how over pretentious of me...
islamophobia and russophobia...
odd bedfellows...

Mатвей Дракон: profile name...
but it's in russian and no one is willing
to stretch a darkening of humour...
to the extent of monty python...
because there's no canned laughter...

and there will never be...
not since i realised...
those four bottles of cider get me
more drunk than half a liter of
ms. amber... because the drinking
is measured and can reveal itself
in the process - rather than wait,
concentrated... and only expand
into more hours of sleep than
i could ever wish for...

but at least the russians speak of
russophobia as a reality -
the evil genius mantra...
which they are...
but there's no sense of: via irrational
arguments we will counter this
irrational fear...

so... the scuttling spiders announce!
and we will have ourselves
an orchestra!

even i thought this was too much,
too pretentious...
it's not a study... it's teasing...

a study in greek, hebrew, cyrillic and possibly sanskrit... because i'm not a monolingual hyper-inflation that will solve a crossword puzzle... when めば (eye-spot) is already... available? In a name there's a name in oh so many other languages... should i rely on relapsing into "gender-neutral" pronouns i'll cite... the noun-status extensions of letters, akin to a' into alpha... o' into omega... etc.

めば (eye-spot): that much is true...
sudoku...
i have made the following circumstance
plain...
there is no chance of me rising above
this already apparent crab-bucket intellectualism...
perhaps...
burden of rhyme...
it's only a "poem" if it rhymes...
rhyme is somehow identifiable with poo'etics...
ask an anne sexton... or perhaps:
no, don't bother...

she to burdens herself with rhymes -
and maybe she doesn't...
but this endless expectation to rhymes...
yes: plural was indicative of
the irony...
sometimes it's not even available...
to look back at this tool we have been given,
perhaps perfected better -
or not - since most of the time i find
myself: without an inch of belief
in catching some oratory / rhetorical
tsunami to... be the crow that croaks
the most and the loudest in this wake...

at least the russians acknowledge russophobia...
oh they're pay privy diligence to it...
they know they're the evil geniuses of this world...
they allow this irrational fear to sink in...
and then they rationalise it...

too bad for islamophobia...
it's not an irrational fear to begin with...
it's... more or less... a rational fear...
i think russophobia is an irrational fear...
after all: Kiev was founded by Vikings...
and apart from crown russia that's still
pretty much in Europe...
the asiatic branch of russia is too far away
to matter for either st. petersburg
of paris...

it's not convincing to be "reassured" while
the "enemy" persists to look bewildered
as if: no event is ever to happen
in the world - or also include him...
muslims? oh no... oh no at almost every turn
it seems...
sacred cows walk the streets of new delhi
while the people starve...

no dire warning: tiresome from the perspective
of a wormhole -
the count and the next count
the measures and what's to be left
dwindling... which is never a spectacle worth
reserving...
like putting on a vinyl and watching
the vinyl on a gramaphone...
or lighting a candle with a sulphur-sparked
match and sitting and "waiting"
watching while the candle burns...
and feeds a schtick of "anorexia"
absorbs all the shadows and stands at
midnight noon: with no wax to burn...

that feeling of having just ****** off
and then... prostate cancer pains
of having to make it absolutely necessary
to take a ****... to clean the ducts...
i still don't know why this "event"
is so precious for the quasi-cenobites...
it's no big deal...
just another genocide done into
the tissue later flushed...
perhaps if i were... shooting eggs
without the yoke it would somehow
matter...
perhaps i am...

but there's no zeitgeist to be had
concerning something that i make synonym
with wiping my *** asking
for nutella... and a skippy crunchy...
because: that's going to be the decade
defining EVENT!

funny... you ******* for no real reason...
nothing procreative...
gym-bro bollocking and that's not even
as much fun as going to a turkish barber
for a shave...
by then: everything concerning your
being - that is not going to be a moral
tool to raise children...
limbo in ego or the ego in limbo -
and that's never self or i...
but after an *******...
the most desperate need to take a ****...
to flush and make the ducts pristine... wiped
with ***** disinfectant...

about as odd as the bass guitar rising above
the drums - the oddity bass "rhyme"
and please... no guitar solos...
no metallica death to the bass
all that i hear is solo and rhythm guitar
and the drums...
they never got over the death of cliff burton...
or: how the rock band killed
the jazz band... focused on the rhythm guitar
and drums... but no trumpets just the vocals...
but still... no better use for bass?

it's always either: all that's music and...
it was always going to be not enough ***...
enough *** or just ***...
i went down the route of playing the brothel
roulette to catch up with the girls...
who i expect will later play bingo...
and we will probably try to age...
and be all romance...
and the man idiotic will still preserve
himself as unable to lie...
and she will... m'eh ah and all that litany
of sighs find the purse and the penguin
dancing the foxtrot from out
of the antarctica of his own ***...

russophobia: yes, an irrational fear -
even the evil geniuses of moscow acknowledge
this burden...
islamophobia... and... what?
milk and honey and yeast
and comatose black gold of ms. saudi of
the dinosaur arabia plucked...
a leaf... a laurel... from the pages of history
of: who's the good dog willing
to aport on call of command?!
into iraq and iran?

i can't hear a counter...
when it comes to it being anything rationalised
equal to the russian monologue...
claustrophobia and... it's irrational to me...
esp. when long winding...
when the cube talked to a field about...
abstract thinking -
at least claustrophobia is a metaphor
for abstract thinking - the lesser -

islamophobia is a ***** word...
esp. the -phobia suffix...
it's a perfectly rational fear...
given the mouse-and-leans have the gears
the fuel and the poker and backgammon "rules"...
as someone who might appreciate
a well sung adhan more than
an operatic aria...
well...
what's not to love?

at least for some it's known:
a drowning man will attempt to grip
a razor's edge without hope that it might be
an edge of a floating raft...
and they will always purse their mouth...
and waggle their tongue for
the pennies like sand shrapnel from
the payers for the goods...
an emirat sheikh and... the bore of the world...
if only the lottery of oil...
somehow... landed... in mongolia...

this world is a tiresome place...
given that arabs have the money...
and the chinese have: g.i. joe factories...
it's such a drab place...
such a clone furnace of the numbers
of mandarins...
and oh that niqab cinema...
even if you sell me something swedish
in black & white drab...
or some proto-turkic propaganda movie
to convert the "al-qaq" kurds (qa-eee-d'ah?)

welcome to europe... ghetto west of berlin...
back east there are needles...
walking about on the mountains
of camel humps...
notably in west warsaw coach station...
but the ukranians are always rather:
rowing the boat and the boat is always
heading into the furnace...

crab-bucket intellectualism...
these words are words that should be printed
and left on the northern line tube carriages...
like some free journalism paper wipe-my-***-with-i-wish,
why of course!
the highest i.q. renovations bottom-up to the top
always spreschen rhapsodies in wrap...
wrapping akin to:
i imagine the rappers chasing those...
john moschitta jr. is not a wrapper... rapper...
he's the add guy... and no rap on radio
adverts... when the T&S clauses are stressed...
and the muzak is dead and the lift is... falling...
like a ice-pick on the one dancing foot
of a burning burning with epitome given
the name... malchik trotting trotsky...

otherwise: blah - and endeavours into the bland...
some call it a guillotine...
i call it manglonia in england -
tiresome safe -
i almost pray to feel dangerous having
to acquire a straitjacket -
straitjacket bungee jump into conversation
like a rabid hive of the persona non grata:
of the commentary left-overs a priori
to the: walking onto the stage -
and talking with a gag in the mouth...
to speak a language for moths.