i sometimes take a walk to remind myself
that i still possess legs...
i have no curiosity
to chariot keeping up appearances:
after all...
a car does invoke
paying road tax...
and getting a yearly...
         m.o.t. check...
         driving a car implies:
you can be implored by
the police to be stopped-over
and have your driving licence
checked...
unlike... in some places...
where... the "lesser passport" /
identity card is invoked
for merely walking...
who's who...
into the petrol station...
a bottle of beer...
walking out: oh hell...
no bottle opener...
back into the petrol station
to buy a cigarette lighter...
the minor archimedes...
should i not enjoy having
legs that... can...
somehow behave autonomously?
that people want so much...
so much is to be achieved...
and then that marriage with
death: the inevitable bride...
to reach old age is somehow
the purpose these days...
to reach old age and to live
in fear...
   what a crowning achievement...
collision course with...
a "belief" in an after-life...
or the already suggested:
quest and... game over...
a car for...
driving through Upminster...
the teenager girls walking
around with teases of their
****-cheeks exposed...
and i am somehow:
"not" tempted?
    to what... execution of a narrative?
she will grow to be...
less gracious than...
an 18th century first edition...

it's one thing to walk through
a gallery of paintings...
after all: to paint is to have invested
in something...
words are cheap...
homogeneity of ink...
            baron square sold for
his elevated cubist reiteration
of the rhombus...
    
               transit art: sitting nicely
with some scrap-heap journalism...
today was: this! spectacular!
no different to the prior day!
no different to the day after!

           but the sun and earth...
the moon was slow...
there was this miraculous... buoyancy...
nonetheless...

one could breathe awe and breath
it... because... even though there
were animate objects...
in the narrative... they... couldn't
be distinguished from the inanimate
objects... they... became...
so coherently... predictable...
fail-safe mechanisms...
truly: deus ex machina...

                  one can almost tease
a solipsism when...
and how the wind brushes tree branches...
how the sea froths and imitates
yards gained wave upon wave
for the shape of reiteration...
but there's "nothing" within it...
to prove a: ex nihil continued:
ad continuum:
    
               the thesaurus god...
a peacock of synonyms...
    the hebrews have... 72 substitute nouns...
the arabs have 99 minor allahs...
and "we"... well.. we have...
the omni- litany rubric...
which... is boring as ****...
              omnipresent i.e. telepathic
is the worst read scenario...

   at least... if given birth to a telepathy of god...
one would be more... courtesan...
when dealing with madmen...
impregnated with the "imagination
of sanity sages": the priests...

it's one thing to... spew the narrative...
sober... dictum: sane...
but another of an omnipresent...
boor... of a god...
and thesaurus rex: forger of a mona lisa...

if it is such an abhorrent word...
the arabs would tell you:
                 dog... as would... slayer ***
the stooges sing-along...
        make way! for the almighty:
blah'lah!

the idea of "god" is most probably...
something...
infantile... imbecile...
               terminology: schizoid: supreme
binding glue...
       which begs the question:
it's not really a thought of...
   but the obstructive nature that...
has no... real narrative purpose...

                       we could have so much
more than... the joy of exercising one's
legs when walking...
it is... mid-june... after all...
the nights are warm...
           the solistice is upon us...
and i can... walk my choice of streets
and find... hardly a wish for
confrontation with a brute
about to cout-knuckles...
or a hard-on thrill adventure with
a *****...

          there has to come a clearer
gratification from walking...
to use ones legs has to become
a central theme from therein...
        how... i don't have to...
ask for a ghost-limb effect...
   how... the legs can write their own...
paragraph of an hour...
so that... the brain can switch off...
for all the claustrophobia
of descartes' res cogitans:
     i counter... res vanus...
         in...

                  how a certain scent...
short-circuits my memory
and i enter a walk-through cinema...
or... after a worthy hour...
i sit... perched on a windowsill
on a folded leg...
and look at my... private library...

  a walk through a gallery...
  and... that sort of session strapped
to a windowsill...
a crow healing a broken wing...
to look at all the books...
read... being stacked up...
     it's unlike... walking into a bookshop...
and this feud of the eyes and the heart...
and the mind: the argument...
of having read...
the brothers karamazov...
but not having read... moby ****...
but somehow having ingested...
a cultural relativity of moby ****
through a different medium...
so... no... not ignorant of moby ****...
but... you have read the brothers karamavoz...
but you haven't read moby ****...

and that's... "somehow" a problem...
which would be hardly a problem...
if you were a PRO-per... a PROP'ah...
MAN'S-MAN... a WOEMAN'Z-MENSCH!
let's forget that the prefix:
uber beside: taxi-daddy-for-her-16-yer-old
princess oi oi! cabby! blah blah...

you know... it's a lot different...
walking into a bookshop...
surrounded by... books you haven't read...
and... amassing a private library:
romford town library can be shamed!
although... proud...
they did own thomas mann's
dr. faustus... which i did borrow...

                         a book... on par...
with anything heidegger ever would write
in either old age or youth...
beside... it's one thing to walk into
a bookshop and be...
"circumcised" k.o. with all the books
you having read...
and those nights staging a coup...
looking at your private collection...
and what you're read... of it...
and...
              if you could ever see the size...
of the in-real-life... the size of...
philipp MALYAVIN's... peasant woman
dancing... late 1900s...

        well... it would be akin to...
standing before an altar of someone who
had a private library... of read books...
of mutilated books by reading...
books with creases like napkins...
          a private library not to boast
a fake intellect...
or to boast intellect therefore...
to "appear intelligent"...
   let's skip to... nurturing a double posit
of privacy... a cognitive labyrinth...
enough to enjoy a beer when walking
in the night...

        unlike going to a gallery and
appreciating all the paintings...
to look at... a stack of read books...
books... not worth discarding in a carboot sale...
a private library: notably...
in two tongues... and a third spare...
a stack of books read...

say... alone... the Sienkiewicz trilogy...
which is not the Tolkien trilogy...
i'm bored of people regurgitating....
as they would do... making videos...
citations of 1984 and brave new world...
yes yes... and what of... Zamyatin's we?  
subscript notes for:
pedophiles, pederasts and pedants...
or priests, prostitutes and psychiatrists...        
                  
it's one thing... to go among paintings
in a gallery... without a mirror or glass...
and the ******* of space that a gallery confines
the painting to...
or a piece of paper and some caryons like
a child might...
but... eh!
    not going anywhere...
      a private library of books read...
   stacked like cans of baked beans
in a supermarket...
hey presto! no warhol!
     a different paternity of time invoked...
i have... 3 years apart... and roughly
a month from each of these 3 years...
           confined to... roughly...
the parameters of a box that could also
be used to... stack-up radios... etc.

     yes... it has become apparent...
this life is worthy of exhausting the narrative...
after all... so many things in this world:
do not have a fixation of narrative
as their prime concern for: ex nihil...

                      i have the cameo cinema of memory...
the blank stare and buddha-blind vector
of imagination...
               and that... ever...
more realistic currency of presently:
entertained consciousness... with not much
achieved... beside...
an argument contra Freud:
            what if i haven't been afforded
the luxury of dreams? interpret what?
    a hermann rorschach?
                       herr doktor KLEKS...
    kleggs... and various other alternatives...
antithesis chiral...
                             of note:
the lesser detail of any known theoretical
confine of organic chemistry.