because jim dine looks like jack nicholson from afar... but it's not about that: oculus per oculus - eye for an eye...
when painting is involved i hardly think it's necessary to give abstract "grace" to necessary objects:
a wonky hammer or a house is sand and grimace and all things unbelievable but it's not the strict schematic...
when painters have to invest themselves in words... that frank o'hara anecdote about SARDINES...
or if it isn't too obvious as to what will be cited next: magritte's: ceci n'est pas une pipe... well: at least colour is true as much as a noun is...
here at the zenith red dictates stopping at a traffic-light junction... and there's than synonym of: strawberries...
when painting had become abstract enough: words had to become employed: i'm still stacking x-rays and skeletons with muscular meshes of grey on the fading with words...
i don't bemoan the task: looking for alternative, "better" options in painting... i've have to be blind...
that painting is all eye that poetry is all ear and perhaps the tongue too... oculus per oculus: eye for an eye...
i allow myself to drink to excess tonight, because what i really want to write is what i gathered from this afternoon...
autumnal promenade... these trees and the sunlight raising them... to trans-natural realism's heights... it does 'elp to merely take a stroll...
it's beyond comparison: i dared to think: and if i took a photograph... no... a photograph would make me sulk... i would keep it as something both horrid and both saddening - mind you: my memory bank is running dry and i much prefer to take photographs with a blinking of an eye to expand my memory hoard(ing)...
clearly at this junction of the near impossible: for something "new"... there is no new... when there were formerly people... up in the northern most easterly tip of greater london i'm looking for a "delusion" of being able to walk several miles without any human interactions...
well... would a creature such as a grouse or a deer allow itself being spotted in daylight hours if such a place was governed by a frequency of man?
the deer spotted me not too far off... by god: i didn't give it prance to a get-go to gallop ever so silently: by the woodland pigeon did breaking into flight... rustling leaves of it perching in a crown...
in love with england: more to the point... the countryside for the nth time resounding... the topology of the english countryside... it must be a desirable word to use when i have this picture before me... there were feet that walked these "roads" and there were eyes that sorrowed for: the platter of details...
it was never an intended piccadilly circus bulwark of **** neon... insomnia neon and incognito - the middle of this drab of london bothers me from time to time... from: time to time...
not in spring not in summer: now... autumn and these trees and this sunlight gracing them to an elevation... i've already chosen anecdotal points of familiarity... celebrity trees - trees like signatures like: everything else that is also a tree but is so generic it can't stand alone... it needs a canvas a window or a view...
then those trees that... i swear they are so: unto themselves that i wouldn't require a mirror to peer at myself...
sure... upon reaching a pinnacle of cubism... painting new abstract: a best a verbiage and forever this extension of psychoanalysis - at best this verbiage and... what is it that they called it: base: introspection of the self... well... that's already a doubling of the act...
given there's (the) definite article self given there's also "a" self... and then the possession of it: which is... compounded reflexive rather than reflective... rarely is it my self... yourself myself themselves... hey presto! juggle circus with the alphabet people...
i didn't take a photograph for i didn't want to spoil autumn per se or my availability of sponge brainz... i had to excavate these words... to borrow something from heidegger... a major pillar ought be cited:
well... hier-sein... hell... expansion... hier-jetzt-sein: or rather the most temporal: jestz-hier and i'll leave being in a shallow grave of grace... i'll concern myself with... not being a fear-mongering vegan... when i respect the animal produce thus presented: i will not overcook a chicken... when i insert a thermometer into a chicken breast it will read in the range of 165 - 170°F...
i will not become a vegan because: i ******* well know: i know blindly i will allow my eyebrows to be gambled with... these "vegans"... probably never cooked a chicken properly... when a food can be respected... when the ******* are juicy... one, can, be... thankful! but if you do a second work-around of a butcher's "quarter"... end up eating... protein pasta glue... no wonder: return to overcooked vegetables!
i much rather respect a protein... than fake veganism for not having respect for it! omnivores "anonymous"! gaffs of trends of people who... probably don't know how to cook... i love my... presumptuous... agony aunt sort of flicker... of demands... of: stereotypes... sometimes these higher-tier critiques of stereotypes pay off... they have to.
oculus per oculus... autumn, these trees and this sunlight... it has to be temporally specified: "circa" from 12:30pm through to... 4pm... enough time for the weather to change drastically... enough time to find an old acorn... with a ladder attached... and sit in it... like some long lost late-starter in the darwinistic narrative and hide from the onslaught of rain...
i guess that's why i cited heidegger... but i was meditating on other words... oko - eye - oczy - eyes... to - this tamto - that tam - there... conjunctions more or less... and... how i might describe myself...
anglo-saxons were my prior... so the anglo- prefix sticks... anglo-slav... for the general purpose: works... but saxon is specific... it's not like there's a concept for anglo-thurengians or anglo-pomeranians... or anglo-swabians... a specified germanic tinge that encompassed an outline of prior to celtic and velsh...
anglo... an anglo-wend... albion-veneti... well... given that every ******* two-bothered-sanctum-christi auxiliary has gathered on these isles... "of late"... but like a sore thumb: "my people" have retracted on the tide so overpowering come the opening of the floodgates circa 2004...
moi? earlier immigration... as early as 1994... n'ah... anglo-veneti is no sticking word... anglo-slav... anywho...
a quadratic: because i just love: squared t'inking... it's almost like a magic trick... two buzzwords... reigning the niche outlets...
patriarchy! ugh! power wording! and... gynocentrism! well... let's party!
back to the days of copernicus... gynocentrism is an elevated variation of... geocentrism? which is paradoxical since... that would implore the vatican to play it: hush hush...
no! no you idiot! gynocentrism is heliocentrism! the all encompassing... sun *****! a **** that spits out... lucifer fell head-first... "fell"... bungyjumped and was tugged back onto the throne when god had a medley with a banjo piece of working out: a cross is never a table? a cross is never a table?
gynocentrism is... heliocentrism... and "the" patriarchy is geocentrism... god... i love this quadratic... i had a cultish idea today... among a Pythagorean set concerning eating beans... how... you must uncover your head when walking under trees... how you should cover your head in public... but have to expose your head beneath trees...
it's not unlike the already well established kippah and the circumcision... so... what? exactly? i still hafe mine: doubly mine since i don't vacate a tonsure... a slap me pretty sort of "disguise": for - covert... monkish brewer... alias: house of purim...
hafe hafe: a'v'eh! mein! i look across... well... no wonder! h'america by no invitation... those black atlases would be forever celebrated... as they should: but it's not like the hebrews took too lightly concerning intellectual gymnastics when... intellectually: you'd only have to replica... stalemate...
i too could perfect: plagiarism... not that i'm... oh god my qabbalah fetish and how: the demiurge is one thing... i don't need to demand more from the yids themselves: their god will do... just f'ah f'ah fine... he's phonetically ingrained... my words aaron bricks... he's the cement... less the grammar... in between... after all... he... doesn't really... favour them as much... always putting them to the test to reclaim the noun israel... hey... of all the people of the ancient world... a people that envisioned... their own god... israel: wrestling them... testing them... more or less... keeping up their soul-search vitality assured...
now i will start to chew chewing gum... and pretend it's everything that requires / required me the ability to tie my shoelaces...
oh yes... the god of the yids abhors them... it's not like there was no other memorable balam... beside... the one still hanging around with churches and south america and tele-evangelicals:
after 2000+ years the question is beside: are you the son of god... it's more... morphed into... can i still be a hebrew?
if you can't celebrate something when getting into the nitty-gritty... je suis! my ******* oddity of ***! throw that charlie hybrid-dough into the cauldron and let's pray for ******* bagels! or croissants! whichever takes your fancy!
that i somehow allow myself a "revision" of writing under the influence of btih music and miss amber... the god of the hebrews already prides itself on a following... so meticulous that it's satisfactory / savory -
i can't be allowed... a nibbling? seems unfair to procrastinate on the altar of how easily a moloch or a beelzebub was sacrificed upon... whirlwinds of aeons and of chaos: how there's only a certainty within the confines of space:
the clinal pressure for the eye's critique of autumn... and the trees therefore basking in the light of borrowing azure... these hints of auburn and commando foliage... of perpetual green: shying glee of envy...
i want this **** of verbiage... to impress details of fracture and "fiction"... i want to return to the ancient vernacular... for all i want i must not never hope to conceive as: outright will... to hell with a freedom so ill-advised...
in these pastures where old ergonomics: horses - graze... i heave a thumb... a fattening of it... i experience creases best known to the advent of the corruption of paper... but i am not using any of it (i.e. paper)...
there was a rabbit... there was a deer... a grouse... and as many birds as my fingers could fathom themselves alone to suit up to a replica arithmetic... i wanted to learn enough of simplicity: but i was never to be allowed: a finicky teenage phase of taming a need for replica: offspring...
i desired to not leave any cul de sacs of grieving processes... this hebrew god, though... antithesis: an-t-fezz... it looks so much of so differently from the standards of merely speaking to peering at... this language without a clear-cutting of sounds: dyslexia... what?!
in a language that doesn't allow orthographic stressors... and all it has to offer is... "idiosyncratic" spelling? who could have guessed: a who-dunnit exterior... purpoise?
purpose? purr-poise... i do have to allow myself to stage: when dub-step was a music genre was still worth salvaging... distance... vex'd... burial... and that's about all i want to hear...
i'm so adamant in being so therefore blistered in a gangrene of politics that has to borrow from... time immemorial and secure... it has to translate into a...
you can almost fathom the silence of horses... they approvingly nod... somewhat... and whatnot... agreeing to you being a something and somehwat... that allows itself to pet either a cradle of cats or a brood and leash invoked sour crease of doggy-dodgings...
it's not **** flinging invoked... it's something more sinister... personal: thereby all the more involved / invoked... it's not Golders Green judaism: tonsure for a scalp / circumcision for a ******* kippah: y'er boot?
in that... yes... i appreciate being seen... i want to be seen... but at the same time... i like quivering in a fancy of being "counter-inquisitive" debased: outright: anti-...
i appreciate being seen... replicating modus operandi: esse... but... when i invoke this most private made most public of disclosures... and it... somehow... "works"... i hardly think it's necessary to achieve an omniscient status: quo...
especially when one can encounter, passibly... two women... perhaps two dogs... a park... and on a bench... a giggle and its most certainly female... i don't want to be "known"... existentially pronounced / prone having to encompass this "audience".. i desire to be less of what's leftover / made available...
it's just a minefield... i visited the Ypres cemeteries... the anglo- lingua rubric... then these... shallow... deafening... germanic sorts... sparrow and robins and wrens would grace their amassing puncture of details... and i would want nothing more... because i was not anglo-sas and i didn't want to earn or learn of make oath to such bridging of sorrows...
the mass graves of the germans in belgium come the enforced endearment of memory come... no more from cabaret volatire escapism! no... more! they are so fuckingly posed to be therefore so poignantly named! by grave and so therefore by so little of body! the mass graves of the: germanic: peoples: how the english, once upon a time... allowed themselves to play a trough of towing themselves... romanesque! this: greviaous mud... this... horrid first pretender!