modern girls make it so easy... here i am telling her..
listen, i made some mango curry...
it's almost like a korma... i did use a korma paste...
but i added some extra coriander and cumin powder,
bay leaves, 4 cardamom pods (green)
cloves, chilly powder...  turmeric...
the problem with me is, that... when i cook?
i'm never able to cook for one person...
i always cook too much...
turkey steaks diced, 3 capsicums...
         hell, i even looked her up on social media...
no chance in hell exposing her to my content...
only a few minutes ago we were talking about
Catholicism... she's apparently a Catholic?
me? did i give enough to that ******* bureaucracy?
i live in a protestant country, England is,
a protestant nation, isn't it?
while would i continue being a Catholic?
i was forced into a baptism given a Hebrew name
given a Germanic name for seconds...
well, sure... i sometimes wish i were Confirmed...
why? well... legally... i could therefore change
my baptismal name... given my second
name is Germanic... i'd follow up on it...
why would i choose Isaiah? i'd go for something
alone the lines of... Reinhardt... better...
Lothar... after that famous German football defender...
my idol, from when i was 4...
so i tells her... i made this mango curry...
and i bought these stone-baked naan breads...
yummy stuff... but she's like: a coy deer-lady...
i tell her: well, technically i'm not going to be allowed
a Church wedding: not that she had any plans...
her wedding dress should be red: rather than white...
and i was even planning to drink less tonight
and go out of my way to deliver her this excess
of curry... then i tell her: but i lied...
i could eat a curry 7 days a week... i just made more
because: i always make more...
now what is she going to feed poor little
Freddy? some quickie **** load of ******* argh!
**** it, i'm drinking till i drop...
i'll wake up tomorrow and iron my trousers...
there are these creases emerging from excess use
that are unbecoming...
   the shirt is already ironed...
   the shoes are already polished...
i was so willing to make an effort...
   face-palm...
reading about the Gnostic heretics aged 14 deciding
not to be confirmed: not enough?
well yeah... i made my mind up...
i don't know how the Qabbalah found me...
because sure as **** i wasn't looking for it...
not impressive enough:
still lives with his parents, has a bicycle rather than
a car... wow!
i don't know why i still live with my parents...
not enough money, sure...
or maybe... i didn't have a dad from the age of 4
through to 8... i didn't have a mother from the age
of 6 through to 8...
migration... either a brain-drain or a labour shortage
after the collapse of the Soviet Union...
it's irreparable damage...
   when i arrived at the Victoria coach station
in 1994... 1994... when England was moving to
her height of cool... my mother implored me to run
up to my father and hug him...
i was actually hugging a stranger... i remember
all those reservations of him busting his *** on
construction sites... my "father" and my "mother"
were my mother's parents...
the grandfather who worked in metallurgy...
drank away a Mercedes-Benz... sure...
he was also great... we went cycling, mushroom picking...
we walked the dogs... i climbed trees while
the dogs barked after me, we went fishing...
but he was also a fiendish drunk...
me? i'm a drunk too... but at least i have writing
to keep me in check... the minute i loose the plot
i will have already have known...
because i see it before me...
in the meantime: i'm not paying rent to some Pakistani
landlord... i've already applied
for a council flat... REJECTED...
i'm not a single mother, am i? do i ******* look
like a single mother? what's the other option?
become a custodian under the authority of the parents...
cook, clean the house... keep the garden and
the driveway tidy...
while at the same time... in the back of my mind...
well... they're not going to be around forever...
plus my uncle is childless...
it's not like he's going to leave his assets
to charity... plus... some minor details about what
i actually own... books from the height of the Victorian
era... etc.,
i don't think i need to win the lottery...
sure, i'm currently working as a steward at events...
i have yet to face abuse...
mostly smiles, handshakes, people stroking my beard
like it might be a good charm
of a ******* leprechaun...
     so most say that writing is not work...
reading philosophy is not work...
great... well thank **** that my 20s are a blur...
since i did just that...
i invested in... oh... you know... i stopped counting
how many poo'ems i wrote after i hit the 10K mark...
if i'm not going to keep up...
then no one is going to keep up...
unless they're some variation of a sacrificial lamb
that feeds off my output...
but girls are making it so easy these days...
you can invest so much effort into them...
and bang! outright delay, rejection, dwarf your efforts
little man... and i'm like... oh thank god for that...
that means i can drink more tonight and wake
up later in the day before i ******* for a shift
at Fulham... i even asked my supervisor...
can i be closest to the Millwall fans?
                  i mean: long gone are the days when
someone like a Charles Bukowski,
Ted Hughes... hell... even the likes
of a Charles Olson or a John Berryman
could have polyamorous relationships...
because they were, ahem: poets...
   i'm strapped to listening to: ******* monk music...
and to be honest? i'm sort of glad...
i'm thinking about euthanasia like i'm thinking
about breakfast...
  put the poor sod out... let the world spin out of
control... i'm all for it...
fine, fine, fine... and i write these words without
any spite... it might come across as such...
but... girls have made it so much easier
to live my life... the way i want to live it...
    solo...
                          being the only child...
i had animals for brothers and sisters...
it's good for a child to be raised alongside dogs...
but once they progress to later stages in life...
cats... those bonsai tigers can really teach
you a thing or two about how to cope with rejection...
even though my maine ***** have the knack of
imitating dogs... meow after ******* meow:
what?! what?! what do you want?!
you've been let out to wander the garden!
i've given you food! i've cleaned the house,
i watered the plants! you're sleeping in my bed...
head-**** for a greeting... sniff of the head...
what?! with a cat like that...
children? no thank you... i'd go mental...
only today i woke up with a bloated hand...
that ******* psychotic ***** of a cat bit into me so hard
and scratched me so hard that i'm....
sort of unable to move my ring and pinky fingers...
and what did i do? torture her?
no... she did a ****-poor job at taking a ****...
so i had to wash her...
i mean: when a meow is not a meow
but Cerberus' bark from hell... i stood beside myself
trying to think: what, the, ****, is this?!
but today, when i was giving her food...
she did the figure of 8... tail up...
all nice, all polite... purring... oh ******* psychotic *****...
i'll give you the food, but look at my arm!
i can't move two of my fingers from
the bite you invested yourself in,
and the scratch... ******* vampire...
   you're going to have another name ascribed to you...
Lizzy Báthory... hold on...
you're not an incarnation of her?
huh?!
                             sure, Madonna can sing a song
like... don't tell me...
then a boy will come along... NO RPOBLEM!
how many famous bachelors have there been
throughout time? i lost count...
i'd hate to become my father...
earning too much in order for a woman
to end up spending....
happy, happy... ah just happy!

          now merge that Madonna video
don't tell me with Dua Lipa's - love again...
the cowboy theme... but in the later instance
a sample of white town's - not your woman...
and, all, that, clown, make-up...

                             priceless!

again: what's a dating app?

                   ha ha... "culturally claustrophobic"...
no... just really out of touch with "it"... cousin it....

girls are making it so much easier to bail out,
*******, bicycle... get a whiff of the wind...
get lost in spontaneous weather patterns...
**** me, this other article i wa reading...
a celibate woman in her 20s goes back on
dating aged in her 30s...
why?
    she gets matched... matched...
gets ghosted... and she is this... ivory skinned
red head...
  rye-i-ight...
             you scratch your head and then
pretend to think... tick... tock... tick...
tock...            wow... there's a clock on the wall...
i'm just going to head off to
the Turkish barbers for a trim of the beard
since... my moustache is getting the best of me....
i don't like swiping left to right
on my moustache after having a sip of coffee:
with the foam...

  no...

   but girls have made it so painfully obvious...
they're waiting for a Genghis Khan...
some ***** donor clinic superstar...
hey... my hands are up in the air...
              i'm not some grand father of humanity...
be free! do what you want to do!
   me?
oh me me me... i'm interested in
the upcoming branch of Islam that's yet to be
conceptualized...
from the Turkic branch.... i believe
the Turks are met with the sort of European
availability of: exchange of ideas that could splinter
Islam beyond merely the initial schism of
Sunni versus the Shia... after all...
in the latter camp... the Persians...

         i am gagging... for a "trinity" in Islam...
the Turks would be on the forefront..
they're the most European...
after all... you can't find a better barber outside of Istambul!

i'm backing a Turkish heresy that might arrive...
there's plenty... to begin with...
oh forget the Pakistanis...
        i have: you ought to have done so
a year prior...
     if i'm wrong... then i'm wrong... outright...
but... the barber skills? of the Turks...
i'm left... admiring... lacklustre....
you what? did i just have my beard
trimmed?! you sure i did't have my eyes closed
getting some *******?

oh, right... so, i wasn't?!

                 i anticipate a... third branch of Islam...
one that counters the intricacies of
the Sunni vs. the Shia narrative...
i guess the Turks might be like...
well... too many Saudi ******* **** boys running
around... man up or get eaten up!