1 + 1 = 2
or 1 + a = 1a

a bit like my idea of: unconscious spatial coordination...
and at the time time my idea of unconscious
temporal coordination, after all... given enough
time and enough space: the two seem to merge...
ergo? e = mc²
     funny that... that's "almost" like the acronym of
my legal name... eschlert = matthew x conrad squared...
i've waited for this cigarette for an entire day...
i'm disappointing my high from the nicotine rush
by jumping right into typing...
    obviously i'm meticulous since i'm not some
lazy Bukowski... and i'm not allowing myself
to cling to chicken-scratching hand-writing akin
to a Samuel  Beckett...
            Nietzsche perhaps walked a lot...
i walked a lot too... from Havering Country Park
through Hainault Forest... a nice round-up
of the Essex countryside... but that was never to be
enough...
i needed to elevated thinking to be outside
the realm of maxims... aphorisms...
i always abhorred that style of writing...
Ovid's or Horace's cascades of narrative...
   oh to hell with the theatre of Shakespeare!
      if you're going to go "big": might as well learn
from the old...
i was getting my haircut today
in between doing some landscaping
using a 55kg wacker... well... compared to
a kango... breaking up concrete...
i was spreading butter (sand) with a butter-knife
(the wacker) on butter and toast...
but my "barber" was being harsh with me...
why was she so rough?
i could feel every scratch of the blades...
she employs a girl... a Mikaela... a Mikey...
i abhor how the English shorten beautiful sounding
names into forms of ugliness...
the meaning is lost: who resembles god?
i type in what i transcript: Michkalia? 29 results
from google...
now i couple that name with... hey presto!
Michkalia kaltnacht...
that's a googlewhack...

             ich bin ein: nein... nicht übermensch...
mich?! ich bin ein: allmann!
that's what i am... i found that i had nothing
to overcome... i had to superpowers...
there was nothing to overcome...
apart from... the English gimmick of:
a jack of all trades yet a master of none...
no...

i'm not work-shy... but i too can have bouts of
having to deflate my original energies of intent...
lie in bed for a day... experience a break
from drinking... deflate my former carousel
****** of the *****...
   but i'm not idle... like a Somali...
          i take interest in literature...
i take interest in art... in music...
    i did my science bit by studying chemistry to
a bachelor's level... now this...
crowd safety... trying to spot a Manchester Arena
bomber... frequenter of the brothel...

poetry... sure... heavy equipment tools...
the kango... the wacker...
i even managed to gallop on a horse in Poland's
pine forests... didn't break a neck...
bit a hoof...
               cinema used to be fun once...
i was a big cinema nerd once...
i used to be a big music nerd too...
    now... eh... whatever i find i keep to myself...

scientific news bores me...
    etymology is more interesting than history
per se... weird...
so why did this haircut feel like i was being scalped?!
well... she employs this poor girl that has no
technique in cutting hair... she's still on base 1
merely washing people's hair...
glasses... like... i'm thinking...
   thinking... should i invest in an aquarium...
and replace the television with it?!
i'd love to be with a woman that
would rather have an aquarium with a load
of pretty fish than own a television...
we'd drink... try other drugs and get ****** into
Poseidon's trident of eyes...

but i also know how this works...
i'm throwing away a fiction... in the hope that...
someone might experience what... i will not...
i know where i am...

i follow the tennis... pretty much all the celebrated
sports ex Europa...
     i don't follow who's richer than who...
i try to follow who's going to be the prima ballerina
at whatever ballet is being staged...

i'm not willing to overcome myself...
Nietzsche was a sickly creature... i too have had my bouts
of sickness...
    it's not hard to see... the retaliation against
the inherent nature and the lottery...
      the arguments of elevated intellect in a way
that might have salvaged his life from
the onslaught of the: Darwinists in practice...
the Nazis...
                    science observes... doesn't interfere...
well... these were the prototypes of scientists
and what happened since?
   the scientist re-emerged as an anti-scientist
in the form of the social-engineer... no?!

            we're not experiencing neo-****** trends?!
of "late"? it's such a casual term... "social-engineering"...
that's why i like the complicated constipation
of Heidegger's lingo...
        people always have "ideas"... one idea tramples
another "idea"...
   but... ha ha...
           the ****-test?! narrative...
                              the narrativ!
                       people with the supposedly "best" ideas
are usually poly-phrenic...
   try out a bilingual in the form of a schizophrenic...
or? try a schizophrenic in a bilingual form...
              these supposed "great ideas" are nibbles
readied with the impression of: so many people...
let's trickle x = 0.001  
          into y = 1000
                       and get the z = 1000000...
                     or 0.000001...
                   binary... oops...
in terms of mathematics there was either a yes or a no...
a 1 or a 0... a + or a -...
the rest? it's not mathematics... architecture...
it's geography...
                   not exactly a levelled reading ground
since... there's as many evens as there are odds...
but only 5 vowels and 21 consonants...

ha ha: 0.23809523809 concern?!
3 results...
         0.23809523809 quest5
     2 results...
ha ha...

  0.23809523809 szasz... 1 result...
Recollections of A Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy:
The Case of "Prisoner K"

so she's shaving my head like mad... i'm sort of getting
bruised and i'm starting to think...
that girl of hers' that washing the customers'
hair... she's fancying someone...
i always close my eyes and pretend to be a vampire
when sitting before a mirror
in a barber shop... or a hair salon...
whichever...
                             i get asked the sort of questions
that most female hair-dressers don't ask
female customers... first-date questions...
oh... so what are you interested in?
cycling... your mother said you cycled to Southend...
oh no no... Canvey Island... just Canvey Island...
how far was that? 26miles there... 26 miles back...
you're part of any bicycle group?
no... cycling is the only passion i managed to
take from my youth and attach a 36 year old's
face to it...
            i'm not even as concrete as i am when i come
to cycling...
   how many bicycles do you own?
this Trek mounting bike...
                    cost me £500... i over-pumped the tyres...
kept ***.... k...ing... i really don't have fond
memories of reading Zen & the Art of Motorcycle
Maintenance... Diaries... whatever the hell that was...
sure... it must have been a popular book...
but i read it like a chore...

   like i once said to two drinkers outside of a pub
i was evicted from via false-allegations for
throwing a pint across the floor:
Birmingham? eh? any river in Birmingham?!
well... no river... no flow...
     i.e.: coming together... glue... blah blah...

women can talk just talk their chirpy vanilla ice small
town small talk...
i get a haircut i get ******* interrogated by the
KGB... CIA... NSA... anything with a ******...
i overhear... oh man...
you better listen... women are so bored of
talking to women...
women are so bored of being polite to women...
there's no: suspense: THRILLER! OOH!
wild-money-eyes! OOH!
             this ******* gimmick is going to die a sudden
death and i know because:
oi oi... first date with... i'd love to be 18 again...
i'm 36... ooh... ****... i'm turning into an oyster...
my heart is turning into an oyster...
no no...
               time to test the mallet on some stones...

it's not a lack of focus... Good Will Hunting...
genius that and the other... but how splendorous
does love, ahem... "love" bites back...

right... because that's how the ******* soap
opera narrative stereotype goes, like... so...
a roofer... educated in chemistry...
now turned crowd safety steward at large
public events...
starts dating a girl who... washes the hair
of the clientele...
and sweeps up the "lost hair"...
without cutting it...
         it's London... there's the tube...
the boy has no driving license...
he'd rather cycle to a Walter Sickert
exhibition than take the tube...

                  we're talking banana boat "migrants"
of: *** in a woman that's merely 10 years
my junior and... i'm... ******* tired of
correcting myself on references...
no... i'm not Manhattan savvy... oh... right...
make... concession...
like that one concession i was asked
by my first girlfriend:
quote: i just want someone to sit with me
and watch the news with, on the t.v....

   sure... and i just, sort of, feel, like...
pulling my teeth out without any anaesthetic;
you want to sit and look at that?!

i actually though i'd find relief in a brothel...
**** me... no relief in the brothel!
she bailed... didn't block me... like some...
ginger... cougar... oomph...
   fair enough... i gave her boy some pointers...
drop the Spanish... take up German...
but i thought i could secure something
in the brothel... something reminiscent
of being my uncle and in the prime of youth
in the 1980s...

             ah: ha ha... yeah... maybe...
the i.q. equivalence of: system of a down?!
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   my unwilligness.....
to somehow... to somehow: have to die...
that, it is..... the Thames...
is confusing... not being a Firth of the Forth...
just bite but bite:
just bite...
         petra a saxum...
                
         a grain of sorrow of salt alternatively
supposing "some" sand...
      ventus per gestus...