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May 12
https://tinyurl.com/y2wh9v4n

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...

                        2 days later i've come out of the trance.
Mateuš Conrad
Written by
Mateuš Conrad  36/M/Essex (England)
(36/M/Essex (England))   
56
   Ken Pepiton
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