearly mentally ill... on the way out hand on the back and an inquiry: you're o.k.? he looks at me like he was woken up... razors... sorry, what? i need razors... the staff recruit runs up and i tell him: he's going back to buy some razors and shave... it's not even that beards are intimidating... then? alcoholic ginger ale... a bus driver with a conundrum... the road is too tight... so i orientate him to pass through... one of his wheels gets stuck in a traffic island crossing... but we manage... he goes through... and all this, prior to what? magic! i'm walking to my local shop... the sunset is hanging in the sky, or rather, a streak of sunset illuminating the clouds, moving slowly west... amber, cherry, plum, peaches, oranges, apples, pulp of passion fruit... i'm walking looking up... in the background a car filled with 20-something lads, one out them shouts to me, starts waving, i wave back... apparently... we share the same aesthetic demands of this world, or rather: we both appreciate it... drive-by: you're seeing what i'm seeing? yes, i am... and you also like what i'm seeing? yes, i am... a night of a full moon... nox regina... that's the fun part of the day... someone hollers at you from a car, someone younger, of the same ***, since you are aghast at the beauty of the sky come sunset and someone shares the same sentiments as you... i find that the most intimate relationships are founded in the realm where only strangers exist... and by intimate, and by strangers i'm also implying an intimiacy that only lasts between a few seconds or a few minutes... since strangers do not test their validity of reciprocated interests, one moment and it's universally mutual... which is sad... come toward the timeframe of "friendship" when the labyrinth is raised and all that ******* of: bwest fwend etc. *******... lineage and concerns for "authenticity" or... "allegiance"... today i made a friend... he was being driven and shouted out from the car... waved, i waved back, he spotted that i was looking at the clouds come sunset... to be honest? relativism... i shared more insight into this shared existence with that brief encounter, than i would ever, talking ******* with a fwend over a pint of beer. the end.

out of curiosity,
is the modern day equivalent
of owning a mobile
phone, akin to owning
a credit card?

   i played around with
credit spending in my early
20s, primarily to ensure
i had a credit score,

but after a while i just went
full debit...
         how, i managed,
to ward off using the credit
system,
   and instead,
   succumbing to a solely
debit system,
i'll never know...

      once i went into my bank,
lied about a family memeber
dying,
   being granted
      an overdraft limit,
subsequently spending it
over a period of 3 hours
in a brothel,
yet somehow, not gaining
access to a *******,
out of my own wish...

   'ello hermit-kind...
maybe still having a *******
allows me to...
   withhold certain
"unfulfilled" desires...
or maybe i'm just plain
boring...
  and my tastes are...
too...
            simplistic...
or maybe...
          i have allowed myself
to churn a "thought"
into a medium that requires
about as much as
the devil would allow
for two idle hands...
          
                otherwise... no...
i really don't know what
credit implies,
having followed strict debit
regulations...
   the last mobile phone
i ever owned was a...
      ha ha... a blueberry...
talk about "walking on water"
from circa 2007 through to
2019...
                
     i've simply returned
to the genesis story of the internet...
it's less a mobile environment,
and more an iron maiden fixed
point of "departure"...

   a "departure" of me,
sitting before a plank slate...
and irritating it with my words...
into a feud of valency...
    thinking being the prime
example...
   watching an authentic incel
mutter to himself,
and for me to hear,
while buying several bags
of crisps...

                'oh dear, oh dear',
like some white rabbit imitation...
there is no alice,
and there never will be:
any alice to begin with, savvy?
you your way, i toward mine,
i'm just here for the whiskey...
all of course,
as an afterthought...
        
              2 ******* hours of delirium,
revising that old fear
of biting my teeth together,
which would translate into
a quasi-epileptic fit,
   stemming from an electric
surge from my teeth
upon the clench, and
movement into my stomach,
gripping it with a fist-like
imitation grip, sending out
               shaking and shivering
within the confines
          of an ****** of pain...

        over the years...
i've come to understand pain,
to be the highest form of pleasure,
something that makes
a man either a stoic,
     or an erotomaniac...

          either bound to be between
the skulls and ribs...
or... among the oysters and mollusks
of a worth of genitals.

           ghost, by far,
the most melodic band these days...
               sooner or later
the cigarettes will run out,
and i'll still have a packet of tobacco
left in the hoard...
   how much will that be,
rolling tobacco once more.