title: no baguette
body:
chilly banquet:
pigeons chuckle
and... no coo.                  bad gateway bypass, again.

less of a Nietzsche in me than an Alfred Jarry...
although i'm not that short...
and i wouldn't be close to fishing on the Seine...
although: Paris would be lovely...
managed to get a slot for 3pm with Nicky...
this... bombshell of a woman:
fluctuating bloom of a body...
   how women become irresistible at a certain
age... when they're fully matured...
a bit like... the infatuation i have with autumn's
decay perfumery...
i guess that coy glance her assistant gave me
when she booked me... poor little thing...
probably in her teens... eh... i'll pass..
but this full bodied oomph! my god...
sends a man crazy...
               so booked in for 3pm...
   cycled back to the library and picked up
a bundle of orange recycling bags...
walked into a supermarket and stocked up on
whiskey and pepsi...
in the background... hmm...
          i know this song...
          the 1990's age of new innocence...
  Shanice Wilson - i love your smile...
          oh my my... music used to be so much fun...
back when... fun was around...
        when capitalism was capitalism
and communism was: well... not Chinese capitalism...
fun times... fun time to be born...
the internet wasn't even liquidating minds
into hives and taboo and pseudo-tribes...
  whatever... fun times... you still had grounded
telephones... dial: dial...
           you could ******* into the world and
be sort of... em... "uninterrupted"?
mobile... i.e. that's called a bicycle... not a smartphone...
but there was a precursor to all the nostalgia
i can associate with that song...
men... women...
is masculinity introspective...
   while femininity is retrospective?
                just juggling an idea...
sure... i have the capacity for memory...
                 i think back... but... i never learn from
past mistakes...
   i learn from... shutting down... withdrawing...
that's: introspection...
no... no... it's not that clear-cut...
   i think it's a "dichotomy" a compound... complex...
of introspection-retrospection...
but i never know which is which when
looking at old people...
     old men seem rather conflated with introspection...
while old women...
well... they seem to be bewildered by...
something from the past...
    their youth? their predicament of being...
well... classical depictions of philosophers...
old men... bearded... fading but with enough bite in
them to make you chuckle at their prescriptions...
old women? fiddler on the ******* roof:
match-makers? agony-aunts?!
      i'm lucky in that respect... at least men try to
give genuine advice...
        well... it's more: give genuine narratives
of experience...
    i don't even focus on the men that tally up their
count of women slept with...
sure... that would be great... but... ugh...
the idea of the... the antonym of the horcrux...
splitting one's soul by... no... not killing someone...
loving someone... that too can split your soul...
if it wasn't with the prefix hor-...
   meta-, tetra-, ortho-... para-...
                       ah.. right... hor- for horizontal...
ergo... the opposite "magic" is...
    ver-: vertical... the vercrux...
            what's my vercrux count? oh... i'd say...
in the decent count of 10...
                     but... hmm... Isabella...
Priya... Promis... Ilona... Tamara...
               Milena... Samantha... another Samantha...
Gemma... another Gemma... Janina...
Fiona...
               ah... and i'm with neither...
               what a relief...
i see my father and think: to harrow all the while
in order for a woman to keep the economy
afloat... shoes... this... that and something other:
beside food, alcohol, vinyl... barber shops...
bicycle shops...
                  i'm such a primitive creature...
brothels...
           cigarettes...
                     life can be so pleasant when its
simplicity is cherished...
                   gust of wind... taking a ****...
holding onto *******... waiting for a dark alley
to do the deed... or a cubicle...
        ooze... ooze...
             furry stuff... like shaking off some sweat...
brr... that's the best estimate of what i'm thinking of...
or thinking about etymology like a "counter-argument"
against the rigid Darwinism of: history died...
because... the ape has become an impasse in
the mind of man...
               predictable whittle man...
   rigid psychologism...
                               that the expectations of predictability
are rife... well... no wonder history is sort
of... on a whim: a whimsical: maybe(?)
   what with the journalistic insomnia...
with no Sabbath... Monday... Monday...
nothing ever happens on a Monday - in newspapers...
the slimmest editions...
   - and it is a sunny day... and it is windy...
perfecto! now to the barber shop  to the Turk
for a trim of the beard & moustache...
   & more whiskey...
measured drinking tonight...
     but... tomorrow: tomorrow... after i finish at 1am
and probably get some around 4am...
an **** of drinking...
             last time i heard only the central and victoria
lines were striking their nightshifts...
so i'll be good to go using the jubilee to get back to
Stratford and buckle into snooze
on the N86 back to Romford...
          buzzing... priming myself for a knockout...
life: has oddly become, once more...
quintessentially bearable... i feel rejuvenated like
a child; looking at other people in the public square...
i think that's rare.