Nov 2023
sensitivity: or the bearing of (a) soul...
i am almost tempted - no, i was:
almost tempted to omit the indefinite article
in that sentence,
it almost "almost" sounds better...
hence a "rephrasing":
sensitivity: or the bearing of soul...
because it's not unlike the soul is something
either definite or indefinite that requires
some grammatical forensic articulation
say, unlike the Freudian trinity ego egg and ****
that schematic monstrosity of
19th century (late 19th century)
bourgeoise neurotic-sensibilities
fetishised by people with enough
luxury: time, money to evaluate ciphers
in dreams...
no no, oh no... none of that...
i've come to a parallel vision,
by now there have been two focal women in my life:
my life is a tragic echo-chamber realism,
it's like i'm utterly attached to reality
albeit - not however - consummating olden
wordings... hmm... a hmm for every hunchback
ghost-limb scratch...
zahnschleifenliebe:
apostrophes the raised commas...
i've come to a parallel vision,
the women per se but more to the point:
how these women sheltered me from media ingestion,
so much so that i can positively make
Russia and Kauai (Hawaii) synonyms in terms
of how little exposure i had to
the brainwashing fabric / fabrication of
they grey man of reaction - the mob facet, pivot...
a month in Russia (with the language barrier)
and a month on Kauai...
because there's no IN relating to Hawaii...
in Russia implies: a land-locked geography,
you can never be IN Hawaii,
you are always somehow ON Hawaii...
a ship or something, most certainly an island:
and spin-spin-go-go going nowhere...
no one says (i think, therefore probably n00b)
i'm in... no wait...
doesn't matter...
leading articles in the Saturday Times
november 18 2023... the editorial section...
what's not to like?
i.e. defenders of the apostrophe are right
to admire this versatile linguistic device...
elses' sloppy...
residents of Twyford, Hampshire,
dispossessed by the council's adoption
(i was almost fine with the spelling adoptation,
until i realised... porridge partridge
creases in white shirts, ****)
St. Mary's Terrace a St. Marys Terrace...
apostrophe as indicator of 's: possessive article
since... the plural article is simple s
and the possessive plural article is s'
and no S'S... schultzschnoofstafforshire!
brr... coldness of memory reaching as far back
as the finest army uniforms ever on show:
that Hugo Boss brigade: because what good
is the Holy Scripture without the Holy Evil
of the Nazis... admiration...
can't compare: since it's so easily revised and
thrown at opposition by the left... oids...
lefty politics is better than religion in terms
of it being a neo-******...
it's what gets my heart in a flutter
whenever i feel apathetic...
can't beat a mythological case for pure evil...
ah... me off on a tangent...
two months in my life i was sheltered from being
influenced by media... all done by women
with the Edenic rapture of ***...
once at 21 with a 19 year old
and once at 37 with a 55 year old...
as a ****** i covered the whole Cold War
dynamic, ****** for both sides
and ****** both sides
and thus still strapped to the Mniema...
Niemy - dumbfounded Germanic
sieve... third cousin from Saxon
through Dutch to English... wasps...
so it's almost ridiculous how i made
English a language of choice of how to express
while those sorry sods write about
identity politics and immigration mentality...
i'm just bothered that i can't be exactly
Essex accented because my standard cosmopolitan
London 'ing-leash is just so...
oh i got drunk last night... i had to...
never in all the shifts i worked at Wembley
did i manage to get home so quickly...
waited 0.5sec for the Metropolitan line at
Wembley park station,
then waited 2min at Finchley road for the jubilee
line... 4 stops to Bond street
and "waited" / utilised the time to walk
the entire platform for the Elizabeth line...
then 3min waiting for the 499 bus
so i had time to buy myself a bottle of cider
get off the bus and drink it at a bus stop...
pre-drinking... marvelous pouring rain...
like... shattering of a mirror...
a shattering of a mirror into a nth term
eye mandala of Jung... or Tool...
shift finished early by 10:30pm
and i was happily in my garden drinking at 11:50pm
the harder liquor...
but on the train...
hmm... wooden ring deterrent...
so could have thought, but no...
she spotted me coming in at Tottenham Court Rd
stood in the aisle... played with her hair...
fiddled with it at first then pretended to
put it in a bun...
admired herself in the glass...
well... i wasn't having much fun listening
to Wardruna's Fehu or Helvegen...
so by the time she sat down across me
and phoned a friend i had already muted the music
and started listening...
bad date... no... a funny date...
oh jeez the complications... a shorter guy...
same matted hair...
easy conversation and no... over dinner...
no drinking...
but all this flirting...
standing on my feet for 12 hours straight
started to massage my legs...
what the hell does she do?
exposes her knees...
subtle clues and cues...
this whole bonanza of a woman playing
with her hair...
in close proximity...
i know the psychological mantra spewed
into making our behaviours predictably constipated
like we've lost our own mystery...
like philosophy reached a cul de sac
when psychology became mainstream...
i don't want to hear it...
i still want to be mesmerised by...
an ontological perfume... a trace of being:
not a full-blown existential schematic
of / for automatons / zombies...
rule of thumb regurgitation (of) reincarnations,
perhaps it was the age-power dynamic
of i'm older she's younger
i have signs of grey implying wizened
where my beard begins and no sideburns "exist"
and yes: she didn't have a chance to show-off her
dress... and yes... i did notice she had
furry eyebrows or at least she fashioned
them like so...
by now i'm rekindling the strange commute
because i played along
with the subtleties of flirt
implying that i was covertly replying to her
almost subliminal messaging tactic...
hell: come to think it... this wasn't subliminal!
next thing i'll hear another doppelganger comparison
that i've stolen the shadow of Brad Pitt
or Chris Hemsworth... pity i have a ******
looking surname like ****** or Stalin...
but i will not be called Matt when i stress to be called
by my name proper...
someone at work once said:
only my mother gets to call me Matthew...
well in my case i'm Mateo... so... debunking Italian
in the Dąbrowski March...
oh yeah... there are only one or two maybe three
decent national anthems...
the French the Polish and the Russians
have the most appealing national anthems...
just like there's a genius to Abba
but hardly any in the Beatles... period...
so much for music:
gladius Rōmae imperī sum,
ubi’st nostrum imperium?
nē plōrā, mater Rōma,
dēnuō flōrēbis
Βελισάριος Βελισάριος - Oₕ Aₕ
ₑₔₑₙ'ₛ
Eden's Siamese chim'pan'zees...
U turn into (∇) the nebula of Nabla:
(ego): Σ of being....
Σsum = fractus + fractus
1/2 + 2/1
ergo Σsum = -1/2 always...
the half that's constantly missing you...
the power of *** and the dangers of ***...
i should have learned it at the brothel...
but it was all oh so casual like treating meat
in cuts before ensuring that the *******
were saved for the main course on a different
day and the rest of the chicken was used
to make a clear chicken soup
with carrots, leeks, parsley roots, celery,
celeriac...
this emotional investment is...
a liberation and a project of self-awareness:
how will i try to sound less synthetic less
robotic?
i'm not even trying to be cryptic but my heart
is complicating what i want to say
and i don't want to say what it feels
with my cognitive wants,
notably utilising noun or verb crutches...
which is why i want to conjure "lesser" historical
figures... not that Philip Augustus of France
is a "lesser" figure... not when coupled
to the dynamic of Henry II, John and Richard I...
while Charlemagne stands alone...
by now this piece of writing has become music...
there is no investment in plot...
language can become just that... music or painting...
there's no conveying of direction,
there's no wisdom, wisdom as direction...
to hell with Levant wisdom...
i'll be the last man of the north
to listen to the "wisdom" of the desert...
i will dearly cut off this influence from my psyche...
gladly crucified the ****** and so be done with it:
to the point where, professionally:
we tried to stamp out racism with anti-racism:
i can't be an anti-racist...
i find racists a rather funny breed of people...
racism expressed unintentionally is
so rewarding... because it follows from
the basic principle of colour as meaning:
traffic... red is stop, amber is be ready
and green is flow... even though blue is more associated
with flow... then again... most rivers look green...
well... beside the Thames sun and concrete starved...
not since Ginsberg's poem i heard the word
***** hair coming from... well...
some sort of Arab, given his name was Fawad...
so some ****** version of piglet-pink
not marred by the cold of the north of Europe...
oh hell... we're in this together somehow...
no impeding Mongolian horde yet still
the best horror story i ever heard came
from my father:
i had a childhood friend once...
he committed suicide...
why? he was seeing this girl...
then the girl started to **** my father's friend's father...
epic horror story...
which is sort of me... right now...
i can conjure up this insecurity in
my current relationship...
she could easily take to my father
and usher out my mother into the street...
i like this fetish-fear...
it's a phobia-philia...
anti-Oedipal and more: Kronos affirming...
just like i like the idea of the ancient Roman
practice of fostering children...
because i have no gene-incentive to speak of
because genes are fractions while
ideas are whole numbers... fetishist par excellence:
fluid French thinking, if thinking is French or was...
oh but it sort of it... since pragmatism is English
and thinking for thinking's sake is
not really pragmatic it therefore must be French
and if anything is to be resolved it has to be resolved
on Greenwich Mean Time terms... blah blah...
for now, just that... an exercise in writing.
i am almost tempted - no, i was:
almost tempted to omit the indefinite article
in that sentence,
it almost "almost" sounds better...
hence a "rephrasing":
sensitivity: or the bearing of soul...
because it's not unlike the soul is something
either definite or indefinite that requires
some grammatical forensic articulation
say, unlike the Freudian trinity ego egg and ****
that schematic monstrosity of
19th century (late 19th century)
bourgeoise neurotic-sensibilities
fetishised by people with enough
luxury: time, money to evaluate ciphers
in dreams...
no no, oh no... none of that...
i've come to a parallel vision,
by now there have been two focal women in my life:
my life is a tragic echo-chamber realism,
it's like i'm utterly attached to reality
albeit - not however - consummating olden
wordings... hmm... a hmm for every hunchback
ghost-limb scratch...
zahnschleifenliebe:
apostrophes the raised commas...
i've come to a parallel vision,
the women per se but more to the point:
how these women sheltered me from media ingestion,
so much so that i can positively make
Russia and Kauai (Hawaii) synonyms in terms
of how little exposure i had to
the brainwashing fabric / fabrication of
they grey man of reaction - the mob facet, pivot...
a month in Russia (with the language barrier)
and a month on Kauai...
because there's no IN relating to Hawaii...
in Russia implies: a land-locked geography,
you can never be IN Hawaii,
you are always somehow ON Hawaii...
a ship or something, most certainly an island:
and spin-spin-go-go going nowhere...
no one says (i think, therefore probably n00b)
i'm in... no wait...
doesn't matter...
leading articles in the Saturday Times
november 18 2023... the editorial section...
what's not to like?
i.e. defenders of the apostrophe are right
to admire this versatile linguistic device...
elses' sloppy...
residents of Twyford, Hampshire,
dispossessed by the council's adoption
(i was almost fine with the spelling adoptation,
until i realised... porridge partridge
creases in white shirts, ****)
St. Mary's Terrace a St. Marys Terrace...
apostrophe as indicator of 's: possessive article
since... the plural article is simple s
and the possessive plural article is s'
and no S'S... schultzschnoofstafforshire!
brr... coldness of memory reaching as far back
as the finest army uniforms ever on show:
that Hugo Boss brigade: because what good
is the Holy Scripture without the Holy Evil
of the Nazis... admiration...
can't compare: since it's so easily revised and
thrown at opposition by the left... oids...
lefty politics is better than religion in terms
of it being a neo-******...
it's what gets my heart in a flutter
whenever i feel apathetic...
can't beat a mythological case for pure evil...
ah... me off on a tangent...
two months in my life i was sheltered from being
influenced by media... all done by women
with the Edenic rapture of ***...
once at 21 with a 19 year old
and once at 37 with a 55 year old...
as a ****** i covered the whole Cold War
dynamic, ****** for both sides
and ****** both sides
and thus still strapped to the Mniema...
Niemy - dumbfounded Germanic
sieve... third cousin from Saxon
through Dutch to English... wasps...
so it's almost ridiculous how i made
English a language of choice of how to express
while those sorry sods write about
identity politics and immigration mentality...
i'm just bothered that i can't be exactly
Essex accented because my standard cosmopolitan
London 'ing-leash is just so...
oh i got drunk last night... i had to...
never in all the shifts i worked at Wembley
did i manage to get home so quickly...
waited 0.5sec for the Metropolitan line at
Wembley park station,
then waited 2min at Finchley road for the jubilee
line... 4 stops to Bond street
and "waited" / utilised the time to walk
the entire platform for the Elizabeth line...
then 3min waiting for the 499 bus
so i had time to buy myself a bottle of cider
get off the bus and drink it at a bus stop...
pre-drinking... marvelous pouring rain...
like... shattering of a mirror...
a shattering of a mirror into a nth term
eye mandala of Jung... or Tool...
shift finished early by 10:30pm
and i was happily in my garden drinking at 11:50pm
the harder liquor...
but on the train...
hmm... wooden ring deterrent...
so could have thought, but no...
she spotted me coming in at Tottenham Court Rd
stood in the aisle... played with her hair...
fiddled with it at first then pretended to
put it in a bun...
admired herself in the glass...
well... i wasn't having much fun listening
to Wardruna's Fehu or Helvegen...
so by the time she sat down across me
and phoned a friend i had already muted the music
and started listening...
bad date... no... a funny date...
oh jeez the complications... a shorter guy...
same matted hair...
easy conversation and no... over dinner...
no drinking...
but all this flirting...
standing on my feet for 12 hours straight
started to massage my legs...
what the hell does she do?
exposes her knees...
subtle clues and cues...
this whole bonanza of a woman playing
with her hair...
in close proximity...
i know the psychological mantra spewed
into making our behaviours predictably constipated
like we've lost our own mystery...
like philosophy reached a cul de sac
when psychology became mainstream...
i don't want to hear it...
i still want to be mesmerised by...
an ontological perfume... a trace of being:
not a full-blown existential schematic
of / for automatons / zombies...
rule of thumb regurgitation (of) reincarnations,
perhaps it was the age-power dynamic
of i'm older she's younger
i have signs of grey implying wizened
where my beard begins and no sideburns "exist"
and yes: she didn't have a chance to show-off her
dress... and yes... i did notice she had
furry eyebrows or at least she fashioned
them like so...
by now i'm rekindling the strange commute
because i played along
with the subtleties of flirt
implying that i was covertly replying to her
almost subliminal messaging tactic...
hell: come to think it... this wasn't subliminal!
next thing i'll hear another doppelganger comparison
that i've stolen the shadow of Brad Pitt
or Chris Hemsworth... pity i have a ******
looking surname like ****** or Stalin...
but i will not be called Matt when i stress to be called
by my name proper...
someone at work once said:
only my mother gets to call me Matthew...
well in my case i'm Mateo... so... debunking Italian
in the Dąbrowski March...
oh yeah... there are only one or two maybe three
decent national anthems...
the French the Polish and the Russians
have the most appealing national anthems...
just like there's a genius to Abba
but hardly any in the Beatles... period...
so much for music:
gladius Rōmae imperī sum,
ubi’st nostrum imperium?
nē plōrā, mater Rōma,
dēnuō flōrēbis
Βελισάριος Βελισάριος - Oₕ Aₕ
ₑₔₑₙ'ₛ
Eden's Siamese chim'pan'zees...
U turn into (∇) the nebula of Nabla:
(ego): Σ of being....
Σsum = fractus + fractus
1/2 + 2/1
ergo Σsum = -1/2 always...
the half that's constantly missing you...
the power of *** and the dangers of ***...
i should have learned it at the brothel...
but it was all oh so casual like treating meat
in cuts before ensuring that the *******
were saved for the main course on a different
day and the rest of the chicken was used
to make a clear chicken soup
with carrots, leeks, parsley roots, celery,
celeriac...
this emotional investment is...
a liberation and a project of self-awareness:
how will i try to sound less synthetic less
robotic?
i'm not even trying to be cryptic but my heart
is complicating what i want to say
and i don't want to say what it feels
with my cognitive wants,
notably utilising noun or verb crutches...
which is why i want to conjure "lesser" historical
figures... not that Philip Augustus of France
is a "lesser" figure... not when coupled
to the dynamic of Henry II, John and Richard I...
while Charlemagne stands alone...
by now this piece of writing has become music...
there is no investment in plot...
language can become just that... music or painting...
there's no conveying of direction,
there's no wisdom, wisdom as direction...
to hell with Levant wisdom...
i'll be the last man of the north
to listen to the "wisdom" of the desert...
i will dearly cut off this influence from my psyche...
gladly crucified the ****** and so be done with it:
to the point where, professionally:
we tried to stamp out racism with anti-racism:
i can't be an anti-racist...
i find racists a rather funny breed of people...
racism expressed unintentionally is
so rewarding... because it follows from
the basic principle of colour as meaning:
traffic... red is stop, amber is be ready
and green is flow... even though blue is more associated
with flow... then again... most rivers look green...
well... beside the Thames sun and concrete starved...
not since Ginsberg's poem i heard the word
***** hair coming from... well...
some sort of Arab, given his name was Fawad...
so some ****** version of piglet-pink
not marred by the cold of the north of Europe...
oh hell... we're in this together somehow...
no impeding Mongolian horde yet still
the best horror story i ever heard came
from my father:
i had a childhood friend once...
he committed suicide...
why? he was seeing this girl...
then the girl started to **** my father's friend's father...
epic horror story...
which is sort of me... right now...
i can conjure up this insecurity in
my current relationship...
she could easily take to my father
and usher out my mother into the street...
i like this fetish-fear...
it's a phobia-philia...
anti-Oedipal and more: Kronos affirming...
just like i like the idea of the ancient Roman
practice of fostering children...
because i have no gene-incentive to speak of
because genes are fractions while
ideas are whole numbers... fetishist par excellence:
fluid French thinking, if thinking is French or was...
oh but it sort of it... since pragmatism is English
and thinking for thinking's sake is
not really pragmatic it therefore must be French
and if anything is to be resolved it has to be resolved
on Greenwich Mean Time terms... blah blah...
for now, just that... an exercise in writing.
