title: higi
body:
\snooze\ 502: etc.

i can almost see it... through a fog of uncertainty...
and my inability to dream: fully focused
on the visual aspect of what dreaming
is about... i sometimes dream: but mostly don't:
but when i do... i'm blind... there's no "architecture"...
no "labyrinth"...
i might see letters... i'll generally hear something...
but i'll rarely see anything...
hmm... perhaps i'm living in the ***** of
paradise... my eyes when woke see enough...
or rather: what the gods have allowed me to see...
but in my dreams? i have not dream-state
subjectivity... the entire concept of
a repeated dream is alien to me...
lost dogs: i can understand... i saw it once...
an owner ties a dog to a bench...
leaves it there... the dog breaks free... finds another
stray dog... and another... starts running free...
she keeps sending me selfies...
my my... i really managed to charm the ******
off her pants this time round...
i'm smitten... as any Slav might with
a Turkish woman... because: there's so much
shared history...
          i'm glad... i can sigh... i can play out
the fantasy of... she's the unavailable concubine
in the harem of the Sultan... and i'm such
the borrowed hands of a Janissary...
   me and Khedra have lived two centuries apart...
now? the *** is great...
i pinch my nose... i scratch my forehead...
i scratch my cranium looking for a kippah...
oh sure, sure... like any reasonable man looking
for the antithesis of subjectivity when:
oh ****... my ******* is missing! what to do?! what to do?!
seek out kosher laws! seek out Halal!
seek out... Sharia laws! woman must be obedient to man!
but if i still own my *******...
it's a bit like still owning your own... ******* kidneys!
i can **** two ways...
into the fermenting jar of politico heads
seeking eternity... or i can ****...
where does the other **** go?
into making the wine more potent?
i once ****** into a glass of wine...
murmuring to myself: and this is my blood...
happy are those...
no one got the joke...
        so she sends me a selfie i reply with
a sweet-little-to-do-about-nothing...
but i'm being honest...
if i'm not earning what's sort of expected from
poetics... i'm not going to be clamouring for...
ditto-head-air-heads of seeking the attention
of women who...
she probably hates the band HIM and the song
Love You Like I Do...
she needs the yachts... the sunshine of Dubai...
i can't provide her with that, sort of lifestyle...
ergo? immediately out of the picture...
good... come to think of it... these women are:
BORE-ING... boring...
       i'm sort of glad i'm... crab-like... scuttling...
foraging... for something interesting...
prostitutes are always interesting... the buffer...
what else is available? single mothers with a history
of abusive relationships...
am i... really... going to get into one of those?
well... pair me up with these womens' former
partners... i guess i could punch them out...
or... i'd start punching myself and giggling that...
i'd be the one trying to punch myself out...
now my neck feels itchy...
have to scratch it...
           seriously... that's all that's the "leftover"?
desperate single mums... the ones that feel over
protective when it comes to a man
wanting to sort of say: sure... i'll come in...
oh... right... you're not a proper boxer...
REJECT! wow... well... no wonder...
i'd rather think myself a gentleman in the company
of prostitutes... and... would money?
would money buy me that sort of status?
no... no! i'd just receive a blonde-***** who likes
things... but doesn't appreciate the worth
of vinyl from the 1980s...
a shoeshine sort of beauty: but not the beauty of
an actual shoe...
so... sort of pointless...
                     prostitutes... the loveliest of creatures...
i wasn't afforded being attracted to money...
with me?
either mingle with shadows...
or focus on the light...
         i wouldn't want to... ******* ******...
even come 70 years old they're more focused on...
plastic... aesthetic surgery...
can't help them... keep them solipsistic...
no... just a plain: outright no...

i don't want the money... that's the curriculum of
the understudy of Mammon...
i'm above that... i want something more crucial...
the sort of women that...
are attracted to wealth? boring women...
predictable women... daddy complex issue women...
women that... that don't seek companionship...
but the star of David sort of dynamic:
top to bottom... bottom up...
boring... nothing interesting about them...
not the sort of women that say:
we're going to start from nothing...
let's work our way up...
she's a *******... i'm a poet...
   let's see... let's endure... see what magic
time allows us...
what an idea! we're both starting from zilch!
i don't care: well... i would... if she was
a ******* nun... i'd care very much by then
by then i.e. her making that announcement...
like it might be something truly authentic...
ha ha! insert an onomatopoeia for a snigger...
just the letters: no correct spelling...

          i'm so glad i don't have any pedophilic
inquests against me...
young girls are so boring... whenever i see a pair...
in school uniforms i remind myself:
i'd... i would: BREAK THEM...
          the more whorish she is... and... the more
my age she is... the more attractive she is to me...
we're meeting... having arrived at being together from...
a congregation of what used to be divergent avenues of
seeking... unique life experiences...
it's lovely... that we're here: together...
but... inexperienced women...
no... not much fun... not much fun to even
to begin to think about...
sorry... i'm thinking... i'd rather try it out with
a male... perhaps that might wake in me a Francis Bacon...
but... a frail... inexperienced teenage girl...
sure... i'd love to father it... but **** it?
please! give me... make me eat an over-ripe mango
or an over-ripe pear... it'll be easier for my psyche
to not imagine a stomach... having to follow-up
the ordeal of indigestion...

     safer with prostitutes... i always said...
who's keeping score?
i'm not... she sends me a selfie...
i send her a message.. it really does invoke falling
asleep a lot easier... looking at you, thinking of you...
imagine... i woke up... with an *******:
by simply thinking about you...
hey... life goes on...
but when you get  chance to capture a sample
of... what it could be: for everyone else...
but... it's only so... for you and only you...
wow... what a lesson in pity...
                 no... this is not... empathy or sympathy
territory... not: antonym or synonym territory...
or misnomer territory...
this is exactly what was in the air...
since... oh... i guess 2007...
          
                      i waited... i love the practice of practising
patience... now... slowly...
the crescendo... you know how insulting it is...
to be a biligual misdiagnosed as a schizophrenic...
to walk into a church, alone... hear a choir...
but no one is there... then hear a great wind disperse
the choir? you know how insulating that is?
to be treated like some generic idiot?
                          apparently... the world is still to learn...

oh... i'm hopeful... the world might learn...
but... to be treated like some malcontent... degenerate...
while you actually see actual degenerate ****** sorts
treated with so much fake respect...
i guess the world... needs more lessons...
me? i'll anchor my love for mankind
in the depths of what prostitutes allow me,
and the world will be all the better for it...
but then again: that truly depends for who...
well... certainly not for the type of girls that follow
the money proper...
taking them to an art gallery would be like...
smearing pig ***** with olive oil
while shoving a "celebrity" mushroom up "there"...

i'll be booking that hotel room sooner than
i'm dead... while the world fights...
i'll conquer this tornado with the little butterfly
of my heart sitting on a flower of: humbleness...
that i will do.