title: chirp
body: sparrow, bold.    a 502 bad gateway bypass...

in the dimension of "things" pre-,
  i must be premeditating every possible scenario,
although i hate playing chess
i sometimes do... i'm more in favour of backgammon
but that's just me...
like i said to the other girls in the workforce:
wait... just wait... don't tell her i know...
so she was pressured... i put on the charm offensive:
there were already rumours of she *******
the supervisor... eh... i go to prostitutes...
what's the big deal? it's not like you use
a cloth to dry dishes with once: then get a new
one every single time... i always tend to buy
second hand books... they have a certain feel
to them... i'm not the sort of person who likes things
in mint condition...
everything leading up to this point just seems:
well-slotted, premeditated... but at least it
wasn't self-sabotage... i had to fall in love her...
in order to get at something: so she would retreat...
i wasn't even the "friend zone": i was in
the... "priest zone"... the "psychologist zone"...
the stuff i heard... and that's another thing...
there was no common language... some vague *******
barrier... we didn't really talk about music,
we didn't really talk about films or books...
we talked: well, she talked... i listened...
just talk about her son... and more about her son...
what a brilliant mother she was... back-stabbing
her friends... blah blah... oh... and plenty about her
exes... if i could... draw a schematic...
let's just say it wouldn't be a treasure map
with one              X marking the spot...
it would be more like:

  x                  x

  x  x        x          x

  x      x        x

with her good looks, back when she was in her 20s?
oh man... she was having a rave...
esp. since she worked in the financial sector,
so all the financials "jocks" would be all
over her... now she's in her... coming to 40...
well... imagine my dis-belief!
- and yet she's still playing a game of a 20 year
old party-****...    she's out to lunch...
obviously...

- and as much as i love women...
love: but sure-as-**** and a penny-drop i don't
want to understand them...
no-can do... why?
      makes my life easier and: ensures i'm
out of their hair... both parties satisfied...
i hope...
but it's not that i don't have something to do...
there's always something to do...
i'm already getting past the fact that at 35 i'm
living with my parents...
after all... the plan is...
they're not going into a care home...
i'll be there... and once i reach a certain age...
there's always Switzerland or the Benelux
euthanasia clinics... so...
plus i'm already the custodian of the property:
i do the cleaning, i do the cooking...
i do the d.i.y. - i pay them rent...
while the other option would be... what?
get a mortgage or pay rent to some stranger
and what? live alone?
no thanks.

i'm already over the disappoint of hoping for
a romance... yeah, my mother's pedicurist / manicurist
is coming over on Friday and she's bringing...
my new favourite lady...
my TOY... oh she's not even 1 year old...
she takes a **** into a ***** on the spot...
but she's disinhibited... she pokes my nose...
tugs at my beard, sits on my lap...
looks into my eyes like trying to hypnotise me...
she's yet to speak a word but i already
managed to teach her my mimic...
cluck... pluck... whatever the onomatopoeia
is... she reciprocated...

        here's to fulfilling the role of the: alt vater...
the old father...
she's not mine, but she's of my stock,
my ethnicity... obviously i'm going to go
for ethnic bias... everyone else is...
maybe that's what put Jeminah off... i'm a ******
and she's of Scotch English stock...
maybe i'm not black enough...
yeah... i must not be black or Pakistani enough...

she blocked me / deleted me on WhatsApp...
thank god i took that screenshot of her pretty face...
i think i'm going to listen to some The Cure
Pictures of You and attempt at glee...
what could have been...
her dog liked me... from the get go...
couldn't stop licking my ears... then started
to lick the wounds from me having put out
cigarette buts on my knuckles...
licked those scabs clean... i started bleeding:
she noticed... i didn't...
well... pain... it's a hyper-sensation...
you get used to it and afterwards... you sort of
ignore it... or... rather:
everything else is THERE... HERE...
that's a res extensa (extending "thing") when
meditating on Heidegger's dasein... weird, right?
how philosophy morphs... you read something in your
mid 20s... then it only becomes applicable in your
mid 30s... something so, so unpractical needs to
wait a while in your head... before it turns out to
be as useful as a ******* hammer...
who would have known?!

i'm guessing she blocked me because her son
had a conversation with her about...
is that my real dad? or... n'ah... that's me gloating...
what happened to that guy who made
that delicious banana loaf?
well... Freddy... mummy has... IS-USE...
            hyphen for an S...
                i could have seen it straight away:
i'd be bored after a week...
  there would be nothing to talk about...
  i don't remember even having said anything about
myself...
oh... but she ticked all the right boxes
when there were more people involved:
on that superficial interpersonal level with
the public... but she wouldn't...
she wouldn't allow for an explicit bond to take form...
it would always have to be implicit:
think about the starving children of Africa
sort of *******... what? the Somali pirates?!
the Nigerian scammers?!
those, "starving" children?
                      the ones with birth rates like
the harem of the sultan of Brunei?!
must be rich... hardly starving... if they're having
all those mouths to feed!

i already mentioned this little curiosity before:
it took **** Germany AND Soviet Russia...
longer... LON-GER to subdue the Polacks
than it took **** Germany to subdue the French...
the French... Napoleon... the French Colonial
Superpower... and these modern leftists "think" i'm
going to be easily swayed?!
pronoun dickly-squat my sore *** from
sitting on the toilet... and the feminists?!
            well... what's on offer, gentlemen?
let's... broaden our minds... Lawrence...
  (Prince's Partyman playing in the background)...

just like that lie i was told in my childhood:
that there are more women in the world
than men... i've been sleeping:
the opposite is true... and now we're supposed
to compete on already banged and bagged women?
that's the option?
maybe there was a rumour going about
my knuckle scars and the time i gave myself
a plum mascara pouch on my left eye
from having wrestled with myself...
turn-off... i get it...

  or... perhaps she's just into coke-addicts...
wouldn't know... i just drink a lot of coffee...
perhaps she's just into all the sort of range of *******...
but, seriously... if i can only be decent,
romantic, tender... with prostitutes...
at least it's in the open... there's a transparency
of a transaction...

the last text i sent her she didn't even read...
i was talking about the conundrum of:
the way into a man's heart is through his stomach...
i thought: well... given the stomach cramps...
that's a misnomer phraseology...
it's a ****** metaphor... because it can't be taken
oh too literally... why? i think the original meaning
has been lost...

the text?
yesah, to reiterate, thanks for these stomach cramps
flirting with butterflies...
although i'm a keen student of etymology, this has nothing
to do with etymology... the phrase:
the way to a man's heart is through his stomach...
the modern interpretation insinuates that a woman
ought to cook a decent meal for a man...
no... sorry... i can do the cooking myself...
i didn't choose to have these stomach cramps,
"transgender"et al. feeling like i'm giving birth
to nothing more than dizziness and watery eyes...
there's something quiet sinister afoot here,
i can't point in any sort of direction: it's almost
a malaise of disorientedneness...
sorry, i have to play this "role" for the forseeable
future if i'm going to get anything done...
you might as well pretend that i'm wearing
two masks to keep my cool... otherwise it's such
a welcoming prospect to write to someone
directly and see them in person than what i'm used to,
when writing... staring at a blank canvas...
or messaging someone who lives in... ******* Hawaii...
of all places...

see... problematic...
i am problematic... i exfoliate with language...
this is that, this isnt that... games...
or my other theory goes along the lines of:
she can't find me on social media...
she can't snoop on me...
i bet that's her grinding her teeth...
well: obviously i'm not going to give her access...
i'm writing about her...
i don't want her to find out what my narrative pursuit
is like her... of course she's the momentum bringer...
i'm not going to give that up: so easily...

she knows my first name...
maybe she typed that in, along with my ******
****** / Stalin sort of type of surname...
it has changed... i always argue:
there's a missing -SCH- in the Elert...
no... i'm not "alert"... let's pause there...
maybe she typed in Matthew with Conrad...
but then again... i tend to hide in my mother zunge...
Mateusz... and hide doubling down
on hiding the Z with a caron S...
i.e. Mateuš... well... she won't figure that crap
out... i'm prone to the pastt-ime of looking up
googlewhacks... while listening to Prince...
esp. Raspberry Beret...
or REM's happy shiny people...

  ha ha... 43, 300+ readers on one poem alone...
imagine: if i were paid a penny for merely that...
i'm groovy, i don't mind doing something
for: not even peanuts...
the art needs to stay alive...
i can't allow the last avenue of freedom
to go "missing"... i'll just pay myself
with FEELZ... self-help my ***... therapy my ***...
but if you're inclined to be the sort of
******... tired of watching *******...
hey... my legs are spread wide-open...
or rather: someone scalped me...
then took a massive chunk of my skull off
and now my brain is wired
to a pickle jar... for pickled: transparent
brains... jelly-fish territory...

              ha... prior to protein... prior to sinew...
          prior to bone...
what did we have? gelatin floating about
in salt water... nice... rubber stamps of:
oogle doodle do no good but leave numbing
sparks of mini-lightning storms of:
lazy gods began thinking...
    my my... as expected: it took them a while...
******* hedonists... ambrosia custard soon
to be wise-ups, but all the way prior?
crazed ***** and complete hard-on morons...
the gods...
funny that... you can't go mad twice...
they took a stab at me once...
                      sorry for being the party pooper...
i sort of can't go mad, twice...
i literally missed nothing on the dating scene having
been a recluse in my 20s... apparently...
self-evidently...

now? i'm going to make some Silesian gnocchi
for today's dinner, i've already cleaned the house...
i'll be making some curry for my parents for tomorrow...
play the chemist with the spices available...
i might make myself some lunch for tomorrow's shift...
hey, life... plenty of it...
  but... oddly enough: not enough people in it...
no matter... i can at least ping-pong backwards
and forwards with my own words to: eh: ech... echo echo O!

sure... it would have been nice to play
the surrogate father... perhaps we could have learned
German together...
i could have cooked for the pair of them:
i never know how to cook for one person to begin with...
but if she's into boxers and coke-heads...
hey... Pontius Pilate...
i have to left hands... and their pointing outward...
if i tried... then i shouldn't have tried... to begin with...
if modern women are going to be their stupid
selves... so be it... there's always the night,
the forest, the moon, there's always the scent
of autumn... there are so many things that can keep
me disorientated in an orientated sort of way
that... all the lies from the 1990s Rom-Coms can
fizzle out...

maybe being love is a luxury that not even
the richest in the world can buy...
thank god i don't earn the sort of money
that might attract gadflies...
  thank god i earn what is necessary...
            who's not going to buy those Valentine
flowers, those anniversary "sputniks"...
those sofas... those iPhones for the kids...
me!
                              i'll be buying food... etc.
better spend money on food than on a doctor...
that's how the saying goes...
to hell with women and all their superficial
*******... and if i'm in dire straits because
the bone-**** of a hand is not enough?
£120 for an hour with a Turkish *******...
problem solved!

i just can't stomach being an ******* in order
for women to stick around...
something so deep as: self-integrity is making
potential suitors turn me off...
esp. given their past histories...
i don't want to be an ******* when it comes
to loving women... and no... i'm not nice...
one thing i've learned from the English is...
******* Thespian crowd... actors...
two-faced juxtaposition makers...
or... or? they sing, they dance...
a nation of alcoholics or workaholics...
  but if i have to be this sort of ******* that women
feel the need to fix?
no... covert: under the radar...
i'm not doing that crap...
                    i'm not going to be a ****** man just
because a woman might find that appealing
to hone in on her lost archetypical requirements...
she's going to **** it up anyways...
  she always does...
                      i'll just be me... do me...
and if i'm predisposed to have to have to give
off steam with some bedroom antics...
i'll go the the women that still crave masculine
sensibility... prostitutes!