does Darwinism has to be the only truth?
the glue of glues...
the... gravity of conversation?
Darwinism wasn't vogue among
continental thinkers in the 19th century...
it's still not vogue among
continental thinkers in the 21st century...
i'm not... an islander... it's not that i don't
have respect for English thinkers:
i certainly have more respect for the French
literary genius... there's none in English...
Charles Dickens can **** a volume out:
he's never going to be a Stendhal...
cotton-mouth: eating the dead...
but Darwinism is no ******* vogue...
too much biology... apes and giraffes...
**** similis is not my friend...
it's true: but i'd love to debate...
an ape... sitting... in a Parisian cafe...
sipping an espresso... too: to boot!
no chance of that..
throw some **** at me:
straighten out a banana for me!
imagine a pike from
a branch of a tree...
grow me a sikh turban while you're at it!
****'s sake...
Darwinism never made it into
the Enlightenment because:
not because it came too late...
no one likes to complicate something
overtly obvious...
it's thought-robbing...
Darwinism belongs in the unconscious...
19th century continental thinkers didn't
like it... i don't like...
Darwinism belongs in the collective
unconscious...
let's just pretend to "forget" facts...
the Copernican reinvention of perception
allowed some: furore...
but... speaking Lord with a tongue lodged
in an *** of a monkey?
what next?
woke brigade tells me:
i have to **** black ***** to appease
the rot that's history?!
appeasement *** *****:
wilting former girls of beauty...
now... well... thankfully i'm "sharing"
with a few Turkic ol' raven hairs...
she owns the harem...
i pay her £2 per minute... not bad, no?

i know the stereotype of litening
to vide cor meum...
i just... can't listen to...
Pergolesi's stabat mater...
in the dark of night when it rains...
i'm crippled by the bounty...
of what's still considered beauty:
i'm touching glass while it shatters...
eh... only some Patrick Cassidy...
****** name an even ******* surname:
just like mine... akin to ******... Stalin...
or... framework of surnames in
Pakistan... almost all ending with:
Khan...

i wonder who's who...
no... Pergolesi: primo...
all that Bach and the Goldberg Variations can wait...
for: for ever noble savage...
there's this one piece of the puzzle
that's forever antonym:
the civilised brute...
i am...
            a civilised brute...
there's no escaping it...
it keeps a balance of forthcoming conversation
and philanthropic affairs to a tidy:
corner... kept...
it's... passive-aggressive without
a woman needing some
spice of bitchiness... it's such a lovely
waiting game... when there's no gsme
to begin with... it's...
a feud of blood... and...

should i feel.... emasculated for wanting
to keep a tidy household?
in the musings of: return to the medieval times...
i'd be the inn-keeper...
not some warrior...
as i wonder...
                     a man would take charge of
the inn... impossible now...
while i took charge of keeping the house tidied...
a cat took a **** into the shower
but not his "sand on paper"...
the stench run fowl...
i had to wash the better portion of
its... "understudy"...
fair enough to the washing and towel...
but once the blow-dryer came into play:
he turned into a fur-ball of GREMLIN
wicked demon of wind and
gymnastics in the air...
i still own three proper scratches
at the wrist from him...

some noble savage: this civilised brute...
agony of tears at:
open the gates!
thankful for *** "starving"...
it's not even like i'd want your women...
to have these half-lings
halved-lingerings...
romance of ******* Iberia...

i can't listen to Pergolesi when it rains...
the ache is too important to deviate
from it...
it's such an acute pain: i pretend to:
i actually kneel with both of them
but cannot rise to expectation...
since there's none: beside the self-evident critique
concerning all that dares
to happen in the circus of priming up
games of footie...

not the father supposedly raised from
the abyss one might expect?
how fire was stupid enough to not
bow before water...

he scratched me proper: thrice...
i'm becoming bored of being alive...
i'm becoming bored of being alive...
i want to be dead in order
than the affairs of the living keep me
as recluse: and deaf...
i'm scratched...
but since there's enough life
in these limbs with joking at additional
antics...
i won't joke...
here's who "bled": here's who washed
his hands clean:
and slurped his bones... drier than...
expected of...
phantom figurines of lost
expectations...
who was who and who was to "come"?