two crushing days, Atlas must have taken a break and dropped the entire earth on my shoulders... or rather: my stomach...
burnout! completely lost my bearings... or i copped out... whichever it was... i guess all those poets in China who wrote haikus didn't have such problems... they'd drink for a month before sitting down to write the bare minimum...
i mean: i'm not a novelist! i'm not built for fiction!
at the same time what exhausted me was finding out that i can actually sing in a Mongolian fashion... three nights ago i sat there disappointed with myself... or rather... i was doing some housework... drank a little of my mother's gin... poured some water into the bottle...
i'm pretty sure it was water! i'm certain of it! because i sipped some of it prior... so what, the % went down from 37.5 to 35%... but i get called in the evening when she's about to have her drink... my father shows me the bottle... there's oil floating on top... body lotion oil...
and i get all defensive: because i know this tactic: it's regression... it's implanting false memories into someone's head: some sadistic psychiatrists do this... i know what the psychological "game" is...
so i tell them... i can separate these two substances... father exclaims! do you not know anything about chemistry?! basically: you're stupid...
oh sure... i keep my mouth shut... but i'm devastated... he so easily insults me when it's "necessary"... well: he can be a ******* but he still has some hidden bitterness over the fact that his mother abandoned him, his father abandoned him and he was raised by his grandmother and her second husband: so not even his grandfather...
i'm not a push over either... but certain things at certain times just crush a man... it doesn't have to be a massive rock... stress at work... it's always the little unexpected thing: and it's not even external... its whimsical and within... it arises just as well as an ingenious thought...
2 days in bed... strapped to it... lethargy... a general unwilligness to see either sun, moon or stars... or people... because i have studied chemistry... to a degree level... i know you can separate oil from alcohol... esp. since we're talking alcohol and not water... not... completely... but to a good degree...
which i did: took an empty ketchup bottle... petite?! no no, i forget the names of equipment sometimes... since i don't use them... poured the bottle of gin into a bowl... and watched... probably the best movie i've seen in years... there's that joke about watching paint dry... this one was better...
watch oil float on top of alcohol and... i'm good with words... but i don't want to describe what i saw... i did feel like a warlock looking into a cauldron... an alchemist... at first there are these bubbles of oil... that are below the surface level... then... all of a sudden they start to join up... creating these surface level contact lenses...
i mean... until the whole thing comes together... it's the best thing i've seen in a long time and i'm planning to see the Walter Stickert exhibition at Tate Britain in the near future...
but i used this empty bottle of ketchup like an inverted dripper... i pressed the bottle.... to get all the air out... and ****** up the oil...
almost like that... ****'s sake... chemistry at university level and yet the fondest memory of a chemistry experiment was from high school... the even horizon of synthesising polyester... a bit like this... two liquids... and you'd have to pinch the event horizon and strands of white polyester would "magically" reveal themselves...
so i ****** most of the oil from the top of the gin... eh... a little bit of oil... well obviously i'm not going to empty this gin into the sink... don't be silly... i once heard that a good breakfast is a cup of black coffee with some melted butter in it... sugar... yeah... tried it... disgusting!
so i started drinking this gin... and... melancholy... sadness... something was stirring in me... i was already exhausted from working with a kango into the garden... 30kg... i mean... it's not an easy tool to work with if you don't have an upper body stamina...
not that i don't... and a 7K+ poem spread over 5 days will always disappoint you... now i have to train myself: a poem in one sitting... remember: the Japanese circular form... ensoo... one sitting... not ******* trying to be a novelist...
i can't go back to something i already started... either in one go: or no go... at all..
in the night it came... Asia... she came in the night... Azja... from history: the Golden Horde... the great Khanate did knock on the doors of Europe... it stopped around Poland... ******-lack-land... King John: Lackland... same ****... different cover... how the king lost the Angevin Empire... eh... ****** noblemen and that silly idea of an elected monarchy: foreign rulers... the ***** of European monarchs... that's what the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was...
but she came... and i truly don't remember hearing this music before... i was sitting there... drinking my gin... and...
the khoomei... Tuvan throat singing... i can't say: like a professional singer... but... it was... Mongolian... where did i learn the technique? it's almost as if your nose disappears... best with vowels... the least amount of consonants... there are some... but... i wouldn't be surprised if i have some Mongolian ancestry...
i'm not even going to get a DNA check... i heard once... what you're interested in... is where you come from... but i wasn't expecting to break into a Mongolian throat singing...
it felt a bit like that sketch from Family Guy... when Peter first farts... maybe that's why i was bed ridden for the past two days... old history woke up in me and crushed me... i started to look for this type of sound...
but because my voice is a bit deeper than the above given example... where did this khoomei come from?! what ancient darkness is stirring in me? how did this technique just come out of me? the wind heard it, carried it away...
maybe for all that's Europe's implosion: i'd love to meet Douglas Murray... if there's any intellectual alive today: he's probably my most respected example... even though: i much prefer listening to him talk than actually read him...
but i'm sitting here... bewildered... surely you need to be taught to sing like a Mongolian... unless of course... well: the famous Hejnał Mariacki - St. Mary's Trumpet Call... a story about how a trumpeter was running up the stairs of St. Mary's of Cracow and was shot in the neck by a Mongolian arrow...
stated each noon... or... however often... i was born only 3 hours' bus journey north of Cracow: i still don't accept Warsaw as the capital... what are the chances that... one of my ancestors wasn't ***** by a Mongolian?!
i've seen it in real life... i used to date a half Indian girl... lovely girl... she married a white guy: i guess that tends to happen... women of mixed-race heritage will choose the race of their father rather than their mother... 2nd generation in? her daughters?! god bless her... she didn't catch on... when i said that on her fifth she had the saddest expression on her face... she responded: well you don't have any children!
i didn't mean it in that way... Henry VIII's complex... five daughters, i.e. no sons... must be frog season... i mean: esp. since she had two younger brothers... a bit ******... no? just being able to pop out daughters and having no ***-diversity like having a son... must be frustrating... but obviously i didn't tell her that: because she didn't figure it out in the first place: what i was implying...
but 2nd generation in and... you couldn't tell if these five girls had a half Indian mother... they were... ahem... bleached! so... it only takes about 2 generations' worth of ******* for the race "balance" to return: so... we don't somehow end up looking like a globalist neo-Brazil or H'arab Central... coppernecks and all...
- because isn't diversity our strength?! last time i heard, that was the message... it's good to see black people, asian people... eskimos... mongols... every single ****** time: i go back and visit Poland... usually to "smuggle" cheap cigarettes since... now that my grandfather is dead... and my grandmother didn't tell me about his deteriorating health only two days prior to his death: while he was struggling for a month and i could have went and helped out...
n'ah... i have no ties with that country... excepted some fixations in my head... historical narratives... but... everything else is gone... plus i write in English predominantly... so... go figure...
every time i go back... nausea hits me... it's so... monochromatic... homogenous... wow! i don't feel unique: i don't feel like a minority like i do back in England... i can't pretend to be a German whenever a Muslim asks me / insinuates that i might be!
wow! two generations... before the bleach kicks in and a half Indian girl is popping out blue eyed girls... obviously the same is true for... the chocalatier department...
but i wasn't expecting to be singing: in that sort of way... i'm truly bewildered...
hell... with my deep voice... it was more of a kargyraa (каргыраа)! which implies that it was of a lower pitch... but i felt so down in that moment... and perhaps i needed to be comforted by the ghosts of my ancestry... which just so happen to have come from Mongolia... but like i already said: 2 generations and you wouldn't even know if you had any Asiatic blood in you...
you have to start looking somewhere... and if it just comes out spontaneously... without any restrictions... you must be the designated inheritor of what sometimes passes off as sleeping... i don't need to do a DNA test... no one taught me the Kargyraa... or the Khoomei... and from what i can remember... it's not easy...
you enter into a trance... like a Sufi dervish might while spinning... mix that with a little bit of alcohol... i forgot how long i sat there while the night listened to me...