to the days when you wake up: mentally exhausted...
everyone else is having their mental breakdown
conundrums:
you had yours aged 21... you aged with...
that ******* choir and the great wind that dispersed it:
no, oh no... no instructions from the great almighty...
just a wind of a voice that dispersed a choir
of: invisibilities... i kept quiet... ran around the church...
lay under the altar... dragged the cloak from it and
covered myself: shivered... switched my iPod on...
then off... stiff the ******* singing...
i had no one to talk to... i still don't...
               oh well... lucky for me this happened back
in 2007... and after 2007? theatre! circus!
but while people are gradually gearing up to their...
ahem: group-therapy session overloads...
i've passed mine... no help: except for the time when
i visited a psychiatrists and: because he presumed
i was white British: i should be given the post-colonial
treatment of: REGRESSION...
false memory implants...
      the insinuation being: i was abused as a child...
sure... yeah yeah... by whom?
me? obviously me... i was ******* by the age of 8...
self-taught... don't know... it must have made sense
since... i wasn't: aren't: circumcised...
a "sword" has a "sheath": no?
               but fair enough to the circumcised crowd...
if their women are... religiously obligated
for a man to loose his ******* "detail"...
the niqab usually helps... blah blah...
           but then i imagine the instances when
a man is circumcised and... boom!
all the frustrations overflow from being snipped...
it's ******* degrading...
i don't need a sack of ******* the size of watermelons...
no... on the throne of thrones...
****... ****... *******... to some...
      venus, cupid, folly & time Bronz(z)ino...
i don't need much... my libido is a hamster and all
i need is a hamster's wheel worth of cleavage focus...
that's it...
    every time i go and visit a ******* i focus
my libido on... two aphrodisiacs...
spells of concentrated exercise: heavily cardio orientated...
and... white wine...
well... and jerking off without having to ******...
so i know where the blood is flowing to...
oh... right... that part...
but glory to be to such days...
mother is busying herself cleaning the house...
while i play the actor of idle...
    i have my bedroom... i have my private
library... only two volumes... only two volumes
of Knausgaard's Mein Kampf left to read...
and no... i will not finish Dickens' the Pickwick Papers:
on principle: from a review...
not that i would ever reread any book i've already
read...
        but... while people around me are having
their apple-pie crumble... i'm riding... slow: high...
slow: though... just... sifting... sieving through the air...
thankfully my difficulties came early:
god, great wind... i don't know...
did the choir descend from on high...
or did it boil from rummaging in the depths of
Hades?! like i said: i wasn't given any: instructions...
hear a great wind... what?! **** against it?!
         *******: become petrified... run around...
ugh... eh?! huh?!
                   i wasn't going to become one of those:
Hyde Park Speakers' Corner nut-jobs...
first: the world would have to reveal... what it was supposd
to reveal... and still i wouldn't do anything...
not after: why do i feel so mentally exhausted
waking up?
oh... right... now i remember...
well... if you go to sleep via: punching yourself in
the head... head's a bit of a mess...
knuckles ache... why am i so disorientated:
lacking motivation... was i fighting someone, last night?
oh, ****... me... or my shadow...
i prefer the idea of my shadow punching me...
or me punching it: but i always miss...
it's all about the thinness of him... i'm too solid...
he's already talking to the Madame of the brothel
of death... silly picture...
so i wake up and start thinking: pretend to start
thinking: i'm already here... so...
thinking is more of an: afterthought...
obviously i didn't just: magically appear:
but i don't have to make that Cartesian effort
of justifying consciousness: to begin with...
thinking is an afterthought...
i didn't exactly think i was going to be born...
did i?
           brain-damage... creative brain damage...
spontaneous: from punching yourself
in the head... giving you a prized plum hue
under the eye... sore knuckles... nice... nice...
i guess... coupled with heavy drinking:
beats any choice for psychadelics:
that ******* mushroom hijacked my monkey
brain! mushroom! mushroom!
mushrooms parasites controlling us!

                  let's be hyperbolic for a little: on a whim...
in all seriousness...
the glory of feeling so **** but at the same time:
so... goo... goo... ahem: good...
well... such days are as follows...
who can say that they "self-harm" by fighting their
own shadow? wrestle with it...
silently scream at it... go! explore the night!
mould with it! i don't need you! fiend!
     well... however the drinking boyo's stereotype
goes... next day... oh man: my forehead
and my cheeks hurt... i must have seriously done
some damage...
        because so much of man in society is
pacified... what?! violence... only as a spectacle:
during boxing? that's it...
and no healthy show of masculinity via the rough
and tumble? well... that's not fun...
     not fun at all... i'd love some back-alley rough
up after a few too many drinks with a sparring partner...
fat chance of that happening...
we'd be immediately caught on c.c.t.v. and the police
would come in and break us apart...
oh the sweetness of a good fight...
     me and Kieran O'Mahoney... just before class...
wrapping my hands round that lard-ball...
punching him in the kidneys...
then he crying about it: he started...
to the teacher and me retorting: shut the **** up:
stop crying...
              because i couldn't just: do what so many
have done... guns... knives...
no no... not mortal combat... just a play around with
fists... teeth... knees...
           *** can't be the only outlet for man's
"frustrations": sure... and i'd love to try painting...
if i had the assets to buy paint, for ****'s sake...

drinking works: up to a point...
but after a while... i need some: grr! some oomph!
some sucker punching bag...
well... at least no one can say jack **** if i'm
beating myself up... ha ha...
ah... ha...
                  
   oddly enough: not oddly enough...
it feels like listening to that :wumpscut song -
madman szpital (skon remix)
and the lyrics... which... this is a Bavarian electronic
project... backwards and forwards
"us" western Slavs and the Germans...

     nie przyjęty do szpitala...
    
       not admitted to a hospital...

             nicht zugelassen zu ein krankenhaus...

ergo... moi...
            the 3Ps extending to...
poets... priests... prostitutes... psychiatrists...
madmen...
   who envision themselves as...
inheritors of the lineage from the Greek Titans...
wrestling with themselves... fighting themselves...
in order to: seek out: vitality...
a life-affirming "gravity": abundance of...
curiosity...
                       ***'s a tease... it's soft...
it's mollusk ******* oyster type of scenario...
it rarely reveals the proper sensation of bone...
sure... sometimes... the coccyx...
the pelvis roughed up... that's not enough...

perhaps all those myths of an Aztec or a Spartan
society were true, or therefore are...
i feel enclosed: entombed: fermenting in my physical
prowess, dignity: even...
just some rough and tumble... some:
a society that gathers on a Sunday and doesn't kneel
to **** off a corpse on a crucifix...
pain one can endure... if one can possess a reality
of also being capable to inflict it...
hell... i'm free-falling in thinking:
but... if i could strain my body parts in a showcase
of violence: rather than the mundaneness of
cardiovascular exercise...
    i'd be twice the man i'm currently half of...
well... more as one: if i'm punching myself in the head...

****... sore forehead... how did i? oh... right...
that's why i feel sore... sore cheekbones... sore jaw...
it's not fair that some men get to exercise their violence
via boxing, or rugby... while i slouch over
a keyboard and bash some thoughts squash-style...
i'm getting in on the action...
     you simply can't just: "translate" everything that's
masculine into an art-form...
you need knuckle-arithmetic: from time to time...

sanity and the boredom that life throws at you
with its decrepit longevity...
best time to start reading philosophy books?
probably in your early 20s... i was... called to the "cause"
by listening to some lectures on Hume, David...
that black swan... induction... falsification... blah blah...
i was hooked... a sort of thought-spotter...
if there is such a "thing": beside the thing most associated
with spotting: i.e. trains... no... no trains here...

the rest is history... beep beep bleep... beep beep...
oh man... just some outlet for violence...
it would be greatly appreciated...
            to feel more sensations than a mollusk's
comforts of: fragility and... pickling itches when
getting a suntan...
            something more than mere ***...
i want to feel... that i don't have an exoskeleton!
i want bruises! life's so ******* boring without...
the fun fright of a fight!
it's stale sourdough bread... it's a ******* crouton!

everything: schematised, systematic,
predictable... orientated... gynocentric...
predominantly centred around: ensuring the safety
of women, children and old people...
well then! can't the boys have their violence?!
no no... not clinical violence...
within the confines of boxing... or whatever other
martial art...
i mean: violent play... just: hmm...
         i can't explain it to a person who hasn't
punched themselves: not myself: my shadow punched
me...
   i just can't...
because it's not the sort of masochism
associated with ******-shaming associated with
ol' Leo von Sacher-Masoch...
                it's... drawing from something Aztec...
Spartan... i don't need no limp **** scenario of
leather, boots, feathers, or latex...
             i just need to fight someone...
as much as i need to **** someone...
my perfect day would include:
a medium-rare steak... loads of pepper...
Himalayan pink salt...
   the meat: no carbohydrates, no salad...
or raw herrings in a creamy pickle sauce...
and then... fighting someone...
and then... ******* someone... then again:
those last two points could be done in reverse...
whichever...

i miss violence... the sort of violence where
you might later have a beer with your opponent...
eh... life's ****... for this particular reason...
pacified... un-gloriously tamed... hibernating:
zoological... therefore: caged...
systematically broken by psychological schematics...
fractions of once whole men.