back toward my usual: relaxing over a sudoku
while drinking -
honestly: if i, were a man,
that greatly desired an expansive biography...
a sort of life akin to: ******* against the wind...
asking questions:
   what's a pumpernickel to windmill?
          out of the lucky drawn of blind oaths
paranoia -
         i am calm like the best of them:
calling the shots to spice up the difference
between verbatim and verbatom
  (last time i checked verbatim implied:
word for word - the ditto of dittos -
the dog's ******* sort'ah cue)...
it's wasn't a pumpernickel to a windmill
to begin with: gingerbread -
that soft fudge kind... not a hard crisp:
moses! moses! the tablature! type of ginger...
so a mix of the two... lucky day as any:
i'll just dye it with having completed
the think-tank task of solving the shoelace
"riddle"..
          and i guess i will not find a buckle:
it's otherwise so impossible to have
read a bastion from the 18th century...
that not many have...
and that it has been the 21st century nibbling
at me...
and that people still haven't...
what a sorrow of exclusivity:
a broker of: to read a work that...
persists at being pop among moths and dust
and some extension of the term
necromancy...
                    by now anything cartesian:
revised or otherwise becomes a faux pas...
a sort of "revision" of:
irish catholic - in the name of the alt vater...
the blistering kiss to summon
the son with his body the apple
the crucifix the tree of trees...
                       not that new metaphors
couldn't possibly be generated:
but that there's a fear of transcending
the superstitious...
                          in the shadow of the cross:
i hollowed out my bearings bare...
i married thought to a dream
and i had a dream of: a bellowing -
of a greater grand yawn of: nothing...
i was never the architect of or in them...
    having to come back...
there was still the same robotic heart...
and liver... and stomach...
i was having to discover less
a nuance or adventure:
but the whole process of automation...
that i had some freedoms:
i will claim the skeleton owned
most of it... in terms of thought:
  i probably thought of what someone else
thought of: whether as an original
intactness -
my "original sin" was that...
i probably succumbed to a plagiarism...
at some point...
whether to revise of innovate...
i became a generic this that & the other...
like beauty: esp. of women...
oh the generic side of...
when the face starts to contort under
the pandemonium of onomatopoeias
in the *** act...
                   like a cubistic:
if the rhombus is beyond the square
then that sort of face is beside a rhombus or...
les demoiselles d'avignon...
   perhaps it was always a concert of
a nose or a scalp or a chin... or a beard...
for the itch... and the impossible translation of:
well... there is no right of genius
by a mere easing of the itch with
a scratch...
unless... i'd be scratching that itch
with a feather...
there! the impossible! a well off image that
can't be translated into a sound...
back to the fore:
objectivity is overrated...
i find that each and every day...
that Kafka feared...
it isn't / it wasn't a communist / capitalist
dichotomy... sparring...
both share a capitulation for
bureaucracy... the "safe space" walking
abortions of: pencil-pushers and nostalgia paper...
grizi-piórek: quill-nibblers...
   yes... that agony of trades as the hamster wheel
plumbers: forgotten eastern european
extracts in the houses of western
journalism...
after all... i read a newspaper that doesn't
exactly inform me...
i am more informed concerning
how i might / ought to feelz zis...
       bistro!
                     please... no thought experiments...
i have one already:
thought as the moral: (th)ought...
that's the only one i have...
the rest has to succumb -
notably thinking loitering and subsequently
put to paper:
  thought as a pleasure -
from a deeply personal stance of
narration or some variation
of punctuation - metaphysical -
or thought as an agony -
when the brain (the source of thinking?)
starts to mimic the rest of
this automated corpus -
those automatic / repetitive thinking
patterns that exhaust both mind
and body: esp. when there is no
menial task at hand...
or hands to mind: for that matter...
no... thought as a postcard: wish you...
wish i...
a 21st century faux pas... reading descartes...
i re(a)d kant and have no one to talk
to about... because i'd want to?
least probably: no nein nie niet...
there was a mind-body duality?
i guess there was...
that there is now a mind-body dichotomy:
a metaphorical schizophrenia -
why would normal, sane, people...
masquerade this dichotomy
in a psychiatric metaphor:
how easily can you hear the suffix
being cited: casually... schizoid...
   so... the mind-body duality was...
but not really...
in that the metaphor for schizophrenic...
and that's... parallel...
not linear bilingual...
people casually infer these metaphors
because...
  it's a clarifying calamity...
        
   the collective continent will never:
dearly appreciate the efforts of the english...
suppose they are too near to the mainland...
this... awkward looking thing... island...
like italy...
             because it's no iceland...
you can read of a czech writer flabbergasted
over a Flaubert...
but... Evelyn Waugh hardly creeps up
to the market value of export
for the global stage...
     what's that composer... "then again"...
Handel was a ******* polyphonic...
german...
           Holst too... never mind Orff...
old wounds: new blood
well... new wounds - old blood...
              Elgar?
      really? Elgar is my Penderecki -
i find it becoming to think very little
of oneself:
i suppose there was a body that exerted
enough pressure to type these words...
but i have a shadow: a proper extension
of thought to mind...
within the confines of this body...
i probably daydream and gesticulate
at bargaining or... gambling...

no overt use of pronouns:
whenever i look up at the starts
from the copernican genesis
i am panged with a myopia...
but... given some insect -esque detail...
i am having to shatter my eyes with
all those attentions to detail...
such is english... grammatically:
the overt-staging of pronouns
and conjunctions...
these stars are myopic staring-match-up...
these insects are my ordeals
of escapism...

pièce de résistance -
on the topic of culinary adventures...
can one be objective for such demands...
well...
come first served:
there's this demand for the objectivity
of sitting on a chair:
it's hardly a subjective experience...

objectively: as in - the opposing party -
socialism was exported
to mongolia to balance the deeds of
the horde -
    by objectivity i sense a need
to oppose - to make critique -
to elevate some alleviation of summons
of the encyclopedic courtesan -
crustacean halal?!
pork best fed: there's a leash and a dog
barking inquisitive as to
where the bite makes a churn...

a kippah for a keeper...
and the same loiter for the tonsure in
imitation...
when it's all dark and critter
ennobled from the east end
locket of prizes that summon:
London - a shelved ordeal of both
Mammon and Moloch...
       the crescendo approach...
the polyphony of teasing taste...

it can be objectively staged:
i ate a carrot...
not past not nor present...
i ate an apple...
objectively i will eat an apple...
           i can also eat
a kohlrabi with some radishes...
and a peepsqueak
red onions pickled in rice vinegar
all things kosher (salt)
and olive oil...
         objectively i will nibble
at a carrot... a beetroot...
objectively... why?
  it's hardly a wittgenstein question-dome
of nuance to loiter with lions
and folding napkins...

there's this "coming together"
of how... disembodied parts come together...
it's beside the objectivity of
nibbling on a raw carrot root...
there's this subject of:
a "polyphony" of the guise of
a bolognaise sauce...
you can't expect to shelter
subjectivity sensibility of (a) topic
concerning this one...
paramount...
that eating a raw carrot is...
staging objective "superiority"...
that a tomato is categorised as a fruit
but is used as a vegetable...

withering assumptions of:
lost-begotten: and some humour...
schadenfreude: and that ******* child
of the ominous tedium
that's lost for the worth
of god: in the guise of hyper-morality
of a karma....

my own pleasurable ordeal:
this 7&s...
                 posit of karma will
never be a positive excavation:
pro-jection...
        i can objectively eat a carrot...
but when it comes to
a bolognaise sauce?
sorry... will have to borrow some
mandarin... i will
have to resort to the local "bias"...

you simply can't create an objective
polyphony...
objecting to all the details in
making: consorts...
taste like: giving length...
or the posit of strengthening a
curvature of an original *****: banned
"a.m."...

there's this ******* and there's
the prop-of turkey inbreeding..
loitering the condor...
and the ******* as some new allowed
uvula beside the frothing
penguin jazz and *****...

mr. shoe and mr. shoo...
and the unforgiving mandarin lock...
stock... tai chi and that
mandarin dancing gingerbread...
marathon skipper...
shoes of pauper that made
a broker for borrowing a skittle fight
that couldn't happen in some
variation of begging warsaw:
tease the bliss...
tease the overtly salting of peanuts.

that the mandarins have no atomic
"concepts":
devoid of vowels, consonant
and swastikas:
prized assets of syllables..
voodoo projects...
             yes...        my conundrum
and a kettles broth.