qizzo: quizie (502 bad gateway bypass, i.e. title, former, body, the latter)

in the West people are becoming loud, vociferous about their plight of: the culture that's "dying"... people in the West are complaining that their culture is dying, the "strange death of Europe" & what not... aha... you can't exactly have a culture, if, you're not willing to pay for: culture... you're obviously going down the route of mediocrity, of fatigue when you stop paying artists... sure... the older generation, the Rolling Stones et al. can milk their status... choking every single new talent... why the surprise? what culture can exist, if it's not being... curated, handled: up-kept... nurtured... it's self-evident that it has to die... stopped paying for music, stopped paying for movies... you got, what you have been deserving... oh... for at least two decades... *****... wankers... oh i'm pretty sure you'll be happy with your adoration of glut... a brick-wall can replace a Monet... silence can replace a Beethoven! now, listen... to that solo clapping in the far, far away distance! ha ha... so much for paying for journalism, for those social critique hacks... it's like... feeding a secular priestly caste!

there's nothing quite like it... not even a decent: quiet...
waking up 2 hours before the alarm was supposed
to go off... feeding my addiction...
this time the body asks... the mind is already elsewhere:
on its way to Oxford for the turnstiles
and crowd-management...
i'm already thinking about how to not poetically
ask one of the supervisors about
being "disorientated" by the woman who gave me
the employment opportunity...
working for a month, moths in my wallet...
on the crux of being paid yet she's still asking me:
are we self-employed sub-contractors
or are we on employee relations?
i.e. p.a.y.e. (pay as you earn)?
erm... what, the, ****?!
i'll be leaving for Oxford come 3pm...
the agony of not enough alcohol in my body...
quickly to the shop we go
to buy the Wednesday's edition of The Times...
page two: ha ha... mad squirrel in Wales
attacks 80(?) people...
only yesterday i fed my hand to my female
Maine ****... she boxed it, she bit it...
i enjoy pain...
                         pain is the closest thing to
reality i can muster... physical pain...
i stay away from women who lie about loving me...
i can't imagine being tied down, ******* to
some "thing" that might become bored of me...
that's the worst case scenario...
someone getting bored of me...
ergo? let's not even start: to begin with...
- no, i'm not mentally available...
this pedicurist / manicurist came to my home
with her small daughter...
how did i understand she was hungry...
then i played the mimic... she played mimic back
with me... a sweet toddler...
an onomatopoeia game...
i smack my lips... cluck... the "thing" clucks back...
mimic...
she pulled my beard, she touched my nose...
i sometimes think about what sort of father
i'd make... but then... i think about all
the Frankenstein monsters i would create in
the process...
i gave the pedicurist some CDs...
she really enjoyed the Wooden Shjips V album
i played on vinyl...
i must say i gave her all my best music...
but...
    i held back on giving her an insight into
dub-step... anyone remember that little movement?
not reggae via culture: harder than the rest...
ishrael vibration etc.,
i'm talking south London: Burial...
i'm talking DISTANCE... the double-album
repercussions / chestplate...
it's so wonderful to be wanted...
even for the most menial of tasks of coordinating
people in a football stadium...
buzzing, hang-over... here's to the quartering
and being drawn!
addiction: when the body craves it,
unlike when the mind desires it...
point being: i had this burning thought in my mind
when i woke up...
talking during ***... how rude!
shouldn't we be attempting to play squash...
bouncing around the walls with onomatopoeias,
reducing "things" to vowels and the vowel
catcher consonant, the second arm
of the tetragrammaton?!
          it's like that Milan Kundera comparison...
in the unbearable lightness of being...
kissing with your eyes closed,
kissing with your eyes open...
personally? i think it's rude to kiss with your
eyes open... the proximity of the faces...
what is being done to begin with...
although: i am guilty, as charged...
i once opened my eyes while kissing a girl...
weird... just... plain... *******... weird...
as weird as talking during ***...

i can entertain cats, i can entertain dogs...
i can entertain babies...
last night... sunk my heart into petting this
little old ***** of a mongrel...
i petted her like i sometimes make my
endearing handshake: using both hands...

now, babies, cats, dogs...
but i will not behave like other men expect
me to behave in order to get LAID!
i find a sickness that's unbecoming of any
creature: listening to men talking about...
the Greek alphabet "status" of men who
either do, or don't... sleep with women...
the way i see it... i should have remained
in Taizé... (Tay-Zay)...
              
and what... the monks in Marienburg didn't
have a brothel on site?!
no?! who the **** is going to #metoo me in a brothel?
some, western woman with her sub-Saharan
***** extension?!
looks like i prefer Turkic women...
Turkic, Romanian, Bulgarian... etc. etc.
Indian girls seem really talkative around me...
almost nervous...

well i have to gloat, i have to be the goat of gloat...
no one is going to that for me,
like i have to love myself:
finding someone to do that for me has
become problematic... ha ha... "problematic"...

two nights ago i was boxing with my shadow...
managed to churn out a plum hue on my
left eye-socket...
looking pretty... shame no ****** nose...
last night i was relaxing myself while weeping...
weeping? lamenting some or other
beauty bound to music...
lamenting really relaxes...
not exactly seeing beauty... HEARING beauty...
well that's that...

   by my estimate? that's plenty!