dissect in the ranks... would you believe it:
the english way of drinking black tea with
a dollop of milk is not somehow unique
to the english... it is known to be practised
in Siberia...

now... how did i learn to write?
i write like my english teacher conducted lessons...
a Glaswegian by the name of
Thomas Bunce...
i almost took the King's Road all the way
from London to St. Andrew's...
i was accepted into Bristol: for
a course in virology... i passed...
seeing Edinburgh for the first time...
felt like seeing Paris for the first time...

but this English teacher taught by digression
alone... that was his tactic... overflowing
with anecdotes...
of course i wasn't going to elevate my
English by learning from strict English
teaching English types...
i would require myself to be immersed
in a people who "forgot" speaking Gaelic...
who... had Gaelic accents:
the trilled R... the general sing-along
clarity of syllables... the Scots don't speak:
they sing...
none of this English bulldog saliva custard
pie of consonants eating vowels
and consonants eating consonants...
come on... Trainspotting was written in
a "dialect": a Scottish accent alias for:
there should be some Gaelic in you...
no? the Welsh subservient cucks of all people
still managed to pull it off...
why... not... you?
the accent is enough?
i guess that's why the Welsh kept their tongue
and didn't mind having any bother
for an accent... generic... Middlesex...
home counties safe... sort of an outlet...

oh i'm not going to drink black tea with a dollop
of milk for some time...
i've turned to... something from Paraguay:
Para-g'why...
           YERBA MATE...
of all the major tea drinkers of the world...
the English... the Russians... the Turks...
eh... one coffee is enough...
but something after dinner...
something in the morning...
i'm still all for milk...
although i'm easing into finding too much
of it as unpalatable...
not constipated not diarrhoea prone...
just... bloated...
if you ever had a chance to... ahem...
"suffer" from classical bulimia... the ancient Rome
type where you'd shove the index and middle
finger into your mouth and wait
for the oesophagus reflex
you'd know that milk upon impact with
the "creative" juices of the stomach
becomes curd cheese shrapnel...
the rest is a yellowish water of lactose...

dissent in the ranks: i'm not going to drink
any more of this cow-squirt tea profanity!
this Siberian tea for milking first mothers...
that's another name: i missed the original term
for tea drank this way:
BAVARKA... tea drank by lactating women...
of Siberia...

- pulverising digression... imitation of
blitzkrieg... one wave after another... and another...
until... XAOS...
or chaos... it's spelled differently:
it's hardly CHasing orders... is it?
K-O-Y-S...
     why no why?
i wouldn't learn anything about the English zunge
in Bristol...
i might pick up a western land accent
at best... but among a people that
didn't tend to their Gaelic garden...

ol' Thomas Bunce knew how to digress...
he spoke with a collage impetus...
one "thing" led to another...
and he would speak...
and speak... Shakespeare was ol' Shaky
for 'im... i can't imagine if it was also a pear...
he introduced me to jazz...
i introduced myself to jachie mittoo myself...
(jackie? no... judge: itch with an i.e. "me too" #)

i can't help it... every time i visit a
brothel is reeks of bourbon...
the best sort of bourbon...
the air in a brothel is suffocating you
with bourbon... that's of course
until you arrive at the "pearly gates" of
a woman's naked body...
hence? the flood...
all the painting can cower and find:
redemption in a shade and some blinking
eye...
befriending a horse...
riding a horse at a gallop...
a lover-boy of a cat cuddling up to you
in bed while ******* off while you
find your sweet spot falling asleep on your
side...
walking a dog without a leash...
riding a bicycle on a stretch of the A12
or calculating spacing & timing on
the Gallows Corner roundabout...
it fits... sure... it fits...

- hyphen before a newly arrived sentence?
i couldn't write a novel...
too much time in between...
one smooth cut: one pristine use of the axe:
there's no need to chop at a neck
of Mary Antoinette with a blunted blade...
paragraphs are: congested bile...
myopia...
bogus labyrinths of follow-up linear:
non-patterns...

thinking of Brazil i think of the pristine
post-racial society of mulattos...
it works... i can see it clearly...
my white... sandpaper skin will bleach
any Kenyan d.n.a. in a matter of...
two generations of interracial *******...
truth... not paper...
but no European, ahem... "nation":
h'america will try and try will fail:
whatever "racism" is there is merely:
a focus for the integrity of what can ever
be allowed to be kept...
too much history... esp. history written down...

if there was a Friedrich Barbarossa...
then there must be a Conrad Bartablondine...
schnurrbartblond...
(sznur - rope)

there's still a bottle of wine ahead of me...
-bart- hair... rope-hair... blonde...
i must look Danish at this point:
god... those... handsome *******...

every time i leave the brothel
i have an image in my mind...
William Blake's
           the ***** of Babylon riding
some schizoid creature...
looted... looted...
i'm curious about the concern for identity
theft since... Nietzsche began:
at least he posited the origins in ******...
deluded as he was:
my advice? it's no advice:
i can prescribe anyone going mad
early on in life:
point being: it's a double-jeopardy game
after the first time
i.e. you can't go mad twice...
the second time you're suspected
of "going mad": you have only achieved
a: tunnel-vision...
horse gallop with blinders...
ladies... gentlemen... we're digging trenches...
say all you want:
Vietnam had the best soundtrack...
and it was the first war proper:
it was proper because it was staged
against guerrilla warfare...

i leave the brothel and put fire to that ol'
painting of Blake's:
while i hope to listen to some
KMFDM - JEZEBEL! (juke joint)
ah.... i'm still stinking of bourbon even though
i haven't drank any...

point being: England would have won
that football match...
if only their woke-ness led to a woke-insomnia:
if they took the second knee into
perspective: like a Catholics do during mass...
one knee wasn't going to cut it...
sorry... it would require: two...

but then... where was the Eucharist?
ghost god limb on the ghost mouth nibble?
come to think of it... it's no longer a metaphor
for a "king without a crown":
unless the lazy crown of laurels
is your thing when Horace is usurped
by someone donning a crown of myrrh...
how about: your average Joe...
having a hard-on proper:
but not donning a strap-on ***** to his
forehead...
because... some woman somewhere
might think him as being: "always in the mood":
retractable possession... some Duracell bunny type:
typo... a universal plumber taboo topic of:
"that" spanner...

thus: seated at the left hand of the father...
herr joke-a-lot... and this is even before i leave
a mark on my closure:
a weak-bladder i can feel the sense
of excitement at it not being a premature *******
contest...
i forget to time writing what i write
and drinking what i drink
and prior to the zenith...
i scribbled something down...

i'm still begging for closure...
if his birth was governed by the slaughter of
the innocents to plagiarise the birth
of Moses... Herod's lust...
Chernobyl seems pretty, ******* tame...
oddly enough i'm turning "woke":
the rest have been galvanised:
insomniac of proto-protein shakes
and amphetamines... and teasing some...
gwammar... itches...
you know... the usual...

all this before me intended: intent...
i tried it with her... this Romanian mare...
i couldn't get a *******...
i tried and tried: i probably drank too much
to give me a limb status of whittle 'itch-ard...
so i began to point at her body parts...
i wanted to know the noun
for eyes in Romanian... freckle...
collar-bone...

i'm not going to sit around and ****
Nigerian **** while i'm at studying
the geography of a woman's body...
a naked body of mine: but most assuredly hers...
will sink any man to any extreme
of finding a revived purpose...
i'll go blind with rage:
with a rage most associated with lust...
how paradoxical it must be...
when circumstanced with the oath
of Hippocrates...
oddly enough: modern psychiatry is alien
to anything to do with Hippocrates...
psychiatry is pseudo-medicine...
it's a bit like giving surgical license to...
butchers!
i have no respect for these: cre-a-tures...
of their own fancy: their own benevolent
twist-and-turn of sadism...

the worst lot of man and... the best lot of man...
enters these confines of scrutiny...
my brain some chemical soup...
**** 'em... give me the sort of Vietnam
with the soundtrack already provided...

but at least a ******* touched me...
he fiddled with my beard: played the *******
metaphor of violin with it...
there was even a goodluck charm
by her way of fiddling with it
just so a leprechaun would be conjured up
like a mushroom in the night!
like a spaghetti twister of an octopus might
conjure a spine!
enough dead-weight for a decapitation
sequence with ol' Ollie Cromwell being
invited... a football match with
Robespierre's head being kicked about!

yes... i started to read more Charles Olson
and deviated from all that's Bukowski
and all the Beat poets...
we're living in a democracy...
we're not living in a democracy?!
is my worth of worth a worth
of stale bread, somehow?

- so much trash from a people who have a
complete disrespect for the:
livestock market... of where their "canvas"
of brushstrokes is coming from:
seemingly from some "afar"...

the original transcript...

   languages are only fascinating within the confines
of nouns:
                                 )
                                             )  Buddha smiles
                                 )

                                 (
                                            )    hieroglyphic
                                 (                 rock-god... agitates
                                               the eyebrows to take a wink...
wink...

   (etymology grieves... while Darwinism is...
nothing more than a bombast return to "form"...
ulterior... cubism and.... Bra-bra-zeal!)

  (eyes: not: to impression oneself on
the "other" with a... "look")...

romanian - ochi
finnish - silmät
****** - oczy
english - eyes
german - augen (blick...
trust the germans to fathom
noun as verb and in reverse.. blick)
italian - oculus per oculus (occhi)
greek - μάτια...

oddly enough verbs are less fascinating
when... there's all that "compensation"
concerning nouns...
foremost: verbs are not etymologically
      "gathered"...
        there is not etymological "rooting"
in verbs... but there is... concerning nouns...
verbs have no etymological rooting...
nouns do...
but whatever the zodiac-esque importune...
that we place on nouns...
to fulfil the meaning of our name
Matthias - gift (of) god... not from...
Conrad - wise council...
prepositions are shrapnel...
   w (in) do (to)
   z (with) o (about)
vowels that also act like
prepositions
      i (and) zza (from... behind...
                 the Tartar mountains... Czech republic)...
    za (for)...

also... eyes... ayes... how many eyes do i have
to say: yes... parliamentary...
English s unique in that...
you can say say two things once...
but also say them twice...
the encoding divergence of "spelling":
ayes vs. eyes...
                see through to sea...

i must be a king turned pawn:
the queen's all bishop creek...
hallows aat the rook...
i must be lamenting:
the best ******* i ever received
came from someone i paid for...
dumb-smart is the next best thing:
of outsmarting the mythological:
mantis...
chimp craze with mantis
antics...
      well... who's superior
who's who?
                     "milk" some other  bull
for all that genocidal ***** juicing...
hello brick-wall: hello...
alpha what?!
harem posits?

                 i walk into a tornado...
i walk into a "grieving" sea...
       sooner i come across these creatures
than if i were to come across the ferocity of
a neglected woman!
this neglected beast... look at her...
how exfoliating mantis she suddenly
come with added bad english gwammar...
it almost looks like a stand-off in Velsh!

the maxim of my late grandfarther starts ring:
there are no ugly women in this world...
there are onbly neglected ones.