title: alphabets
body: soup brigades:
QWERTY
because not ABCDEF 502 bad gateway bypass

well, spring is here, somehow "finally": what a splendid winter
it was, i can't remember a winter like the one that
passed... toying with the role of steward at football stadiums...
even yesterday, i was the break guy...
i had about seven stewards under my supervision...
all of the seven got their 15 minute breaks: if not longer...
at least 3 got two breaks...
    the other guy on the opposite side of the stadium even
made a complaint: you shouldn't be giving them so much
leeway... oh **** me: i thought... here we go...
the hierarchy game... i actually don't mind...
              what is it with people who are put a tier above
others that they suddenly ego-trip?!
          can't we just get along?
                if i'm not complaining... why should someone
complain for me? point being... i noticed his side of
the stadium... how many breaks did he give? zilch... nada...
none... little ******* Latvian ******...
                  every 20 minutes or so i walked my stretch
of the stadium, knelt down... tapped each of the steward's
shoulder... you alright? obviously i was being extra nice
to the three girls i had on my watch...
the cerebral palsy guy was also taken care of proper...
sure... he looks like he's boxing drunk when walking...
but hey... what has that got to do with me?
god is cruel:
                   but me? at least i can be a gentleman;
but if god wasn't cruel? none of this could have come
about... it's a bit like me boxing myself when
fighting my shadow... taxi driver style...
but no mirrors this time... just my shadow...
that's the closest i come to an understanding...
gott und nichts...
   let's face it... the stretch of the imagination? from ******...
from the potential of discovering alcohol...
from all the animals... from the botanical enclosures...
what a stretch of the imagination:
beginning with nothing...
                oh yeah... even parasites... the stretch of
the imagination...
like today... i was given the task of cleaning the garden
patio... me... tyrant... well... these weeds have to go...
finding newly born snails... oh... so cute...
are they born with those shells? or do they find them?
post-fact fake-news reality is a bit like:
well i'm not going to be the next Aristotle...
i... actually don't want to know...
i want to be kept in a stasis of awe...
                            so the weeds are gone... some of them
even blooming white little tender flowers
in the cracks of the patio... such a shame...
but at least these hands are tender enough...
then onto the fern... broken in parts by the tirade
of the three winter storms grooming England...
i forget the names... but then...
ah... splendid... ripping out dead-end-things
off the three agapanthuses...
                       dead-end stalks... literally ripping them off...
leaving all the strong "culprits" in full bloom
green... month or two... i'll be waiting for
the flowers...
man... so paradoxical... he can be really cruel to nature
but... somehow contradict himself...
the Nazis didn't contradict themselves...
they just forgot to... be strict enough...
if they just went after... the mentally debilitated...
the physically disabled... and didn't focus on healthy
Hebrews... just saying... Darwinian Utopia...
a reflection of how nature works...
not how human politics works...
           hmm... cruel cruel: the very real world...
not that i sympathise...
   i can take care of this cerebral palsy guy...
no problem... but at the same time...
if someone weaker is going to boss me around?
you know... there's a glitch in my mind... a sort of...
glitch like a headache... the world is not organised like this...
not the natural world...
this made-up fantasy world of man... that's a sick layer
of fantasy over the natural order of things...
that's when i get... slightly bothered...
glitch... glitch... glitch... i get this head ****...
like a sort of a stutter... hold on... wait a minute...
you know i'm allowing you to play this hierarchical
game... because... i have other things to do?
stop with this hierarchical ego-tripping for a minute
and you'll find that i'm corporative...
             but stress your status... a bit... too much?
glitch... glitch... ******* hell... my neck and head are
twitching... something's not right...
but at least i know that with flowers...
clones... they'll grow right back up... i pull out the unhealthy,
dying bits and... hey presto!
the same flower like last year...
funny... if the Nazis followed Darwinism proper...
didn't have this Hebrew fetish that sort... ha ha...
oddly enough... sped up the reemergence of the state of Israel...
would the state of Israel have emerged
if the Holocaust didn't happen?
                2000+ years and counting...
is this, a conspiracy theory?
        you tell me... last time i heard... Eva Braun had Hebrew
genes... hell... if these thoughts are
"controversial"... then the whole "survival of the fittest"
ought to be controversial too... no?
man is a contradiction of nature...
      man is counter nature...
                         yeah, sure sure... let's pander to the weak...
until the point they think themselves all-too-powerful,
tyrannical, in their bureaucratic castles... of paper-thin walls...
let's see how the weak manage things...
so many days i think about an elephant head-butting
a hyena... dead... then mummifying it
by shoving its trunk up the hyena's ******* and draining
all the insides out... like it might be sniffing with a gurgle
a line of *******...
mind you: by some akin to M. M. the song: the gardener...
songs like that... when the rhythm guitar is completely
absent, except for accenting in the verse section...
and only becomes prominent in the chorus...
when the BASS is as important as the drums...
it's like the reinvention of jazz, via rock...
that's when i feel that my heart has a beat...
mind you...
   so rare... when a ******* messages you in the middle
of the night... sends you three photographs
of herself from the past... and you send her...
some art...
the messages run along the lines...
   wait... aren't you getting enough ***? why are you
asking me to come over? oh... right...
finally... someone managed to realise
i'm good enough...
   - She: where are you
              come to me 1 hours
        what do you say
- Me: where am i? i'm at home, about to go to sleep...
- She: how did you shoot and sleep? ah i wanted
you to come to me to make me happy too
- Me: i can't come to you in one hours...
  i just did a shift and i'm fatigued...
    Brian Eno Prophecy Theme... plenty...
   you mentioned something about a free Sunday....
i don't mind if it's a fake / an excuse... i like horror...
i don't dream, therefore... anything unusual...
that might keep awake? a disguised blessing!
- She: yes bad you no call me for tell me when you
want...
- Me: if it was as simple as spending money...
  but it never was, really, nything to do about... spending
money... it was more about: who could fake it
more? the buyer... or the seller?
- Me: i first need to know what i want... you mentioned...
interacting outside the confines of the brothel...
but hey... i'm used to daydreaming.
- Me: Oh Khedra, i was really tried last night...
did a shift at the London Stadium, i was in no mood for ***...
remember last time i came over (after a shift)
and had no stamina, was sweating all over you,
now that i reread my (last) message: fatigue...
i was talking nonsense... then again...
there's something built into my psyche that's always
going to be suspicious when it comes to a woman
not being pleasured... i don't like having *** when
i feel that i'm the only person in the interaction...
it wasn't going to work last night, i need to have a routine
where i build up my stamina and want...
i just can't switch it on like i'm some disposable
Duracell bunny *****... i need to be in a mood:
i need to be longing... yesterday i truly wasn't...

sure... she wants me to come over... to earn? or to ****?
perhaps one and the same...
but i'm tired... i'm not in the mood...
would i have to dehumanise myself: pop an *******
pill and just: plough the field of ****?
i don't think that's how it works...
a woman doesn't just get to press a button...
and: hey presto! there's that walking *****!
i'm sort of happy with the project: once a month...
after i get paid...
too much regular ******* is sort of boring...
i can almost see it as boring...
  you get bored of kosher ******* that you have
to start peeping into the dimension of kinks
and queer-****...
             i take too much pleasure from taking
a **** to have to explore having to perform **** ***...
restraint... and then... release...
   oh sure... she tells me to come over...
i would have... if it was for free...
but paying for being dissatisfied is not an option...
if she said... i'm not at work... come to this address...
well... counter to my tiredness...
i would have made the effort...
   ah... the splendour of a transactional transparency...
no qualms over dates...
      whatever the dictates of western culture are...
or for that matter... any culture...
i'm sort of out of the "game"...
                 i always wanted to be a monk...
                                     well... a monk with an access
to a brothel like the Teutonic Knights of Marienburg...
who had... a brothel... in that ******* citadel...
i get to **** when i want...
not when she's ***** on a whim.

p.s. mind you... you know that mistletoe...
that's a botanical parasite...
i once told Jeminah... imagine kissing under it...
when i think of cancer...
i think of trees with mistletoe...
well... it is... mistletoe is a parasitical plant...
you can best see it in bulbs... during winter...
as a parasite it has to be an evergreen plant...
so... while all its host trees are shaven clean
right down to the skeletal x-ray of branch...
the mistletoe is bulging in growth...