I. Yesterday's scraps: many more happy beginnings

i didn't travel to the brothel for revenge:
tonight, of all nights...
no... i travelled to the brothel for a lesson...
a lesson in creating a jealous woman...
a miniature Frankenstein... monster...
after all: what is a male monster?
one denied love...
and what is a female monster?
one denied feeling jealous!
a man might long for love...
but a woman? she longs for jealousy!

i'm still learning...
i was promised an entire night with Khadra?
Khedra? Khadija last night...
if she works a 0-hour contract:
she can choose! she chose otherwise...
obviously i was going to pamper myself:
extra-special tonight:
who has the reins?! me, or you?

and? i was going to choose her "competition"
to boot! because there's one way of making
promises: keeping them...
and there's another... being a whining demand
of self-sabotage...

no! i didn't go to the brothel to enact revenge!
of course i wasn't going to sleep with her:
she promised me that she would give herself
up for the night!
she didn't! ergo? i'm going to sleep with
her competition, her "competition"...

she actually can't have anyone competing with
her... since all the others are "Irish"
i.e. double-sure... pills and  ******...
but i have to admit...
it was the first time that i've been with a girl
who wanted the lights turned down: low...
low... low... almost ******* in the dark...
she asked me for permission
to snort a line of *******: she asked me...
would i want some? no... sorry...

she brought a glass of ***** with her
and a nervous laugh...
a cigarette too... and the most precious
peaches' worth of *******...
and an *** the worth and size
of a watermelon...

i didn't go to the brothel to ******...
climaxing is sometimes pointless:
esp. when you're trying to send a nagging message
of biting someone else's neck:
negging...

i knew i was going to fail the test
of both hard-on and *******...
i drank too much cider...
too much weak cider...
my **** started yawning:
i had to return to the public toilet:
****-break from American Pie:
i did have to lay a membrane of toilet
paper around the rim of the toilet seat...
before sitting down...

i squeezed out a decent loaf befitting an
Anne the Anorexic...
just after stopping by some Pakistani stoners...
asking them for a drag of their doofie...

i need to ****.....

II. The Proper Verse

i adore nights such as this one about to unfold,
i have taken only a few sips of my whiskey and i already
know what i'm going to write:
usually it's the opposite, i have to drink enough
for a cognitive blitzkrieg in the vein of how Nietzsche
described it: that a thought or an idea
comes somewhere from "elsewhere" from outside
is conjured out of thin air: a spontaneous combustion...
it implodes then explodes into writing
whereby even listening to music is not necessary...
although: i'm sort of nostalgic-happy when it comes
to my choice in younger years...
i.e. either collect the oeuvre of Led Zeppelin or
Black Sabbath... obviously i chose the former
and regretted it when i listened to Vol. 4 and heard
Solitude for the first time and only regretted it
because it was so cool to play that song on guitar
in my ex-girlfriend's parents' house when it was only
me and her younger sister...
yep... my secret crush: love at first sight...
when it was all wrong: i was 17 and she was 14...
when it was all wrong... but not as wrong if i were
to say: i was 36 and she was 14...
     i get the whole ****** element but then again
i don't: i mean... i inherited a large stamp collection
from my late grandfather... so that would make me
a philatelist rather than a lepidopterist...
ergo... it's a teenage thing, there aren't as many
restrictions of taboo when you're that young...
    and i don't think there's anything remotely allied
to an "evil thought": there's just thought...
but anyway i was playing Solitude on her father's guitar
and... believe... that song... on the guitar alone...
in a large house that's usually mental (ex-girlfriend,
mom, dad, two brothers and Priya and some guests round)
this song on guitar where there's only you
and your former secret crush... it's haunting...
   she thought i was playing some blues...
i should have corrected her by playing some blues...
but i didn't... the kitchen was in a mess from the previous
night so i told her i'd help her out:
i cleaned the dishes while she dried them...
     after that i left... keeping my secret love a persisted
secrecy... so much so... that after several years
and several ****** women later... it vanished...
as did my idiotic youth...
                   but what the hell am i saying?!
i didn't sit down to write about that, then again:
digression is a very cool instrument of narration...
i learned it from my English teacher: Syr Tomas BOONCE!

last night... i ate too much during the day...
i rarely do... but recently i've had this unstoppable urge
for dairy foodstuffs... cheese... kefir...
yoghurt... milk.... cheese... kefir...
backwards and forwards... i know i'm actually craving water
(well, "me", i.e. my body)
but instead i want dairy foodstuffs...
mind you: all dairy products have more protein
in them than actual meat... i could never be a vegetarian...
proteins from beans is not the same...
another mind you: i don't know why
In the Evening didn't make to Led Zeppelin's greatest
hits album (well, at least the one i had
back in the day) but D'yer Mak'er did...
i owned the album the song's on...
but it only came to my attention after watching
Sharp Objects starring Amy Adams...
that show was a BELTER...

so i traded in my "emergency" €90 for...
ah ****... the Indian on Villiers St would have
given me £72... but i wanted to double check...
went to the currency exchange in Romford's Liberty
Shopping Mall... **** it... i'm not going back
to Charing Cross so i can get the 72 quid...
i settled for being 8 quid short...

and as i was sitting there in the garden after dinner
with a bottle of cider in my hand...
should i go today? should i?
only yesterday Khedra dismissed her wild plan of
inviting me to her house for a night of Trojan
fun of me pretending to be the 300 and "gang ******"
her solo... well... hence the "...":
     because it would be ******* her brains out for
the whole night, as it once happened with Ilona
in St. Petersburg all those years ago...
     i miss that night... i remember asking her...
so... how many contractions of O-spasms have you
been through? 7? each for every of my heads...
a nice rounded number: doesn't mean that an even number
would be any better than the 7ΓL
(eh! who the hell said that our modern numbers
came from either India and are morphed Arabic numerals)...
**** me... the Romans used letters as numbers
IX + XI = **... we already had letters in the form
of our letters... whether Greek or Roman...
Bb = 86... P = 9 I = 1 S = 5, 2 = Z...
sure thing: with "hindsight"... well whatever history
dictates: i'm not going to bother regurgitating...
with fake news and propaganda: there must be...
NEW TRUTHS... self-made truths to bring some sanity
to the individual not swayed by any external *******...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea...
but i went anyway...
i knew i would come across (i need the German in
naming this noun compound, i.e. state of being)
nebeldenken: fog thinking... nebligdenken:
foggy thinking...
and oddly enough... or rather: hardly oddly... i did...
foggy thinking is what some "experts" would enter
the scene and prescribe a man some chemical solutions
concerning a man's phallus not working...
well... rising... and only lasting for a few minutes...
i don't call it an erectile dysfunction...
it's more complicated than that...
******* oversimplified ***... oversimplified and
made it crude and rude...
i sometimes watch some vintage Italian movies
that would have been broadcast in erotica cinemas...
my god... back then people used to be so classy when
it came to ***... and gentler... none of this modern
trash... yeah... modern ******* is trash...
it feels infiltrated by homosexual acceptance...
         too much **** and not enough sensual *******...
on both sides of the *** "debate"...
i'm so happy that no one has asked me to penetrate
them anally... either man or woman...
because, honestly? if i think about the joys of having
a fire-******* from sitting on the toilet oozing out
durchfall... thoughts of waterfalls... everything coming
out: but certainly nothing going in...
(and the German spelling is easier...
that H-surd is awfully off-putting in the English spelling)

****: that Black Sabbath song Solitude wasn't on
Vol 4 but on Master of Reality... d'uh!

i should have waited for some other day...
i get paid on the 1st of each month and thanks to ol' Lizzie
dying... i'm looking at a "spontaneous" extra
£500 to boot... thank you Lizzie...
i know there was the whole black armband affair
and what not... but this time round i was thinking
about the money: although i love crowd-control,
esp. if i'm a supervisor and i have at least 4 licensed
security guards under my control and 5 unlicensed
stewards and a TfL worker from the tube station
and some police officers to manage the crowd...
i have to admit: Wednesday 14th was a ****-show
on Villiers St... people were so ******* annoying
that Charing Cross St. put in place what they use
during New Year's Eve... not straight down Villiers St.
but up to Adam St and full circle:
half the crowd heading to the Embankment St.
half to Charing Cross... thankfully i only had one
guy jump the barriers... a complete ****-show:
the wrong B plan... thankfully... come the actually
event of the state funeral...
       19th of September went: think of a warm slice
of toast and some butter... think of silk...
the two teams of my fellow supervisors in that one-way
traffic system only had one burst of people...
about 40 of them... they did **** all throughout the whole
day... i managed all the traffic... it was splendid...
basically: 40+ people were not needed...
i supervised the whole affair of people getting home
safely with... about 10 people: that's me included...
and a few barriers...

oh to hell with being felt loved by a woman!
there's no greater curse on a man than a woman's love...
puppy love... yuck...
a man needs to feel useful! used!
useful! a man needs to feed off and feed responsibility:
authority... man thrives on competence...
not complacence...
a woman's love is no more for me that me
adoring the first bloom of Magnolia come the earliest
telltale signs of Spring...
a woman's love is sickly-sweet... it wears a Thespian's
mask and with that comes the whole entourage of
disappoints and hell's furies...
i would swap a woman's love for a cat's love
every single time...
just like the story of Esau and Jacob...
a bowl of porridge chosen by Esau instead of a birthright...
then again: them two being twins...
is a woman's love for a man a bowl of lentils
or is it a birthright? from what i've heard and seen:
men are not given a birthright to be loved by a woman...
a woman is very much Esau's choice:
i'll take the broth... have my tummy full...
instead of striving for the role of patriarch...
i don't believe in the love of women:
i do believe in a love for women...
like i believe there isn't a vegetarian diet and the like...
there is only the seasonal diet...
fruits during summer... vegetables in the wintry months...
like the elders used to eat...
but love from a woman is a curse, not a blessing...
it's a jealous irrational love... it's Pandora's quest for:
suppose woman were to be endowed with a Faustian
thirst for knowledge... Pandora is the antithesis of Faust...
a Faustian curiosity is not akin to Pandora's curiosity...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea to go the brothel...
everything was wrong (but believe me....
that evened out sooner rather than later)...
usually i need to be a complete donkey of exhaustion
having finished a 12 hour shift before i can stomach
more physical strain of pleasing a woman...
i know my body better than i know my self...
i do know my reflexive: myself...
but the reflective: my self is still an ongoing project...
it all depends on how my thinking mingles
with that fickle creature of memory...
let's face it: who chooses what you can and cannot
remember? i don't mean that erosive substance
we are all subjected to via pedagogy, i.e. schooling:
whether it be 2 + 2 = 4 or a, b, c, d, e, f, g...
or the Battle of Hastings, the year 1066...

what man in his right mind would be appeased by
monogamy, that sacred egalitarian model conjured
up by man for fellow man,
so that all might have their fill, where is it now?!
there are no traces of it... the same men than conjured
up this model have passed away and gave
any if not all authority to the whims of women!
now? women are toying with the affairs of what
was once a noble admiration for the spectacular
consistency of swans...
so we've been told: don't admire the swans...
don't look up at swans: look down on monkey!
for me there are only two basic maxims that can
be extracted from Darwinism:

a. nature abhors a vacuum...
b. everything is useful / used...

nature doesn't provide either excess or a less...
well... it does: those 7 lean years
and those 7 years of excess... but nature is no mother...
it's not feminine: nature is asexual in that
it's an equilibrium... (7/7? Joseph's interpretation
of the Pharaoh's dream)...

i know my body: i will never know my self
in so far as i also know myself...

mein gott! it's only half past ten and i'll be finished
by around 12am... i'll have at least half an hour
of enjoying drinking and listening to music
and i'll switch off my workaholic-alcoholic
modus operandi and just drink and smoke and think
about having ***...

i knew it was a bad idea... i started drinking too early:
i was rested...
the bladder was going to be a massive obstacle...
a full bladder and an ******* are always in conflict...
i should know: ******* with my still intact
******* is a bit like a woman *******
using a shower head to trickle-up-a-tease of water
into her ******* regions... i still don't understand
why non-Jews are circumcised in North America:
it's barbarism... MGM...
male genital mutilation: a sword has a sheath...
that sheath is used for *******...
you take the sword out of its sheath... i.e. you pull
the ******* back... hey presto!
you're circumcised: no need for a kippah...
or a monk's tonsure... or for that matter...
a promise from a woman with her ******* NIQAB...
that should be white in colour... at least!
and be made from linen! breathable material...
"breathable": material that might allow air through...

i don't care if they keep wearing those
NINJA-PARACHUTES (better than Boris calling
them postbox attire)... right now girls in Iran
as shaving their heads and growing moustaches...
something is clearly up in the world of Islam...
like i mentioned already... i need a second schism in Islam...
i need it to happen in the Turkish "quarter"...
how else to fight all the prior years of terrorism?
attack Islam with ideas of reform...
that's the only attack... oh two-*****-shaken
while dropped into a ******* Mojito...
sure... a **** that gives off whiffs of mint-scentedness
is fair enough by me... but you're not going
to deter ZEE MUZLIMS by going after the Hydra
of chopping one head and waiting for another to sprout!
you go to the source!
you try to improve on: "PBUM" Muhammad's first try...
revision: not revolution... Islam can be revised...
but not with the Saudis and the ******* Pakistanis...
you aim for the fringes... the cosmopolitan Islam
with a richer past than the one dictated by
the conquests of the Arabs...
Turks are a fine example... the Persians another...
****'ite Islam allows for more... ah crap...
too many vowels... i always have a problem spelling this word:
just like the Anglo-Sphere speaks of ****** words
having too many consonants the same is true for
this word: too many vowels... i'm not even going
to try... i'll "cheat", use a search engine...
man-u-vre-ah-bi-lity...
                        maneuve­rability! ah... that's the one!

on a side note...
    it's true what "they" say...
bragging rights... and consistency...
some people amass a great following...
a great following breeds many comments...
i'm pretty sure that's an indicator of low quality content...
why is it low quality content?
it amasses many comments...
me? i don't have a fervent crowd... neither did
Pythagoras or Hey-Zeus... what could 13 men do
in order for a sight like that of St. Paul's Cathedral
take? competence? fervor? determination?
certainly not mediocracy...
                i still don't understand the Pythagorean
fetish for beans... high fibre high protein...
i mean... can you imagine to sit through one of his
TRIANGLE LECTURES having to stay silent,
but unable: filled with the dread of irritable bowel movements
(due to the fibre) trying to keep in a **** / farts?!
i like my audience, they must like me...
since... they hardly ever bother me...
and as long as i spew regular material...
i might as well leave a disclaimer:
hey bro! her sis! buy a book! try getting to the author
directly! you think that writing a comment
on a copy of a book you just bought
will help?
   not since the advent of the printing press has
there been a chance for the atomised man to bypass
certain restrictions... back then it was the Churches
and the solo-book project for the illiterate man...
now? editors of printing houses have: **** all on me...
i'm bypassing them... i'm not looking at the sales:
i'm looking for hungry minds... curious / sceptical
minds... why would i think, ****: dare me "think" about
this prospect of waiting for some acceptance of an editor
of low or no TASTE?! ha ha... ah ha ha!

i love nights like this... you get caught up in many surprises:
on the one hand by your own mind,
but at times by nature itself: it has "suddenly"
started trickling the most gentle rain...
if there could be a rain song: a most soothing song
of praise for the night... rain always makes more sense
during the night than during the day...
just as the horror movie genre:
the horror movie genre abused the night...
a proper horror movie?
oh... it happens during the daytime...
   Carnage Park (2016): please don't disturb the night
with all of night's allure... people are sleeping,
foxes are roaming: shh!
sha shtil, makh nit keyn gerider
der rebe geyt shoyn tantsn vider...

**** me: so much already written and i'm yet to make
my most truthful testimony!
release me! make me make it! i'll give you all
the oaths and still not utter your name!
lodge me between the combat between
King David and King Solomon...
i would gladly pay to see that combat of cognitive
ability!
each and every man will sing a psalm...
but live up to the wise expectations of what a king
observes?! and make them categorical imperatives
like a shopping list for turnips and carrots?
hardly any...
thank god i'm not a lyricist...
i prefer words to be dealt with in the medium
of the digestive process of thought:
than a life-experience enacting:
let's face it... most: if not some... of these supposed
"wisdoms" are false by the nature of the person
uttering them...
a king's choosiest appetites
are not on a pauper's menu...
back in Victorian times oysters used to be the food
of / for the poor... look how oysters have
been elevated...
but oysters are not my Aphrodisiac... nor is chocolate...
physical exertion is... as is tiredness...
as is cider... as is tobacco... as is a little glug glug
of whiskey...

i think long gone are the days of keeping aa woman's
integrity in place for curbing a man's desires
and unfiltered "having"...

i think i'm reaching some variation of a crescendo...
i must be... if i switched "moods" with my song of choice...

i didn't go to the brothel to punish Khedra...
she promised me a one night SPECTACULAR...
i didn't get it...
i was simply lashing out against her to
disappointing me...
i was like: weren't you supposed to spend
this night with me?
her "best" excuse was: the brothel was missing
women....
right... fair enough...
E-NUFF... don't ask me how English language:
that globalist witch of a tongue works:
of all the Empires in the world...
only two imploded: the English Imperium
and the Soviet... the latter... less gradually
than the formerly...
you do know that there were plenty of peoples
living in between the Germans and the Russians
on the "event horizon" of the geographic "debate"...
i was forever CYNICAL about
a story akin to the "****** birth":
let's just pretend fostering a ******* was
much less an adventurous route for a woman to
keep...
ugh! you peoples keep too many vowel en-routes!
too many vowels!
no wonder your people are still scribbling
graffiti on brick walls:
you are half-literate!

      insult me: expect an insult back!
what's that "*******" in Shakesperean?
you bite your thumb at me, sir?
what does it look like?
if you have a rabbit's worth of front teeth on the ready...
you lodge them between the fingernail
of the thumb and the thumb itself...
then you pretend you bite down...
while flicking your thumb forward...
until you hear a "click"...
yes... i am biting my "thumb down" on you sir....
the mediocracy of lost expectations...

oh, but the event? i knew i shouldn't have...
i was drinking too much before it even started...
12 hour shift... one bottle of cider... a walkabout...
a glug or two of either whiskey or brandy...
i'm dehydrated enough to have my ****
lubricated by the glorious spat-spit-on of a woman's
mouth...
i was going to be deflated balloon of a man
tonight... i'd get a ****-blocker...
given my adventures with Khedra if i didn't
chose her...

prior to i was wandering trying to empty my vowels...
sorry... my bowels...
it's always that affair with the little *****...
ugh... i'm nervous... i know she's nervous...
cider... moon.... cigarettes...
the echo of footsteps...
but i drank too much...
i was out of place to perform....
i stumbled across two Pakistanis smoking marijuana...
walked past them... walked back...
i implored them: who's your seller?
they wouldn't disclose... can i try some?
more than willing: it's good to make "friends" in the night...
i took one ****... i told them: don't worry...
i'm not some undercover copper...
i did hope they might think i'm some MAFIA
quality-tester...
that my role was aligned to the MAFIA:
walking around testing the stuff being sold...
like i told them... 10 years ago...
these Vietnamese punks were selling the herb
lined with fibreglass!

i told them: make sure you get your "herb" from an Afghan...
i took one poke at the joint to see if it was
alright... they offered to give me the whole "thing"
up... i was like... n'ah mate...
i just want to **** on the quality:
nothing has changed since my marijuana-psychosis
over 10 years ago... it was still the same concentrated
potency... it made me caffeine high for a while
from an alcohol stupor... but nothing
per usual transcendental magnimonity...
basically ****: basically trying to sniff wet toilet paper
crap of "green"...
regurgitating snot...
mind you... they were playing pirates...
with a green light that might blind airline pilots....
as you do... smoking the herb and not thinking much...

but i wasn't an undercover police officer testing them...
i was a quality surveyor of what's being sold...
high minds think high "things"...

oh, but once in the brothel? i knew i was walking with
a limp ****! i knew that once i showered her
gifts of lingerie i'd ha ve a ****-blocker in place!
hey presto! a ****-blocker!

imagine sitting opposite three women.....
funny "thing"... being:
YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
now... CHOOOSE A "FAVOURITE"...
pardon the Judgement if Paris!
me in a brothel:
of all the women...
among the ****** it is the hardest to chose from!

i didn't terribly punish her...
not by whip or a scalding tongue...
i love her...
chocolate.... i hate chocolate....
by this brazen tinge of brown...

choke on TATE- CHICKEN
Britain my LAST ***...
with the Lilies dies my bride...
             aren't we equal to serve the crown
she was such a beautiful *** to ****,,,
lest we don't remember...
she was a granny "second to last"...
first... first comes the state...
somehow the latter affairs of  familial ties.

- imagine... sitting across a room with three women
you already ******...
choose! huh?!
choose! you have but one favorite....
and two "left-behinds"....

leave a woman sweating all over her body...
sweating...
pass on a *******...
three women: all of whom you ******...
choose...
sweat all over her body:
her pretending to ride
you on the corner of the bed... OTT...

but there's also something equally satisfying...
it's only shared between men...
working with Emmie at the Ice Rink...
i'd say we're on par... looks wise, dimension wise...
she must be a stunning 5ft11
me being a 6ft2 220pounder
and she too is a... HEALTHY specimen...
she's not obese or anything... she just reminds me
of Alison Taylor... she's a big girl for a big... boy...
i have to admit... i couldn't stop eyeing her up...
and i'm guessing these two guys i know: knew: know...
whatever... started chatting with me...
but kept on looking at Emmie as if we weren't
simply working together: but we were dating...
there was no jealousy in their eyes
there was more... a natural state of affairs...
they gave off vibes akin to: wow! nature has balanced
itself out! this guy has found someone compatible
with him!...

**** me... she's already updated her profile picture
on WhatsApp like 3 times already...
fickle creature that's memory: snd finicker creature
that's woman to boot!

she's a gorgeous Dagenham exemplification of
what an English girl ought to be...

then again: Marie... sure limp **** and all...
but i only had a limp biscuit of a hard-on after i refused
Khedra a bedding... well: i thought i was punishing
her for refusing my Spartan night of frolicking...
instead... i switched off when she brought in
a random punter into the room next to us...
in the way she started "moaning" i knew she wasn't
getting her usual pleasures...
that's when i switched off, shut down...
Marie had already dimmed the lights so **** low
she even called it a phantom illumination...
that's the first time i rekindled the time i slept
with that Spanish wild-one Tamara...
all that cocoon *** steaming under the bedsheets
afraid of beauty and nakedness:
her living arrangements didn't help either...
i was turned off by her living with three homosexuals...

there are only two ways a woman can get
bad dating advice:
1. from other women...
2. from homosexuals...
mind you, i have nothing against buggery...
i've kissed several men in my passing this mortal
wound of flesh... tonguing etc.
but...

we weren't actually engaged in much backwards
and forwards piston action's worth of
lubrication... i was sitting on the edge of the bed
and i just tucked her in into my arm's girth...

i just chose the right sort of music...
OTT... Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
bingo! i was caressing her thoroughly... inner thighs...
outer thigs... tickling behind the ears...
kissing the back of her neck... biting her shoulders...
massaging her *******... esp. around the *******...
poking and pinching her *******...
waiting for them to become *****... plagiarising
her hands... horribly since they were three-quarters
of my size... detailing the curvatures of both
knees and elbows...
      i knew she was nervous... she was like a tiny little
mouse unable to contract pleasure vocally...
with onomatopoeias...
a nervous giggle... here and there...
plus she had to sniff a line of ******* and down
a shot of ***** to get over her inhibitions....
the dimmed lights... which: to be honest...
exfoliated her nakedness into a lily's tease of attempted
suicide...
oh **** me... my father bought some lilies for
my mother the other day...
to the agony of her discomfort...
that's when i decided: they die... which they will...
and seeing them as they are...
they'll stage me a Philip contra Elizabeth timeline...
if one goes... the other will soon follow...

how will i dictate my fate against fate itself?
well... i won't to a Curt Kobain shotgun stunt...
i'll but loads and loads of lilies...
i'll shut the windows and the doors...
insulate myself in a limited amount of oxygen...
place the lilies near me...
loads and loads of lilies...
i'll smoke some marijuana... i'll drink plenty
of whiskey... and then... i'll... i'll fall asleep...
and never wake up! hey presto! problem solved!
mortality best cared for!

i still can't forget how she sweat all over...
she even asked me: am i hot or is it hot in here?
i replied: no... it's only you...
even with a limp ******* **** i could make a woman
sweat from all her pores...
that's almost better than giving a woman
an ******... that's me and that itchy-numbing
on my fingertips whenever i shared my property
with neighbours letting them play my Nintendo...
itchy-numbing of the fingertips... itchy-*******-numbing!

come to think of it... if i'm serious about becoming
a teacher... this was by far the best way to start:
crowd-control, public security...
if i can deal with a bunch of drunk RETARDS
then i could harness the same sense of authority
over children... better still: i have an inquisitive mind...
i'd just be doubly inquisitive about them
being either not inquisitive or stale...

maybe that'a why i enjoy PAREIDOLIA so much...
esp. come the night and the moon
and the clouds... i revel in this "****"...
perhaps that's why i abhor crossword puzzles
and that's the reason why i write with wry intent
on morphing nouns into misnomers...
i'll deliberately call a table a chair and a chair a table...
for gimmicks' sake to craft an antithesis
of Descartes sitting at his desk
pretending not to do some telepathy...

Herr ******* Cogito... Zbigniew Herbert to boot!
i drink because i'm enough of sound mind
and have tasted insanity to know:
when the great wrath of the godly wind comes:
you just **** back...
****: that's a cunning word in my mother tongue:
it's not burping via your ****...
it actually means: LUCK... you have ****...
you have luck...

Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
and how she insinuated ***... sweating... sweating
through all her pores...
i'm ******* losing my mind all over again:
but at least this time round it's not to something
abstract: a priori... this is all a posteriori
fervour...
i've been here before...
   i'm sure of it...
the mammal that came from an amphibian form
to this gesticulating skeleton...
i admired forg: ha ha... frog tadpoles...
their wriggling ways gave me insight into
how my handwriting would turn out...

like my grandfather said: chicken-scratching...
i'd tatoo his words onto my body if i had
the audacity to give sacrilege of body
as a gift to the gods...

how she sweated... my god... i've seen plenty
of *******... but none of the flicks compared
to that, THAT experience...
******* is ****... *** is too personal to be
exploited in such a way as to turn man
into thinking he's a ******* Duracell Bunny...
switch on... switch off...
you need to be in a "mood" to get a hard-on...
and just as quickly you can turn-off...

i know why i turned off...
but i also turned on a second gear...
i turned off because i declined Khedra...
and i turned off because i heard Khedra in the next
room not being pleasured in the way i would
have pleasured her...
and this... and that... and the "other"...
plus she's a petite creature and i wanted
to feel someone compatible to: my, SIZE...
i wanted a big girl with big floral patterns of *******
that i could massage...
i gave away my hands for her sweating
all over her body doing the bare minimum
of listening to the song of my choosing...
as we shared a cigarette...
as i kneeled before her...
because... let's face it...
i'll **** on the cross before i kneel before it...
it's the antithesis of the inborn ontology of man...
the first anti-Christian lesson i taught myself?
the cheek "thing"... reek!
someone slaps you? you slap them back!

ROSJA SIĘ MOBILIZUJE: JAM ZA!
and so they should be...
this infernal cognitive-parasite "creature" of western
conjuring is not ******* welcome in either Russia
or the Orient... it's not a serpent...
it's a ******* tapeworm!

me? i'll be ******* Eastern Women till the sun
never ******* comes... Romanian,
Bulgarian, Turkish...
sure... i'll make it a personal fetish of mine
to think of any fuckable English girls...
once they're done playing victim and succumbing
to the "egalitarian anti-racism" while
getting soaked in gasoline by Pakistani ****-gangs...
maybe then...
until then... no, thank, you!

well... brutal times require brutal measures...
and a kind, heart...
a heart the size of a pebble... and just as tough...
what?! just because the VESTERN VOLD
had a hard-on while failing in both Irq... I-RAQ...
Afgantisan... lobbied the indefinite migration
via the collapse of Libya... that... Russia... RUSSIA!
would ******* bow down to these *******
loony tunes?!

Dear Uncle (Ras)Putin... blah blah...
France's testing of their nukes in the Polynesia...
GOD-ZILLA!
   GOD... ZILLA!
                    i don't care whether or not i'm on
the right side of history: sure as **** i'm on the right
side of *******... and i like to ****:
which is why i'm not a train-spotter or a stamp-collector...
or someone who dabbles in LEGO and putting
together a replica of Optimus Prime...
just give me **** and i'll be happy-camper like
it might be a bowel of oysters...
oysters... mmm hmmm... oysters & ****...
i love oysters... i love ****...
i love naked sweating bodies...

i love the smell of hair... esp. unwashed hair...
it's so solipsistic... like farting in a crowded space...
the taste of keratin borrowed from biting nails...

you that feeling when you smell: weakness?!
i'm guessing the Islamists have had enough scent of it...
they figured out: what's the point?!
they're already implosive... they'll destroy themselves...
there's absolutely no need to attack them...
Muhammad asked Ahmed:
want to throw this tennis ball against a brick wall?
i throw, you catch... you throw... i catch...
how's that? Ahmed replied to Muhammad...
sounds... dandy... let's play.

because, that's, what, it, *******, is...
all that's "western" is RIPE for the taking...
i won't even blink when i see it desecrated...
i'll be the Poet of the Coliseum...
watching it all unfold...
i mean: i was scolded for not being confident in my
youth... now that i've aged:
oh... lucky me... guess who's also lacking
in confidence... all of the women...
will i go out of my way to try and...
no no... i don't have a car... i don't have a fixed hour
paid work contract... i don't have a house...
no no no, no no no, no... exactly!
so if i don't have x, y & z... why bother?

to the promised land of the brothel!
and even there, there are some without the slightest dignity
of being pleasured: of having confidence...
but... i've already paid: so i can work with that...
i'll gladly unravel those timid beauties into
******* floral killers of a Lily!

oh well... c'est la vie... comme ci comme ça...
some people learn to live with
a ******* hernia... or athritis...
i can live with this... i know why i'm single...
most women could not handle me...
actually: i don't think even my mother believes
she can handle me... i know why i'm single...
i'm the selfless ****-wit that wants
too many women... and occasionally... on a sly...
a man... i can live with that...
sure... from time to time i reopen an old wound
from my teenage days or romanticism and idealism...
oh! wouldn't it be great! to have a sole woman for one's
"solipsism" to destroy?! yeah...
that would be grand!                          in theory.

dearest mistress of memory: leave me be!
stop youe hanging around: let me get on with my life!
just you and only you... one faceless woman
after another...
i have plenty! i have about at least 10 on the go...
i'm deciding which one is warmer than
the others... and which is more jelous than the other...
i'll talk to one... i'll tease another...
i'll **** the third proper silly...
i'll settle for the one with the child
to not think of womanhood to begin with:
rather than behind...

i still can't escape the feeling of gratification
making her sweat all over her body by simply
having learned the geography of a woman's body...
made of ice: apparently...
mein gott... what a wonder to behold...
in my hands oranges... in her hands watermelons...
a spider of a hand crawling atop another spider
of a hand that was hers...
such tender aspects of the FLESH...
like stripped culminations of the pig rediscovered
on a woman's body...
i forgot who i was...
a butcher?! a sadist?! a wizard?!
i must have exemplified myself as "someone"
if she still felt nervous
after snorting a line of ******* and downing
a decent glug of *****... pretending to laugh: nervously...

i should have been told much earlier on
that most women have a very limited sense of self and space...
for that natter time too:
most women have zero to no self-esteem...
if you asked a 20 year old me what the "problem" was...
i'd tell you: oh! all these girls! hive minded high-brow
they're pompous *******... finicky...
walking a a pair of ******* on a leash without either ****
or dog!
but now?! mein gott!
strange... how things change...
they are so... limited...
they have become so timid... so... fresh...
they're the fresh flesh on a leash...
and still: they don't think they are...
i don't like suspect packages....
these women aren't...

i don't want to end writing this poem...
today is the 23rd... i get paid on the 1st...
i'm already practicing my plumbing with take-two!
take-three! sessions of a hard-on...
lucky a man with very little hobbies...
all i think about it *******...
even ******* turns me off: finally!
it's unrealistic! far from ever it being so...

the mind sometimes overpowers
the body in the same way that the body sometimes
overpowers the mind...
i switched off... this time round...
but it's hard... you sit down in the ante-chamber
with three women...
problem being: YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
and there's one favourite among them...
she promised you a Spartan Cohort Night with her...
so you try to punish her:
by NOT picking her...
well... that will never go down well...
since she already allowed no ****** usage...

maybe i should think about... building a play-toy-thing
train-set or... **** knows what...
i just love women too much...
i love seeing how many mistakes they make...
i'm not saying i'm perfect...
but it's  gleeful pleasure seeing a woman
make a mistake... it's a bit like... seeing yourself
being born...

upon the great ***** of time...
   a figment of your own imagining... neither conjured
up by the mere spontaneity of thought...
hardly an affair of imagining(s)...
never mind the byproduct of memorising
one iota's worth of: iota, omicron, tau, alpha...
by the dim blue glare of the iris...
no... my iris are greeeen...

each and every day the everyday happens
and i feel obliged to borrow
all the necessary talents from the Thespians...
i am "i"...
                there is still massive heed of the grand
moving parts... some stall... some arrive with
no conscience with gravity's whim...
who, are, you? peering into my disclosures?!
my soliloquy supposing
the dead have no ears?!

  have no stomach the food to digest?!
a truly be-spotten sort of: awaiting feed...
time for the freezing of the tides...
liberate the Arab from his self-induced
indulgence!
fancies of fanaticism....
              of worded "things" worth "digestion"...
a tongue of youth
as precursor for the unfathomable futures
to come! old men have: not dictate
in my life! they reek of stinking socks
not since the times when old men claimed a superior
notion among the the youth...
i have nothing! nothing! to learn from the people
i should be learning from!

old men die... that's what they were
supposed to do in the first place...
old... men... die...
i too will die... but not before them!
but at least they could have ushered in a few
decent maxims... instead?!
instead?! i have no maxim conjurers!

these pandered to old FOOLS!
i sometimes wish i were a cannibal!
then again: the prospect of eating these
"leather chairs" is pristinely:
disgusting!

                        i am: ******* livid: i am abhor!
ABHOR!
                 i will shout that word...
**** it.... no mountain near me...
i will, climb, up... a ******* hill..
and extend my tongue and mouth into a shout
and i will clarify: I ABHOR!
best we burry you *******...
you think... us... youth...
will sit back while, you had all your, fun?

it's only one coin-flip away...
i want my fun too!
you're going to tell me, no?!
are you going to tell me, no?!
you... frail... old... man?!
you're going to tell me, no?!
what did you tell your elders?!
the same **** i'm telling you?!

ooh... what a telling!
i'm 36 years old... i'm going to have all
the prostitutes in the world and more!
i've, had, enough!
no! i haven't! had! enough!
i need... more!
i need more!
        i'm going to create the reality
that Darwinism subscribed to!
                         i want, more!

i'm hungry... i'm vengeful...
i'm... oopsy-turvy... i'm...
baron of Emeralds... green Irises...
                
just like the prostitutes suggested: why are you
looking at me with so much ferocity,
with so much intent?!
why?! i'm eating your soul...
******* it out from your eyes...
you, are, mine!
the eyes disappear when the eyes roll back
into a canvas of sclera...
but not until then...

why am i so intent on peering into your self?
if it bothers you so much:
why, why... why don't you close them?!
are you afraid of being unable to see what's
worth being seen?!
tender doe... why... why... oh why so...
scared? life didn't get back to you with
its revisions of adequacy?!
too bad... maybe next time.

finish this, Matthew, finish this!
yes: we know already...
you had trouble keeping up a hard-on because
you thought you would be punishing
a ******* who's wild idea
of inviting you back to her home for free
*** backfired: as you know it would...
****-locked after you chose another
and then broke down limp
       hearing her walk into the next room with
another man and not hearing the sort
of moans you heard when she was with you...

i can't forget the dimmed lights...
contorts... archaic precusor-Cubism...
   the body sweating all other without much exertion
being applied...
if only the moon could drool moonlight
like a dog in Pavlov's experiment might drool
for the reply to a ringing of a bell...
my hands turned into spiders...
my hands turned into eyes...
but i wasn't angry or ashamed at my predicment
of under-performing...
if she was sweating all over her body
and i wasn't impaling her bur rather caressing her...
*** is... complicated...
it's not even close to the pornographic depictions...
i switched from a performance artists
to looking for something deeper...
a bit like...
well... what's within wheat?
   the category of carhohydrates... fibre...
it's the same with ***...
                                simply squeezing juice from a lemon
is not even about the point of squeezing
or the lemon...
    sometimes lethargy kicks in when you're trying
to switch ****** partners...
esp. difficult if you already have three sitting opposite
you whom you all have bedded...

Monday... i'm going to have to revise my liquid intake...
i already know that it requires me to juice up
with one strong cider... and drink some whiskey
on the side...
while kneeling before her naked body...
or sharing her cigarette...
then again: maybe her nervousness made me nervous...
after all: she had to snort a line of *******...
she had to drink half a cup of *****...
and still that nervous laugh as if Khedra was going
to **** her...
i have recently found that women are...
terribly nervous...
it's so unforgiving to find oneself in the company of a nervous
woman...
then again: maybe this should be a thrill for me?
oh, Marie is going to take me a while
to unravel... she's too petrified for any penetrative
***... she's pretty content with performing
only oral ***...
    i wonder... why...
  she's the first girl who wants to do it completely in the dark...
she feels insecure or rather: wounded...

whatever the reasons are...
    this tiny: heaviest of hearts i frown at and with.

p.s. 4/4

e|-------------------------------------------------12---
B|---­------------3--------------------------------12---
G|---------3--­---------5----- 2h3h2-----------12---
D|----5------------------------------------­3-----------
A|--------------------------------------------------­-----
E|-------------------------------------------------------

­and then my usual blues...