i owca syta: a więć i wilk też... (and the lamb satiated: therefore the wolf too
i like this new dynamic: i have "simply": quiet simply forgotten all about ms. amber... or mr. let me make you see clearly of *****...
beer takes too much time... at the same time you can't mix it... and drinking beer with ice-cubes: can be done... but it doesn't exactly look sassy... warm beer is dogs' ****...
wine wine: more wine! the first bottle is to impromptu me: what sort of life can there be without having a chance to reflect upon it? day to day: day-in... day-out? what sort of life is that? investing in old age when it: "perhaps": ha ha... that might of all "might" happen?
the first bottle is for reflection... sitting at the end of the garden with a snail squiggling from one end to another of a shed... do snails have ears? the first bottle and the clepsydra of the grand travel annals of snails... i gave him my left shoulder... behind my head through to my right shoulder: the time: about an hour to "suddenly" disappear...
the first bottle of wine is for reflection... the second bottle: i haven't started it: is for lubrication... nothing to speak of... but enough to break my fingers on... on this... canvas: why am i not a painter: i'd abhor being constipated with... colours... forms... it would be a pain to draw a face... since i'm prone to the phenomenon of pareidolia...
ever since having my bicycle undermined by some ****** humour of loosening the clamp on my front wheel... if only the wheel came off on the Gallows Corner Roundabout... that would have been funny... i had enough: ever since i have systematically undermined all the knobs and bolts throughout the frame... the whole thing was going to fall apart:
psychological warfare... there was ever going to be one cure for this... a sharpshooter... i didn't care what it might taste like... half of gin... a quarter of whiskey... a quarter of tequila... some pepsi... it didn't taste that bad... 2 litres of water... and a most pristine route...
up to B1459.... through to lower Bedfords Rd onto Noak Hill Rd Chequers Rd... Coxtie Green Rd... through Pilgrims Hatch... onto Ongar Rd into Brentwood... past the Brentwood Catholic Cathedral... or... Bishopric... ugly pseudo-Baroque "thing"... all the way on the A128 via Ingrave turning into Bulphan... and then... on the flatlands of Thurrock... toward Upminster later Hornchurch... eh... a marathon in terms of distance...
i can still listen to Kasabian's West Snyder Asylum album if the mood is right... like the time... my own time...
i took a sharpshooter on this bicycle ride... a bit like the British drunkards vs. the amphetamine charged Luftwaffe pilots... or Isis state fighters... who were also on amphetamines... i wasn't going to disbelieve my bicycle because one silly ****** thought it would be funny to loosen my front wheel...
come night and thoughts about ***... prior to... you are bound to cycle past... a man... of similar age as yourself... walking a little gremlin of an offspring with him... look on his face? it's hardly content... it's engaged... most certainly... such authority... such conviction... hell... no... such responsibility... but such a distance at the same time... after all... if a woman were to ask me: you don't want to have children: you don't want more meaning in your life?
it didn't take me 2 years to read Kant's critique... i own a 2 vol. copy... i read the first vol. and subsequently, "subsequently": "lost" the 2nd volume... have children... Kierkegaard's either / or... in the environment when my dementia-riddle grandfather was still alive... a blessed month... i managed to squeeze in Maldoror to boot...
have children... or read philosophy books... oh that the days can be filled with: whatever is already left available... it doesn't have to come down to waning in the vicinity of movies... i'm stiff going to punch myself in the face for not having acknowledged Rousseau sooner... i once did that: punched myself in the face until i woke up with a black eye... i once counted how many knuckles i had by putting out a cigarette on each of them... i think i came short... the scar on my ring finger knuckle is more pronounced than on the other knuckles...
muddles: i had something in my mind prior to all this: i'm not going to compete with Bukowski over achieving old age... he only started scribbling his poetic doodles... right about when i'm at now... that i can't escape admiring him:
an itchy memory: in an Our Price record store in an almost ancient Victoria Station... when my uncle was still relevant as was his knowledge of music... he suggested i buy the Prodigy's music for the jilted generation: i said no... i wanted the Molasses of En Vogue to sing me: don't let go as a single...
i think of love i drink wine: this is... supposed to be... blood... i think of love i start conjuring up vampires and werewolves... i can be so unforgiving... but it only took one ******* to attest that: i'm a good man that i forgot to date... or inspect the matter further in the sandpit of dating games... just give me the clarity of transaction... i'll be back for more...
the next hour: the only hour with this Turkish nymphomaniac... Khada... just this next hour... i'll promise myself the next half worth's of a decade to pass me by sexless... she already finally cured me of the memory of Ilona of Siberia... of St. Petersburg...
never before had i experienced a woman who would tell me to keep my hands of my phallus when her hands... and mouth were performing: "miracles"... finally! i wasn't a pawn of expectations... for the first time i was on the receiving end of whatever it is that's ***'s about... a bit like... i had to find a doppelganger... TEANNA TRUMP... Caribbean Mulatto *****-Queue-of-a-Queen... and it's not even like she's hiding her prowess as sending men: dumb on their ways... but she's hardly going to compete with the songs of Solomon... even with his count she's not going to bother itching with some proverb: she'll just advertise so more... until...
but she's good at what she does... why take it way from her? i've been prone to have wasted £120 on an hour's worth on a timid ******* when i should have only dripped up £60 for half an hour's worth of: limp ****, kisses & cuddles... that's why i need to spend an hour with Khada... because the last time i only spent £60 on her for half an hour's worth and... perhaps i'll sign my self-published poo'etry in katakana...
never a a sort of ******* that might make you want to finally forget a past relationship? **** me... if it only cost me £60 per half an hour... that it might cost me... £120 per hour... and she'll be so ******* base about... timid ******* is something for quasi-paedophiles... i don't like my libido undermined by games of: you're in a brothel and she's a ******* stiff... you end up teasing at necrophilia... what has suddenly immobilised her... you later turn up and she's donning pigtails...
i could have had children: i didn't want to... not in the current climate... the current climate... have daughters... let them... stress that... anti-racist anti-patriarchal narrative... a N / // / //' PLAYGROUND... by the boat-load... i'm tired of wanting to excavate this: mythological blonde from the depths of her... give me the Turkic ol' raven haired witch... but there still are: mythological blondes... most probably jogging around the flatlands of Thurrock...
supposedly "good" people never, really: do anything good... well... the only "good" they ever achieve is... stressing the golden rule of Confucius to the point where they become solipsists... they never do any good as the supposed good of: avoiding people deemed to be a metaphor of typhus... the good of avoiding the ***** colony... a lot of good that is...
to do supposedly enough good but end up: decrepit - old - a solipsist? how many prostitutes would it take for me to kiss before: the fire... the judgment inflames my blood to give earth a stomach a mouth a hunger... before the disgruntling sound of "hunger" might be satiated:
are we the moral fathers and mothers of the free will of these automatons?! less the vote: these autocrats in democracy? how much freedom is not enough freedom for: not having children: i'd abhor the need to put on a leash... while at the same time watching myself put on a muzzle... bring into the fore a cage!
the bicycle and the *******... for that sort of ***... i am awarded a spell of amnesia from a relationship: finally freed after coming close to a decade... she has already been married: twice since i last saw her... bandaged right arm... stupid ***** decided to slice it up along her vein routes... she was still playing video games... ever since she prescribed me Bulgakov i was already reading Kundera...
20kg slimmer... no stretch marks on the stomach: i took my time... concentrated on the cardiovascular domain: all beef: no jerky... i'm not here for the abs... i still find it quirky seeing a beefed up pancake with all that upper-body poised for looks... a body that couldn't do 100 press-ups... strutting... on chicken-thin stilts... they're not legs...
******* moralists... 1st bottle of wine i reflect with... in the damp end and all that's night of a garden's worth... 2nd bottle i lubricate... eyes, fingers... the unspoken tongue...
next time i fool myself to cycle into central London... for all the grit... the **** and scratches of particles... do i really need to see so many faces? content with discontentment: discontent with contentment... do i really need to see how important these people are? or will i again relive the nerve... to cycle into the countryside... explore Essex some more... and peer into trees and the bushes and pretend to be looking for a mirror or some... demonic voyeurism?
if the western women are not worth defending: there's hardly a continuity clause: hey! presto! playground! fly solo my dear! fly... solo! i won't be choking on... how Turkic women elevate their harem...
what *******! what... i have no freedoms to cherish: no love to give: they have become: fizzled out... ashen... slob and slither... my kingdom of ash... come to think of it: there's nothing worth keeping: all of it needs to be revised...
i'll start the fire: i'll just pretend you have the water... let freedom(s) become fully exhausted: it is required spectacle "knowledge"... let freedoms come, let freedoms go... if you won't be dipping you silly ***** into some wet oyster pouch (punch)... so be it... take some time to do... at least with prostitutes you will be standing on bricks rather than on sand... lies... masquerading... face-offs...
we're not here to start families... we here to hope that... we grow old enough; senile enough... so that our libido dies... content with t.v., cricket... su doku or crossword puzzles... a teenage girl exposing herself: my insomniac libido: my forever present hard-on? oh sure: as long as she still thinks it's just a "tease"...
i'm waiting for my libido to die off... then i'll concentrate on my liver and kidneys... but by then i too hope it might be a classic case of "too late"...
last time i heard: it's now... jetzt! hier! i don't need a lie... i don't need an unforgiving English maiden to tell me what's god from good... or do-evil from evil from devil... i have: this here land... and the exploration of upstaging the momentum first arrived at via walking...
these are not... my... women! i've wasted their credibility of motherhood on the shoreline of prostitution! i'm not willing to have to be forced into an argument of: what's to be kept! the whole forest needs to be ploughed: it needs to be burned down...
in England over 20 years and they're still only giving it to blacks and abusive Pakistanis... where did they think i'd go to for: "compensation": among the Turkic ol' raven haired types.... lassen: hölle: regel: selbst!