England win 4 - nil against Ukraine and i just can't find happiness... i want to behind this bread and circus distraction: it's not the current stadiums are anything close to the ancient roman coliseum, either: it's not like i'm watch 22 eager ballerinas kicking the guillotine head of Robespierre about... either... language bugs me: i write it and avoid speaking it... expatriates of England: unite behind your team... i've been an immigrant from the age of 8... funny how language works... the English have no notion of a diaspora... their immigrant status: among their own countrymen is elevated to the word: expatriate: "us" folk flood a host country... we: "invade" it... we are never deemed to be: repatriating... changing allegiance... i can naturalize: citizen mr. smith over 'ere... but... when it comes to... "patriotism" or... the nationhood and cheering a ******* football team? i try more than i ever had... but i'm not buying the *******... there's club football... i just can't stress how important it would be for me to witness the final: i'm betting on Italy vs. England... and in that final Italy will win: i support, "support" from an undermining perspective... on topic: if i go back to the country of my birth: i didn't take root... since the death of my grandfather: sure... i still have some family there... but... i'm not attached to them: it would require a d.n.a. test to get at proof: whether or not i should be there is another question...
if only this... if only that... cob-weaving safety-net riddle shadow-man... what was it? a lack of ambition... lack of designation... most assuredly resigned from time to time: waking up once i suckle on a bottle of wine... the clouds start to make sense: i see faces conjured up and i no longer feel a need to peacock my ambitions... that i am the subject of a demonic voyeuristic experiment: call it whatever phenomenon you might want to... pareidolia is a newly acquired word in my coffer of vocab.
a historical status quo is being extended: not with my death but with my death i can see all that's going to bypass the concentration of subjectivity and becomes diluted in an objective amass...
i'm not important: but being jealous simply makes me double up on being reflective and at the same time melancholically tinged: idle blue... bleeding green...
****** if i do: ****** if i don't: south american nations can have their post-racial picnic... i **** a black girl in England: what am i? what am i if she boasts of a harem?
but i'm not some olive skinned inferno of Pakistan dealing with calling a supermarket cashier the word-lot of: love, darling... when i hear it: as she endears me... she can call me: dearly... lovely... love... pet and darling... am i undermining the English language? am i spreading Marxism?
i want to be a fan of the English football team: it's hard for me to translate assimilate into... entertaining something this primitive... perhaps i should isolate my fandom to elevated: individualistic sports... tennis players... i can't attach a shared ethnicity to Iga Świątek... i'm not Slovenian but... hearing these two Tour de France commentators slobber and gag when watching the 8th bit with Tadej Pogačar climbing up a 10% to 14% incremental up... on a *****...
i'm starting to love individualistic sports than ever... however much i'd love to support the football team of England: i'm not English... immigrants are expected to integrate: assimilate into their host nation... but... somehow... odd... the English expatriates living in Italy will... not... choice of language: i'm sure...
rules for thou: rules for aye... isn't it how it always works? English refer to the people who left these isles as... expatriates... or if there's enough of them: and the enough of them start-up a new ethic identity and become: Australians... New Zealanders... Canadians... H'Americans...
it's not mind-bending antics on my part: i didn't chose the wording: it was already available... i can respect the English laws... i can grow accustomed to the peoples' idiosyncrasies... drink their... Siberian milk tea: although i've resolved myself to drink green... eating baked beans on toast: to hell with avocado... but i can't be fed into an emotional complex that might allow me to support the national football team:
the inherently ****** in my remembers... just, "oddly enough": remembers... the broken fingers of Jan Tomaszewski... 'Brian Clough's throwaway remark and his saves for Poland against England in October 1973' - the clown... England being denied a place in the 1974 World Cup...
it's stupid it's beautiful it's football... it's not tennis it's not the Olympics it's not the ******* Tour de France... amore! amore! i'm betting on Italy... such style... they look nothing like a Teutonic heavy cavalry charge of the English with their meticulous passing... such spark with their no. 10 Napoleon: Lorenzo Insigne...
i'll learn your tongue: i'll do whatever might be required: to blend in better and not pretend... but i can't support your football team... individual sportsmen... sure... saying that: i feel robbed from the euphoria of a shared experience!
- there are no English immigrants living in Italy: there are only expatriates... it's not even funny how wording goes: i'm not offended: hardly... i prefer the h'American racial "slur" to what otherwise pits me up against: the North & South and St. Paul... ****** being the one word in ****** that's not to be confused with Polish... but English immigrants in Italy are not migrants... immigrants... disfranchised people who said: you deal with that kneeling ******* before a phantom... pander "them"... because the English have no concept of the diaspora! in ******-land there's this concept of: Polonia... those who are emigrated... like hell i'm going back... but i can't think of myself as an expatriate since... isn't it ****** obvious? the native of the English tongue thinks of his extended family living in Italy... France... as an expatriate... he's not going to dub them: an immigrant... the quality of life is too high to... oh... these people didn't immigrate for economic reasons... or like they might have been... persecuted Kashubians / Kosovans...
Italy just felt better... the weather... the architecture... derogatory implying: what? like the Polacks think of their fellow countrymen "elsewhere" belonging to this greater family: Polonia - the English treat their own as... hardly an immigrant in Australia... or H'America... no diaspora to be found... it's truly a conundrum of wording: what do you call a Spaniard in South America? a late Lebanese inquisitor... my jokes are dry... dry dry: ******* dry... a pale Persian when i double down on what could come off as possibly: worst...
i don't suppose you might feel like me: dear reader... if only i was surrounded by pretty things that people might admire as social status exfoliations: read books... not books stacked upon a shelf: a banknote from the Russian Empire with the effigy of Tsar Nicholas II on it... Soviet Empire post-stamps inherited from my grandfather: the philatelist...
my mind's in it... the tongue too... but my heart it grieving... although not as much as... what's missing in both the head, the tongue... the outward appearance of the the shy jihadi...
pandering missionaries for equal representation based on anti-racism: nuanced-racism: this inability to differentiate a Croat from a German... we'll just suppose the English immigrants will be known by a different name... not expatriates... like the cricketers... tourists... oh yeah... expatriates is too bold a statement when they achieve as little as drinking an espresso the Italian way...
i can't support the English football team... however much i want... and i want to... ha ha... odd me dumb ******: every time Germany played England i supported Germany: ol' Wend that i was... it's football! once more... better concentrate on individualistic sports... no good ever came from chanting syllables:
although in the England vs. Ukraine game... Ukraine in English is formed from only two syllable: U-KRAINE... (CRANE)... in ****** and akin to the natives it consists of: OOH-KRA-Í-N'AH
U-KRA-I-NA! i'm watching football but also listening to the crowd... i become lost when it comes to the Cossack Uprising... sure... Bohdan Khmelnytsky wasn't Oliver Cromwell... wasn't he, though?
a frank zappa album title: sheikh yerbouti... translates as... twerking / shake your-*****... no?
this is all we have become... decently progressed nations being reduced to the thrills of... a football match? again: these are not 22 ballerinas kicking about a guillotined head of Robespierre... are they? i could understand that... the no thrills no support chanting: sensible: Olympic sports it is... individualistic: i want to better myself types... no... ******* Normandy landing... no historical insinuation: no historical weaving the current bogus events with past splendour and spectacle and all that wave of world war I p.t.s.d.
currently? no better football commentator than... Ally McCoist.... McCoist cane compete with Jonathan Pearce: any sunny Sunday... i swear to god of the guillotined head of Robespierre... the man played football but also have more talk behind the ball than he ever had a kick behind it... perhaps because he also has a sing-along trill behind the R...
the **** this Scot conjures up: something akin to: boy'oh: leg up... i can't just... conjure up the verbatim... good enough: time to seek a kipper.
Italy vs. England in the final... Italy will win: i want to be dead-end: wrong.