title: cull
body: parabola's tails.

thank god, she appreciated the flowers,
i even replied her:
beside the past times i bought flowers,
for mother's day and for my grandfather's funeral:
it felt greatly appealing to buy flowers
for someone selfishly... with a wound to the heart
that only can craft...
on my cards... not a career... just a job...
no family beside the one i kept that
"abandoned" me from the ages of 4 through to 8...
creative? i might consider that true...
will this translate into economic success?
doubt it...
      dating prospects? single mothers...
job's already done...
   but she did appreciate the flowers...
       hey... but there's a square of mile of forest
that needs to be chopped...
and i don't feel like wasting too much paper...
will this somehow fall into the hands of
Hades... most probably...
but at least i have focus on something that
doesn't allow me to watch t.v. like a zombie
and simply allow myself my lot...
i'll take risks when cycling...
because: well... even if i were rock-climbing...
that's nothing...
i want to be able to trust people driving
their cars, their trucks...
to be a traffic shepherd on a bicycle...
                    sometimes it works...
only today on a roundabout i forced my way
into a turn... extended my hand
in a fashion of an apology... the car slowed
and allowed me through...
it's not much of a life... but...
it's bearable compared to some lives i witness...
there's nothing but a translation of
matter... an exchange of ****** functions
into... passable activities that... could be...
i'm still thinking about her...
all my intellectual curiosities i once found
so available have taken a back-seat...
i've lost interest in philosophy,
i've lost interest in the Qabbalah...
in the katana and the Hangul...
in diacritical markers...
in the Greek script, in the Cyrillic script...
in Runes and in the Glagolitic script...
but... come to think of it...
she would be an impossible catch even if
we met in our 20s...
i'd be the madman... she's be working in
a finance firm earning enough money
to buy herself her own home...
i'd be rummaging in the forest
at night... howling at the moon...
           taking off my shirt... drinking...
going to the brothel...
n'ah... it wouldn't have ever worked...
                        the impossibly terrifying has already
happened...
in the back of my mind i know that
this will not probably work...
of any man's worst nightmare...
but this little light at the end of the tunnel...
resurrected me...
i started to dream a little, to hope a lot...
what a pretty, pretty face...
living in England since i was 8 years old...
i always wanted to have a British girlfriend...
they always escaped me...
now i have a shot...
it's not perfect... far from it...
but... i can't help but swoon toward the chance...
- woke up this morning with
too much phlegm in my throat and my nose...
by the end of the day my mysterious cold
was gone... i was breathing silently and easily...
love-sick fool! love-sick idiot!
you fell in love you fell into a stereotypical illness
that isn't really an illness come to think of it...
you texted her... that country artist you like...
what's his name?
she replies... Gerry Cinnamon...
well, i'll be listening to him tonight...
i sent her my folk choice of music:
In Extremo - Miss Gordon of Gight...
   maybe this one time i can forget about being alone
throughout my 20s... my 30s weren't so bad...
but my 20s? a complete and utter blur...
some people were busy living...
others were bust going mad...
        sure... if i didn't have my spectacular meltdown
aged 21... by the age of 35 i might be in
a better economic situation...
but then again: would i really want that?
i wouldn't have read as much...
i wouldn't have admired the forest at night...
that she's 39 and i'm 35 and we can still
exchange music tastes like an 18 year old with
a 17 year old... when i used to make mix-tapes
and read Nick Hornby's High Fidelity...
everyone looks so old all of a sudden...
my... life can be so bountiful if you find the right
sort of avenues...
you don't need that much to get by...
there's plenty of enough to get by "without"
plenty... just enough, just enough...
                    i'm satisfied with this little corner
of enough-"not-enough"...
just a woman that loves to sing,
just a woman that feels happy when she's cooking...
that has to run from the kitchen
while she's cooking to giggle and dance in
the garden...
that's... just about right... that's just about
enough of what i need...
just about right if she's merely thinking of me...
that's ******* plenty...
and what a beauty she's to look at...
she's kind to almost everyone she interacts with...
she has a high work ethic...
she's there: on the spot...
and then frees herself from the role...
how she fell, how she picked herself up...
she's all whizz-kid with the D.I.Y.:
i could cook for her...
i could... oh... my little oh... i no longer find it
necessary to find a why... why:
i'm going to send her another link...
the Leveller's Carry Me...

hell... if she's into folk... let's go through the whole
spectrum... we'll do the German songs,
the Dutch, the English...

of course she had to have some Scotch roots...
i even told her...
Edinburgh for me is as if it might be Paris...
idiot-in-love...
well thank god im not in my 70s...
how Prof. Xavier says to Logan...
'there's still time...'
and there's me... flushing mortality down the toilet
with the drunken antics i'm all about...
but i'd rather love so recklessly drunk
than... fall into a sober disbelief
for the sole purpose of up-keeping
longevity... no! nein! niet! nie! non!

               i want to love akin to:
you chance is gone, dearest little dove...
when i had my ills, when i had my greatest
troubles... i pulled ip my kilt...
i danced the infernal cèilidh!
           tartans ahoy!
              burry me in the mountains...
speak my name to the Lochs...
               then. simply. forget me!
i'm going elsewhere, i'm...
                    to loved up to be simply hurt...
i'll be waiting at the turnstiles of
how mind disintegrates from
its possession of matter...
    like the thrills of taking a gasping breath...

never take this away from me...
this love sickening disgrace...
i should have been prettily coupled from my early
20s and into my 30s...
already with the baggage of children...
yet here i am... reliving teenager feelings...
lucky? or unlucky me?

i can't stop look at her face...
the last WhatsApp profile picture she took i had
to screenshot... because...
i didn't want to forget her face
in that moment... i wanted her face
to burn into me...

    if this is love? eh... not so bad...
i could give up a decade of living for feel these few
days in my life...
Gerry Cinnamon's... Canter..
didn't Green Day do the same, more politely...
with Time of Your Life?
lyric-wise? i imagine they did...

what a babe... what a *****-nilly lass...
thank god i went to see all those prostitutes...
the male argument about a body count
i'll never mind...
i just want a girl out of a grift from a per se
perspective...
i want to turn a woman into a girl...
i want her all giddy... all afraid...
i want her to be fresh in her own mind
before she gave up too much that she
gave so much away...
i want her... mine...

          i don't care, i don't mind...
i'm not prizing idiocy on my own worth...
last come: at least served...
by now i don't even mind not having my biological
counterpart of little Frankie or
Franklin...
              missed the "boat": forgot about the "train"...
round about now there's only a story of:
well... me might as well enjoy each other's company...
let's try that...
that's enough goodness to want
to attempt at working at it...

no... all the self-help gurus and psychologists
are... right about... now... turning...
into placebos... i'm not listening...
i have my own demands that need to be
met... i'm terribly in love...
i'm bound to a love that's so delusional
that... it's just about right: to stomach
life's realism..

i've sacrificed giving my infatuation
to prostitutes... i've stopped loving
objectively... i posit this as the highest plus...
i want to fall in love with a narrative of a person...
i sifted through... 4 great examples...
i made my mark... which i gave flowers to,
the chess board is set...
now let us see the moves;

come... little arrogant... come a little naked...
come, coy doe...
               i'll be waiting... i'll wait a little while
longer... i'll wait as long as it is necessary...
come... let me ensnare you...
i don't want to merely have you...
i... want to: overcome you...
it's not enough to want...
i want to touch you once you submit...
like i might be touching a mollusk...
and oyster...
i need to open you up... and pry on your
weakness...
what you once reserved for
abusive males...
now i need a return's policy that
puts me in the driving seat...
              oh... now we're going to dance, proper...
it might take us... weeks... months...
i don't care... there are chances that
other women will come in-between: as it has
already happened...
  
            but i'll wait... i'll be waiting...
i mean... landing a girl with a body of a 39 year old...
in her prime... mentally...
i'm going to become a broth of predator and a leech...
no... i'm not going to stop... shyly...
then vigorously... then shyly again..
then vigorously once more... nibbling at her...

let's see what she makes of me...
silly idiot...
       ooh.... i can just imagine it now...
transcending the casual... "non-confrontational" touch
of the hands... with a bite at the lips...
with a bite at the lips...
   imagining her exposure of the thighs...
the grooves in her ear-lopes...
between her knuckles...
        how petite she already is:
how smaller she will reveal herself to be
under my touch...
a project worth dying for, worth living forth:
for.