last time i heard: memory is worth more than gold...
well... that's how it seemed
when my dementia riddle grandfather
spoke nothing of memories...
sometimes shifting to current events...
to events of yesterday: family grievances: kept...
like tidy Lego projects...
memory is worth more than gold...
the memory i have of him during the summer
holidays i spent with him
and the last years of his life...
chalk & cheese...
he was a finicky character to begin with...
as you might be:
heard shouting: herr! bite bon-bon with memories
of world war II... and actually running up
to two black-clad SS-men manning
some anti-aircraft thump! pump up lead...
being given sweets and
having to go back home... putting your hands:
glued together... under the tap...
ah... memories... more solid than gold...
quick... no... wait...
german for gold is: geld...
back into latin:
               grammatically it changes...
aurumvelox...
     gold-quick...
           they are: here was a drowning man
gripping to a razor's edge...
what did he have as armour?
memories...
not... don quixotic delusions...
he had... a cinema of memory...
what stalled his final demise....
it wasn't solving a ******* su doku puzzle...
the irony of "mental brain power":
associations with purple throbbing muscles...
oddly enough:
killer proteins **** the fat that's the ******* brain...
oddly enough...
i write: i was never good with crosswords...

i will never be good with crosswords...
but listening to come in with a reel of memories:
i always thought that memories
were exclusively personal: but as an old man might:
share...
his bothered brain skimmed and repeated
itself... at times i think i was talking to someone
frothing at the posit of: in third person...
even though he never consciously ventured
to stress third person pronouns...

interlude: i'm a sucker for pop...
an absolutely sucker...
girls aloud - the show...
it's not a guilty pleasure...
it's just an unadulterated pleasure: period...
i'm not going to turn into a Bukowski
and cite you, you, mythical "you": reader
with a higher taste akin to citing

eh... dogs might be immediately suspicious of
you drinking...
cats are late on the mark...
after all... they ******* for most of the day
into the realm of nacht... nox (noch)
and that doesn't seem t bother anyone...
solipsistic cre-ah-tures...
the hyphens are utilised so that diacritical
markers can be omitted...
i'd love to own a dog...
but... also owning a leash and a muzzle...
walking them in public to take a public ****
and ****...
i sometimes forget i'm not a dog: too...
i like the balancing act i have gathered myself
to perform when ******* at the end
of the garden... five finger chess "groping"
a tree for balance...
sure... the imagination lifts the release
of a waterfall of **** like
i might be getting a circumcision via
some *******... but who cares...
i still have the "excess" skin so i can
do my solo bit... then have to intuitively
pull it back to "perform"...

memory then...
   prior to: Charles Olson... Lamantia, Phillip, no?
i'm starting to think we're misunderstood creatures...
men are... hunters... in the domain of ***?
oh i'll give you "that" women conquer and control
by having more experience...
some beta-provider cuck...
maybe... maybe that's why i prefer
women who tell me to keep my hands off my
phallus when she's enjoying giving me *******...
the experienced woman: i'm hardly a ******:

wait wait... one... memorable ****** encouner
in what became a tease of "abstinence" spanning:
half a decade? of course i'm going to milk it!
it's the ******* equivalent of a:

i'm savouring a "plan": take hallucinogenic
mushrooms when old age finally arrives...
but i'm not willing it to come...
the ******* of what happens under the Hippocratic
arch... there's a...

where was i? apparently "here"...
where's "here"?
i once had an "argument" with a guy in Camden...
well... he prompted me...
i bought him a pint he thought i was hitting on
him...
- you look familiar... everyone's looking at you...
- oh, you know... i just have one of memorable
faces...
the best music producer...
he cited Timberland...
i started thinking of hiking shoes...
i retorted with: Rick Rubin...
the magic he did surrounding johnny cash...
the johnny cash revival...

give the old some new tricks...
of course the cover is better than the nine inch nail
original!
if London is haunting me...
wait till i start haunting it...
all the way from Loughton through
to Stratford... speed-demon on a bicycle...
the juice of momentum straight out of
Beijing... no... believe me: no Mongol army...
we giggle... we leave things hanging: not dragged...

i beg to differ: the authenticity of advertisement
when you don't have the money
to spend... contra: journalistic adventures when
you sponge-of-a-brain-of-prematurely-impressionable
isn't-off-the-cuf­f-"simply"-*******-on...
is that an... "oops" moment...
oh i still have some momentum left in me...

advertising slogans: maxims in vivo!
i trust that more than anything curated by journalism...
stale oh god... the stale rusty propaganda
machinery... i chuckle: i buckle...
here's a keeper of knitted onion ring
being excavated with a copper sheen...

Glasbury...
me, Peter Richardson... Kieran O'Mahoney signed
up for the trip...
oddly enough... not odd at all:
the meningitis curse came...
so did the mad cow disease...
this was prior to us taking our GCSE exams...
they left school while i took up my A-levels...
Kieran became a bouncer at a nightclub:
last time i saw him... last time i saw him
i was walking into an alley to take a ****...
i was handcuffed and was shouted at by some eager
polizei-mensch...
i talked to him calmly why some female police
officer took notes... i was... un-cuffed
and walked home scot-free...
that's the last i remember of Kieran...
Peter though... he was dating this bombshell...
he had some teeth missing... more tattoos than skin...
if wanting the sort of women
that might turn me into "that"?
no... no thank you...

we were supposed to travel to a little village
in Wales (Glasbury)
and experience... i stuck around the education
"prison":... canoeing...
caving... horse-riding (timidly... there was no gallop
invoked)...

i can tell you what book i was reading while
the white boys started to imitate black
boy bulk of urbanity: while sniffing sherbert
playing ping-pong against the walls:
marquid de sade's: ******...
i was first introduced to the jeff buckley
rendition of leonard cohen's hallelujah then...

(sherbert: i don't even, mildly begin
to invoke: sorbet... sherbert... the powdered
dummy gimmick... they sniffed it right before
my eyes... while i read marquis de sade's ******)...

is it just me or... if you've drank enough...
red wine and pepsi: kalimotxo.. aztec revival:
long enough... all the homemade
hard-pressed juice... starts to taste a bit like:
you're drinking... for ****'s sake...
Balsamic vinegar?

- and so we were splint into two groups...
we were only a year apart...
the older girls were dropped off at a location
much earlier to where we were supposed
to find our way back from...
i was in the category of older boys
dropped off with a bunch of younger girls
dropped off much later...

we were given the option:
walk back en route you were dropped off at...
or... read the map...
upon being dropped off
i asked: where are we?
i don't think i was cheating:
all the maps in the city
always reveal a: you are, here!
so i asked and i was given an answer...
i span the: the world-isn't-flat map in real life
and also in my head:
i found a short-cut...
it would involve storming a field filled
with cows... pushing some to sleep
via also invoking a a thunderstorm...

we beat the other team...
this memory is fire in my eyes already
left for dead in my mind...
the girls were exercising in the yard
while the defeated team were walking down
the hill... somewhat mesmerised...
there was no sensation of: i won...
no... there was only: i came first...

Glasbury... in the mess-hall...
all the Celts congregated and excluded me...
i ended up spending each morning
at a table with a bunch of black dudes...
i was the only white in the "confirmation":
who were they?
Ivory Coast, can't tell a Nigerian
from a Kenyan apart?
race was always second... the spaghetti of
ethnicity comes first: like a thirst...
i can be mishandled as a German
or an Englishman by a Pakistani or a Turk...
for a while...
but trip me up supposing i'm Russian...
oh... that's no go...
i will, not, begin with you supposing me
being a ******* *****!

well... wow! aren't we all supposedly: merely:
white?
one whitey sitting at a breakfast table
lined with blacks...
give me that spread of butter:
women tend to ruin things associated
with men associating themselves to men...
only now: while i remember it...
give me a war! not this ******* pharmacological
adventures of the sedated thirst for life!

i've been down this avenue of secrets...
i know where it leads...
"secrets"...
i'm to be most sedated: most crucified...
all metaphors... all metaphors...
if i wait long enough the women will start
to dish out white feathers...
seeing me as some impostor of:
where masculine / machismo ought to lie:
dead...
what's the phrase, turned colloquial?
oh... wait... i knot it...
   "it's...               complicated..."

perhaps i'll refrain from phrasing:
no... i won't...
i'm... supposed to... somehow...
feel... emasculated... for wanting... to live...
in a clean... abode... owning cats:
but being free from feline "perfumery"?!
i'm... somehow... to feed...
emasculation? i want to live in a scent-free environment?
this is the right time: appropriate
of imitating that m.t.v. video of the queen song:
i want to break free?
      
sure: dogs and men and all that:
i don't like owning a leash:
i don't like the idea of taking a dog to take a ****
in public...
i have cat-litter... but on the odd occassion
the cats will take a **** in secret: revenge
against the neighbours...
look at me... walking around the shadow
of a dog's ****: jazz hand clapping
picking up leftovers of a chop suey... mulled:
into a tired worm of an ****: last reserved:
wriggle (put) out...

here's a banknote: piglet smear worth of
"brains" all-over-it...
bend one knee: bend two... hell!
chop my legs off while you're at it!
i always thought myself as being non-racist...
but i can hardly find a least exhaustive route
debating the natives as king:
to find... the anti-racist conundrum...
chop the legs and arms off!
throw the torso into the pool
and watch the para-olympians take turns!

i can be non-racist: african-american though...
when did the Arabs absolve the slave trade?
the 1970s?
last time i heard...
eh... whatever...
                      but i can't be anti-racist...
it's impossible for the Hindus to not feed into
feeling some sort of superiority...
after all... they freely joked when the hilly-billy-benders
of the joke-brigade of...
the Vishnu-halfwits... whatever you want
to call them: decided: Utopia daydream...

hippies! yeah... the squares were all: trouble when
Kerouac made his...
reading...
   i fear fame more than i fear death...
i always have three posits to make a puncture...
you can't read a pulse at the pivot of the wrist!
you have to search for it lower down...
pulse... puncture...
just above the collar bone on the right side...
and under the the right arm-pit...

i fear fame more than i fear death:
i can stomach posthumous fame...
like Christ born on a crucifix...

oh Emma... Emma Emma Emma Emma...
i asked for your picture: you gave it to me:
how badly i wanted to sketch you...
i did...
what a glorious rag of a ***** you later
became...
beautiful... here's me drinking to a lost
ambition of: not being a plumber with you
by my side: ha ha!
just moments are only worth scribbling
into the depth of night...
they honestly are...
what compensational comparative?
spotting a sparrow...
at the en masse graves
of the Germans... fallen during world war I...

siusiumajtki: 16 year old girls:
****-pants...
i don't like inexperienced girls...
i prefer prostitutes...
it's ******* tongue-numbing to have to encounter
these prospects...
it's no fun...i'll leave it to the pornographers
to agitate...
the east... the south... the mongols... the russians...
the Chinese...
whoever... the Pak-stubs...
conquer all you want... i believe i can attest
with: there's nothing worth to preserve:
or defend...

   first you want to defend all the **** erectile joystick
ups... and then... you... somehow...
"forget"... to defend... where all your...
deviances come from... from the carnal farm
of hetrosexuality?
but... what if... some of us... don't want t breed?
where are you going to breed the argument from?
a curriculum of surrogate mothers?
you *******... **** qwanks?!
don't worry... i know my kamikaze pinpoints...
i'll gladly *******...
but don't you require breeders...
don't you require breeders with a consistency
of conservative antithesis arguments
to compete / combat (against)?

well... if no! dodo project worked...
look at me... i'm ******* happy...
mission accomplished!
crystal clear... whatever the hell that "thing"
was... iron maiden clad... the renovation
of thought as soul as salvation prone...
blah blah... blah.