the world renowed english: black humour...
schwarzhumor...
better known by its "high german" -
alt-vater-zunge... schadenfreude term...
perhaps this anglo-slav of me always
found an iron maiden
of self-censorship to never
allow myself a pleaßure from this...
"sense of humor"...
it's not that i'm gripped with
either sympathy or empathy -
i guess i am... more or less:
arms tied... pretending to be a rock
or a ghost when...
we shared a laugh:
once upon a time... when one of us
was kicked in the *****...
or the football came full force
in a football match against the genitalia...
or how i was so wrapped up
in reading a newspaper while
walking... i'd walk into a lampost...
it's not laughing at misfortune is
general... it's a quick-equipped
circumstance of slapstick humor...
the base instinct... almost paranoid
in waiting... because you suspect
the universe to find the counter joke...
of close proximity karma...
you laugh nervously...
because: the 12th rule for life...
sorry... can anyone translate the fact
that petting a cat in a street...
is by far the hardest rule "for life"...
that cats do not come with:
readily petted... by strangers...
unless... so unloved by their owners
they become "missing"...
lost dogs and "missing" cats...
a cat is never missing...
i own two cats = i vacuum the house
every, single, ******* day...
sometimes i'm vacuuming spare air...
but i always wish for vacuuming
to be fishing-esque...
the need for the house to be clean...
shedded-furr-free is...
almost compulsive...
but it's necessary...
it's not that ****** easy to pet a cat
in the street...
it's too obscure to be a rule...
dumb dog will be whipped and either
turn around and bite...
or further his nostalgia for the all-loved-puppy...
distrustful creatures...
these cats... a black cat crosses your path...
the number 13... bad luck...
elsewhere... not here: not with me...
it's hardly a rule... because it can't be kept:
no random cat is willing to be petted
by a stranger on the street...
first of all... you need to walk the streets
at night...
but this is about...
never being inclined to entertain
schadenfreude...
among the western slavs... the polacks...
there's only plainsight jealousy...
i can stretch my palette when it comes
to the english schwarzhumor:
the ridicule and the terse accounts...
and the bombast...
i can entertain this dry scrutiny:
cptn. obvious in tow...
but the old rhine black forest humour?
schadenfreude...
i actually find it less difficult to avoid
encountering this mild sadism...
what's harder? faking apathy...
because when confronted with having
to disguise either empathy or sympathy...
is much harder than to give way
to schadenfreude...
back into the co-ordination of a self:
your self: reflective -
yourself: the reflexive...
it's a balancing act... and it's near impossibility
of stratifying "neuter"...
well...
apathy - what a paradoxical word -
a bit like psychopath -
the pathology associated with the existence
of a soul - psychopathy and exclusive materialism...
apathy: to be freed from all and any
pathology is a pathology per se:
which is apathy...
it's this automated "free ride" that
drags along minor details...
posists spotting microaggressions...
you see them... for your own pleaßure...
since there's no major hinderence...
no clarified pathos -
no obliterating ****** impetus -
the middle-ground: no-man's-land...
i currently have a cold - that famous...
voltaire definition of living in england:
the forever-cold...
the bounty of living on an island...
premature arthritis and constant colds...
away from the dry air compensations
of continental air...
sure... it does rain on the continent...
but you're not surrounded by water
all the time!
perhaps the + is that...
given so much water around...
the daytime hours come sooner
during the winter months...
than they do on the continent...
it's this... ******* island damp!
but - in all honesty... a cold is a welcome
period of: immediate discomfort...
with immediate remedies at hand...
discomfort as: less lethargy and more
nausea...
i know the signs of this minor discomfort...
all i have to look at is...
the uvula...
i know i'm in the chicken-shack enclosure
of the common, mundane cold:
ad nauseam when the uvula...
is... not swollen... but elongated... seemingly dripping...
when the uvula is touching the tongue
when the mouth is open... i know i have
been infected by a common discomfort...
would this ever stop me drinking?
hardly...
but tonight... no need to walk
the labyrinth of the outer english suburbian
streets looking for cats and foxes "to pet"...
the third tonsil is still in place -
it almost looks like a overtly-wrinkled
nutmeg stone...
and it protrudes itself in the gob
when an automated reaction to regurgitation
plays a role...
from the days when i used to mind
my weight and physique...
also having succumbed to classical
bulimia (roman) -
or eating and then regurgitating what
i ate... ******* down the throat
at first... until the oesophagus was
properly trained...
but an uvula that's "trickling" down...
like a mama goat's ****** that has been
****** off too many times...
and is lazily agitating the tongue it
rests on... then i know i have a common cold...
i experienced schadenfreude once...
but it was the immediacy that surrounded it...
it became an outburst of laughter:
spontaneously or rather:
if i were th lucky man, wearing a top hat
or a bowler... walking through trafalgar sq.
and having a pigeon **** on it...
but there's a doubled problem surrounding
schadenfreude... these days...
it's a humour associated: brooding-over...
or like reading a charles dickens novel...
something bogus like so...
it's hardly married to the child of spontaneity...
or the reflexive invitation: like water,
most unstoppable...
humour in a sense: pickling cucumbers
so that they become gherkins...
those tiny little oddities of the kingdom
of... the vegetative state of affairs...
i don't know why i would enjoy this...
ancient (not so primitive) sense of humour...
today i finally realised working my way
around the alarm clock...
and what a beautiful morning it was...
being woken up with music...
full blast: american head charge's debut
album... rather than some alien sound
of gongs and castrated gods, or sparrows...
a tonne of elephant **** landed in my room
and i became chirpy like a sparrow
without... what those gypsies get up to:
sing-along *******: happy r.e.m. -
peoples of the world: disunite...
two jokes: why do italian men grow moustaches?
so they can look like their mothers...
nick nolte: head full of honey...
decent film...
joke no. 2... why are all german jokes...
it's better than these people have a car to export...
there is no german joke...
little brother england - the expansion
of saxony is one thing... but hearing
a pomeranian joke is... watching the *******
tide becomes funnier the minute i close my
eyes and imagine: the need to blink upon
opening my eyes again...
this lazy uvula... soar throat...
more like: the uvula made a bed from the tongue
and forgot to dangle:
my mouth the church bell: the uvula the gong...
but not this lounging...
*****-****** ****** off too many times:
milking cow ******* thrice daily state of
sick... common sick... boring sick...
where the everest of the major discomforts...
like the ghost leg of an amputee?
teasing fate?
fun out of what? low i.q. or...
            karma-paranoia?
      choice of words... lepidopterological ask:
a cloud of:        e     d      r
                        a      b     n     o   r
                             i     h     m   p   w:
red baron whimp...
this... monolingual fetish for... best we not learn
another tongue in fear of becoming schizoprenic /
bilingual... need fortifications!
anagrams and crosswords!
the trouble of meeting an english native-speaker
half-way...
you'll never meet an english native-speaker
half-way... either way or no way...
a rare event... sooner coming across
a polyglot or a polymath than a willing...
native bilingual...
greenwich meridian: bellybutton people
of the world: the center of attention!
     even if the natives go against the welsh...
from the outside looking in?
not that many compliments going to scotland...
gaelic somewhat: more like mostly:
the trajectory of: but we kept the accents
the hark-and-harking-sense of sing-along:
tweed and tartan!
yes... but the welsh...
kept... llachar coch
    llaчar coх (cyrillics borrowed)...
or llakhar (kh - к) coх... draig...
gwyn heddwch (hedłх) rhag uchod...
gwyrdd porfeydd isod...
dazzling red dragon:
white tranquilty from above...
green pastures below...
              not so much can be said
about the scots: who "forgot" gaelic...
mainstream...
but: och! the glaswegian accent!
mein herr! what a bounty!
               i have a real problem with schadenfreude...
i don't know... perhaps...
i never appreciated the joke of:
having to walk in someone else's shoes:
literally...
if they are too big: the sensation of
walking the clown's walk
on a ground littered with dead squid...
slipping but not slipping...
otherwise the cramp and "claustrophobia"
of being a tip-toeing geisha...
or something from that chinese nightmare
of the lotus feet of the Song and Qing dynasties...
called: lotus feet... more like...
pork-stilletos choppers...
you can almost spot a hoof in this
man-made deformity...
blah blah all you want about the superiority
of the chinese ideograms: dear ezra...
sure... a chinese ideogram as... a brick
to be lent in building the great wall... against
the mongol...
but... at the end? what's being said:
the crude syllable: chin chong shin diggy diggy.