bad idea...
   she was sitting with a group of fwends
in a univerity accommodation,
two girls by the stove
butchering a method of making
pancakes...
the pancake dough kept sticking
to the pan, not allowing the flip...
does a man always have to intervene
in these sort of scenarios?
ladies, ladies,
you need to grease the dough up!
yes... that implies pouring
some oil into the dough,
which subsequent implies
    oiling up the pan a little...
the first pancake always behaves
like a little frankenstein,
but all the others?
  snow white, sleeping beauty...
you name, you'll get it...
pancakes...
   what have we become,
when a man has to tell a woman
about the ins and outs
of making pancakes...
               huh?
       so she saw me,
looking like a complete train-wreck...
once donning dreadlocks,
russian...
pale as any victorian cenobite
princess...
        she snatched my iPod
  (when i owned one), started rambling
about my iron maiden oeuvre
and my liking of tool...
she munched on the pancakes
with the usual yum-yummy-yum
out burst...
   attrative? not really...
she just kept pushing and pushing
and pushing her agenda...
until i cracked,
she liked the bedroom centered around
the use of candles...
a quasi take on the crow movie...
ever see love at first sight?
i've seen in, implosive and explosive
variant...
implosive?
      the sister of my ex girlfriend,
taboo topic...
                i was: hazy-eyed...
         disorientated: what?!
            in reverse? when a woman
shows signs of love at first sight?
literally: an iron maiden clench
of focus...
                    you're not getting out
of this one alive,
or... enough to suggest that,
after she breaks up with you,
then you've found work,
she's 900 miles away
and says she's pregnant...
half a year after she broke up
with you when she...
ahem... proposed...
     **** me, she even chose
the engagement ring...
   i get dumped... so what's new?
but then... i'm the one...
who has to...
pick up the pieces,
raise some *******?
      god i'd love to own a dog right now!
o hades, send me rottweiler,
a dobermann and an alsatian shepherd
all in one go!
    of course i never said
anything of this...
           russian nerd girl,
big into warhammer 40,000
figurines...
    and a newly archived
   sample of music taste...
   (hed) p.e.
           i'm still traumatized by
her memory...
       like: i really don't want to go there,
no, seriously: i really don't want
to go there...
         seeing love at first sight
in reverse...
   and then seeing the ****,
that i saw?
                 n'ah... strap me to the brothel,
i'm out... OUT!
        the next time i trust someone
it's either going to be a rabid dog,
a rabid cat,
    or that horse in a field at night,
that almost knocked me out
when it started chewing on my hand
thinking i had an apple in it...
i'll deal with *******:
on my grounds,
   not someone else's, savvy?
all this current pop self-help
psychological ******* is getting on
my nerves,
notably when in england...
thanks for the drugs...
that weight-lifting of a litre of whiskey
really helps me to counter
the once established gym
menu of weights, some treadmill,
rowing machine,
                 but plenty of squash.
love at first sight...
       once you start making
the pancakes... you're dead.
       she serves you a ******* oven
baked chicken and
     some variation
of upper-class with a slice of
lemon in a cognac glass
and you're, supposedly: "made for life"...
  why the hell was it a russian
to begin with?
   ***-wise... sure compatible...
i asked her how many multiple *******
she had in that one last night
in st. petersburg in 2007...
she said 7...
            that was fun,
i have to admit...
       for half a month while she
wason her period i implored her:
it will alleviate the pains
and cramps...
    of course she finally conceded
the remark,
****** on, bath water running...
  "improvisation" later...
   - but it's memory?
   how can i alzheimer this sort of *******?
how can i, "erase" memory
to let someone new in?
oh, ******* brainchild of genghis khan,
no one new is coming in...
soliloquy moment:
   i'm not even close to erasing
this ****, memory, memory is already
fickle in its nature,
   unless...
settled with a scholastic rubric
of the pedagogy foundations...
26 letters... they are never in order
when magnified to encompass words...
so... why this whole a b c d e f g *******?!
eh?!
           like some sort of counter
history timeline i'm supposed
to erode my brain with?!
this **** stays,
   for however many months,
and it was only months...
      something, mattered...
       the ideal, the ideal,
the ideal of me finally being able to fall,
and be, in love...
        i never found it again,
and i never will,
but i cling to the person who fell in love,
in the way as he did,
and kept it,
   until being rejected,
and then cast into a pit of lies...
   from which: i, the narrator, spawned...
and it will repeat itself, repeat,
repeat, repeat, constantly...
           not because i haven't learned
to forget: but because i haven't learned
to lie...
to craft castles from clouds in the sky...
to create the motiff of artifice...
you never visit a butcher for
a pre-cooked ready-meal...
    you go... hopefully...
   for the olaff, and the raw cuts of meat...
i abhor idealistic lovers,
these... chauffeurs of idealistic "freedoms"...
a priest wasn't going to cut it,
a psychiatrist wasn't going to cut it,
i needed just enough heart numbing
*** with prostitutes
to feel inclined to preserve the womb
of birth in my body,
as the warmth of my heart,
and then...
             enough justification to stand
akin to tombstone,
plus i paid an extra 10 quid on
top of the 10 quid entrance fee to the brothel
and the 110 quid for an hour's
worth with a bulgar woman...
           so... i could speak from
******* on a ***** of a thousand
***** a thousand tongues.
       lucky me... "apparently" the kid wasn't
mine... "apparently" she was dating
her old boyfriend when she split
up with me...
        she married, divorced...
       married again...
****** here and there...
              would there have been any
point in fathering a *******
compared to this compensation
of written words?
          i don't think so...
          but at least now i know...
i can trust a *******...
          she'll at least tell me...
that she has s.t.d. checks regularly...
and to think,
in what some people would call
the filth and murk,
              i found gold...
                           an honest tongue,
and for what's that worth: a pure heart;
pay an extra to perform oral
*** on a ******* is one thing...
kiss one... well... quiet another; savvy?
all the words secrets become
blatantly apparent,
           no more than that,
of the "original" sin...
    when cain (the vegeterian)
              couldn't plagiarize abel
   (the meat eater)...
                    but cain...
           he's not guilty of "original" sin...
he's guilty of ******...
         if he copied abel,
    and...
                    didn't become a vegetarian...
he'd still be guilty...
   of "original" sin...
                 but hey...
                           there's some devilish
logic of conclusion in all of this...
         i just happen to have come
across my the fickle faculty of memory,
and it is, a really fickle ***** of a faculty.