before i might launch into an armchair of a paragraph...
no... nothing of the sort...
r.em.'s song: nightswimming... i have my own
version of ulterior events: nightcycling...

i'm not much of a lyricist...
nightcycling: such nights are all but forgotten...
how i miss the traffic
how i don't miss the traffic...
how my face isn't in need of being washed
since there's so little sandpaper debris on it...
there was never going to be a photograph...
the moon was perhaps almost always
a glass-is-half-empty: most certainly a frozen
biscuit: a pretend-tooth that's
glazed with a shy colour: a hue of diluted
sepia / wheat... yellowish as bone allows...
or antiques...

          nightcycling... hardly years from now...
or even days... it makes so much sense to be alone
that it doesn't even bother me
to sometimes wish i wasn't
when i know: that if i wasn't...
i'd be pulled toward wishing i was...
i don't want to feel that sadness:
that claustrophobic energy of having to
chain myself to... at best all the *** at worst
all that... anaemic conversation about:
how we might be the best, better: couple...

a sensation like no other...
perhaps if one were to kiss bone...
or perhaps like biting off
the ends of chicken bones
to get at the marrow
once all the meat and sinew has
been munched off: almost
slurped... most certainly
bitten: subsequently gnashed...
- eating frozen blueberries...
                 till the tongue turns
blue till the tongue is numbed
till the teeth start to itch (which
is of course impossible)...
but words make it possibly... eh... maybe...

it was raining throughout the day
and... i had to wait for the night
before i cycled...
in between...
   i made... raspberry... ice cream...
the classical way, using egg yolks because
i have no fear of salmonella...
at worst: i'd get my intestines cleaned
out with some diarrhoea...

such a simple recipe...
2 cups of double cream...
1/4 cup of milk
1/2 a cup of sugar...
heated up...
5 egg yolks beaten... 1 cup of the mixture
mixed with the beaten egg yolks
at 165°F... then all together...
12oz of raspberries blitzed up...
sieved through so the seeds would
not agitate... 1/4 cup of sugar
and some vanilla extract...
mixed together... with the cream
chilled in the fridge for 2 hours...
then into an ice-cream machine to churn for...
roughly 40 minutes...

later... two small brownie slices
and this... "ambrosia"...
if it rains... might as well make some ice-cream...

- i don't want to fall in love... ever again...
it's not that i'm hung-up on an ex...
come to think of it: i'm hung-up on myself...
what a lot of love wasted on someone
so rotten...
i wish i was myself the time i fell in love:
tender, young, naive...
then again: perhaps not...
i don't want to be a father
i don't want to have this responsibility
hanging over me like Damocles' sword...
cut the curtain... and the violin strings...
i don't want to be weak: dependent on someone:
i don't want to share my autonomy...
i'm growing tired of the idea of love...
i like to keep it very... formal...
perhaps no one is gesticulating or pushing airs
of 'yes sir'
         'no sir'... perhaps i'm not gagging to be
a well tailored waiter...
i'd shoot those lazy-***** who order shopping
on that metaphor of kangaroo...
bucket-list to-do:
don't ever place an order: go to the shop yourself...
******* pickled brains...
break each limb into pieces:
throw the torso into the pool... hope that it might
swim...

the wind blows from the south...
i stand in a cricket field on top of Havering-atte-Bower
and look at the great span of horizon...
there's Kent... there's ol' Thames...
my eyes are eating the distance apart...
to nowhere...

- well... if you put it like that...
scribbling: i was cycling at 30kmh...
suppose i was cycling quicker...
the metric units inflate the achievement...
while imperial units... deflate it...
it's only 18mph...
the metric system loves zeros:
0000000000000000000000000000000000
the imperial system: quirky...
loves decimals of Pi...

what a lazy night...
what a lazy of writing...
nightcycling...
something must have happened...
so few girls on the town partying...
did something happen?
did their income source dry up
or something?
i've had eyes of women clamour onto me
like they might...
give me ******* while simultaneously
circumcising me...
or pecking at my liver...
that's why... at the Turkish barbers...
it's almost like going to a brothel...
but when getting my bush-whack of a beard
trimmed... i close my eye while
the barber does miracles with a blade
tendering my neck...
eyes wide open... when ******* is performed...
since... well... that "hole" has teeth...
it might be pretend-oyster in the act...
but it's also a mouth that bites...
salivates... breaks up large chunks into small
chunks...

love... yes... at the brothel...
i like that sort of love...
i'm happy to not end up being an old man
who still has presumptions about:
the nobility of swans...
it didn't require either Darwin or Copernicus
to find out... the birds...
you will never see crows
gagging for it... you'll never find crows
asking for voyeurs like pigeons gag...
the crows do their funny... morbid b.d.s.m.
at night... no one's ever looking...
the pigeons? in full sight!

why i get a full glare of... pigeon courting...
i'm seeing... niqab clad ravens take:
"second purpose"...
not to mention... a... widow and widower swan...
my... how... they coupled...
never mind Rod Liddle...
i don't like the way he writes:
but god... i love how he speaks...
i don't very much like how i think:
that i perhaps think: at all...

my libido suffers from strobe-light
insomnia i dare call: quasi-epilepsy...
my dreams: i have shrapnel...
these buildings seem rigid enough:
it'll do... i don't need to make a broth
out of... bones... no skin... no meat...
i feel a crippling nausea-sickness
whenever dropped into a place like
Warsaw... or somewhere far beyond
the home counties...
like Cheltenham...

               it's oh so... monochromatic...
so... missing arrogant Muslims:
London: loon-bin...
this be, Islamabad... if only Polacks
had the same arrogance...
what an obnoxious lot we could have
become...
ask the Romanians?
the Turkish prostitutes... or the barbers?!

England belongs to the English...
thank you for keeping me: tightly knitted to a tuck...
friar...
you'll have to move aside...
while i make some space for my...
gluttonous... thought...
for several years i stopped seeing skin
colours... i stopped seeing ethnicity...
oh... grand reveal!
some equilibrium antics bringing
pronoun "concerns"...

                    ah ha... a world so tame...
i just want to **** on it...
i'm lazily itching toward "something"...
  look here... see an angst-riddled
existential paragraph...
if the natives can't bring some authority
to the table while the minorities run:
******* rampant...
it's like... living in slow-motion
of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth
being carved up... dissolved..
like the crown of Poland wasn't ever
a ******* of foreign rulers...
because... lineage didn't matter...
a  Duke of Orléans: could be the king of Poland
but not the king of France...
because... ******* of kings...
Poland... was readily giving it her sway of...
"favour"... alas... the fate of keeping
lineage... inbreeding... weakened genes...
pizza antics in... ******* Woking of all places...
silly Andy... willing Andy buckled on
the ginger gal...

nzuri argan oil... supposedly it works miracles
than any... other... recipe for keeping
one's hair looking: prim... intact...
wind-relieved...
better than any hair-gel...
a well oiled crop of hair is better suited
to... daily troubles than...
applying some stiffening agent...
hair like... deep-fried linguine... ugh...

that i believe advertisers more than
journalists...
a Warsaw fountain... someone abandoned
a dog in there... the poor thing was
running round and round...
me and ol' Joseph...
testing me? my mother takes centre stage
when his memory sparks...
a pain akin to a cut excites...
a spontaneity...
but a pain that cuts towards
a numbing...

like Tolstoy said: every family is ****** up...
it's almost insensible to curate
the formality of strangers with
all the baggage being... towed...
sinking... me... drowning...
but making raspberry ice-cream..
while it was raining outside...
hanging the washing on the lines:
i was expecting a silenced orchestra: timid
of sparrows...

to hell with the constellation of stars...
just watch what the birds are doing...
last time i heard... cats do not require
leashes...
i wish i could have the sort of audacity
of hands i have with cats:
translated into how women are
treated...
at the brothel... at the brothel...
open a bottle of bourbon: i'm there! sober!
strictly oops in-and-out-of-"it"...

this is not even my land...
one which i might wish to defend...
who are these pseudo-post-Soviets...
the originals i could have cited as borrowing
from pan-Slavism...
although mistook took place
concerning... the disintegration of
Yugoslavia...
if the Germanic people knew how to dispose
of the Hebrews...
the southern Slavs knew how to dispose
of the remnants of Muslims...
ugly affair...

time by now has to escape its own clutches with
a... debilitating: yawn...
pass the pawn... crux... lineage!
pawn... broker...
bishop... tilt! tally the rooks...
shoot the horses dead-centre
before they have a chance to retire from
the races...

that i have a fetish for recycling..
that there's a **** to tow...
that there's a **** to tow...
there's some crippling Gehenna
of corn: baking...
snippet: clue...
   whatever happened to the incredibly
sensibly native people...

like ha'hum?