p.s. as a pre-scriptum: oh, now i know why i think this is mediocre, i haven't drunk enough to relax my "narrative"... something's here of some worth, the rest... well... it's still a tier above tabloid "journalism", if you don't me thinking.

i'm still figuring out this body, this rent...
after all: aren't we renting in this life -
although i tend to make my monetary
dynamics purely on the basis of debit
(i don't remember the last time i used
a credit card, i don't own one,
i used to, but it was such a hassle to use...
having to remember what you spent
"invisible" money on & getting a summary
at the end of the month rather than:
remembering how much money is on
my bank account... coughing up a large chunk
of it: like some sickly hindsight...
never, again)...
horrid several days in December...
the "season to be jolly": like hell it is...
over-advertised, over-sold...
                             it's not like i belong
to a large family that gets together
and spews their little "micro-aggressions"
and covert-ridicule over a meal...
being weary of ******-attractions...   huh?
yeah... but it's the culmination
of the year... the end of it...
  i'm already gearing for a restart...
December fatigue is impossibly...
the damp doesn't help...
         sitting around eating food pointlessly...
i'll eat the necessary food...
like today i enjoyed a ******
white borsch... it's a sour soup, clear...
consisting of ****** bacon...
(look up Tenacious D's kiełbasa)
hard boiled eggs...
stock made from root parsley,
     carrot, leak, plenty of garlic...
             & the stock itself: for the borsch...
mainly rye flour fermentation
juice... you also add a decent spoonful
of horse-radish to the soup...
eat it with a side of artisan sourdough
bread...
white sour borsch... oh hell...
Ukrainian borsch can hide...
the ****** red borsch (made from beetroots)
served with uszka (ucho, ear...
uszka, the diminutive of ears...
for some reason, the ****** tongue uses
a lot of diminutive terms...
to endear them... even names
of people are churned via the diminutive
machine...
Mateusz becomes Mateuszek...
Ewa becomes Ewunia)...
bay leaves + allspice pellets (also)...
plenty of sour notes...
point being, i think the **** "Aryans"
got the story wrong...
historically... the area of land that was
& is still Poland was visited by
a nomad group of Iranians...
the Sarmatians... last time i heard...
Iranians are referred to as Aryans...
& their cuisine... has plenty of
sour notes...
perhaps the sauerkraut migrated
from the region where i was born
over the Oder to...
Frankfurt-upon-Oder & subsequently
further... why the American soldiers
ref. the Germans as KRAUTS...
it's a funny side-note...
the supposed "Aryans" were fighting...
Aryans... i guess falsehood lost...

beside that... sitting around the house
doing **** all... it will get to you...
i even managed to cross that threshold
i told myself i would never cross...
coming in at more than 100kg is not
acceptable anymore...
99.5kg i can stand... but i've also managed
to go down to 96kg... but that was
during the summer, when you eat less...
or rather: you are active more...
i had to do something about it today...
i'm done with these gluttonous festivities...
did a ******* exercise quickie on
the bicycle while riding to the supermarket
to stock up for new year's day...
no more eating in the night...

       & that's how i came across the fact
that... oddly enough... exercising can provide
you with more energy...
why? because you spent some of it...
simply ingesting calories & not utilising them
fatigues you... exercising counters fatigue...
you might feel tired...
but... all the mental fatigue is gone...
you become motivated: even motivated to write
something as banal as this...
then again: i haven't been this "lazy"
celebrating: **** knows what since...
well... last year...

             by definition: during exercise you
are no longer a res cogitans...
more a res vanus: since slithers of thought
enter your mind like flashbacks
or rather like postcards...
but they're not really thought by
standards of narrative... letters become surds
like the G in the word: gnostic or, gnome...
so: apostrophes: 'nostic, 'nome...
that sort of thing...
    sometimes when cycling i meditate
on Braille, sometimes the Morse Code...
or usually diacritical markers: forever missing
in English!

more res cogitans, somewhat res vanus...
but more or less: res corpus:
a body-thing... the mind being detached from
all those constipated thoughts,
all those ego-***-solipsism alleys...
flimsy daydreams...
just my body: the wind, the eyes,
my legs, my arms, my sweat... the bicycle...
no other liberation out there,
in all honesty...       pickled brain frenzy
only comes after... when i sit down
to relax to doodle something...
        
i came across something today while my phone
was charging & i couldn't do my usual
routine on the throne of thrones...
instead of playing Mech Arena i picked
up where i left off reading Heidegger:
those black notebooks didn't come cheap...
circa £30 a volume...
             obviously first editions...
i need to find that passage once more...
i doubt i will...
ha... in the 20th century it was already noted:
we now write about reading...
sometimes... it's unavoidable...
only yesterday i was hearing loads of stories
about the stewards doing the Wembley
job when the hooligans rushed the stadium
for the England vs. Italy final...
we were driving in the car...
i felt... less was being conveyed & that it was
more about... impressing the "other"...
oh i felt like i was bonding with the supervisor...
but he was also impressed with my
plum hue tattoo... my Dalmatian eye-patch...
one of the girls inquired: i brushed it off
telling her that there was nothing to brag
about... she just assumed: oh, you Polacks...
you drink & you fight...
well... from what history has given me...
if the Polacks aren't fighting the Ottoman Turks...
the Swedes, the Russians & the Germans...
if we're not fighting the backstabbing Hungarians
who decided to side with the Austrians...
if Polacks aren't fighting then:
start counting the sitting-ducks...
why would i tell her that i was fighting my own
shadow?
in a professional environment:
you keep people guessing... informality at the core...
we're not here for ******* lunch!
arbeit macht frei has, sickly... become my motto...
not some **** joke...
oddly enough... arbeit macht frei
& RADFAHREN MACHT FREI...
cycling makes you free...
    - du macht frei
or macht du frei?!
                         oh... right... there was no
"you" in the Auschwitz slogan...

                          i could never imagine myself
being content with what people suppose
to be: relieving acts... ******* picnics in the park,
adventures in a zoo... sun-tanning...
cruises... football matches...
                   cinema...
                                     it, has, no, use, for, me...
es, hat, nein, benutzen, für, mich!
i need strain, all the time... i'm not relaxed if i'm
not doubly-aware... i always need
to be on a look out for something:
anything... i like football matches in the current
role because...
never have i watched girls without them
noticing me... sure... some do...
but they're there for the football match...
i'm there for... any possible build up of tension...
perhaps that's why i sleep:
but don't really dream...
perhaps unconsciously the gods sent dream-blockers,
evil geniuses who recommended for my
psyche to be rid of dreaming...
or being a dream-architect...
like, for example: the phenomenon
of the recurrent dream, that some people cite?!

huh?! recurrent dreams?!
it's a bit like saying: you dumb ****!
since when is it so hard to
understand the metaphor of 1 + 1 = 2?!
how long does it have to be repeated to you?!
if i don't dream... then i'm on autopilot...
almost... sure... some major dream did happen...
i even told this dream to my ex-girlfriend's
mother:

so i'm on this *****... a Pythagorean triangle:
because it's all abstract...
and these sheep like people... or these people like
sheep are falling down the *****...
behind me there's only an abyss...
they're coming down & these demonic creatures
with scythes are also coming down...
cutting the crying people's heads off...
while i'm running at the bottom of this *****
trying to save them from falling into the abyss...
i was... 17(?) when i had this dream...

have i become a paramedic since then? no...
ergo: the ***** is an abstract of something that's
not the inevitability of death.