what can i possibly write about, when i have absolutely
nothing to write about?
perhaps i just write enough... until i reach an automaton
mechanism... nothing will be specified,
there will be no plot, no characters,
i'll just latch onto one rubric after an another...
i'll comes across a revision of atoms:
i.e. of letters... perhaps i might... perhaps i might not...
i'll most certainly prey upon the whimsical,
on the easily ignored sort of material...

i should have become a monk, i would have
gladly entered the ranks of the Taizé brotherhood...
i wish i could fall in love as easily as i once did
when i was 18, 19, 20, 21...
the last serious relationship lasted only a few months...
she invited me back to Russia...
i saw St. Petersburg, Metallica in Moscow,
Novgorod... the riches of little men
and the puddles of poverty of a great people...

*** was hardly the compensation:
since i was giving her... i asked... is that 7 multiple
******* in this one night?
sure... she introduced me to in Extremo
and Bulgakov...
apparently on her period... *** starved on the trip...
apparently ******* helps if she's on
her period, ****** on...
in the bath.... flaky skin residues from
*******... but i had to implore...
she was spinning another plate...
her ex... a boy... boy...
who's father was high up in some dept...

she presented her mother as her sister...
her grandmother as her mother...
silly little Siberian ****...
i liked her grandmother...
i ate orange caviar and some Ukrainian borsch...
beetroots and all...
her grandmother said:
seek a man's heart in his stomach...

i know this part of writing...
i've let go...
the *** was so good...
it only took me 13 years later
to find a Turkish ******* to make competition...
then i knew...
it would take a miracle for my now aged
heart to turn to such, naive sentimentality...
mein hertz: diese kleinstein!
it's so horrible when you have passed
people in your life, that absorbed your powers
to engage in naive: trust, love... friendship...
how cautious you must become...
how defensive...

it's a silly project: silly in that...
there's no return...
the *** was great... but: mein gott!
i was so: MI-SE-RA-BLE!
she had the audacity to propose to me...
she even chose an engagement ring
for herself...
after all... a lot did pass since
i was only a visitor to her land...
a slap in the face for:
visiting my grandparents:
i know she cheated: apparently i did too...
she didn't cheat?
while i was drinking ***** with her
ex? while her nephew was hanging around
with a face that read:
oh... it read a mile's worth of depth...
it was a face of melancholy...

but... i did win the haggle on the opera...
we did see la bohème
we didn't see madam butterfly...
i... I! made sure of that...
she might have known some music...
but not this sort of music...
i shed a silent tear during the performance...
beauty agonises me...
tears come as a relief when beauty
is staged... the sort of beauty that
requires an answer...

no... i don't exactly remember her...
it's me! i can't love like that anymore!
like a 21 year old Adonis...
whoever that was...
going mad... spending the years from
being aged 21 through to... circa 35...
the hermit... the monk...
i missed on movements having been
established...
now, resurrected,
working with people:
how... refreshing...
part of a team... focal points of strict
language usage...

only recently i talked with this girl
about the paradox of memory vs. forgetfulness...
cycling...
swimming... the grey area...
once you have learned to ride a bicycle...
once you have learned to swim...
do you remember how to swim?
do you remember how to ride a bicycle?
no... not really...
you don't remember it...
by extension: do you think about it?
no... not really...
can you forget about your ability to swim?
can you forget about your ability
to ride a bicycle?
can you forget to breathe?!
can you forget to blink?
take a ****?!

ha! but you also don't need to remember
such acts... for that matter:
"think" about them...
tattooed deeds...
massively grey...
   i can remember how i loved...
i can remember that i loved...
but... i also can forget how i loved,
that i loved...
or what love is per se...

i ought to have been a monk in that French community...
i still only **** like a Teutonic knight might...
once half a decade...
should the bonsai tiger i'm grooming suddenly
raise up her hind and expose her ****...
then i'll go to the brothel...
but... even if exposed to an insomnia
of libido polarised by mini-skirts and the exposition
of flesh, thighs...
budge me: if you want...
or don the niqab... either way...

i comfort myself by drinking and listening, humming,
later i will learn the words
to... schwäbischkrieglieder!

example:

wir sind geyers schwarzer haufen
hi(gh)-ah: oho...
und woll'n mit tyrannen raufen
hi(gh)-ah, oho...

spiess vor an drauf un dran,
setzt aufs klosterdach den rotehn hahn!

i remember: how i once loved,
how i cannot love, likewise,
in the same way...
the psychopaths have exposed my weakness...
oh sure, now they're left comfortable:
we're just the ones with the scars...
they little idiotic pomps & circumstances
of youth...
i think if was young, once, too...
do i get a second chance?!
ah ha ha ha!

the collective graves of the German soldirs
in the vicinity of Ypres...
a robin will grace the silence...
but, no, single, *******, bird... at the graves
of the allies... no collective graves at the sight
of the allies... ha... "allies"...
but there was a robin in the grave silence
of the collective graves of the Shvabs...
totem riddle... i'm with these guys...

after supposedly being prescribed seeking love...
i found an alternative...
being part of something that might resemble
the army...
a work ethic... i don't want to love...
i want to be competent within the confines
of what i'm supposed to do...
i don't want to love:
i don't want to be a lost teenager...
i loved, once upon a time... such times are over...
i'm not going to love in a way
teenager might...

i might care, for my bonsai tigers...
for ****'s sake: they're not merely cats...
dog lovers *******!
i hate dog lovers... their ******* routines,
their leashes, their muzzles...
their toys of throw... i hate people who glorify
dog ownership above that of bonsai tigers...
annoying little *****...
children prone... i don't mind children...
but not like this... for ****'s sake...

if only i could fall in love as easily as i once did...
father experience taught me otherwise...
oh well... time to move forward...

no chance, i never will... nor that i must,
either.