i'm all the failures i can claim to be...
and all that, have been festering beneath
my skin... which i have...
mastered to abide by, to slow the tide...
to somehow: linger and call them a...
barking shadow... whatever you might call them
otherwise...
there's somehow a selfless,
inconspicuous heart surgeon lingering
among these words...
wedded to a hard-boiled egg -
these words do not arrive out of will,
or hope, imagination or from loss -
they come... from the same place that
the following are wed:
lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate:
albreit macht frei...
(in perfect ratio of gravity -
the sensation of falling in the air
as "compensated to sinking in water)...
toys... the caron c stressor ******* around
with acute c self-evident "stressor"...
hell... is but a short commute toward
the roundabout of every other, nothing...
self-serving geocentric biological tick-tock...
and what if... my first given name
was hannibal...
anger is... tiresome...
i was too mad to "notice" burning crimson
with that potion a long time ago...
fixations on growing a beard....
and subsequently an itch...
when i wanted a horse they said:
you better drive a car...
i lost the plot by then...
reality is just one lineage of fiction
that most people agree to...
the rest become: wait for it... they become...
loiters... umbrella men for the phenomenon
of sprouting mushrooms come
the pseudo-monsoon season of autumn
and: europe...
i call the whiskey i drink: ms. amber...
she's a sweet 16 year old...
the kind of 17 year old harry styles
that a catherine flack - then aged 31 then -
would sleep around with...
it's whiskey to the minors...
but i've been habitual in how we became
to abuse: form a symbiotic relationship with
each other... ms. amber...
my clarinet in a closet... typo: sixteen...
skeleton...
and we all have our... p'ooh bear...
whatever p'ooh bear is good for....
totem parrot to keep the evil men at bay?
evil men... dark nobokov fetishes...
insinuation is rife...
before... whatever comes out of:
loitering at the altar of: the Hamley's toys...
niche section...
video prized primo...
just in my head some would claim...
one claim topples another and that's short of...
keeping up with mr. norman and...
a is o.k.: a) being society...
o.k. being the "individual"....
or some... remote representation of a...
former, glory...
if i only didn't have to mind: cow-towing
a river-esque relief of opinion down this
b'ah b'ah route of events of predictability...
peacock?! in my diatribe state of health?
it was hardly going to be a crux: concerning
itself with beauty...
a pain less painful as it becomes:
numbing... an existential "pain" is a numbing...
medicine has allowed it to happen...
not without a cry of relief...
but with a cry of: the despondent...
to have: a toothache... aleviated... in such a manner...
as to "somehow" ignore the existence
of one's teeth...
to cater for the tongue as...
possibly the only muscle in all of existence...
the painful pain...
rather than... the numbing pain...
via: the numbing of pain...
via ghost limbs and *******-limp innuendos...
jack would have said:
not among prostitutes it isn't...
and that's where the "debate" will remain...
hidden... and loitering in...
this being written in english...
the "experience" being half-whispered in bulgarian...
i drink a bottle of bourbon...
bourbon... a brothel is less a Kew garden accent,
less a perfumery too...
a brothel is... bourbon...
brothel in a bottle...
even i was a 16 year old colt once, upon, a, time...
what's the "problem" of me... as i was...
with a french braid... embodying
the whims of 14 year old girls in school...
asking me: wha' shampoo do y'ou use?
the answer came quiet dry...
'erbal essences.
mantra... all that leibniz ever wanted
was to become a... librarian...
all that leibniz ever wanted was to become a...
librarian...
while netwon was a leibniz...
and would have become...
something of a douglas murray these days...
sir... tacitus... and honours;
not to say any less or what would be:
the currency of now...
otherwise courage in a world where...
the gambler is the courage fiddler?
sign me up!