did i mention that it was really important for me
to be in a bicycle accident: head split open...
bleeding... plum tattoo bruises on legs...
scabs from skin brushing on concrete on my arms...
boiling crescent crimsons (or rather sort of...) -
less crescents and more Cyprus shaped details...
simply because...
    there needed to be a reality check after i had
my *******...
           a ******* unlike anything in *******...
simply because i needed to see their faces
so i couldn't be used as a tool...
    an Isaiah who was cut in half at the torso...
or anyone that was ever pulled apart in half by
four horses...
            it really did require enough lubrication
and the simulation of ***...
                       via a hand-job... snuggling into her
collarbone and up into her neck and nose
teasing her ear sort of way...
                       while the other one: boisterous
                                                and rather annoying
all duck-lipped fake was only given the *******
to tease and in the end served with her ******* as
imitation ****** to be squirted into...
                               but i needed that bicycle accident
to compensate for the unreality of a *******...
as i lay in bed today contemplating
    fluorescent darkness...
        hand extended toward the ceiling: palm facing
me with the pretty fours of knuckle(s)
                 a quick blink... there!
   fluorescent darkness... the form of the hand imprinted
into the depths of closed eyes...
quickly open... close! there! the fluorescent darkness
imprint of the form of the hand...
    
- (yes, the hyphen can act as a topic breaker,
i can become as fickle as a woman
    in that regard, whichever way the wind
blows)
               Tyskie... although i used to be
a Warka Strong fan... i was even a Żywiec
fan... but i'm settling on Tyskie:
truly, nothing better than a cold cold beer
come noon...
                  still hangover...

and no! i will not do one of these genetic tests
to dabble in my ancestry...
    i heard someone say: whatever you're
attracted to culturally... that's where you're from...

for all the barbarism of the Vikings...
they still treasured poetry...
i can be in my odd proportions: at outlier...
but i can still appreciate art...
        i can't be this stereotypical WASP
(white anglo-saxon protestant) **** and
be into sports... thick-skulled money money money...
neither rich: nor poor... happily minding
my own business...
   if Walt Whitman could sign praises for himself
then... **** it... i'll sing my own praises!

Helvegen...
    St. Cyril and St. Methodius did a really **** poor
job of incorporating the Glagolitic script into
Greek... i look at the Cyrillic script and think:
mein gott! what a monstrosity!

Ⰿ - m:eta
            Ⱁ - o:ko
   Ⱄ - s:ow
                
              to choose but a trident of examples...

Matthew's quill... or... harmonica...
or... a reed of grass split in two and breathed through
to create a musical instrument...
wild grass that is... very much unlike a grasshopper...
but at the same time:
memories of cockchafers in the summer months...
catching them in darkness and putting them
under girls' t-shirts...

throwing marbles into dug holes as a game...
the genocide of mosquitos and their
exponential libido...
    or... for that matter: the exponential libido
of all insects and sea-bound larvae...
the monstrosity of all this abundance of
the variety of life...
                    this funnel of existence of almost
everything while above:
the heavenly aura of blue... and beyond that...
the deafening void
   and within that deafening void an implosion
of reality and the discovery of anti-matter...

- most certainly... two things were absolutely
necessary... that ******* (where i wasn't a tool,
and elevated the hand-job)
and the bicycle accident...
now i see fluorescent darkness of forms...
quickly! upon waking... with a humid sun
and humid air... with the blinds of the bedroom
drawn shut...
                  hand extended toward the ceiling...
all fingers and knuckles exposed...
focus on the hand... eyes closed!
  there! the fluorescent imprint of the hand
in darkness... the form of the hand being
fluorescent!

Matthew's quill?
   you can perform the most menial tasks...
Will Alexander is the pristine example...
    you can have the most menial of jobs...
stewarding mass events...
   yet at the same time practice escapism
within the "confines" of art...
          a bit like Heidegger's hammer,
i.e. two labourers hammering in nails talking
about philosophy...
   yet... and yet! it's so rare to find!
so rare to summon!

    because i love the body (exertions)
as much as the mandible-ness of the mind...
language is neither formal or informal:
it's what i want to make of it...
             however idiosyncratic or however
atypical beginning with a dear sir / madam...

more head traumas... give me 20 more years
of drinking before i switch to hallucinogenic
fungus!
before a mushroom mush hijacks my brain
like the mushroom cloud hijacked
and made Oppenheimer take his ego-trip
into reciting the Upanishads...

               now i've become all that is necessary
to be considered alive...
while retaining the drowning vacuum of
res vanus in my 'ed...
       no narrative except what trickles down
onto paper, into encoded sounds...
   that will never capture the lettering of
the sound a crow makes when crackling
a rattle of imitating the burning of wood...

ah... how dreams are spawned...
this grand architecture of the labyrinths of sleep...
how we capture light and project it
into nothing... and prove: mortality will
not salvage the inevitable path toward
a pressing end...
   the silence of the dead and the silence
of the passing...
    even with the immortal hammer of
                      the pillars of humanity that were names
akin to Alexander, Xerxes...
our fickle demands and our daydreams...
  
  we're to be forever elsewhere...
      forever as such never "here"...
an existential gallery...
                   i fear this will be the best we will
ever receive: whether bound to a heaven
or to a hell: this intermediate nuance of what's vivo per se:
i fear eternity will be a case of:
vivo in vitro.... life inside glass...
a sick joke-aside from what could possibly qualify
as genuine laughter...
if we can't laugh now... i'm afraid we won't
be able to ever laugh again...

consecrate the tree against a canvas of blue
and clots of clouds...
ghoulish bundles of cauliflowers thinning out
into a jellyfish expanse...