.so, you wanted me fully integrated? integrated implying, integrated, but without the local prejudices, nuances, biases? em... how was that going to ever "happen"?! so you, wanted me, to learn your language... but not alleviate from the täuschung... of the original migratory allure... the: ****** problems? and, i was going to learn the language, and at the same time, "ignore" the inherent biases? wow... that's something... i was supposed to learn english, but hold no english biases against the welsh, the scots, the irish, the americans, the australians... **** on me... let's talk about parting the red sea, that, i hope, will become easier, over time; hotel transylvannia 2? when frank buckles horns with murray / the mummy? what then, what will, appease, my pandered to bee keepers of the english language? this won't do? expect the next suicide bombing by some afghan refugee? the next 7/7 scenario? i'm done, done doing this ******* integration, immigration, pandering play-date *******... if i want to head-****, lock horns with some irish man... i'll do that! whimsical tea-party ******* of sterile quasi-vikings... *******! you know... getting someone *******, as you managed... to do, so far... q lazarus, yes, led zeppelin, goyete, and then some roxette... and abba... me, i want to head-**** with an Eire-man, and then watch the Titanic sink... because? hell, i just feel like it, savvy? funny... how once "the people" wanted integration, but then, didn't want it, when it came to "the affair", of somethingm akin to the pakistani "couter"... so, what's so bad, with me, head-butting an Eiremann? to disclose an form of affection, gravitated to, with a kiss? oh, sure, sure, that's the whole integration bomb-shell "problem"... well... ******* too, i guess? the british grenadiers, fife & drums... look... if it will be any way made, easier... i'll just whistle... f f f f f f f... fickle farmer ****** over a fickle friend and, gained a ******* farm; no rhythm, no rhyme, but plenty of flutes... ***** too true, for the waited for marching orders... congress! aye! right! stretch! march! squandron! aye! left! man up, strut! hey presto... a magic trick, once dilated, not exactly a magic trick... two cues worth of a welshman's V to that sordid crap of a national anthem... V... up yours! some irish converts wished for a russian bride... i'd **** for a cockney bride... fowl mouthed speaking in slang... i'd **** for a ***** of that sort... it would almost feel like, reinventing a cat, with a necessity of prescribing it, with the petting "advice" of a leash... no... i wish i could... i can't sing you: god save the queen / king... what i will do... is whistle the british grenadier march...you wanted a pledge of allegiance... **** the anthem... i'll die by the whistling marching orders... whistle... whistle... union jacky... not exactly navy, but not too sure of purple, either! well said, ticks the 5, well done.

calling out: a body
                   without a shadow,
and then, "calling out"
a shadow, without a body...
                     xenomorph...
the secret satantic hierarchy...
               of all the pleasures,
pain,
   have ever gripped me,
to sustain the experience
of fathoming the brilliance
of, pleasure...
              tier 1, go,
    tier 2, go,
tier 3: go...
                 and how will i
structure behave:
if find the game of chess,
within the confines
of the current, political climate?

how will,
we ever,
refine the finding of chess,
by having to redefine it
in terms of game
counter-game?

always, forever always,
with the culmination
of counter-culture against
               "collateral" damage...        
schicksal, und mann...
              ausbeute:
              mann contra mann...
before me,
not a mere thought,
but, the countless submerged
to the confines of death,
       came by,
the ones,
at the flattened pyramid
         table...
          lord of silence,
of supreme desolation,
                          only man
would have governed the
plague of fate,
that man, unto man,
would have,
or could have,
ever experience...
                these halls,
of the hoarded itches
of the horde to come,
to give it the ****,
for...
                a believence to
be scuttling imitation
of rats...
  my grand:
sinking ship....

          i learned the inverted
way...
i can't be welcome,
plateau citizen...
   "british"...
given that some irish, ******...
expect me,
to treat him,
peasant,
       as something akin
to a king...
           see, you had me,
when, my fellow,
treated me as his own fellow...
it became...
"problematic"...
                  when my fellow,
bound himself to be of status:
king...
and i? a ******* mechanical
variety of dishwasher...

           nope...
              i'll sooner **** you,
than, succumb to this...
sort, of, irish *******...
"simply" because...
it couldn't be translated into
english...
you,
   dying, irish, ****!

now please excuse me,
while i punch myself,
and nibble on my knuckles...
and pray...

         for a translation from
the worth of knuckle itching!
i hope i fail...
but i just pray for...
the chance to
              experiment
with an outlet!
      give me a chance to express
my grievances
against an outlet
of a worth of a canvas...
i'll give you one source
of grievance...
               i wanna head-****
     an irish man...
as much as i want
to circumcise semi-irish mongrels...

like i said:
i'm fully integrated...
i've learned the locals'
     prejudices.