i can't remember the last time i had so much fun with music, i put it down to recently seeing them live... and **** me, on both days they played the London Stadium and having such an arsenal of songs they would play two different set-lists... honest to god, i've never had so much fun with music than i'm currently experiencing with the Red Hot Chilli Peppers... perhaps it's not that i saw them live recently... i also attribute seeing them 20 years ago back in 2002 at the now non-existent London Arena in the Docklands... i should have ditched the guitar and picked up a drum-kit... i just can't stop drumming on my leg... grooving with my shoulders and imitating a pigeon walking: which is not exactly head-banging...
there's only one thing greater than cycling... well: i don't mind not going at the speeds of a motorcycle - there's this book: i found it... laborious... in all honesty... i don't understand the fame behind it... Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance... like i side: a very laborious book... i'd probably rewrite it as Tao and the Art of Bicycle Usage...
in between talking to a newly acquired "friend" in the Arab world who opened up a conversation with me the word FAKE... i replied: HAREM and ختان (khitan) - circumcision... like in Hindu: the H is a surd... i guess that's how the Tetragrammaton structures itself around those tongues...
i prayed for a day like today... it was truly amazing... i rarely get into arguments with motorists... you could ask any van driver in central London... i love van drivers: apparently a car has to pass a cyclist in a range of 1.5 metres... van drivers? they're like: **** it... i'm not driving a tank... he'll be alright... and they're not shy either... they don't stalk you on the rear faking eyesight: pristine spatial-awareness...
fair enough... this one time i was cycling from the supermarket in the night months of late winter and this guy slows down and asks me the question: - where are you lights? - what lights? - exactly...
i should have hollered back: thanks dad... lights or no light: you see me then? oh look! pedestrians! no high-viz. jackets! yeah: if it was a country-road: that would be a fair point... unless of course the street lights started blinking...
but today was spectacular: there's only one thing better than cycling: swimming on a hot day and... getting angry at motorist when cycling... ******* tourists... Sunday type drivers... careful! careful!
getting numb-nut words thrown at you: trying to impress his girlfriend... blah blah idiot blah blah that... ooh?! ******... come here! so i caught up with him and started spewing a list of profanities... i'm such an adrenaline *****: and becoming infuriated is like a caffeine-alcohol overload for me... i could swear that my iris and sclera disappear and there's only blackness in my eyes... - ******! stop the car and let's have a fight! lucky for me this happened as we passed a bus stop... by then he rolled his window up... or rather: she did... having spotted me gearing up to have an argument...
what? a bicycle is less than a motorbike? i like the idea of generating my own momentum...
but the second incident was more impressive... i'm working a shift at Wembley tomorrow... at first i was like: women playing football? but i'll just be watching them... not the football... tattoos... long hair... ooh! there's an odd Pixie short haired type i'm so into... then i was like: eh... not that bad... plus the crowd will be easier to control...
now i'm like: the lionesses have to win... i don't support the English football team... i support the male German team: don't ask me why... i was thinking about it once... the three colours of the France kit... blue shirt white shorts and red socks... the German kit would look so awesome if it imitated the flag... black shirt red shorts and yellow socks... instead? white shirt black shorts white socks... and why? the Teutonic flag... Germany should change it's flag to something akin to the crosses of Scandinavia or the flag of St. George, i.e. the inversion of the flag of Cornwall... a black cross on a white canvas... since... the colours of the football kit represent that... the Teutonic Cross...
Spanish teams and of course because of Rapahel Nadal have his word of encouragement to keep them going... bamos (i.e. vamos) there's a word in my zunge that can be used to similar effect... sometimes you just need a phonetic outlet to match-up the exertion of the body with the absence of any necessary mind...
DAWAJ - da-VAĪ... looks super-slick in Cyrillic: ДABAЙ!
at university: oh god... i wish it happened in a supermarket... i went to this one gimmick party: we were expected to attend wearing pajamas... i started talking to this one German guy and he told me he adored the word KURVA (*****) he said: there's this relief-release from uttering that word... i guess we saw it written in katakana... it just didn't make sense at the time... until only recently expressing : ДABAЙ in exasperations while peddling!
huh?! push-bike?! since when is a bicycle a push-bike? what am i pushing? sure... hoo-lie-noga: you can push a scooter... what are we even talking about? chess or brick walls?! one of those conversations at work... what push bike? what am i pushing? i'm peddling... - a peddle-bicycle sounds double weird... - thanks, but "push-bicycle" is altogether weird too: five blind men and an elephant sort of weird... that "infamous" story of rock-hard anti-Braille re-reading....
- this second incident was spectacular... the lionesses better win... i was reduced to roaring: RA! as she didn't catch my indicating... as we pulled up to the roundabout and started screaming blasphemies only men hear from women... after she finished her little rant... i caught up to her and ROARED... because? i didn't want to scream any obscenities myself: not at a girl... so i roared that mighty syllable R'AH! perhaps the syllable once shared the name of an Egyptian god: but not in these parts...
two provebs: when walking among the crows one is best to croak like them (jesli wchodzisz miedzy wrony - musisz krakac tak jak one) - which implies that if you walk among the German tribes (which includes, by extension the Anglo-Saxons) you have to speak their language like they speak their language... ergo? what am i? i'm an Anglo-Slav when it comes to any ethnicity debate... after all: Polacks have as much place in British culture as all people of the former Empire... now that empire is nothing more than the Commonwealth & games... after all: ****** spitfire pilots fought in the Battle of Britain: squadrons no. 302 & 303... there's even a placard in the catacombs of St. Paul's cathedral dedicated to their memory... which is why when come post-colonial former British empire gust of mango and banana and sugar cane wind comes flocking to these shores i find my place too...
i found it so amusing... i roared and? she roared back! ha ha! a lion to a lioness... and i thought: this be an OMEN... if i can turn this into an omen of good faith i'll have fun tomorrow... if i roar at an English girl when she's seriously having anger management issues it might just be that i might capture a little splinter of a collective imagination and turn that into a victory for the female football team tomorrow against the Fräuleins... as that story goes: about the butterfly effect... a butterfly in one place of the world can create a tornado in another place of the world... of course i'm not deluded that this has any actual effect: hypothetically-chaotic and rightly so... but if i can gear up some random girl driving in a car with a roar and she roars back... maybe that might translate into a victory of sorts... here's crossing my fingers that i'll be right come tomorrow...
II. written today
ha! apparently i was right... the lionesses won the Euros... my god... this is going to rub off so bad on the male ego of the male team... i try to avoid the argument: the team is not diverse enough... only white girls... most blonde: i never thought there were so many blondes in England until i started paying attention to female football...
i'm still not going to be convinced by club-level football: but women's international football is... d'ah BOMB... woke up at 8am... left the house at 9am having eating nothing but half of a day old croissant... next time i ate? after the match... 9:30pm... i almost felt like a Muslim during Ramadam....
coming on the train: lucky me... caught the fast one from Southend - the train that only stops at Romford and Stratford and whizzes past all the stations in between... there and back: back at 22:22pm... lucky ******... anyway... while i was going to work i realised... i have this nugget of **** still in me... but i'm nervous... i felt frozen into the chair... i tried breathing really quickly... closing my eyes... but i already knew i was constipated... this nugget of kakashka (little ****, an endearing term my former Russian girlfriend used to use for me) would stay with me for the rest of the day... nerves... about that OMEN from the previous day... i woke up today wanting to be so right! not in a way a betting man gambles on being right... a different sort of being right... on a hunch and a plethora of feelings... strapped into the chair... head pulsating... heart attack? stroke? three times as a headache... a head-numbing pulsation... memories from being a teenager... i had these three or four incidents... i would snap my teeth... releasing this numbing-electricity that pulsated from my jaw down my body into my stomach... squeezed the stomach: and i began pseudo-epileptic convulsions... in absolute agony... for months i would fall asleep in terror unable to clench my teeth... in fear of replicating this pseudo-epileptic attack... there's nothing more vivid in life than pain... it begins with an easiness of an air-head... and then that numb-aching that translates into a pulverising brain: trying to jump out of your skull... it's not a panic attack as such.... just a head-heavy top-down... at Liverpool Station i walked into the toilet and thought that vomiting would help me... mind you... i did learn the ancient Roman way of "bulimia"... at first i used ******* down the throat after i binged on food... i was so body-conscious back then... after enough practice with ms. index and mr. middle i built up an automated response of the esophagus and throat... just my luck: you can't exactly puke up half a croissant... instead? i was... an anemic seagull trying to feed my youngling with the delusion that i actually ate enough for the both of us... puke puke: yup! yup! nothing... bloodshot eyes and tears... nothing... the light-headed magnetic bulge of brain and an embarrassing forehead kept at it...
only when the shift started proper did the feeling ease and *******... lucky me... i was placed on level 1: great view of the match... and among the German fans... i thought: time to practice some Deutsche... ar du haben ein gut zeit?! eine gute zeit haben!
Jemmina popped up again... who's Jemmina? she's like Ovid's Corinna... although... she's not married and i didn't impregnate her that she might suffer from having an abortion... i was walking up to the sign-in area and this woman i work with told me: oh... she's working for me now... you know how she and Melanie had a spat... i just told her: i don't want to know... but i liked Jemmina... i kept the part where she blocked me on a messaging-service for no good reason i should know about a little ***** secret... well... if this woman is employing Jemmina... and i just dropped the words: i really like her... who knows!
the match itself? absolute brilliance... 1 nil up... and then the German equaliser... i thought: oh ****... no point having roared to hear a roar back... extra-time... first half of extra-time... nothing... and then BAM! a goal with 10 minutes to go! keep it up... keep it up... ah... the omen paid off... the lionesses won...
but the biggest caveat wasn't me roaring and filling my heart with a want for them to win... sport's sport and it's only that... there's still that hurt male-ego hanging over England... coliseum after coliseum reinvented and revisited: Rome the meteor and these grand rising craters in the ground... even with the crucifixion the joint conspiracy of the Greeks and Hebrews could never make this script as extinct as that of the Cuneiform of the Babylonians... it's already meshed up with the digital footprints of ghost-robots and robot-men...
but like i already mentioned: the best caveat came when i finally decided to feed the beast... walked into a Subway... i thought: i've had enough of this deep-fried chicken... burgers... i need something wholesome... a sandwich will do just fine... came to the order... a fine Italian loaf... turkey *******... on the conveyor belt came to the guy who was dishing out the sauces and vegetables... people prior to me were so picky with the vegetables... four Spanish girls chose as little as tomatoes and iceberg lettuce... a few others chose even less... this has always been my experience in a Subway... i don't understand the ad gimmick where people are picky about what vegetables are put in their sandwiches... and the guys on the conveyor belt of making sandwitches are usually Hindus... so when he asked me, which vegetables? ALL OF THEM... a flash of happiness in his eyes... all of them? yeah... all of them... low fat mayo and that sticky onion sauce too... ****... no black olives... never mind (i thought)... mash-up grub in a 6incher...
once you have been fasting for almost 10 hours... oh man... it's like Socrates said: some people eat to live... while others live to eat... i have absolutely no problem eating alone in public... i've heard from those closest to me that i eat with such finger-licking poise... as i sat down two children sat either sat beside me and enjoyed their own food... and always: always have a napkin ready... let's face it... no need for leftover sauce or crumbs... on or around your lips in your beard and moustache...
but that was the biggest the joy that came from today... all the vegetables i said: all the vegetables?! he replied... yeah... all the vegetables... what a wholesome little treat... eating my sandwich with two children sitting either side of me eating likewise...
like animals akin to like children: as much as i dream up the companionship of women... i'm more wholesome around animals and children... i feel a sense of gravity that's unlike gravity... they're not my own: but, do they have to be?! it's enough that i had to deal with a bunch of Germans wanting to buy me a beer in order that i might support their team... got patted on the shoulder by.... the crowd was mixed... no segregation line... when i was first "initiated" / naturalized into the British society i refused to sing the national anthem... now? i murmur it... i'm not confused: i'm just conflating... i'm sniffing the death of a queen... eyeing up the next king... and there are two in waiting... hell! there are three!
the 2nd Elizabethean Age is coming to an end and i'm gleefully asking for the best of the best clocks of Zurich... no death of a Pope will be so profound... the closure of the 20th century: moving toward a newer, braver, world...
perhaps the Chinese reinvented themselves by abolishing the five? or is it three old Cs? culture, custom... i don't remember... here's to me rekindling an interest in the Tao: i have no interest in Zen...
chasing Penumbras and Chimeras... don't even mention the umbra and the antumbra: same heads of the same beast... man as incomplete as the schematics he's presented with... of the Freudian dictate: ego, superego, id... i'm building up an aftertaste for a a taste of grapefruit...
i was listening to two American girls talking on the Metropolitan line... for once i started to adore the accent... i undid my shirt and sweated like a boar in a hunt... i like it when girls play with their hair... i like it when girls play with their hair... i was about to jump in with where they should look next to live... if Whitechapel is ****** enough? look to Wanstead!
but i was so right... i roared: she replied with a roar back... today can be salvaged as a success... handshakes and all: job well done...
now i'm sitting in a leather chair farting into an empty couldron of the intestines being emptied... one can truly lament the overthrow of old Chinese customs by the Maoists... esp. concerning the Taoist rebellion against Confucianism... why wouldn't i sample some thinking from the Japanese: to therefore counter the onslaught of the CCP information warring?
but now... dearest sleep... dearest of all... a sleep that might envelop a decade's worth of rest... and a memory of a: very beautiful sandwich... oh... but that ROAR was heard... from a little roundabout in Romford all the way to Wembley... but i did have cuckoldry on my mind: throughout... this is not going to work: in the long-run... fair enough... it was great seeing Alex Jones up close and personal... but... n'ah... there's something "wok awong wong"...
it's unlike female tennis players... unlike female Olympians... appreciating sport that was originally designated for men... is a bit like... watching and nodding to... transvestites... i'm not saying it's wrong: but the appeal will never be there... on an international level: for sure... but on a club level? hardly...
what's football without rowdy male teenagers trying to prove that they own *****?! sort of boring... and... ugh... women imitating men... they look so ugly... so... butch... i don't think i've ever seen so many lesbians in one evening... mind you: at least two lesbian converts... of course you're going to come across lesbian would-be converts... it's usually the butch lesbians that are eyeing you up... the more plump the ones with crew-cut hair eyeing you you up... oh no... not the submissive of the pair... the butch-lesbians... they're playing with the drama of being the pretend-man looking for a man while dating a woman...
i like them... i like butch pixie-pizza-date-girls of that sort... fine skin... i like short hair too... i can't compliment on their skin enough... i couldn't possibly stroke ivory enough to reach that sort of complexion... i wouldn't dare to lick it: let alone touch it: i'd ******* have to frame it!
hey presto! one fetish emerges after one just finishes! my favorite mousy was also there today... to hell with me and my weakness for ginger haired girls and freckles! mousy! she figured out a way to change her hair to become more appealing... mousy! mousy! i won't give you her name! mousy is mousy! she's a ginger hybrid! i like her strawberry ginger-ness... which is not a strawberry-blonde... it's... tickling something akin to "something" could be teasing more auburn clashes of shade... never mind... the freckles are a bonus...
mind you: it's still too hot to venture back into the brothel... i need late August to keep my tongue kept to return to revisiting the brothel... i need the weather to cool down... not after that *******... it was never going to work akin to how it "works" in a pornographic flick... two girls: two condoms... the best you can do is ask for a pair of **** from one and a hand-job from the other... no one is catching any germs today...
my beard is a violin and a cello... while i stroke it... trying to summon the winds for the brass-stroke of genius... i try to also remember... miracles began with both Jesus walking on water as they began with the madness of Xerxes lashing the Aegean sea with whips to calm it down... for one? i find the latter more probable than the prior; the poetics of abandoned genius: and within its confines... the cringe Christianity of what change would later come.