title: 4minutes
body: ~3:59.

i always tend to see things more clearly when i drink
a little... mind you... half an hour earlier
i was truly enjoying ironing shirts
while listening to today's full release of the new
Ghost album... Impera... **** me...
i even allowed myself to leave a comment
on the video: i rarely do...
i said something along the lines...
'the last time i enjoyed an album in its full
entirety, upon first listen...
jeez... it was Tool's Aenima or Nine Inch Nails'
the Fragile... this album is simply sublime'...
it really helps that i'm reading Sartre again...
and in English... it's such a wonderful muddle
of words... being-in-itself... itself-non-being...
appearance... object's essence... blah blah...
it's kind of like swimming in a pool of marbles...
or at least trying to... swim in a pool of marbles...
swimming on a sand-dune... more like...
                            i'm guessing French thought
translates really badly into English...
i mean... both languages are... littered with
prepositions and conjunctions... shrapnel...
             but... never mind if i understand it at first
reading... go with the flow: just smile and wave...
it's another variation of meditation... a narrative meditation...
which is sort of equivalent to: stream of consciousness...
same ****, different cover...
placed on the altar of Thesaurus Rex...
               mmm... if there's a chance of me seeing
signs of dementia: that's me... ******* off
to Amsterdam to buy some magic mushrooms...
get the psychedelic booster...
                  "jab"... bite...
                      not when my mind still glorifies
alcohol... weird... extremely weird...
so many people are *******... violence-prone
when drinking... cocky-little-*******...
             some are nice... i admit... but...
how many can think more clearly when drinking?
any-hoo... i'm going to finish this little doodle
and clean the house... before going on a 2h bicycle
ride...
   obviously before performing my ritualistic
100 push-ups... i touch my chest...
well... no woman could say i have ******* by now...
like they used to in the brothel...
when... eh... anti-psychotic drugs... overweight...
blah blah...
           not that seeing psychiatrists helped...
seeing prostitutes did...
                   and why would i see a priest?
psychiatrists attempted the subtle art of regression...
trying to implant false memories into my
head... well... it's not like i don't know how
to deal with a Frankenstein... no... not the monster...
the doctor... the double monster...
the inquisitive empirical: objective baboon...
the person with an autistic subjectivity capacity...
the feelz ******...
        there's no dichotomy between feeling
and thinking... they have to be entwined...
so one balances the other out... keeps it in check...
feelings can curb day-dream thinking with...
at best... an adrenaline focus... via...
unconscious-spatial-coordination... when minding
traffic... on a bicycle...
Nietzsche could have celebrated walking all
he might have... me? i need steam...
i need the feeling of generating momentum...
my own momentum... it's not enough to push your
foot down on a peddle...
well... there's also riding at a gallop's pace
on a horse... that comes close to cycling...
how do you get a horse to gallop?
  you press your heels into the horse's rib-cage...
pull in the reins... and off you go...
          - hmm... but the clarity of thought when
drinking... it has to be a dreary English afternoon...
sort of raining or... whatever this weather is
supposed to be...
                 the Jeminah Revelation...
right... what are my options? beside... younger women?
those inexperienced posers?
the ones that... when you get them in the bedroom
they lie... blank... mute... doe-eyed...
petrified by their own inexperience...
   i had one of these... oh she had *** a boyfriend...
blah blah... so... you know how foreplay works?
she didn't... you **** me off... i **** you off...
you **** me off off again... and then we ****...
   that didn't happen... she sort of expected me to
have a magic button connected to my phallus...
i switch it on... like the old school version of Bane...
and i get a *******... simply because:
i'm with a woman... and not... a ******* chicken Kiev...
what other food has holes?
a magic Duracell bunny battery-hard-on?
right... a walking *****, n'est c'est pas?
                           yeah... none of that... it started to feel
borderline necrophilia...
i can't be seen ******* a corpses that's also: "somehow"
blinking... so i asked her... can i just sleep here tonight...
she said yes... that's when i saw the absolute:
the petrified face of a girl that lied...
i pretended to be asleep... but she was wide awake...
looking at me with... fear...
well no... i didn't drug her, **** her...
she didn't understand the process...
first comes the arousal, then comes the ***...
i didn't feel like teaching her anything that night...
she played the game wrong... posed too much...
the "one that got away" ******* game...
            yeah... i have regrets... like the regret i have
for giving away a CD to my neighbour...
because i felt inclined to do so when he gave me
a pair of headphones... Lao Che's Gusła album...
and i spent... a long long time... looking for it...
*******... mind you... those headphones...
   i was standing at the edge of a wood... at night...
a massive clearing before me... a guy was walking his
dogs... pups... grown dogs...
ugly *******: personality wise...
he scolded those pups when they ran up to me
started licking me and... obviously pulled the headphones
off my head and trashed them...
why scold pups? why... not simply whistle... chill them...
but the Jeminah Revelation... that's something
else...
single mums or... prostitutes... i wouldn't date
or **** anything younger... just not my cup of tea...
they just pose... pose... pose...
   i'm not going to be the pervert that
disinhibits them... i want in on the already
disinhibited ***... the wholesome orthodox fun
where no exploration of the **** is invoked...
or ******* on any part of the body: over than in...
and not in the mouth...
                  jeez... Louise! n'ah ah...
                        so... Jeminah is a single mum...
and she has a young son...
   her last boyfriend... she met... on a school-run...
her last boyfriend... she's 39 now...
hmm... mighty arithmetic... she was in her 30s
when he was only 19...
                             he was dropping off his younger
brother... sister... whatever...
she even openly said: i only date much younger men
or much older men...
right... i'm sort of her contemporary...
4 years shy of her age... that's a biG a bIG a BIG
no no... she already proved that she can't handle
men her own age...
so she basically dated a boy who would be...
equivalent to... her son... having an older brother...
that's how it looked... from what she said...
for the boy to have all the fun...
my my... there's an army of Oedipal sons out there:
being raised by single mothers...
and... well... unconsciously... she's a single mum...
she's spending all that time with
her son... but no other male... a contemporary male...
****** bells are ringing!
    ****** bells are ringing!
               that's a lie... older men... dating her...
maybe when she wasn't a single mum...
when she was having all the fun in the corporate
world of finance...
            but now... if she's dating someone 19 years old...
and her son is... 11 now...
so yeah... she's basically having this unconscious
fantasy of ******* her own son... or rather...
the older brother of her son...
ah... it's started raining... there's nothing quiet
at exhilarating as cycling in the rains of March:
there's that perfect environment for having hardened
******* from the crisp cool of the air...
and the added moisture... my physique can truly
exfoliate... esp. after 100 push-ups...
- what have "we" done... me? i haven't done anything...
i'm looking down the barrel of a shotgun
that's a woman that's raising an Oedipus...
me? with Khedra... i'm imagining that i'm *******
the mother of the person who: truly wronged me
back when i was 21... i'm ******* his mother:
in my eyes... she somehow resembles her...
Mrs. Safar-Aly... oh yeah... big time...
eh... she might have been Iranian... but you're not
that far from an Iranian woman when you're
******* a Turkish woman... the same raven hair...
but the Jeminah scenario...
  she's not going to allow a father-figure into
this boys life...
   she'll allow an older brother figurine...
a ***-toy type that always wants her boy to have
fun... a bouncy-castle for his birthday...
but not someone who will bake the boy a banana loaf...
or read his poems out-loud... who might take
interest in his schooling schedule...
who says: don't learn French... learn German...
English and German are more grammatically linked...
it'll be easier for you...
she won't allow a father figure into the boy's life...
she is truly afraid of men like me...
why was i ghosted? because... she never received
flowers on her doorstep... in the middle of the night:
for Valentine's Day?
oh... i think what also bothered her:
****! i can't find him on social media!
i can't snoop on him!
he's not on Tinder! i can't swipe swipe left left left!
troublesome times... truly... very troublesome...
he makes his own wine?!
he collects vinyl records?!
              we have lived all these 30+ odd years...
but... same world? different reality...
it wouldn't help to add that i prescribed myself
exercising myself with *** with prostitutes...
like what? i'm some sort of limp-****
inexperienced-gimp?!
                           run scared little doe... run!
a ******* "army" of Oedipal sons of single mums...
and how will these guys: coming of age...
treat women? would they... kneel before the altar
of a *******'s body... i always thought that
taking one knee to the floor exfoliated
the rest of the body than... taking two knees...
like at church... like when a woman does so...
when you're standing and she's ******* you off...
******* altar before the crucifix...
hell... for all those football shills... anti-racism...
that's if you get rid of race: to begin with...
but as a(n) European... ethnicity matters more...
that's how you tell the difference between
    a Croat and a Serb... a(n) Ukrainian from a Russian...
a Swede from Suede... sorry... a Swede from
a Norwegian...
always get that wrong... esp. after the Deluge
                                                       (1648 - 1667)...
Jeminah couldn't come to terms with a man her
own age... who... actually built up a life of his own...
without having lost any interest in it...
without losing any vitality itself and for life too...
not having children didn't bother him...
him: id est ego... me...
                      in all fairness... i thought i was going
to be the one talking openly about my
past girlfriends... but as it turns out...
women are just as prone to only talk about past
failures... i was more willing to change the topic
on the focus of vinyl... music... food...
the stuff that matters...
                 oh well... her past failures... her son...
those stomach cramps really paid off...
warning signs...
             much better with Khedra and torso
pain from having performed in the missionary
position for an hour... much better.