knackered... absolutely knackered... i wish i did yesterday's shift at the London stadium... i've built up an implosive furore with the crowd... i just look at them: hmm... look pretty excited but at the same time content...
i can't believe it... since starting this... rather menial job... i've been referencing it like mad... i really shouldn't... i remember days when i was sitting in my ivory tower touching on subjects like the Katakana... with so much free time on my hands i'd explore... i'd try something akin to Miroslav Holub... in all earnest? i was never much of a poetry reader... but if i were to compare Miroslav Holub with another Czech: a Milan Kundera... well... Kundera "stole" my youth... Holub cemented my early adulthood...
i'm sort of envious that i don't write like him... you're almost always envious of the people who don't have much of a readership... i could never be envious of Stephen King... he figured out a method... a structure... mind you: i never read a single Stephen King book... not that i'm being pretentious... i just didn't feel the need to read him... the whole horror genre is... limited for me... horror needs to be visual... i can't be scared of text... via my imagination... it's different, though... i once had an ******* reading some Marquis de Sade... which might tell you a lot...
i'm writing about work that i think is... not really work... so what did i do with my day off? i ****** off on my bicycle for about 4 hours... yes... i know... 60+ kilometres in 4 hours is not good enough... but i did stop off to drink a bottle of cider and buy some Turkish bread for this greedy dish... 400g of beef can disappear in one sitting when shared between three people...
i'm pretty sure surgeons don't write about their work... but this Czech immunologist somehow did... maybe that's why he's so under-read... he was an immunologist foremost... it's almost as if people don't take his poetry seriously because of that... but either him or Kundera... the former...
i don't even think i'm working: oh... i'm pretty sure i was working when working as a roofer... manual labour can do a work of miracles... at least you don't need to become a gym hamster... bunny... whatever you want to call it... all that physical potential... wasted on... treadmills... if at least those treadmill runners could be the ones that generate energy... that's stored... like a watermill... you know... generate enough energy to power the lighting in the gym... maybe someone should invent a treadmill that allows these people exercising to do something useful...
60+km in 4h... it's not good... but then again i did cycle into central London... past the houses of Parliament... May 1st... so a lot of the ****** protests... but pretty tame... traffic lights... terrible traffic... i could have probably put in an extra 20km in those four hours if i cycled out of London... but i'm a curious creature... plus... i said to myself... nature... or... "nature": yes... i want to cycle into central London to look at some girls... where's the best place to spot some girls? Brick Lane... Oxford Street...
imagine my disbelief... there aren't that many... that might attract your attention... i tried... didn't find any... well i did find the opposite ***... but... there was nothing curious about any of them... they all looked like tourists... i hate tourists... well... i don't hate tourists... only today i was speaking to this Danish guy... who found the English very friendly... which probably implies that he wasn't talking to an English man... because: i'm sure as **** am not one...
but i did cycle into central London to look at some ***... eh... it's sometimes worth it... but all the under-read poets are the ones i am most jealous of... such style... such grace... don't even mention... Maya Angelou to me... please don't... i've been keeping a KLEX... in my **** for an entire day...
what's a KLEX?! it's a ****... with remnants of a ****... that... when properly treated... when having sat down on the throne of thrones... explodes into an "******" of untangled intestines that also gives you an *******... woke up in the morning... had a ****'s play in three parts... the 4th part... i kept for the entire day... the KLEX... of my god... the glorious agony of walking home from Romford station... trying to **** in the far with the ****... meditating on torso muscles... is this what **** *** feels like? you get the shivers? the sweats? the agony... i've already emptied myself in the morning... all i have is a **** and some shotgun **** in me... **** ******* it in... it's trying to get out! **** ******* it in! it's trying to get out! i get home... haplessly undress... take my socks off... sit on the toilet... BOOM!
i just dropped one on Hiroshima... because it's unlike the slithering sensation of a serpent when it feels... really smooth... when you've eaten the right sort of food and it has become properly digested and... i've kept this one hidden for an entire day... if my **** had a tongue, while walking... it felt like licking ice... can you imagine?
mein gott... the relief... better than ***... for a while i was of the mindset... **** it... pull down your trousers... you have tissues in your pocket... crouch... on a piece of grass and do your ****... no no... the agony first... walking just agitated the **** more... more agony... wait for the release...
- seriously though? why would i even entertain some some high-brow topics?! the time's not right... i have cat peacefully sleeping in my bed... i have a ******* sending me selfies of herself indicating she misses me...
one thing amazed me today... i've found out about this already, from my grandmother... she liked watching me eat... fair enough: because i ate as someone who, in the words of Socrates: ate to live... rather than live to eat...
after coming back from the Putney Bridge shift... i only had a bagel with scrambled eggs and some bacon for breakfast... wolf! fenrir! i sometimes "misplace" actual hunger for ****** desire... all of a sudden... no... these are not beer goggles... they're hunger goggles... every woman is attractive... in my head i sometimes do a few revisions: like my grandfather used to say... no woman is unattractive... some are just neglected...
oh so ******* true... no woman is unattractive... some are just neglected... that's so ******* true... i get hungry... i get tired... i become ***** as... don't know.. my face becomes the following: my mouth becomes the eye of a Cyclops... while my eyes become two mouths of Orthrus...
but that's what's something amazing when eating alone in public... you bring your household habits into the fore... for everyone to see... you're not eating with your mouth open... you're not watching anything beside the food... you wipe your mouth and finger generously...
the look on the chicken shack "restaurant" personnel... before and after... what did i order? the classical box... two pieces of chicken... fries... can i eat in? sure you can... i'm not into processed burger fillets... i need...
ich bedarf knochen mit "mein" huhn! i need nones with "my" chicken!
lightened faces... once they saw me dissect that chicken thigh and leg... KNIRSCHEN... i.e. CRUNCH... hmm... some bones... cartilage? no... bone... knorpel oder knochen?! does it even ******* matter?! let's eat...
it's when i started biting into the bone marrow... of the chicken legs... no... i wasn't wasting any of it... none of this is waste... hands shaking... i wish i was drunk... i was just hungry... it's as if Eid passed me by without the proper sort of impromptu to stop... i might as well licked my finger tips... but the look on those guys behind the counter serving this chicken... yes, me too... i'm glad you washed your hands... before serving me this dish...
why did my grandmother find it important to find me in that "80 to 20%" attractive eating something? maybe it's the Socratic methodology... i eat to live... i don't live to eat...
this isn't work... this is a joke of work... work sets you free: arbeit macht frei: conjured up like sometimes from an ancient textbook... since no conjunctions... since no pronouns... sometimes from a: how Latin used to be spoken.. maybe the ancient Latins did use pronouns and conjunctions... but... didn't... when writing?!
i only do it to get out out the house... you start cleaning the chicken bones from all the muscle... then you bite into the marrow... obviously the chicken shop owners will look at at you with a degree of glee... look! he didn't waste anytthing! just the potato chips!
i need sleep... beste zu schlafen: mal als sie ar...
eis ist nein schnee! licht ist nein farbe! mann ist nein affe!