sitting in the garden while there was no visible
sunset... no fuchsia tinges in the sky...
no blood orange... no moon or stars for that matter...
no moon: ah... it almost feels terrible...
just a darkening minute by minute...
a crow on the roof teasing a nibble consisting
of a nocturnal insect...
me... sort of too: taking great joy in killing
a mosquito on my forearm...
sitting drinking wine while looking at
the eucalyptus tree and the grapevine...

contemplating death: in earnest...
thinking of death as a she...
strange... the english language doesn't really allow
nouns to be either masculine or feminine...
all are pretty much: asexual... tools...
chair... table... although it's hard not to think
of a hammer as masculine...
death as feminine...
the sun is also feminine...
the moon... masculine...

contemplating death in earnest...
long gone the maxim: memento mori...
it's a bit different when you're thinking of death
via suicide... not yet...
not yet...
i don't need to remember that i'll die:
i haven't achieved enough to be lost to all
that's life: death is but the extension
of my shadow... death is seeing my shadow
at night...
my bride to be...
i gather: all terribly... gluttonous / pompous...
you can... alternatively...
listen about death at a funeral...
in the formal tongue of the undertakers...
i think of her in earnest...
she deserves as much...

suicide... well... there's only one detail missing:
the only thing scarier than contemplating
suicide is: contemplating a failed suicide:
an attempt at suicide...
oh... not by hanging... i or falling from a height...
or drowning or shooting myself...
i felt by body up to find the cruxes of where
i could find my... pulse (tętno)...

under my right armpit... and just above the collar
bone to the right side of where my:
bulging neck is throbbing...
well: i have to think about it...
i better think about than...
say... be so engrossed in life that i might
forget about... like i might forget
where i put my wallet...
i even conjured up a "suicide" note in my head...

it would read something along the lines of:
i wanted to transcend ******...
i wanted to find a higher variation of an ******:
the antithesis / antonym...
i hope i'll find it: bleeding out...

because, why should i be allowed to say:
i can encapsulate all that's life in the 35 years
i've already lived...
dying within the confines of a life expectancy...
say... 70...
in the grim scene of a hospital anaesthetic...
not in a forest at night
sitting under a dead tree...
or... in a field... among horses...
it's really unappealing...
                 it's already unappealing to be
be smothered when someone inserts a needle
into your arm and tells you that you did some
******* magic...

life no longer seems to be able to appease
me thirst... or hunger...
i'm not even going to bother having a Bukowski-esque
competition of reaching old age...
am i expected to live life to all its banal totalities?

life... seems to be its most beautiful... when one is
conscious of it: also having to be surrendered...
the living part of life:
for some... aspirations come... aspirations go...
vivo per se...
                      is another matter altogether...

for now... i'm greatly satisfied with how
this;

0      0      0      0      0      0      0      0      0
4 ­     0      0      6      0      0      5      0      0
0      9 ­     3      0      5      0      0      1      0
0      0      0 ­     0      0      0      0      0      0
3      0      0      1 ­     9      0      6      0      0
9      6      8      0      7 ­     0      0      4      0
6      5      0      9      0      0 ­     4      0      0
0      0      9      5      0      0      3 ­     0      0
1      0      2      8      6      0      0      9 ­     0

can end up looking like this:

5¹³    8⁴⁰    6⁸      7³⁷    1⁵¹    9⁵⁰    2⁴²    3⁴⁷    4¹⁵
4⁰     2³⁹    1²³     6⁰     8⁴¹    3⁴⁹    5⁰      7⁴⁶­    9⁴⁸
7²⁵    9⁰     3⁰      4¹⁶     5⁰    2²⁶    8²⁴  ­   1⁰     6⁴
2²⁷    1²²    5²¹     3³³    4¹⁷   6¹¹    9⁴³     8⁴⁴    7⁴⁵
3⁰      7²⁸   4¹⁸     1⁰      9⁰    8¹⁹    6⁰      5²⁰    2²⁹
9⁰      6⁰­     8⁰     2³²      7⁰    5¹⁴   1³⁸      4⁰     3³⁴
6⁰      5⁰     7⁴     9⁰       3⁵³   1⁵²   4⁰       2³⁰    8³⁶
8³      4²      ­9⁰    5⁰       2³¹   7¹²   3⁰       6¹⁰    1³⁵
1⁰      3¹      ­2⁰    8⁰       6⁰     4³    7⁷       9⁰     5⁶

that'll do for now... no great mystery...
but more joy from that... than from a crossword...
so... aged 35 i have hobbies of a 70 year old...
and by the time i reach 70 i'll be...
life's too beautiful to... what?
end it with loitering at a car-boot sale
on a hot summer morning?

i'm already starting to lose patience with what
life has on offer...
apart from repeating mundane tasks
repeating pleasures is:
life's great - when looked at in all its stillness
among birds... through wine-goggles...
cycling... most certainly:
i can imagine an eternity on a bicycle...
who wouldn't want to **** a beautiful
******* for more than an hour?
it would take a perpetual night to give
proper alms of hands and kisses and
phallus to that altar...
saying that... cooking... which is probably
the elevated variant of that stale *****
that's chemistry...
although... synthesising esters...
top tier... or that joke of an experiment:
pinching plastic from the event horizon:
i don't remember...

i think about sending someone a postcard from
Jupiter... what the naked eye can see...
n'ah... not Jupiter... no... Jupiter...
life must be fun when there are people
in your life that can complicate it:
dramatize it to pursue... whatever it is that
might be pursued...
but when there aren't any...
come now: find your peace... after that:
the zenith of said peace...

i have to be... self-consoling...
everything else in this world is becoming
a self- prefix orientation:
self-checkout... self-employed...
being or becoming self-sufficient...
"independent" is about much fun as...
*******...

solipsism was only a theory: an idea...
but it's becoming more and more the modus operandi...
not needing other people in your life
is: not needing life per se...
i'm not willing to satisfy myself
looking at people put up veneer structures
and... occasionally meet up for a social
drink...

hell... once upon a time two bottles of wine would
leave me eating flowers in a pub...
puking into a toilet of a nightclub...
taking a snooze on a bench before
asking the police to taxi me home...
now? well i'm writing this...

the mere thought of death should be a great
liberation... i don't why society treats
suicidal thinking...
at best it is all placebo... the act itself
ought to be thought of as transcending ******...
it's the last remaining freedom:
every time i think of death and suicide
my mind turns into a phoenix...
i relinquish all my memories
and take to focusing on the stillness of the moment:
hell... there's even a concentration
of pareidolia
when peering into: not at:
inanimate objects... the earth is not flat:
it's also not inanimate: therefore
the perception gulag of animate vs. inanimate
objects is a farce...

how i adore merely thinking about
my proximity to certainty:
the inevitable... the fatalistic crescendo!
i can ******* first kiss...
all the girls saliva as i down this cheap wine
mixed into a kalimotxo with some pepsi...
i can taste the mouth on her
all her snot and all that came together
testing the waters being a teenager...
kissing in the park...
having long hair having: LESBIANS!
shouted at us... getting a hand-job
under a tree... all the while: donning a catholic
school uniform:

thank god i haven't been confirmed...
one baptism is enough: not that i asked...
i wasn't going to fall for
a formal baptism... being ******* conscious
and what not!

maybe... ha! "maybe" i should suckling at ms. amber's
**** altogether... she only ended catching up
to me the following morning:
with a numbing that was never a hangover:
and most certainly a bad breath...

treating suicidal thinking: come on!
it's the most assured hard-on left!
it's like... all that can be conjured from the sensations
during ***... but thrice elevated!
i'll have to turn my brain
into a chemical soup to somehow argue:
some... "otherwise"?

a pagan in full attire of: his most earnest...
life is... then... life isn't...
i'm not going to live with accordance that
his farce can be somehow perpetuated:
i'd prefer jump the queue and give
my amends... i want to make my peace...
before i'm finally gratified the proper peace
of having my fingers stitched up
with cobwebs and my tongue ****** out
from mouth and being given
a lobotomy so i can:
cucumber the rest of my days...

reemphasising pareidolia:
  they're hardly human... humanoid... yes...
but hardly human...
in the clouds... in the trees...
maybe i'm being just a tad bit myopic...
perhaps i'm just ******* blind...
perhaps i "forgot" to rhyme and this should
all be served as prose sushi...
perhaps Anne Sexton had more time
to rummage in: the proper way to make
emphasis: perhaps she punctuated "better"...

i like thinking of death:
it makes all the little itches of life...
seem all the more, necessarily: robotic...
and that they can be understood as such...
whatever transcendence comes:
whether cycling, drinking or *******...
there won't be a carnival on my behalf:
as i... nonetheless sing their praises.