clearly they're scared of the impeding gravitas... at Wembley... well... if i was this lowly exit steward once, then plain ol' dandy... then supervisor of stewards, then a supervisor of the response team... and now they're asking me to be a quadrant manager... the security industry is not a career (reiterate: there is no career prospect in the security industry) - and rising in rank is not something to be glorified... but here's the burden and apparently i'm competent to be able to do: human-chess... but the subterfuge of people with absolutely no skills: no skills in construction, no skills in culinary expeditions... which later translates as no competence in giving people instructions in a mild-mannered deviation from having authority... but here i am... the first time out of a school environment of climbing ladders and it's just like school... the horror...

so i get technological paranoia... sue me...
a 502 bad gateway
of a page shutting down is
me at my most orientating pristine...
but then i share a picture of my ***...

thirst for squabble:
she's demanding triangles
and squares and circles of me:
something geometrically defining
my construct
in the confines of a female psyche...
so we playfully argue
like she does pretty much
all the arguing being half
Puerto Rican
and i'm like: o.k.
for the juicy peach of an ***
i get to RAM...
i'm not arguing...
as long as i can think about
making a pasta Carbonara
the next day
and think of eggs
and slugs
and *** and **** juices
then some blood...
and how she only recently told me:
well you know that i've done
****...
like me being upfront about
trying out a ******* and for
the love of god
the next time i ingest that suggestion
of... "feeling like a king"
just because:
i could swear i didn't ask
for a *******
i was almost pressured into
claiming that whisper:
but it wasn't true:
i didn't feel like a king:

threesomes are for petty thieves
who cannot reside in the confines
of a harem...
the rest revolves around
the dynamite of monogamy...
the nobility of monogamy:
the triviality explained: celebrated:
of monogamy...
like her falling asleep with
her daughter falling asleep
and me on the other side of the telephone:
not trying to fall asleep:
now that! that was a *******!

to have that sort of pairing of mother
and daughter knowing
full well the daughter is not even a taboo
but a sanctity...
taboos and sanctity...
strange how a plural of the latter word
doesn't really: "figure itself out"...

but how i love these petty arguments:
you cut me off,
not saying: i'll be back in a minute:
well mother called and she wanted
me to take a picture of a hospital appointment
letter...

i knew there was something wrong
with those brakes:
there was too much tension
on the wire...
i might have been a fool trying to take
off the cassette...
******* up my wheel then gleefully
basking in my intelligence's impotence:
but breaks and break wires i can figure out...
too much tension:
that's why whenever i squeezed
one side: the right side
of the brake would leech onto the wheel
and create a friction:
since there was too much tension on the wire
there was not enough REFLEX...

the most important aspect of dealing
with a subject matter of revising
a bicycle is:
you need the proper tools:
i can't stress how much ******* i received
from myself
for not having the right wrench or
the right spanner etc
to improvise with a bite of tongs
is not a way to revise:
i don't need to have shoe guards on those peddles!
what if i get "confused"
by the spin and i'm at a roundabout
and i need to press hard
on the peddles to engage the traffic
and almost be grinding my teeth
at the start of a race at a velodrome?!
apparently the force that needs to be
exerted on those bicycles is
equivalent to someone pushing a car
while reclining on their back...
well **** me: i'd love to ride
a 55,000 quids worth of a bicycle
more than i'd want to drive a Ferrari...

ah... the ******-Catharsis Complex
of the Anti-Oedipus scrutiny...
perhaps... but no...
it feels less and less like i want
to **** my grandmother and more and more
a relative concise: precision-marker
of wanting to **** my grandmother:
in terms of the body-volume
voluptuous scandal...
like pears, peaches,
oysters... slugs...
                   cushions...
                         clouds...   chicken hearts...
squish squish... octopuses...
kittens...
   cannibals exposed
to civilization and vegetarianism...
then losing the plot with veganism...
anemic vampires...
     haemophilia...
                       someone fainting seeing blood...
needle poison...

not so much public as it is cryptic
or perhaps i don't really mind
that i see people see me **** her
in my mind:
they're not actually going to see me ****
her just me thinking about:
for the time being:
next time i do i'll open up a champagne
bottle and call it a new year's eve party...
until then
we have to spice life up with
little agitations to sense a wonder
for the status quo:
otherwise it's not going to work...
but little agitations i can stomach:
like a steak tartar...

but how she managed to convince me
that i'm parasite riddled
how i have worms wriggling
in my agitated ****: tingling ****:
well... if you're scared of me licking
it and you enjoy it:
then you might as well know that
you're riddle with pin-worms!
yes! you are! riddled with pin-worms!
am i?
what?! just because i felt sort
of weird about you licking my ****
out oh the power play
so now i have to concede:
because i get to get off licking your ****
out...
but i've never experienced ****
and you have
and maybe if i wasn't so *******
vanilla i might be inclined to be gay
and maybe i should ask someone to
stick their fingers up my oblique
of a mouth:
and test for the existence of a prostate!

like a fish needs a bicycle
like a tortoise needs
a cupboard.