i don't remember how i went to sleep last night,
i remember going home, catching the 103 bus
from North St. at around... maybe 11pm...
i remember opening my drawer
of my writing desk...
sniffing the marijuana and thinking whether
i should smoke it...

but i don't remember where i put my trousers:
or for that matter how i hanged them...
i don't remember how i took off my shirt
and how i took of my socks or my underwear:
where i put my shoes...
i don't remember... there's this black hole
concerning all these minor details:
all i know is that when i woke up this morning:
nothing was missing...

mind you: two days ago i tried to go to bed
early... i had to wake up at 4am yesterday
for a 7am shift start at Charing Cross Station...
ol' Lizzie was being moved from Buckingham
Palace to a hall in Westminster...
lucky for that i was supervising 8 stewards:
well... 4 stewards and 4 SIA licensed badge
owners...
they gave me the role of supervisor
based on my performance prior: nothing to do
with any qualifications: no NVQ level 3 required
of me whenever i'm needed to fill these shoes...

Charing Cross Station was our castle...
i was on the forefront of the whole affair...
at one point i had several police officers under
my obligation to direct the traffic of people:
we only had one guy jump the gates...
one... and we're talking Wednesday...
not the actual state funeral that's going to take
place on Monday...
30 crowned heads of state: **** me: imagine
how many will come from the republics...

it's not your everyday occasion: i know it "feels" stupid:
but there's a reason why Charing Cross St.
was managed in the way it was...
the crowd couldn't enter Villiers' St. just by
Charing Cross St. on a whim:
all the "window-lickers" could: obviously:
they were hindered... by their lost accessibility
practices of the two peddles of feet...
directing them to Adam Street just off Nero Cafe...
yes... round round... just an extra mile...

oi! mate! stop being so rude! you're the supervisor!
does that make me a *******, saint, mate?!
this is ******* stupid!
just walk round: loose 4 grams of your fat!
******* plebs, turnips! beetroots!
i wouldn't say donkeys... but i can insult
a vegetable, comparing the intellect of those:
self-serving habitual ***** of solipsism!
the queen is dead yet you're still acting like spoilt
brats!
mourning my ***!

at least we now know that one of the supposed
horsemen of the Apocalypse isn't actually a horseman...
death rides on a donkey...
or if it's not riding on a donkey it's walking its horse:
death either rides a donkey or is walking beside
its horse...
all these people: a fountain of youth will drown them:
while the tide of mortality will swallow them...

there is always a reason for something being
arranged when it comes to controlling crowds...
i don't need qualifications to know that:
the best way to keep morale is to approach
supervision with a hands off approach...
i had two fellow female supervisors working with me...
on the spreadsheets given:
let me tell you: there wasn't enough speadsheet
space for them to write comments...
and they wrote: ******* Charlotte Brontë snippets
of comments: oh this guy took 10 minutes more
on his break... blah blah this... blah blah that...
*****-"bosses"...
but did they keep morale? did they upkeep
respect?

of course they didn't traction respect:
they were too busy being busy bodies:
they warped the hierarchy...
me? when i was filling out the spreadsheet
for those "under" me?
they wrote paragraphs... me?
i just wrote: good, good, excellent,
   good, good, o.k., o.k., excellent...
i later started talking to the two guys who
i submitted as "o.k."... scribble the o.k. out
and put them down as good...
why? they "enlightened" me concerning
the difference between how the Portuguese speak
and how the Brazilians speak...
even though one was Bangladeshi / Sri Lankan...

the Brazilians sing... they elongate their speech...
blah blah this... blah blah that...
breaks? whenever you feel like it...
blah blah this... blah blah that...
i wasn't standing behind them as some sort
of authority... just because i had a different
coloured bib to them...
i was manning the ******* barrier along with them...
as a man should do...
but obviously women have this hierarchical
fixation whereby they think: comes centralised:
from the top to the bottom...
no... aha ha ha! authority comes from
the bottom up!
you make everyone feel equal: not everyone is:
but if you can make everyone equal...
you showcase what you're supposed to do: by actually
doing it... rather than simply telling them
what to do... guess what?! they'll do it!

why? because you're also doing it!
people remind me of when i used to ride horses...
relaxing the reins and gently strutting...
straining the reins when galloping...
hell... if i managed to get a few Greater Manchester
police officers under my umbrella of
"authority" just because i had the word
"supervisor" on my bib and it was
a different colour: i don't take the role i'm elevated
to all that seriously:
it's a bit of a *****... i have to be "there" early...

but leave women in the role of supervisor?
you'll get disorder in the ranks...
they take it too seriously: it's not the army...
one guy had his umbrella confiscated...
i comforted him: you won't be needing it today...
yes, you will get it back at the end of the shift...

i remember the first time a woman said to her child:
mind the man, girl... was it my height, my beard,
or my age that prompted: MAN?
i was also gob-struck-mute when one of the stewards
addresses me as: SIR...
the first time he uttered the word in my direction:
sir... X(blah blah)... huh?! i'm a sir now?!

the second time he rephrased himself...
Sir... so what do i call you? Sir or...
mate mate... just call me Matthew... and your umbrella
is just fine and dandy...

from experience: it's usually a female supervisor:
a role that should never be given...
it's basically a cull-call...
some variation of the abortion right of who
ought to be employed-living
or dead-unemployed... women are *******
savage when given the wrong sort of authority!
March of the Little Hitlers...
what was my summary of the people working under
me? good good, excellent, good good, o.k. o.k.:
which i later scribbled out into good
when we were talking about the Portuguese language...
i hate women in a hierarchy:
they're power-trapped: strapped to a level
of competence they exact too much authority over
people that need to be reeled into a comfort zone
of respecting you detailing to them:
you have no basis for authority:

aren't you supposed to learn from the best?
who just died?! didn't she... confront this metaphysical
conundrum with a master plan of expertise?!
of course she ******* did!
women aren't leaders...
Joan of Arc... an exception...
Boudica... an exception... hardly Helen of Troy...
i can't... maybe i'm wearing a ****** on
my head... or maybe some aeroplane "plastic"
of aluminium... sorry... sorry girl...
i'm... quick to forget.. what was the plan?
me? being cucked?! in favour of your pencil-neck
am ambitions?!

**** me: you send one more of these security staff back
home because they're: "not up to your standards":
you'll have a crew of about : 2!
women are: "supposedly" expected to work with
children... to be honest? i wouldn't leave
a woman alone with a child of mine even
if someone paid me!
i don't know where these FREAKS come from!
they already branded themselves with tattoos...
nearer to a HOG than a BABE...
they're not communists... not Slavic communists...
not economic minded people:
they are ideologue  numb-skulls and half-wit
sort of retaining ******* remnants of a remaining
masculinity... basically the SOYO BOYO BUILD UP...

i still have to write... why: i don't remember how i sent to sleep
last night...

women can't control men...
  they're too: CONTROL FREAKS...
men don't respect women in power...
women respect men in charge of men...
and who is respected: as a "man of power":
a man who is akin to his fellow man...
man for the like of man...
women... don't understand this!
while women are selfish: men are selfless....

i don't remember how i went to sleep last night,

it's the best suffocating *** i ever had....
***** bit me! ***** BIT me
she sq: nibbled on me!

i don't remember ever being nibbled on!
i could slap a girl's ***...
but? being bitten!?!

    sq? she: sq? what the hell does that mean?
well... i guess the whole Kama Sutra is coming to
a realisation... she likes her *** getting slapped
during *******... and thighs...
she slaps me back...
      i gently bite her chin... she bites back:
with such ferocity that i think i'm ******* either
a vampire or a leech...

mind you: i did manage to pet a cat on my
cider walkabout before entering the brothel...
sitting on a brick wall... the ****** purred
and as i extended my hand: maybe it was
the smell of tobacco or whatever it was...
he hissed and started biting me...
then we played a game of "paws":
i tried to tease it while he struck me...
hmm... now it makes sense...

it's all geographically sound: like the butterfly
at X and a tornado at Y...
chaos theory... nothing makes sense yet
at the same time: everything makes sense:
if you're aware enough...

just like my idea concerning...
if there's an equation akin to:
   E = MC²

                 if there's the speed of light squared:
then there must be an equation with
the speed of light, CUBED, i.e. C³...
                    if we're not talking energy...
if we're not talking mass...
we must be talking about an equation with
the speed of light cubed and... gravity...
i still don't understand why the speed of light
has to be squared... but it has to be...
but surely there has to be some sense of the speed
of light cubed: contained as it is within
the form of the sun...
there has to be some cubic stability to its speed:
something akin to it being contained by
way of it being uncontained...
the principle of synonym-antonym follows suit:

red is also crimson is also a hue very much pink...

hmm: come to think of it... i like being bitten...
i don't think i've ever seen a pornographic flick
where either actor bit another...
obviously i tried to avoid all the Western: STALE
kinks of hierarchical brutalism...
come to think of it? no... i don't think i have:
have? i haven't seen a pornographic flick
where people bite each other during *******:
like dogs during play...
it wasn't biting: biting... it was a sexed-up
antithesis of eating...

as some say: man is a political animal,
or man is a social creature...
                   me? i'm just the next fathomable outlier
that's sexed up and getting it and wanting
even more...

because you can't just have one love interest...
since at that point: what some deem as love:
others start deeming it sport...
no wonder i have such a narrow scope
of interests... all have to come back to: women...

**** me... she's pushing it... but she's pushing
it in the right sort of direction:
i don't remember the last time i had
unprotected *** with a woman:
esp. a *******...
she changed her number... she gave me her new number...
the first picture she sent me was showcasing
her ***... pretending to wear heels...
i.e. on her tip-toes...
wearing this glorious lingerie: red...
her skin tone doesn't match up well with red...
i was thinking: pale green... pale blue...

when i'm with her i think: oh **** these western,
Anglican prunes of women!
they're there for thirsty Muslim women to
****: i don't do timid: i don't do shy
(forced tautology)...
i need experience... i need sorrow...
play that timid game long enough
you'll probably be sitting opposite me on the tube
starting to pretend to be a drummer:
with a fidgety tapping of the leg...
like this one beauty: and i mean: she was a beauty...
features unlike most Spanish girl...
she looked gorgeous without make-up...
but she was showcasing her locked screen of
her phone: with make-up... i knew it right
there and then: but i was half asleep coming
back from a shift: i was in a *******-mood
not in a romantic mood...

she had that classical beauty about her...
enlarged eyelids... but enlarged eyelids
and the perfect proportion of them being enlarged
between the distance between her eyes and
eyebrows was pleasing to my eyes...
tangled hair... and that Sumerian tangle
of side-burns: pushing her into a category of
a woman from the Raj: the highest caste...
mar-ve-lous... it's a new sport for me...

watching out for nervous women: lip-reading...
some men turn to trainspotting...
me? i turned to... ******-spotting:
i'm oh so curious to see at what point
a woman's sexuality wakes up...
when she realises that she has potency and legality
to attract the opposite ***...
mind you: i did start ******* prematurely:
aged 8... i was even so bold as to teach
one proselyte circumcised **** to *******
with me... in the bath... while my mother was
ironing a shirt...

squeamish? me? no no...
it's still only 11:30 in the morning
and i've already put on the washing...
done the stewarding chores of the household
(mum has arthritis...
i'm a stauch propagator of Japanese
*** culture... if not a brothel? then?
a love hotel... simple)

Khadra, Khedra... Khedija robbed me that one
night...
this one's birthday... that one's birthday...
this one's name day... that one's name day...
keeping up with a harem is not exactly "fun":
well, it is...
if you can keep a hard-on...
during ******* and in between biting me
she inquired: why haven't you ******* yet...
being self-conscious (from time to time)
i tried to figure out the "plumbing":
oh... you know why?
i pulled out... went over to the sink...
turned on the water... waited for the hard-on
to disappear: one "artery" is clogging another
"artery": a man breathes through the same
hole he eats from...

a man propagates from the same hole he ******
from... i turned on the water... waited
for the hard-on to *******...
water, water: everywhere: but not a drop
to drink...
ah... i squeezed out the bothersome ****
that dissuaded me from climaxing from
a "lost uncle" of a "long lost muscle" of tease...
but that's the thing about the right
sort of woman...
you do turn into a Duracel Bunny...
it's switch ON / switch OFF...

i remember times when i was completely undermined
by women: thinking i had an ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION...
apparently not... the wrong sort of women
give me erectile dysfunction: i'm not willing to correct
that "problem" with any chemical cocktail of
"improvement": ******: at least they're not shy:
they know what they're doing...
at least they know that emotional investments comes:
post-scriptum, not: pre-scriptum...

how do i know? i paid her for half an hour...
she notices i have more money in my wallet...
she sieves through the extra £60 on me...
takes out a £20... half an hour turns into an hour:
or so it feels... feels is better than what's actually
apparent... she tells me her birthday is on Saturday:

buy me a present! o.k.: what the ****?!
ring?! no no... that's *******... book?! i gave her
a copy of my poems... what then? what then?!
Matthew? didn't she send you a copy of her standing
with her *** showcased and her legs...
her arms seemingly tied her raven hair across
her back?                Matthew?      genius!
lingerie! i'll buy her something **** to then
**** her in!

right... Matthew? what?!
did you notice that when you last saw her...
her bra was too big for her *****?
yes, i did...
do i buy her a lingerie in secret or do i ask
for her measurements... gamble...
**** it: i'll ask for her measurements...

- what is your lingerie size, bra? too big?
i want to go shopping for you
tell me, so i know.
- M
    36B 85
      You tek M better...

i don't remember the last time i went shopping
for lingerie... she's not 36B... no chance in hell...
she has petite *******...
my hand is half full when i grasp them...
she stands... while i kiss her forehead...
eye-sight in line with my *******...
but that's what's so glorious...
she's Turkish... and i'm...
if it wasn't for the Northern Crusades:
the Polacks defending the last remnant of paganism
of Lithuania against the Pig-Crux...
i would be nothing without a history
i have the luxury to explore...

Casimir the Great invited the Hebrews...
who was that Schtad-Mein-Feuer
in command of Auschwitz played by X
who uttered the same words?
maybe it was an exalted plan to excuse the Hebrews
from Europe... surely the "invitation"
of Muslims into Europe will be painful at first...
but perhaps it will: less so...
hell: i'm already in favour of ******* Muslim
women...
even unto Khedra i uttered my favorite saying:
bound to Rumi:

la illaha il allah...

   as anyone living on Malta what the noun
for god is... all will utter the noun: allah...
all? ah! what a sigh of relief!

monotheism is one massive cesspool of globalism
to begin and end with...
it's a massive joke on the people:
the prophecy of the resurgent tower of Babel...
the language is already in place: English...
but the good news is...
at least we'll have a second "chance":
it's not really a chance... it's a waiting game...
i'm telling you: the cull is going to be massive...
it's already in our unconscious: collective:
which is why you see it in the popular culture:
**** always floats to the top...

globalism one way or the other...
after all: dinosaur juice is not as infinite as the sun...
there's philosophy and there's pessimism...
philosophy doesn't look too far ahead
to be unrealistic... stupendously slow
on revising itself: there's no pin-point of "departure"
in philosophy: there's only the "game"
of the build-up... philosophy is preparation...
it's akin to cooking in that:
cooking is everything that is...
the technicalities...
while philosophy is: how much ingredients
are needed, what is the process of preparing a meal?

if anyone should accuse me of being pompous?
i'll start writing about ******* ******!
****'s sake!
even my mother, once upon a time,
called me an: intelligent, BEAST...
and i am just that!
i know what i am!
           when i was ******* Khedra she uttered
innumerable blasphemies...
i was little **** at one point... then slow at another...
she wanted to cuddle: complained that
i showered myself with cold water...
she called me mad... she couldn't stop looking
into my eyes... and i into hers...
brown for green: sold!
   biting: my god... i'm starting to love the biting...
tongue licking lips...
still those eyes: and the way she uttered:
*******... yeah: you are, ******* me...
or is that the other way round?!

at least we, i hope "we" didn't take it personally...
then again... she did send me a picture
of her and her daughter...
she's asking me for a present:
i chose lingerie... because i want to **** her
when she looks all the more sexed up (****)
but then she sends me pictures of her and her daughter:
so what? you want me to foster this Frankenstein?
gladly!
              why? oh you know why...
just read Marquis de Sade's magnum opus of a novella
that's ******...
i'm not that stupid to know what urges
motivate my virility and lust for life...
it's always the forbidden "things" that give man
the purpose for life: and that purpose is bound
to those forbidden "things" and the ability to restrain
their realisation!

it's the restraint on realising taboos:
taboos that come into fruition are... rotten...
but? restrained taboos? that rot the mind,
or rather: exfoliate the mind into bloom?
my god! the temple of the gods!
the eyes of Oedipus! right there! on the altar!
everything entertained by the mind
is sacred: even if extended on the privy
within the confines of script...
sacred upon the moment it is made
sacrilege and exacted against the mind's
entertainment: whereby the cognitive restrains
are bypassed: and said taboo is exacted...

we all want healthy ***...
impersonal ***... *** that money best allows...
transactional ***... clarity ***...
but this is one ******* level up:
she's asking for gifts... she's getting emotionally attached...
i'm starting to think about finding a new brothel...
all those pictures she's sending me
of her and her daughter: yes... man missing...
she's even showing me pictures of a house
she's doing up in Turkey...
she needs £180,000 and then she'll be happy...

i do have a certain banknote... well... several...
that could be worth just as much: if not more...
Tsar Nicholas II is a familiar face in a painting, no?
but on a banknote?!
by now ****** or no ****** doesn't bother me...
a ******* with a beautiful girl like her's?
it would be much more easier to foster a girl
of a single mum than it would to foster
a boy with a single mum:

oh! no ******* way! single mum with an only child
boy?! THAT'S ******* DEMISE!
that's not happening! that's Oedipus!
that's patricide! that's infanticide!
i'd want to **** the mother as much as i'd want
to **** her pup!
a single mum with a daughter i could handle:
it works just fine... Ancient Rome gave us lessons
about the abnormality of fostering *******:
fostering sons never works out "just fine"...

- it's like with this one record i recently found:
HASLINGER - FUTURE PRIMITIVE
a rare glimpse into 1990's culture...
from 1994...
rarely do you get anyone bold enough
to say: **** is ****... all those muddled waters
of fiction... and crisp-crass methodoligcal
poetic: hiding behind ******* RHYMES
and structures...
never anything worth talking over: or for that
matter: talking into...

there are about five fingers on each of my hand:
no, there actually are... ****...
WONG FACTION, i.e. wrong fraction...
too much TAOISM in me...
first i'll cycle to recycle the empty
whiskey bottles... then i'll cycle to
peep at some vinyls: will i find the "one"
i want? probably not... then i'll walk into Anne
Summers and pretend to be all shy
all paedophilic choosing out the bra
and *******: suspenders...
does the nylon come free?

   i'll play a game... i like: gay-mmmm's...
god:
i don't care for those insufferable wastes
of men thirsting at the fountain of ****!
i'm having my fill, i don't care
whether my writing is elevated from
the sewers into the mainstream:
my writing is merely an accompaniment
to the life i'm living...
and i love my life more than i could
ever love my writing...
after all:

res cogitans "vs." res extensa...
i write by extension:
not by thinking...
i never think about what i'm about to write:
writing is as extension of me
elaborating twiddling with my fingers:
i really have itchy finger-tips...
i sometimes express that by rubbing them
on coarse items akin to bricks:
before moving them to the oyster flesh
of a woman's body... tenderising them...

yeah: and i know what EUTHENASIA
is... when i get too old: and less useful...
i do know where the "fire exit" is... plonker...
you know where assisted suicide is?
or are you too ******* frightful?!
death is my ****** ******!

mind you: who the **** dubbed the likes
of X X X X and me?
hellraisers?! we were simply workaholic-alcoholics...
we liked to drink, we HAD to work...
******* women was a bountiful: BONUS...
the eager ones... we left the "virgins"
to the beta males...
i get the itch whenever i think about
all those celestial nuns in their stupendous
salvaging of virginity:
each one and every one waiting to be greeting
a "****** birth" of a "god": b'ah b'ah bad:
it's probably more true that Hey-Zeus was
Jesus-ibn-Snow / *******!

i lost my "faith"... a long time ago...
from the explosion of the Atom Bomb
and the unearthing of the Nag Hammadi Library
and the accounts of the Hebrew historian:
Josephus ibn Mattheus...
the FALSE PROPHET FROM EGYPT...
north America can falsify a lie...
i don't care... i'm more interested
in upkeeping the decency of Russia...
and what remains of Europe.

                     nope... i'm lost on the concept
of conversion... Islam seems more politically viable
to make choice: on... than... this: pseudo-polytheistic
sputnik of a plethora of doubt:
faith: i' will sooner **** on the cross than be bound to:
what?! pray before the image of torture!
you're no god! you're simply a sadist!

this god didn't deserve a death!
this god didn't deserve a, life!
******* Moloch Spawn!