now i know my problem... with this security gig...
the complete ******* attire...
this clip on tie... this shirt...
these well ironed trousers... these well polished shoes...
i feel claustrophobic at times...
at other times i feel like a dog barking
relentlessly... trying to bite ay my aorta
or at least the leash of my bark... the larynx...
i'm suffocating: sedated into a region of a schoolboy's error...
but when i'm truly in my element...
like tonight... cycling for some whiskey...
coming back...
  i'll have to employ some Cyrillic...
   some *******:
        цыкoр... which i later learned was a ******
Mercedes-Benz... scared to take me over...
so i started shouting: цыкoр! цыкoр!
  i heard a dog barking so i started barking... RAF! RAF!
i hate drivers somehow "intimated" by cyclists in the night...
oh... but what more was to come...
all the way through Chase Cross Road...
****** was stalling passing me by...
but... oh my god... after barking and shouting:
overtake me ******! overtake me! ******!
the pièce de résistance came downhill
  on Faircross Avenue...
   i wish i had music playing to this manoeuvre...
most probably something by Godmack:
   keep away... i stand alone...
       so she shouts at me... obviously i can't see her...
she shouts at me... 'get some lights!'...
oh *****... *****...
i've just had enough of a nervous driver scared
to overtake me... i have those ******* reflector attachments
anyway...
*****... no no... i'm not in the mood...
so i start to peddle harder... and harder... i pass her by...
fat ****... wearing glasses... so i shout back:
get a better pair of eyes!
   overtaking her i look back i shove a middle
finger into her face: i hope she sees it...
i swerve right and then back left into the cul de sac
and disappear without really giving a **** about
any oncoming traffic: since i'm so pumped up with
rage... for refreshed by it... i just want to grab
something and strangle it...
    i wish it was a serpent...
but no...i want to wrestle a monkey...
i want to wrestle a tiger...
          i want to box a ****** woman driver:
give her face some plum hues...
             i like this energy... esp. if i can transfer
it onto a page: pacify it by writing...
ooh... it's so invigorating...
                 it's a second lease on life!
*****... you were chasing the wrong sort of bunny...
this bunny is going to overtake you...
holler back an insult and more... show
you the ******* if not three:
index middle and ring to ask you:
to read between the lines...
     ******* myopic little ****...
there are ******* speed-bumps on Faircross Avenue...
it's downhill... cars parked either side...
******* aquarium eyes!
  get a better set! or tell your father he shouldn't
have bred!
    - but... i'm such a nice guy when better
attired... with a well ironed shirt... ironed trousers...
polished shoes... but catch me in my element...
while cycling... when i exerting
my entire body... when...
all that testosterone is banked...
and i have no children to think of...
       i become a literal monster...
           i become a dog...
   a rabid one at that... and... to be honest?
i kind of like it...
                              i love that i can store so much
masculine energy and then: release it...
over a little whim... esp. if provoked by a woman...
then i go back to the canvas and:
relieve myself... cool down...
    it's the zenith and the plateau dynamic...
there's no nadir...
             there's just this...
                  i'm perfectly alright cycling in the gutter...
but when someone hollers at me...
for not having lights...
*******... i'm going to cycle up to them
and throw them an insult back:
esp. if they're a woman wearing glasses...
if she can be allowed to tell me what she thinks...
i can tell her what she thinks...
the playground eras to come...
no no... none of this Godfather patriarchal
******* of men defending their women...
that's ******* done and dusted with...
       open terrain... open season...
oculus per oculus: eye for an eye...
  love it... old testament style dynamics...
         i'm literally a demon when it comes to cycling
in traffic... but this ***** was taking a ****...
i had to overtake her... shout... bark an insult
back at her... show her the *******...
then again... myopic little **** probably didn't
see it... ******* 4-eyes...
   d'uh d'uh dummy dumb dumb...
                      but i'm such a nice boy when doing
other work... i can be so nice...
   no... no when i'm cycling... it's a bit like...
look up! at what? when running...
   what the **** am i supposed to look up at?!
you already see me... why do i need extra
blink blink... ******* extra blink blink blink:
you stupid **** of a human being?!
you watched too much ******* tick-tock
or something? you're still on blink blink...
blink blink mode?!
you counter clustered with...
  epileptic inhibitions, or something?! sorry... say what?
i'm sort of going deaf via your: blah blah...
blah blah... blah... blah blah... blah...
eh?
      whisper them... whisper them...
the proper mentality...
   and everything else will follow suite...
no no... no maxims... no aphorisms...
that used to work... when it was... the 19th century...
whisper... a mindset...
      that enough... not much can be said
beyond that;
unless... you want a bucket of ice-cream..
    you sure... next time i'm at Wembley we could sort of
try out whether you can or cannot...
that's almost like saying:
you want a punch in the face?
oh my god... if i were this hyped-up
when attired...
          in all that "sabotage" *******...
     i really don't have a hard-on for myself  but...
you get these nerdy girls driving their cars.....
shouting *******... from...
  n'ah mate... you ******* cycle up to them and
shout back... show them the three fingers:
read between the lines...
        no *****... no... no... hope you get *****
by a Muslim Grooming Gang!
and that's that... my Pontius Pilate... **** this ****.