come night i can allow myself to breathe, perhaps more - think again... a few sips of homemade wine and a cigarette - endlessly peering at an eucalyptus tree at the end of the garden... forcing myself to imagine the face of my grandfather still able to contort itself into ****** expressions and enigmas... idiosyncrasies... perhaps chancing upon the wind to move the flimsy branches at the ends of the corpulent crown of this tree - if merely the letter Y was a meditation of the tongue of a serpent - or perhaps how i have two eyes yet compound myself to: strictly cyclopean endeavours... soothing demand for the sound of the sea on the shoreline - although... i... mountains... alone... or the endless promise of not impacting with a good morning or a hello when walking the fields in my vicinity... premonition: i "knew" he was dying... mistress agonia... and it's not like in his last months he ever wanted to climb out of bed... he already exhausted his memory cinema... the chance crossword puzzle... on my walks two days in consequence: crouching on a footpath a metre away from a blinded rabbit... then the toothache... a premonition of pain to come to excavate the heart into a shroud of mourning... but how unified these sequences of events allow themselves to be... the archaic semblance of "coincidences"... relearning it wasn't my fault since: the whole point of the telephone is that it can be used by both parties: it's not a one way street... otherwise: yes... this meditation on the eucalyptus tree at the end of the garden... wishing for brush-strokes of the wind to agitate this... foreign entity: how much more i would have allowed myself to a tease of pine... evergreen from the flip-side of the earth: twenty five pence in two coins on my bed... i have to allow a variation of serenity to come back: i cannot be this dreadfully angry mr. ****-pants: after all: **** before the shovel... and no: if i could possibly cling to a revelation that i can write prose: i'd need to focus on a sense of the linear: and continuity - preserving the claustrophobia of paragraphs: i exhausted the need for dialogue when i was young enough to still play with plastic figurines of spiderman and batman... so... no dialogues for me... otherwise: what? beautifully prosaic? well... by all standards of speech: impromptus and mumbling... sure... coherency of the matters at hand... but i leave with another comfort: a latin man: the vulgate hier und jeztz - because otherwise a choking veneer of grecian superiority will not allow me to "get things done": to spew and stew in what's readily available... not that i was dealt the wrong hand: i'll still have to gamble with myself: a waiting game with mother and father and grandfather to come... and then: hello solo! not in some mythological alternative universe: which a span of 20 odd years will probably do to me having written these, here, now, words... or i might be lucky... i will have enjoyed drinking too much... and that's ******* dandy by anyone's standards... as julius caesar already said: death... sure... but quickly... or at least with a hard-on of shock! n'est ce-pas? which puts suicide a tier below ******... since: you are premeditating the end... ergo? no shock... at least when you're murdered you are in shock... you're not thinking of it... but no i see... death being robbed of its "plans" with you already thinking about it... so no shock... no thrill... unless of course: you have been... festering with the wounds for years and what that has allowed is... a crescendo eventuality... a culminating point of exit... well: funny how i am mortal and nothing should be alien to me regarding such topics... unlikely, however much it desirable to be made necessary... this return to all things governed by the day and all of its intricacies of mundane - what colour should the blinds be for the bedroom to compensate the insinuations of shade(s) of the wallpaper... the formality of language in general... how society works... what is a coin in one hand when i hold a rock in the other? social constructs and what? some transcendent values when you're not jacked-up to a psychedelic trips whereby: de facto... a mushroom fries your sponge of a brain? never knew that deep-fried sponge could be eased as newly found "crispy" when all this "****" requires moving and selling... hell: towing a shadow for a handshake... easing my eyes on the moon come the hallow crescent... at night when i sit in the garden and look at my hands with chiromancy ghouls and spooks... bones are deader: yet the teeth more alive... aramaic is not armenian... some gift of the gob from the "fella" up above... voices that make it a crisp tartan, & biscuit... bellowing with their chorus like a cutting into silence with a dozen ******* bagpipes... bellowing choir... singing like they are cows readied for the slaughterhouse... hear now... it has become so apparent: i write words my words will never utter... not in conversation: and i do not believe in turning my speech into a scripted insolence pre, that would implode on me like i'd be regurgitating: a slacking of the already prized asset of suspense: a motivation to further - "thinking": more like brooding / brewing the grinding of meat... what of the ******* raw hinde from the hinterlands of a "revision" of the ottoman empire... brown-beat duck quack hello new psychopathy or... a tired re-reading of a tristan tzara... for dodo and dada and fidgety dough... immaculate fingernails... mind you: a period where i was stupid enough to visit a brothel and **** myself a robot of i: workable in disguise: because... whittle wichard wouldn't work best on a date since: precursors of too much investment... so... female barbers... prior to the ceremony how she would recognise my voice... persist in paying hardly the compliment about how much hair was on my cranium... and once she finished she would ******* my entire head with her two hands... given that i had long hair for a while... going to a female barber... or going to a *******: this can really be contested as to: what's better? maybe i should have gone to the brothel and asked for my ***** to be trimmed... extension anti "gratis"... other details of... "*******": i live a while... but death still manages to smooch out of me... a wonton... A... yes... clearly genius prichard and assembly forrest... it's not life, this box of chocolates... it's a broth of dumplings... same ****, different cover... sarcasm, rules! - and there's lee evans... which / who is funny... i can't buy into smart-funny... i've been trying to buy into ethno-comedy strip-back: let's endure the sleazing baroque of stereotypical white cuckoldry and the odd ***** mongol... all that cosmopolitan draft of "nuanced"...
smart-comedy is no comedy... the dumber, the better... i'm still giggling about jokes being made concerning scenarios: if i had a wife... thank **** i'm not invested in the logic of darwin... i'm not here for the genes... i'm here to close up the "shop": ******* with a few good patent envious metaphor of memories and the world can have its ******* hullabaloo...
existentialism and darwinism are not coincidentally mutual ****-buddies... one's autistic the other is... pressing matters for man as metaphor of ape, lion... parasites... a ******* "reinvention" of the chimera...
keeping score my ***: i'm keeping all the details of indigestions, a tally of the whole brood... toothaches and acne sours for the pleasure of my culmination asteroid factoid of constipation: i hope i die a constipated loner... hell i hope i die towing: ******* turned out to be... given the still intact "excess" of skin... the one pleasure in life i would never find... demeaning or... unreliable... well thank **** and god to boot that i wasn't circumcised... hallelujah! i'm redemption and the talkative golgotha prize of: tongue turned into a geometry of an upside down imploded DELTA... hirsch: del - y-oh...
y-*******-om-ing... why?! odes to peter the lad... or why somehow: demoting an angel to the status of saint doesn't sit well in my belly...
precious greco-hebrew new: "testimony"? it was a greco-hebrew adventure... no? here the ****** details of: unobstructed darkening... take your cleansed morals and transcended a priori valued diddly-squat: this supposedly "former" filth... borrowing from the thespian autocracy an ear lent: a shadow brokered... just pretend...
there are no visages that concern themselves with directly spoken at or to... or by... just this murk of by "proxy"... an "de facto": nuance after nuance after... a fermentation of an apple is vinegar and sweet... then all that ******* rot that's associates with: cleaving off of sinew working toward the tendons an the marble architecture of bones...