Nov 2021
my my, i hope to have replied sooner, in all honesty i wrote a most generous reply yesterday, but by "miracle" or fault i accidently deleted when copying a link and inserting it; now i have to promise myself to write the name of the band / song in CAPITALS, since... well since there's no other jukebox like youtube and the songs are easy to find...
what do i consider beautiful... hmm... i don't think i have much choice in what i can deem beautiful, i'm more prone to succumb to auditory beauty than physical beauty, i don't really see much outside the realm of a sunset or a sunrise, or the sight of the sea at night, in terms of physiognomy, hardly anyone is ever ugly: worn down... a curiosity, but it's never an off-putting sight like a dozen maggot in trash juices...
again: i never understood the argument that men are primarily orientated around sight: sure... when orientating myself in traffic on a bicycle, i am pretty much all eyes, since some music is blasting into my ears from the headphones... aside: *******... i tend to turn off the sound because i know that i'm not attaching myself to a quickie, for the actual act i'd require the sounds... anyways...
DIE SONNE SATAN - DISMAL CHANT...
mmm... i think my song choice can be the perfect antonym for your first song choice, the relic of Novgorod... men being primarily creatures absorbed by the eyes... hardly... what about the story of Odysseus and the mermaids, how his fellow sailors had to have their ears blocked with wax to stop them going mad? i lost over 20kg since my grandfather's death: walking at first, then cycling... yet like a vampire: i hardly recognise this loss on my body... i see my face in the mirror but hardly my body... i only see what the loss looks like in public... you'd guess correctly by a regaining of appeal from the opposite ***... plus... my heart feels like... a sixth of me fizzled out... so no need to take high-blood pressure tablets...
my god: my original was reply was somewhat poetic... this is so blandly prosaic...
my grandparents weren't happy... i'll not go into the details... but no, they weren't happy... they stayed together out of necessity, or, rather... my grandmother stayed with my grandfather because, as the law in Poland dictates... the woman inherits the man's retirement funds... there was nothing luvvy-dubby about their relationship, she was insult him, everything he ever did was wrong, all the improvements in the house were always done wrong... blah blah... on top she was just a rude ***** to him: a part of me is glad he's dead: he's freed from hearing all the venomous nagging, even he once remarked to me: older people shouldn't treat each other like this... months prior i could see in his eyes a consolidation of life itself: a resignation that was teasing at the transcendental... death became a relief for him...
can a man be neglected? erm... i think what's worse for our *** is when we neglect doing something we were passionate about prior... i think that's our biggest worry... for example... i neglected cycling for over 10 years... i put on a lot of weight... now that i've rekindled my obsession with cycling... i'm no longer just someone who cycles... i became enthralled with an art of keeping a bicycle in tip-top condition... change a tire, fix the breaks... one ***** loose here, another loose there... subsequently tightened... oh look: i just came to the same conclusion: a man will tend to focus on things that provide him with some end of a deadlock... i've been a bachelor for... well since my last, ahem "serious" relationship ended when i was 21... she proposed to me... she chose an engagement ring... then broke it off... since 21... now i'm 35... even my mother thought i was bemoaning losing her... i clarified to her that: i was bemoaning losing a part of myself... like the idea of a horcrux... but when you lose a part of yourself to someone who you once loved (rather than killed)... the vercrux... i miss the naive 20 year old... the colt that could buy into romantic flicks... the boy who believed in the cult of Adonis: that women care about a man's looks: and all else would fall into place, come the later years... careers would blossom blah blah...
i hope i'm not being over-dramatic or... however else to put it... i never appreciated country music... it must be an American thing: through & through... i'd go as far as blues... JOHN LEE ****** - IT SERVES ME RIGHT TO SUFFER (1969)... oh my, my my... i had a blue's phase in my late 20s... it's still great to listen to the blues when drinking... SKIP JAMES - HARD TIME KILLIN' FLOOR BLUES... but i have found some country music up my sleeve... HEAVY HANDS - WHERE THE WATER TASTES LIKE WINE...
i couldn't tell you how it might feel for a woman to be neglected in a long term relationship where so many changes could take place that she might... i just don't have the experience, since 21 i've just had encounters with strangers or prostitutes... if any issues... well... i drank too much and couldn't get an *******... which i could correct by going the 2nd night sober... if the maternal side of my grandparents isn't all milk & cookies... my paternal side is... they divorced... if they were even married... and my father was raised by his grandparents... well... a foster-grandfather and a grandmother... a complete & utter mess... but then we're talking Poland circa 1939 through to 1960... and beyond... my parents are an emblem of what a marriage out to be: but then i'm not my father...
i squandered my chances through various rejections, but also embraced my bachelorhood reading philosophy & going to the brothel... i obviously had to sample the "misdeeds" in Amsterdam, phew... everything is so less hush-hush like it's in the anglo-speaking world, i wanted to experience a complete disinhibition from any sort of "misdeeds"...
i hope you see that i don't find anything socially "unacceptable": you are as free reading what i write as not reading it, we can stand on completely opposite plateaus but we can share some common arguments... recently i was listening to this guy talking about how social media is as toxic (if not more) to women as ******* might be to men... but i remember the days when we'd have a school trip to Ypres (Belgium), the WWI graves, the trenches... but we'd have 5 hours spare to buy chocolate & roam the streets... i'd buy a pornographic magazine... a woman would sell it... no fear of shame... out in the open... must be a continental mentality... point being... this guy was saying that social media for women is not like ******* for guys... all it takes is a no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones and the rest of the day remains... there's no need to engage in comparisons...
mein gott: the original reply was so much better... i'm all spaghetti-cogito...
i blame it on the country music... no, come to think of it... brown bird - bilgwater... that's a blues-hybrid... there's just that identifiable sound of the accented voice... it's not John Lee ****** singing... i just see a lasso... jeans... a cowboy hat... i'll be converted if i listen to enough of it... HOT TUNA...
lately you don't feel pretty, over to you: tornado... in my realm a butterfly... i rekindled the realm of being desired by schoolgirls...i had a 10+ year hiatus... what island are you on? it can't possibly be the same isles i'm on, among the Welsh sheep-shaggers & Pict wannabes without an iota of Gaelic... as much as it might be a "man's world"... it's also has a gynocentric focus... i know where my lot is... i can be replaced... you, as a woman, have to be tended to, beside all other facts... my freedoms have been invested by social pressures... or, otherwise, my lack of "ambition" or zeal, or... that Darwinism impetus that ought to be prerequisite to further something of the past we supposedly lay a claim to...
but as a solo-dodo project: i am completely unburdened... nay... i am facing a fate that bestows upon me a blindsight... i'm finding myself: more & more content... since it would be impossible for the face of man to cower from its blinding furtherance of obedience to time: to further itself... no different to any other animal... to hell: bring in the post-racial sociey of Brazil of the mulattos... i don't mind: i won't be here... people will sort themselves while my grave pretends to snore for me...
if you can consider me... fiscally... no chance... poetry coughs up once ever 50 years... its not my time... Bukowski had the luck... i couldn't say whether the acumen... i'm entertining the prospect of taking up a job as a security guard at mass events: stadium filling... my ambition would bring me any money... i couldn't imagine toiling & toiling for... shoes... excess shoes... for... holidays on beaches that will, sooner or later... become abandoned by what the "great reset" implies...
you're in your... 40s? i'm in my 30s... i too have criteria... neither of us are teenagers... i wish we were... i could drop my life on a whim and head toward the unknowable: uncertain... laconic little me... i harvest my little entrapments of time spent in solitude... i shouldn't appreciate solitude... but then again i can't never return to a concept of a heart as weak as a mollusk... i pity my hardened heart, i bemoan the entire politics of antagonism shared between women & men... children... so young as to yet grasp language are so... so... beautiful... even those not my own are so mesmerising!
i might not have children of my own, you said you have an 11 year old girl... it's impossible to pass a public space come 3:30pm in England and not watch schoolgirls...lately i''m dressing like autumn... a harsh brown shirt, heavy... olive trousers... a dark brown t-shirt... mahogany leather shoes... weird looks... side to side... as she exits the bus... one last look... words under her nose... lip-read... you're hot... i could be delusional... i could be... but when it's so ******* blatant...
recently a manicurist / pedicurist entertained my mother... she brought a friendf along... i was inspected... father figure? do i really need to raise someone else's offspring? beside the point... the manicurist brought with her her 11 year old month daughter... i played the nanny... it's a cat, it's a dog... its a child... it's innocence... i realised... being 35... this ought to be the time to concentrate my concept, concern for love to offspring... this isn't a time for... petty romance... petty cosmopolitan fickleness... best attired by well established newspaper talkingheads...
at 35 i ought to forget about my mating partner... i ought to have children by now, & modify my concern for love: gearing up to children... at 35 what was love: ought to diagnose itself as concern: dasein dass neuliebe! i couldn't possibly love a woman like a teenager might: with the thirst of first thirsts! with drunkneness... now, come the children... i might be childless, i might be a bachelor... but with even those offspring alien to me: i can appreciate "petting" and concerning myself over their kept tenderness: before the world: the grinding baron wheel crushes them...
i'm too old for rekindling romance of 20 year old ****-wit-****-anything-
that-moves...
i'd like to have authority over children...
i'd like to love a daughter,
i'd like to love a son...
not very unlike petting a cat...
but the heartbreak...
of them leaving the "nest":
fully invested in their autonomy,
in their individualism...
what a sore, what an unbearable anchor for:
what's the future of the sails...
what little of the wind(s)...
as said... i can stomach an 11month year old...
i think i could stomach an 11year old...
it would be a freaky experiment...
i did study chemistry undergrad... so...
it would become a fetish...
of unpredictability...
no... i can be a nanny to an 11month
old toddler...
i don't know whether i can be a substitute
of father to an 11year old child...
that's a key distinction...
i find men above 6ft2 slightly weird...
esp. if they're not built to bulge with their heights...
perhaps in sports... but in the shared experience
of "societal norms": ******* lanky...
spider-conundrums...
sorry... if there's the height...
but there's no mass invoked...
awkward looking: oopses...
what do i consider beautiful... hmm... i don't think i have much choice in what i can deem beautiful, i'm more prone to succumb to auditory beauty than physical beauty, i don't really see much outside the realm of a sunset or a sunrise, or the sight of the sea at night, in terms of physiognomy, hardly anyone is ever ugly: worn down... a curiosity, but it's never an off-putting sight like a dozen maggot in trash juices...
again: i never understood the argument that men are primarily orientated around sight: sure... when orientating myself in traffic on a bicycle, i am pretty much all eyes, since some music is blasting into my ears from the headphones... aside: *******... i tend to turn off the sound because i know that i'm not attaching myself to a quickie, for the actual act i'd require the sounds... anyways...
DIE SONNE SATAN - DISMAL CHANT...
mmm... i think my song choice can be the perfect antonym for your first song choice, the relic of Novgorod... men being primarily creatures absorbed by the eyes... hardly... what about the story of Odysseus and the mermaids, how his fellow sailors had to have their ears blocked with wax to stop them going mad? i lost over 20kg since my grandfather's death: walking at first, then cycling... yet like a vampire: i hardly recognise this loss on my body... i see my face in the mirror but hardly my body... i only see what the loss looks like in public... you'd guess correctly by a regaining of appeal from the opposite ***... plus... my heart feels like... a sixth of me fizzled out... so no need to take high-blood pressure tablets...
my god: my original was reply was somewhat poetic... this is so blandly prosaic...
my grandparents weren't happy... i'll not go into the details... but no, they weren't happy... they stayed together out of necessity, or, rather... my grandmother stayed with my grandfather because, as the law in Poland dictates... the woman inherits the man's retirement funds... there was nothing luvvy-dubby about their relationship, she was insult him, everything he ever did was wrong, all the improvements in the house were always done wrong... blah blah... on top she was just a rude ***** to him: a part of me is glad he's dead: he's freed from hearing all the venomous nagging, even he once remarked to me: older people shouldn't treat each other like this... months prior i could see in his eyes a consolidation of life itself: a resignation that was teasing at the transcendental... death became a relief for him...
can a man be neglected? erm... i think what's worse for our *** is when we neglect doing something we were passionate about prior... i think that's our biggest worry... for example... i neglected cycling for over 10 years... i put on a lot of weight... now that i've rekindled my obsession with cycling... i'm no longer just someone who cycles... i became enthralled with an art of keeping a bicycle in tip-top condition... change a tire, fix the breaks... one ***** loose here, another loose there... subsequently tightened... oh look: i just came to the same conclusion: a man will tend to focus on things that provide him with some end of a deadlock... i've been a bachelor for... well since my last, ahem "serious" relationship ended when i was 21... she proposed to me... she chose an engagement ring... then broke it off... since 21... now i'm 35... even my mother thought i was bemoaning losing her... i clarified to her that: i was bemoaning losing a part of myself... like the idea of a horcrux... but when you lose a part of yourself to someone who you once loved (rather than killed)... the vercrux... i miss the naive 20 year old... the colt that could buy into romantic flicks... the boy who believed in the cult of Adonis: that women care about a man's looks: and all else would fall into place, come the later years... careers would blossom blah blah...
i hope i'm not being over-dramatic or... however else to put it... i never appreciated country music... it must be an American thing: through & through... i'd go as far as blues... JOHN LEE ****** - IT SERVES ME RIGHT TO SUFFER (1969)... oh my, my my... i had a blue's phase in my late 20s... it's still great to listen to the blues when drinking... SKIP JAMES - HARD TIME KILLIN' FLOOR BLUES... but i have found some country music up my sleeve... HEAVY HANDS - WHERE THE WATER TASTES LIKE WINE...
i couldn't tell you how it might feel for a woman to be neglected in a long term relationship where so many changes could take place that she might... i just don't have the experience, since 21 i've just had encounters with strangers or prostitutes... if any issues... well... i drank too much and couldn't get an *******... which i could correct by going the 2nd night sober... if the maternal side of my grandparents isn't all milk & cookies... my paternal side is... they divorced... if they were even married... and my father was raised by his grandparents... well... a foster-grandfather and a grandmother... a complete & utter mess... but then we're talking Poland circa 1939 through to 1960... and beyond... my parents are an emblem of what a marriage out to be: but then i'm not my father...
i squandered my chances through various rejections, but also embraced my bachelorhood reading philosophy & going to the brothel... i obviously had to sample the "misdeeds" in Amsterdam, phew... everything is so less hush-hush like it's in the anglo-speaking world, i wanted to experience a complete disinhibition from any sort of "misdeeds"...
i hope you see that i don't find anything socially "unacceptable": you are as free reading what i write as not reading it, we can stand on completely opposite plateaus but we can share some common arguments... recently i was listening to this guy talking about how social media is as toxic (if not more) to women as ******* might be to men... but i remember the days when we'd have a school trip to Ypres (Belgium), the WWI graves, the trenches... but we'd have 5 hours spare to buy chocolate & roam the streets... i'd buy a pornographic magazine... a woman would sell it... no fear of shame... out in the open... must be a continental mentality... point being... this guy was saying that social media for women is not like ******* for guys... all it takes is a no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones and the rest of the day remains... there's no need to engage in comparisons...
mein gott: the original reply was so much better... i'm all spaghetti-cogito...
i blame it on the country music... no, come to think of it... brown bird - bilgwater... that's a blues-hybrid... there's just that identifiable sound of the accented voice... it's not John Lee ****** singing... i just see a lasso... jeans... a cowboy hat... i'll be converted if i listen to enough of it... HOT TUNA...
lately you don't feel pretty, over to you: tornado... in my realm a butterfly... i rekindled the realm of being desired by schoolgirls...i had a 10+ year hiatus... what island are you on? it can't possibly be the same isles i'm on, among the Welsh sheep-shaggers & Pict wannabes without an iota of Gaelic... as much as it might be a "man's world"... it's also has a gynocentric focus... i know where my lot is... i can be replaced... you, as a woman, have to be tended to, beside all other facts... my freedoms have been invested by social pressures... or, otherwise, my lack of "ambition" or zeal, or... that Darwinism impetus that ought to be prerequisite to further something of the past we supposedly lay a claim to...
but as a solo-dodo project: i am completely unburdened... nay... i am facing a fate that bestows upon me a blindsight... i'm finding myself: more & more content... since it would be impossible for the face of man to cower from its blinding furtherance of obedience to time: to further itself... no different to any other animal... to hell: bring in the post-racial sociey of Brazil of the mulattos... i don't mind: i won't be here... people will sort themselves while my grave pretends to snore for me...
if you can consider me... fiscally... no chance... poetry coughs up once ever 50 years... its not my time... Bukowski had the luck... i couldn't say whether the acumen... i'm entertining the prospect of taking up a job as a security guard at mass events: stadium filling... my ambition would bring me any money... i couldn't imagine toiling & toiling for... shoes... excess shoes... for... holidays on beaches that will, sooner or later... become abandoned by what the "great reset" implies...
you're in your... 40s? i'm in my 30s... i too have criteria... neither of us are teenagers... i wish we were... i could drop my life on a whim and head toward the unknowable: uncertain... laconic little me... i harvest my little entrapments of time spent in solitude... i shouldn't appreciate solitude... but then again i can't never return to a concept of a heart as weak as a mollusk... i pity my hardened heart, i bemoan the entire politics of antagonism shared between women & men... children... so young as to yet grasp language are so... so... beautiful... even those not my own are so mesmerising!
i might not have children of my own, you said you have an 11 year old girl... it's impossible to pass a public space come 3:30pm in England and not watch schoolgirls...lately i''m dressing like autumn... a harsh brown shirt, heavy... olive trousers... a dark brown t-shirt... mahogany leather shoes... weird looks... side to side... as she exits the bus... one last look... words under her nose... lip-read... you're hot... i could be delusional... i could be... but when it's so ******* blatant...
recently a manicurist / pedicurist entertained my mother... she brought a friendf along... i was inspected... father figure? do i really need to raise someone else's offspring? beside the point... the manicurist brought with her her 11 year old month daughter... i played the nanny... it's a cat, it's a dog... its a child... it's innocence... i realised... being 35... this ought to be the time to concentrate my concept, concern for love to offspring... this isn't a time for... petty romance... petty cosmopolitan fickleness... best attired by well established newspaper talkingheads...
at 35 i ought to forget about my mating partner... i ought to have children by now, & modify my concern for love: gearing up to children... at 35 what was love: ought to diagnose itself as concern: dasein dass neuliebe! i couldn't possibly love a woman like a teenager might: with the thirst of first thirsts! with drunkneness... now, come the children... i might be childless, i might be a bachelor... but with even those offspring alien to me: i can appreciate "petting" and concerning myself over their kept tenderness: before the world: the grinding baron wheel crushes them...
i'm too old for rekindling romance of 20 year old ****-wit-****-anything-
that-moves...
i'd like to have authority over children...
i'd like to love a daughter,
i'd like to love a son...
not very unlike petting a cat...
but the heartbreak...
of them leaving the "nest":
fully invested in their autonomy,
in their individualism...
what a sore, what an unbearable anchor for:
what's the future of the sails...
what little of the wind(s)...
as said... i can stomach an 11month year old...
i think i could stomach an 11year old...
it would be a freaky experiment...
i did study chemistry undergrad... so...
it would become a fetish...
of unpredictability...
no... i can be a nanny to an 11month
old toddler...
i don't know whether i can be a substitute
of father to an 11year old child...
that's a key distinction...
i find men above 6ft2 slightly weird...
esp. if they're not built to bulge with their heights...
perhaps in sports... but in the shared experience
of "societal norms": ******* lanky...
spider-conundrums...
sorry... if there's the height...
but there's no mass invoked...
awkward looking: oopses...
