on a night such as this... where the previous one
was me completely out of it...
deciding to cycle at night...
when you just write something almost decent
and you want to laugh while:
being really terrible at balance -
gravity swerved me left, right...
i might have ****** up the gears...
at one point i decided to stop and take up
the constellations while lying on the side
of the road on the pavement...
today's moral anguish of drink left me
plugged into bbc radio 3
listening to the 2nd and 3rd act of Puccini's
La Boheme...
and then... Shostakovich's the soldier...
a take on Faust... a deal with the devil...
         came 10pm and a programme on new
music: WHACK... telepathy music...
it's coming to 1am and i've already returned
from the Goodmayes tesco with
a bottle of scotch... having another to calm
the nerves... since... like a giddy-schoolboy i'm
debating myself whether or not
i have to visit the brothel...
only hours earlier i was puking while drinking
a weak coffee...
from the excitement...
it has been... circa... 3 years since i've touched
a thigh... a pair of *******...
and... it's not exactly about getting a *******...
or forking around in some oyster-mush
of a ******...
i don't know what it is...
the 3Ps...
   i'm not going to talk to a priest...
i tried psychologists and psychiatrists...
so much for tongue waggling...
but prostitutes?
i get to talk and touch...
   plus... no need for dating... for pretences...
for games...
at the butcher's shop you come with the money
and you're not stalled...
it's not like i don't have any spare money
either... roughly £3000 on my bank account...
if i sold some **** i'd be already on my way
to some euthanasia clinic in Belgium...
there's always the need to think of a sharpened knife
and the throat...
perhaps the entire ****** of pain and
a way of: playing poker with death...
it's inescapable... death... so i guess there's only
one way out: to tease it...
the brothel... bordello...
         that 2nd is a gnostic term...
something akin to Christ wedding his mother
come the 2nd coming...
or the alternative...
the sobering language of Spinoza's
theological-political treatise...
         now listening to...
the cardigans' erase / rewind... vs....
  trevor something's into your heart...
**** me... i wouldn't be writing this if...
i put the stashed money from
a packet of cigarettes into my wallet
where i keep my bike-lock key...
well... for all the drama surrounding the b.b.c. -
radio 3 is probably the only part of the corporation
worth saving...
and it's true what they say about classic.fm
they're not tempted by something obscure
or new... with the exception of...
Ola Gjeilo... northern lights...
       or...                    Ludovico Einaudi...
i'm starting to bewilder myself...
what are the chances that i might give back
pleasure:
oh i know i'll leave dissatisfied...
the bicycle journey of circa 5 miles in 30 minutes
will be worth more...
it's a disconcerting to even think what
i might want at this point...
   3 years and... i should have gone to Prague
come January 2020...
        i wish it could be as simple as:
"i don't know what i want"...
                    maybe thinking about the economy?
after all... if i give £125 to a *******...
she'll probably spend it on things
a man wouldn't otherwise...
mind you... advertisement...
of the national lottery... £30million is invested
each week in something...
money teasing the quality of water...
it trickles... just... trickles...
handshakes and mucho kudos...
              perhaps i just want someone to massage me...
i've been suffering from a stiff neck and
terrible shoulders for almost forever...
perhaps i don't want ***...
at some point she'll probably shove it in her
gob at the altar of phallus anyway...
stiff neck... crunching of the shoulder-blades...
perhaps i'll ask her to count my ribs...
the national lottery? it's a stealth tax... isn't it?
- **** me, man! decide!
- you're going to go for a massage or not?
- i hate you...
- thank you, i hate myself also...
- oh hey presto... reformed st. Augustine over
'ere... hey! people! take a peek!
in the current climate of feminism and
transgenderism...
i'd prefer the attitude of: not paying for dinner...
giggling at the prospect of erectile dysfunction:
coming around to the madonna-*****
complex that women present: with no more
teenager baggage of her mystique...
perhaps one will slurp up my ******* clean
off... well... if i were circumcised...
and had to play the game of...
my ******* is your niqab...
   fair enough...
**** it... i want to touch "something"...
i'm done with all this carpenter *******...
i'll rub my fingers against some bricks before
i enter... that'll be double emphasis on
touching skin... that's not even work-about
leather...
why else would i have trimmed my *****
and oiled up my beard...
put on some scented wax on my hair...
hell... salsa... salt... and a bruising of knees...
an agony of pride...
lovely ***** just give me 36.5°C back...
give me goose-bumps on the back of m'ah head...
give me all that there's requiring
a composition of not being a father...
i don't need the qualms i'm pretty **** sure
there's this class that denotes them as:
breeders...
me pretending to be sober
while cycling drunk to the brothel is already
a joke that has to start with a now...
while the abyss yawns.