title: loop body: or holes or days and oh: or months... let's pretend years never existed.
sometimes, it's truly weird... but i'm not English... or British... sure... for convenience's sake, when asked by officials in the NHS... put me down at white British... once was the case of the Anglo-Saxons... well... at best i'm an Anglo-Slav... but i can't allow all these racial "minorities" residing in England to label with me... "reparations"... a "colonial-past"... or... post-colonialism, or whatever the fetish is... i just belong to a people without a colonial past... sorry... that's racist... to be unable to differentiate people ethnically... it simply is... that's how H'america rots... it has no ethnicity distinction... it's either all RACE or ***... can't tell apart the Serb fascists from the Ukrainian fascists?! i can't buy into this whole: i'm white therefore i'm somehow also the inheritor of post-colonialism... i'm on side with the Russians given this argument... sorry... i'm not having it... that's ******* racist: just because i'm white is somehow indicative of me receiving the minority sadism against the British in the realm of post-colonialism... **** no... **** never...you will not put other people's history onto other people: because you're ethnically-blind... just because i'm as white as a Brit doesn't imply we share a shared history... ****-off cupper-neck... come come... milk me the golden **** of Moloch! right now... i'm loving the Russian attitude of... *******... or we'll **** with you...because it simply doesn't make sense for certain ethnicities of the white race to... capitulate to the "racial minorities" of a post-colonial argumentation of: new schematics of how society's to be orientated... nicely... just nicely... i'm seriously thinking about ******* off to Liverpool... the women seem nicer... less paranoid... less-stuck... less... ugh... yucky... itchy... whatever it is with having... over-value delusions of... obviously having bypassed the safety-net of becoming a nun...
the day started well enough... i must have drunk about half a litre of whiskey: forgetting to take some naproxen to ease me into sleep.. woke up with cold sweats at: some time just past 5am... some nightmare... Holocaust related? i don't remember... but if you're waking up sweating and shivering at the same time... lucky for me... i meditated on this towards work: well... the horrifying has already happened... i never understood the argument that 6 millions Jews died in the Holocaust... technically... those were 6 million Polacks... while France capitulated to **** Germany in whatever span of time... it took longer for Poland to capitulate to both: **** Germany and Soviet Russia... and we're talking: a nation that only recently emerged after being non-existent given the partitions... while France... a colonial power... anyway... had two coffees... a precursor of a bad idea: showered... applied 7 different "beautifying" products to my hair, beard, face... armpits... collar bones and neck and hands... ****** off... as ever... one hour early: why do i mismatch my timing whenever travelling to Wembley... if i catch the fast (Southend Victoria train) i can get from Romford to Liverpool Street in under 20 minutes... since... the train doesn't stop at: Chadwell Heath, Goodmayes, Seven Kings, Ilford, Manor Park, Forest Gate... Maryland... straight onto Stratford... and then Liverpool Street... and then that's another 20 or so minutes on the Metropolitan Line to Wembley Park... well... nice weather... spring is in full swing... another two coffees from McDonald's... sitting on a bench on the Olympic route... eating an almond croissant... oh looky-looky... company... starlings... i was surprised: where did the pigeons ******* to? so i'm going to be sitting on this bench by myself... drinking a 4th coffee... eating an almond croissant... smoking a cigarette after the "feast" while having this troop of 4 or 5 starling beg me to pinch of my croissant... ****'s sake: the day is starting to look beautiful... i couldn't resit... plus... there's that added bonus of looking mythical... eh? even mystical... since a few coworkers already spotted you and you're not some old man in a park throwing breadcrumbs to pigeons... you're throwing pinches of an almond croissant to starlings... i always said: better a soul of an old man in a young body than... the complete ******* opposite of... whatever leads to dementia: lax... old men having tantrums of teenagers... just looks silly... and it was sort of like that today... with the Scousers... Scouse... i was expecting such a lively, lovely atmosphere... i swear... the further north you go... the lovelier people become... my heart poured out at the Liverpool fans... the Manchester fans? eh... not so much... they're sort of like Londoners... stiff-upper lip: tense... paranoid... i don't know how to describe them: proper... after today i'm thinking about visiting Liverpool... ******* for the weekend... maybe book a ticket at Anfield... but just go and see the city... wander... get lost... find myself... i'm tired of continental Europe... then again: i'm also tired of the south of England... 4th coffee in... i thought i was going to die... a thumping in my forehead... i already have high blood pressure issues... four coffees in... almost zero food: calorie intake: for someone 6ft2 and 98kg... it's not 2000kcal... for the first time on a shift i had to do my jacket up so that my neck would be covered... the tie was suffocating me... with ideas of dropping dead from a heart-attack... thrice prone to *****... the one time i did i enacted being a cow... i swallowed it back down... crummy... eh... flakey... sort of like when you... bring back milk that's half digested: when it splits... into cheese and lactose juice... acid... on my way back home: a most glorious full moon... cider... sweaty shirt... and this... fiddly ******* the Metrpolitan line... mixed-race... sort of reminded of Harley Dean... fiddling with her blonde-tinged curly hair... i always found curly hair... um... hmm... too infatuating... she does her make-up... her lips with a crayon and then some quasi-lipstick... cute nose, cute forehead... and she just keeps looking at me... with the most doe-esque intimidation of: why don't you react to me?! why?! why?! she's so ******* blatant: she can't hide it... i'm sitting there with my shirt undone... oh right... hairy chest of a pirate... thick bulging neck... babe... i'm tired... i've been up since 5am... started the shift at 9m... just finished come 6:30pm... of course i'm *****... ever time i become tired i need to relax: since i've been keeping this hardened **** in my ****-pocket since this morning... i'll get back home... sit on the thrones and do the no. 1, 2 and 3... which is **** while sitting down... relaxing my ****... taking a **** and subsequently jerking off... but she was so blatant... d'uh... pretending to look into the glass behind me for her reflection... checking her phone without taking a selfie... how her hair would look better arranged if she has a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head... truly... a pretty little number... but i was already coming down from a high of: Scouser women... are all the English girls so pretty up north? like i said: i think i need to take a weekend trip to Liverpool... or Newcastle... i was taking aback when a married woman approach me... started talking... gripped my hand and then proceeded to kiss my cheek... infatuated by the beard... that's nice... that's why life is worth living... random strangers... coming up to you: infatuated by your presence... having no reservations: no inhibitions... needing to kiss you... touch you... always with the northern types... and i'd agree... southerners: the fairies... Londoners... so ******* Victorian: reserved... it's like playing poker 24/7... most of the time i find myself of keeping a trustworthy line of conversation... i just become mute: bored... i don't like the nitty-gritty of small talk... what the **** do we have in common?! absolutely nothing... beside... what? trying to keep each other comfortable? no... i'll use my silence to strain the fact that: we're not friend in school playground... we're not... but it's different with northeners... i witnessed two grown men... cry... because they were refused entry for being sick... puking... grown men crying... because they couldn't be part of the Liverpool choir of: you're never stand alone... mind you... coworkers getting ****... deservedly: too eager... too eager... push and shove... can't we just talk? once you get that *******'s worth of an SIA license you start losing the plot... machismo... ugh... talking about people who can't tell the difference from judo from throwing watermelons... oh but these northern girls... a married woman just walk up to you... tipsy... tipsy as: custard is most definitely pale, high noon sun yellow... grabs your hand and kisses your cheek... times like this: i feel... gratefully alive... it's so very little but at the same time: so much... i can forget the 5am wake up call... of the nightmare that stirred me... i couldn't possibly cry over football... something beautiful, like Prokofiev? sure... lucky for me we managed to seize about 10 cans of beer from someone... who managed to bring those cans of beer home? moi... beer... relaxing to some Type O Negative... i'm pretty sure there was this other woman on the train: fixated on playing with her... she kept stroking it... stroking it... some other day... like a cat with an itchy scalp... what the **** do they call them? archetypical clues? i heard that once... if a woman in your vicinity is fiddling with her hair... she's into you... i seriously want to forget these stereotypes... i prefer the more direct approach... she comes up to you: a complete stranger and kisses your on your furry cheek... it might have been sunny... it might have been warm today... but the tenderness of those lips... i need to book a weekend break to Liverpool... seriously... i need to visit Liverpool... those woman are insatiable! i need to ******* to Liverpool! i already can't stand the claustrophobically constipated London girls... it does my head in! what happened to: perchance: some... foon?! on a *****-nilly... what the **** is this? the ******* Black Dahlia... no... wait... the Black Narcissus nunnery? the ******* hills are full of music?! or is that... filled, with?! this is a trajectory toward a death-cult... o.k. whatever... i'm getting slowly more drunk and relaxed and... not in the mood of...
whatever... i just can't face up to having to faces... it's enough that i already juggle two tongues... but i can't face up to having two faces; i see people taking themselves overtly seriously and i'm thinking about... puking: and then swallowing the puke that doesn't leave my mouth... like a cow's digestive schematic.