belgravia on itv... and the world is filled with... odes to charlemagne - or rather: the emperor has risen... in the form of a bonaparte...
i lost my virginity to a french girl from Grenoble - a one ms. psychologist Isa-bel-l'ah...
and i had three pictures hanging in my student accomodation overlooking the salisbury crags... one i put my amp on the windowsill and did a rendition of... something from the movie crow / last days...
there was plato... there was the marquis de sade... and then there was napoleon...
i was immediately reminded... but napoleon did x y and z... i could swear the zeitgeist for us begins with the end of the 2nd world war? well: i lost my virginity... didn't i?
and come to think of... there is the trafalgar sq. in London... and there's the monument when it came to Austerlitz victory...
napoleon and that old bias... for all those that encompassed in the duchy of warsaw... or from under the partition shared between the prussian the russian and the austro-hungarian empire...
a short-lived affair... but... she minded napoleon but not marquis de sade... come forward 200 years... what are the monuments of the 2nd world war? what are the... ******* monuments of the 1st world war? the cemeteries at Ypres for western europe... the death camp memorials and the little ghetto lockets of memory and: gypsy good fortune in the east?
a picture of the mushroom eating and clinging onto the flesh of men and animals in a symbiosis and mind-control dynamics of the fungus keeping the host alive... unlike a virus?
where are the monuments for all that was achieved in the two wars? where's the trafalgar sq. where's the arc de triomphe? between 1803–1815 or between 1939–1945... well... 12 years is not 6... i guess you can't achieve much of any sort of "meaningful" war if... there's not a decade included in the mix...
oh i'm sure it's going to be hard to imagine the führer as the kaiser... because: dressed in khaki like a whittle hanzel schoolboy when all the big boys started to wear schwarzgekleidet of zee SS...
from a perspective of history... i am unsure as to why... this ms. psychology major would grieve the affairs of napoleon... perhaps if he was a bit taller... she might have a fancy for him... then again... as kaiser... as emperor... come to think of it... the notation: Frank would included the swiss... the belgians the dutch... luxembourg... but not those rascals... in the rhineland-palatinate... or north-rhine-westphalia...
schubert symphony no. 4 in c-minor, D. 417... i always thought that schubert... was the pianist competing with violins to tackle shumann... never mind...
then again: illuminating life of those that still have a toe in the remaining posit of life... yet 3/4 of what life is willing to offer has both feet in the coffin and a last nail to beg for the closure and funeral procession of that chapter of human details to be: ascribed to the realms of solely learning... about it... there's no great-grandma with her wheelbarrow of memories to grant you "perspectives"...
he was a führer... but not the kaiser... come to think of it... the rise and fall... from the confines of being rejected from an art-college...
today one of my cats (i only have two) accidently burned the hairs of her tail when she signatured it (the tail) across a burning candle... and... you wouldn't believe it... the smell of burnt cat furr... i can imagine escaping my episodes of solipsism when venturing into sniffing someone else's farts to be more appealing... than the smell of... the burning of cat furr...
i did remark... i don't think it was all that pleasant working as butchers in those concentration camps... if the burning of cat furr smells so bad... if the burning of skin, nails... bones... i'm starting to think it was a hell-hole for both the camp "workers" and.... those about to be forced on the altar of the belly of Moloch...
and when the hebrew god conquered the gods of the philistines and the caanites... did he "fall asleep"... thinking they wouldn't somehow use people that wouldn't otherwise pay direct homage to them... for their devilish enterprises?
where are the monumets from world war I or world II that aren't cemeteries or memorials or the death camps themselves? there's not point merely seeing... imagine going to Handel's messiah at the royal albert hall... and only seeing an orchestra play... most associated with seeing are: the quality of either inanimate objects or moving objects... but there isn't a mention of the sounds locked in brimfuls in these things... but most importantly... i can't smell that death circus... well... no matter... i don't need to visit those death camps and pay some spezial ode to memory: it will just take a cat accidently burn its tail furr brushing it over a candle... that's enough... thank you...
i don't need to see those camps... not out of denial outright... but... without the scent of burning hair and flesh... the infamous cracow's winter snow of cremations...
but the smell is missing... i don't need to visit these places for a picture of unused hammers and nails... in their pristine gothica of still slippery when kept in a mummified state of being oiled for use... i don't like to rumminate in echoes of: what this oven was used for... the scent has subsided like a tide and all that's exposed is never the living proof... i have archeological proof... that it is so sudden... doesn't matter... i don't have the "perfume" to riddle me with an immediacy of a recoil! for that? i just need a cat to accidently burn a few hairs of its tail over a candle...
it's one of those needle injections straight into the nostrils... seeing the oven will do very little to give an expanse of my: sisyphean weight to tow along...
faster than the speed of light: or the digestion imprint of a photograph... faster than the speed of sound...
ssssssssssssssssssssscent... i don't need to see what other people decided to want and see... the burning of flesh and most notably unwashed hair and furr... that's plenty... i don't want to discourage myself from cooking anything else in the future...
sometimes my room becomes a hotel for either moths or flies... i currently have an early waker... she must be nearing being a year old... you can tell... her flight is more methodological... it isn't that usual flurry and all that excited presence of itself: unique in a bounty of life... i will not bother this fly... if she was a mosquito... perhaps i would...
i am longing to see the spawn "maggots" of moths eat and curl up in cotton...
where are the monuments to call it: the end of world war I and world war II... it's as if... it has to be shamed... this whole genesis story from half-way between the past century... and into this... swamp-en-masse...
last time i checked... that "something" between the serbians and the croats and the muslims of yugoslavia... the 13th waffen mountain division... or head east... the ukranian infamous insurgent army... only recently i heard some major ****-wits decided to drill holes into the tires of ambulances... near bristol...
as a perfectly just cold blooded heart... is the crucifixion the epitome of a demigod's death? what about... being spiked? being forced onto a pike via the architecture of where the intestines meet the coccyx... the *******... the ****... and the pelvis? with hands tied? what about hanging off a meat-hook... with the meat-hook making the incission under the jaw? hands and legs tied?
the crucifixion is just an out-dated symbol of sacrifice... no wonder all that came after had to become so... more... adventurous... wouldn't we be foolish when it came to slacking on the chapter of torture?
but at least one aspect of life can be still felt to be pure, "aryan"... un-disturbed... pain... is so un-interrupted by competing subjectivities... that... well... it's almost akin to cross paths with god... pain is pure in that it is true... forever: there's that other great democratic force at work than mere death... by the time we're through death is but a bureucratic notation of a statistic: a near miss of anonymity...
there's that great leveller of pain... from a simple toothache... it's as if an ****** that comes on the wings of being... a sedative of consciousness... pain as that... pain is an inoculate agent against reality... against consciousness... all for that ****** of dreams... lucky for me... i don't dream so well... i forrest gump the whole affair...
some would think pain as a defining moment an event horizon for their numb-skulled crossword puzzle zeniths of "life"... i see pain more in favour of... i want to be cured from having to curate so many mediocrities of this life: as served and as service for others... so dilligent at being busy-bodies in the shelter of hierarchies and the shadows of: the impossible perfection of mountain replicas of Giza...
pain is illumination... beginning with a toothache... once this temp. filling is ready to be scrubbed out... and a root canal is to be fitted... i think i'll begin with an oyster-esque "typo" readying myself for an ****** when asked 'would you like an anaesthetic' and the reply will be... 'no'... clearly i don't have as many avenues as are readily available when it comes to a holy trinity of mouth, ******... *******...
self-serving pleasures of the extensions of pinching... by either crap pincers or the cold of virus simulation of crowns when having an ice-cube placed into my palm...
in that i am wholly sympathetic to pain... well... what good did reading walter benjamin's illumination(s) essay do to me... beside what i already know about... the difference between collecting books... and collecting books and reading them...
my personal library would shrink somewhat... given that i own pretty much an assortment of what has already been read: i'm not my grandmother: unlike watching a film... i can't re-read a book... give me 2 years reading one... but i will not re-read it!
this extension of a mollusk's zenith via a ******... of all that's the sensation that rhymes heart with brain...
tow the bones... tow the bones... come to the horizon where the soft tissue blitzkriegs past the bone to the marrow...
arable lure of the prosthetic ghost, limb... and limp... soft zenith pleasure... while at the same time... entertaining "things" that only secular sensibility measures can instill... do not cross paths with mythology: goodness! you might forget being snarky and insensible come tomorrow's year monday when journalism catches up from... "somehow" being detached from her de facto and carpe diem mantras of modus operandi!
i might call it: the moth's seal of the lips... enough to lick a postage stamp... hardly enough to actually kiss...
sold: christianity: metaphorical cannibalism... i would rather taste the real thing... if ever such an opportunity should give sway...
a führer is not a kaiser... back in the day... there was respect in post-napoleonic war London... in belgravia... how did the h'american white house originate... the Belveder of Warsaw... vermin, peoples of the world: nibble...
i'm here to claim my future: my anonymity... i'm here to scatter with the dues of the frail... waiting for no clarity of locked: stature worded in baron... no stature worded in kaiser... führer... i am on the sole minding of... the gnostics... the heretics...
i want to burn blue when all other dogmatic breaths burn yellow... that i drink is of no solace... bribe the reader! inner vacuum otherwise a handshake with my shadow... by candlelight... which is a bribe for an audience of death: that personification on a theme of romance... thanatos... chilling the spine... and the serpentine...
i want to see the gallows... and allure of seeing ***** and rot come oozing from their baptised fleshy bits... i want to be curator of the last abolished screech of existence... i wand to hush them... by sharpening a knife... i want to find the idle fork... i want to find the crown of ferns... and kick and stab... the house of already dead roman emperors... sitting... nay... loitering... the anger of pride on their laurels...
napoleon... even with a name like that... you can stomach the usual: steak becoming a lump of minced beef... but when it's ****** or stalin... czopek or elert... you'd wish for a horsehoof to be dubbed: smith... -smithy... or some other... lucky you: frauman... fregel... made it up as we went along...
yep... yep... i get it... drinks a whiskey... ****** out a lemonade... and for whatever "genius": genius... that third tier of being... not spawned by the gods... but by man... in between angels and demons... the geniuses... that autistic master-class of... ****'s itching kinda eerie!
i'm drunk: most of the people are sober... i'm not going to have to give an apologetics lecture on the sober sods... am i? romance period... a bit like being a modern brit and all that wham! sputnik dazzle of the: grit brighton!
jokes aside... the winged hussar... also mongol... ******* that clad themselves in dog **** to imitate... what would later become... the 365 harem of an alexander...
would it be any good reading the greeks? can you really want to "catch-up" on so much... when in fact you should be reading the people who have re(a)d... the ancient greeks?
here's me taking heidegger's advice... spend 12 years reading aristotle... martin... oi oi... that leaves me doing more work than the already work required in pretending to be catholic... and doing a spin-off sunday... how about me just reads up on yous... how's that? 2 years worth of you... is about... whatever it took you to "master" aristoteles: ah-chew: chow-mein sucker...
life is or at least has become or will become... too impertinent... then again... lassitudes of being kept in the confines of one's own allowances... i can't expect... in the same way... i can't become expectent... it's a two-way-swoe-order in the guise of a phoenix... (missing phenotypes)...
the best held advent of: if you weren't a part of pappa's genocide of a clarifying sputnik's *****-out into frog's dream-alike all mammalian when you're already on your way out with the moloch altar sacrifice of no foetus would be born...
call it a... champagne bottle uncorking ritual when it comes to... and all that other drifting ritual of "entropy" whenever a sobering / *** note would awake a hannibal lecturer for and what more... that was necessary...
stipends of: gotcha... eagles - witchy woman... ol' cliff does a little number: like no intro for a jazz megahit quintet when the bass comes along... devil woman... or the totally camp... dale winton... because turning totally gay only arrived in full bloom and daffodils in the trenches... when true gay arrived... well... any other hole to fill...
this hole's better than any ****** eye's... who's that backdoor man of assorted gifts, to begin with?
rhyme rhymes rhyme rhymes... easily to make a happy than no alcoholic into a: no thank you...
discretely... suburban... those desperado... casa-esposa... the pride of the son: a mother... that's usually enforced...
las orgullo de hijo: una madre... bad spanish... bad german... mongrel of the either and some anglican and some ****** catholic...
if there was still something of a worthwhile partition of time... ****** was never going to become the next napoleon... even though... invading russia was a plagiarism... and the retrdo-event of all that waste of time... 200 years and the waste of time with the air onslought for the battle of britain... the u-boats...
no mention of waiting a while... in that "what if" universe of revising... one two three four... with: einz zwei drei vier...
or... the eager panzermensch... and that tunnel under the sea... it can be noted that a 100 year war did exist... between the english and the french...
if the napoleonic wars have the monuments... for what sort of reasons were the 20th century "ende von alles kriege ende"... ******* proxies of the yugoslav conflict... vietnam...
the monuments of the greatest wars of man... monumets? cemeteries... or the death camps... was this the turning point where... death by war was to be... lessened by omittance: "keep calm and carry on" *******? the celebrated en masse of one single male *******?
how isn't citing german... an exfoliation from speaking mere peasant english? der zunge ist berufung die gegenwart: ein vater: ein vaterzunge!
scheisse und höllegrube mit es! der "vaterland": fathers of daughters of would be mothers... mothers of sons of would be fathers... motherland... fatherland... mothertongue... a ******* great big itch of grammatical concerns! blah!
where are these monuments akin to trafalgar sq.?! what's to be so... gloated... about defeating the nazis? where is the gloat in mere words... but sorely missed when it comes to sacrificing bone and marrow and muscle to focus on making escapades of marble?! where... are... these... monuments?!
my own shadow overshadows the testimonies of... two... very... minor... wars... perhaps world war I had covered one or two hurt prides... hurt egos... but... after all... a khaki attired boyscout... when all the bad boys were later... morphed by hugo boss into schwarzgekleidet steinherzimmobilien...
ein führer ist nein (ein) kaiser... not like the title napoleon acquired... napoleon was cited as: emperor... a reicarnation of charlemagne... too bad for whoever barbarossa was... rutger hauer?! yes... but rutger was, dutch... for ****'s sake!
napoleon was crowned emperor in a church... ****** walked into an opera house... heard some wagner... some wagner not in that anemic proposal of the walhall from das rheingold via michele campanella...
all that becomes the litany... prior to the peeling to the basic grammar... and then an attack on pronouns... as if all languages had... gender-neutral nouns of the anglican-sphere of "talk"...
strip me down the the Diogenes' basics of sodden cloth and dogs' **** to attire... perhaps i'll show you Cleopatra smile... or Mona Lisa frown... whatever might be the eventuality... this is not it; nor could it ever be... "it"; the "it" of what you seek.