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i'm a poet i'm a rat i will scuttle in darkness
and shimmering teeth
smiling at the moon
because i

walked the old haunts with myself
where i would sit in the night
drink and lament: by lament indeed
i indeed would cry
like a baby
unabashed like a baby a man-baby
not a man-child
but but a man-baby

i'm no Peter Pan or for that matter
Dionysus
what a poor choice of a demigod
coming from a man high on
barbiturates...
who?! who do you "who"?!
i'm not evening asking i will not drop
the "N" bomb...

        no... i will: with my Hot-Vizier
a man who knows Islam
i swear to god i need to find release
and release i will find
i need the stabbing numbing of the heart
i need to numb the heart
once more
forget this Eden
this slow ebbing Eden...

Nietzsche and the mysterious catatonic
Pole he became...
O wait: i'm a heavy drinker
i'm a mini not-me Dionysus
imagining my psychiatrists wondering
about that original diagnosis
as psychotic
and schizophrenic they mistook for
being bilingual: or they completely forgot
that i told them i heard
"voices" in English
but didn't hear them in Polish...
i wonder where i fit on the spectrum
of categorizing intelligence as a mental
disease:

but i did tell them... square in the face:
once you let me out of "here"
i don't know where DA will be or become
with all the:
-ing
-ing
-ing
-ing                          getting to rubric stance
rather than float about like
rogue planets
devoid of concept of meteor
or sun....

Geidi Prime to Geydi Sigma...
the satellite team nocturnal responding:
skin? mostly peeled otherwise
to my imagining: crawling...
thrombosis -
i like the sound of that word:

skin is crawling with nettle-worm
fluids...
we're constantly itching, Sire...
life is good but we have to complicate
it to make more bearable
even with the surplus of advantageous tools
women have the internet
and washing machines
men have AI

and i've never used too many APPS
but every time i mention that
i used chatGPT to help me complete
my NVQ Level 3 in Crowd Management
it's as if i never actually
studied a BSc in Chemistry at Edinburgh
University...
truly...

              i never once used a dating app...
not once... i never used a dating app...
me? i just went to the brothel.
simple(s): i.e. image-talk:
but not e:'moti)c;ons)

    (there: ode to e. e. cummings
in one word)

                 Arènes de Nîmes:
ahem..
AREN (not, i think: AR Eh)
de... d'uh...
NIMZ... not

Boris Brejcha concert:
i wish i was managing security at that event...

re-calibrating my mind
no... my eyes...
this is a problem of the eyes not the mind
the eyes have blind spots...
like so: put Cyrillic not Greek
to good use, for the sake of the Romans:

a rubric Anti-St. off Peter and Paul,
a reply to the Hebrews, rather simple:

ж = ż (or rz, depending on the context
of orthography,
i.e. able to differentiate between
rzeka: river and życie: life...
now for the rubric, short... and sweet!)

/                              ж = ż
/           у = υ (because of
Γγ               gamma) i.e. ooh ooh /
/                х = CH or samo H, not Z
   HEIM INS *****
         HEIM INS *****
*****...

                      ц = c     tylko c... nic wiecej!

before i entertain the tail on the e
for the sake of Polish
i best regress to Greek from Cyrillic
i.e. these letter elude me:
are problems for the eyes
to see past:

             Ξξ
                 Χχ               these two...

because i know
that...

              Ψψ = Σσς
                                       as    

        Ψψ ≠ Π(Σσς)π

                       approximate to subscript
is identifying a small letter
a progress from Cuneiform and Katakana
i must admit:
therefore establishing chemistry writing...
equations of not words
but artifacts of mind on stone
like able to identify minerals in a Dickensian
pleasure of reading
but i will never finish the Pickwick Papers
i'm sure of that
i abhor English literature
i don't understand why i had to read
Shakespeare like it was a measure
of writing skill rather than skill of recitation
because Shakespeare is not
among the: pardon my Swiss critique
just borrowed it: LOSER poet...
threw in a few sonnets to compensate
but think how lazily they were allowed
to write akin to Seneca...
akin to all these lazily living (also) writers...

ah... back to the rubric of Cyrillic...

           tylko c... nic więcej! nic! poza nic!
            nić

                      [t͡ɕ]

oh yes, that's music, the bilingual music
of speech... maybe i can't write music for the guitar
but i can write music for the instrument
of speech that is tongue...

                       ч = chequers...

mind you if i don't find it a problem with
very popular words
like szczerosc: truthfulness...
i could not probably note improve
but if emoticons are aplenty then
at least troll the **** out of the Roman alphabet
like the lazy Cyril trolled Cyrillic with
the easy e and a
and...
but all that effort in I

щ =       šč

point being: if szcz = щ
surely there might be a letter equivalent to
       -ść

dość! enough!

       thought in reverse:

                         don't make me bring out Jan Hus
and the Czech diacritical study:
you have to remember that there is still
this strange Pan-Slavic
that no Germanic person could or will acknowledge
since: can you believe it!
they don't speak English in Paris!

hence the new Tetragrammaton emerges:

    borrowed from sigma and Caro

   ZHZH...

             ha! and what vowels to throw into it like
stones? perhaps best to think about breaths
but it did dawn on my
when uttering THe letters like so:
the frictive variation of F
that is... in THE but not in THought....
but is also the same in ALthOUGH...

и
         и и
и и и

or

и
ииииии
и

    (meat and two veg, ha... not funny)

Cyril you lazy sod!
hey! look! lookie lookie!
no wonder then: so lazy on the a and e...
bud is going to be the next
Hackney ganster
educating the youth
saying that there is not need to panic
when using AI to pass
NVQ exams:
but believe me...
supervising is dull work...

those forced labor camps in Schindler's List
looked ******* authentic...
then the mood switches
and the women arrive in Aushwitz
and then you know:
a death camp is not a forced labor camp
the snow is falling
the dogs are barking
and the guards are ******* smiling!
i mean: if genocide was that bad
then imagine:
hello eternity hello god
and the people who are last in line
are in front of you:
...
   ...
      ...
******* smiling?!
how genius it must have been
to try to reunite the modern Hebrews:
unchanged
with the Ancients of Rome and Babylon
and Egypt:
to no avail! to no, *******, avail!
they stopped fearing uttering THE NAME
to now openly testifying:
oh, so complicated: say what you will...
we really don't know how to say
the word right now...
we never did... plagiarists of Gilgamesh:
store front: Jesus Saves...

****, this ****! **** it!
well... if tribes galore is what we're mining
then at least the Chinese
and the Indians (blue blue)
don't need mentioning their post-tribal
period as civilizations

in this brief civilization yawn
of Europe
we begin tribal again
thanks to the import of labor from
"elsewhere"...
no... there need not be some right wing revival
i just need to watch Schindler's List
with one more beer
and compare the guards
at a forced labor camp
and the guards at a, the, death camp
and begin to wonder
how the logistics of fooling so many
people to the bowels and furnace of
the birth of Moloch came about
so willingly so sheepishly
fooled by a bar of soap
from work camp to death camp
i'm still rattling my brains
about the coordination of the spectacle:
logistically
if you ever worked at Wembley
esp on the egress.. outside...

i can imagine volume: of people: like water...
90 thousand people dispersing from
a Coliseum
after an event it takes roughly 2h...
circa 100 people per tube carriage...
the logistical endeavor: the livid and drinking
insomnia of it all:
if i were a police officer not a security
officer
or a chemistry teacher would i have
the same sort of language freedom as
i am afforded, right now?

money? for this?! you kidding me:
the 20th century literature is still somehow
the stuff of envy while
i'm doing this for the best reason
other than reading a book
and that's called taming the ego
and ensuring it's like a voyager and all
the suitcases are packed
because i can't stop thinking that
i'm an SS-man or a Harkonnen
because that's how i begin to understand being
human...

mind you i was impregnated with that
thought: of being an SS-man
by my teachers in school:
although i have green eyes they saw blue
since green is rare
because the repressive genes that give blue
eyes
overcame the possessive genes that
give brown eyes
but i was white or somehow grown piglet
in no tux of pink
and blah blah a history reference point
to that song about a Bomber like
a glass bottle on a wall: the IRA and the RAF
joint: closure:

defunct bombs: only architectural damages...
(would prefer that in a non-plural
expression, i.e. damage... never mind)

        so much for heartache when she goes
all teary commando and
i get to feel **** that's not: ****
then i make a quick and sudden
incision and the festivity is over
and i'm tired of living but adore the mantra:
arbeit macht frei

and it's not just that people lose
intelligence when congregating
it's just sad to behold such affairs
on a daily basis
when you could, quiet simply:
isolate these examples of man
and not be as disappointed as
i found myself being:
on countless times...
these... things... magi-jigs...
              
             suppose i didn't want to write
the script to the Apocalypse... what then?
Nietzsche had take 1 and take 2...
everyone is feeling embarrassed by simply
being alive...
or strangely alive...
#metoo: getting the jitters like a girly girly
i so wanted for that Billy Eilish #LUNCH
song to not be a ***** ANTHEM
but it's like the White Stripes' 7 Nation
Army at football stadiums...

tummy ache: tum tum...
tum , tum tum tum tum tum

maybe i might just get the rhythm right
with but one word but
the best, acceptable punctuation
(and no, no diacritical markers...
who's who in the know of known who
i.e. knows: who knows)

tum, yes... about right... 5x tum after the initial
punctuation...
but there is at least one other
that i will turn from the comma
into an apostrophe...

tum, no... 6x...
just listening to the song: sorry... right back no back
just shoulders...
and that Cain plum on my shoulder:
am i an angel or just a simple man
devoid: please please poetic audience
tactic me some variation of a hard-on
no no, pretty: pwetty please...

tum,tum...

****'s sake can't count
what i see though is:

tum,tum'tum'tum'tum',tum

       something like that...
the basics... no gradations of splendor:
just the POINT of INTEREST...
smoking barrel of a gun is a fake
when the chimneys of Auschwitz
are not touristy destinations of Giza...
am i, hearing you...
yo-yo...
sorry... ear wax... am i hearing you just
right
before the altar of the god Alter and Pronoun?!
maybe... ha ha:
by now who **** knows! right?!
through the forest: instead of running
simply walking
muddied feet
muddled tongue
  
                       if i could get away
from "getting away" i would call myself
by my name
in third person
and then wonder: what's with this
pronoun gymnastics that
is dumb-    -ing people
who think they are walking on eggshells
but instead: are:
walking on broken glass...

the mirror of the sky
and the mirror of the seas
how entwined without adjectives
sometimes
sometimes things are devoid
of adjectives

a mountain is a mountain is
Moses and Muhammad and they too
are: non-responsive in
definition...

lazily stomaching an afternoon
within a day:

i sNIGGER... snigger -
yet the added S- is somehow not so much
concerning the rest of the word
"somehow": "offensive"?

i'm still astounded by what visualization
was generated from Frank Herbert's
Dune... beside the rather unique
punctuation there is not much to swallow...

willows willows and some drool...
**** and pike and birches for all lost *******
like dissociation with dogs
having *** like we try to think "we" in
the royal sense: devising plans
to outstrip *** from function
like *** is devoid of function
of magnetism like
there is no synonym and no antonym

through the forest: perfect exercise for
both mind and body
not running: oh hell no... no running involved
just hunched for moments at a time
then upright...

sitting on a stump of what was formerly
a prided oak
on a throne of stump
i sat and pondered whether:
is Matthew a good person?

3 years this long distance "relationship"
lasted...
i gave up so much travesty of
the lived, personal, experience
that i found blind-spots concerning
fellow man
and felt more indulgent than
associating Goethe with the title: patriarch...

of whom? artists? like Shakespeare
isn't already the patriarch of actors... isn't he?!
not out of vanity or wounded self-esteem
but paper and ink are readily available
in that: they're no longer necessary...

and all these people attached to miniature
Apocalypses in their pockets
these soft-machine hullabaloos
feats of anti-engineering
it would almost, almost therefore: seemingly
be: best associated with...

seems almost idiotic to pressure the id
to overcome the ego
in the grand scheme of
psy: schematic: associating man with man
within himself:
under what metaphysical scalpel
were these 20th century intrusions:
ventures: in understanding man
how well man became understood
find foundations of such progress
in Auschwitz...

elsewhere life under the Quran was as if
a nightmare to which i woke into
seeing life undisturbed:
with the exception of the unavoidable
outliers akin
to the Pakistani **** gangs of Rotherham

voiceless dental fricative [θ]
or its voiced counterpart [ð]

i think that's the dire consequence
of not keeping check the evolutionary
strategy of language as
its own entity: self... minus my self:
my self: the reflective component
"v" / "vs" the reflexive myself strictness...

forget the aesthetics of spelling
and how it looks on paper...
through the forest
i walked with only one ear...
well... two ears...
but one ear was focused on the parody
of listening to music
while the other ear was honing in
on the furor of the birds
bothered by a pendite...

i literally unearthed this word, right now,
on the spot...
spot of ENSOO... in one sitting:
omicron omega omicron omega:
U turn up to Silon...
up to Silon... my version of Zion...

second-person plural present
             active imperative of pendō

and people come to me with these
iron maiden chambers of grammar solely
on the vestiges of stressing... *******...
pronouns?! seriously?!

what the **** does pendoo mean?
ha ha! well well... just my luck for resurrecitng
old tongues
while i baptized myself in the nettles!
oh the nettles!
i took my shirt off
i was going to take all my clothes off
and run into the nettles
i thought it might suckerpunch me good
to feel the itch crawl into my skin
if i also itched with my testicles
but then again: indecent exposure...
sufficed with rubbing nettles
on my shins
my forearms
my hands
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my face
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my chest and my back

like Husayn -
i became a martyr of self-doubt...
no... it was certain:
there was no affair
no cheating involved
but it would have been cruel
to give hope
when the realist in me knew:
perhaps i do not like my work
but i love the company i keep
at work...

i was thinking about the properties
of doing such a thing
hinging upon a story i once read
about Roman centurions throwing themselves
****-naked into nettles...
duck quack medicine...
chemo... no...
cherry chemistry CH CH CH
choo choo...
  "too many consonants" my scratched ***
and tilting halo: for ****'s sake...

DRAKA: DRADZA: DRA-     -JA
equivalent to DZ...

          quack... duck... medicine... ah!
lost a word for a moment:
HOMEOPATHY!
or hum-pathology: **-meo-pathy...
etymological: where?
    ** in Greek: meo mea yes yes
-pathy yes like -ology...

                   this tongue outside of my
mouth in my head
not exactly a rhetorical gift
but for the duty to interest:
i.e. being invested in being interested:
undying! preserved! mummified!

what comes now is a flood of memories:
one or two hiccups
but compared to what Edie was used
to with her experience of men...
over a stretch of 3 years
we only met twice
and we had Oppenheimer sort of ***

that's what happens when
a cryptic meander:
a recluse... yes yes: once or twice
in the brothel
but what i also learned
when *** is bought / exchanged
that rigid LIMP ******* ****
i'm trying to get my rocks off
want to lick her out
finger her and then she blurbs out:
that will be extra...
she also forgot to peel the banana
sorry
but she forgot what the ******* is
for and isn't for
and that was a waste of time
i ended up paying £130 for massaging her...

and that's what: in the heralded
wisdom of a 55 year old to a 38 year
some ******* clue:
oh yeah, yeah... the younger girls
are *****...
hornier: puppet: you have my strings?
seriously?
am i to believe that women
in the luxury of the menopause
are... wait wait...

  wait wait... menopausal women
are hornier: freer...
than their younger counterparts... period!
the end!
i've heard too much ******* to suffer
the fate of the gullible patrons of:
*** for pleasure...

   and she might have thought me an invalid
for not having secured a progeny
in child of my own
(a)

           but now i just see timidity breeding
fluorescence
if that's even possible whenever
i see women in that brackets of (18 - 45)
that's a good bracket to have...
invigorating: indispensable...
like this was my ONE NOTCH
and a belt of all those times
i wondered whether or not i had erectile
dysfunction: clearly not...

******* the brains out of an older woman:
trick came with the thrice tickle...
tasteless?
current affairs and political lies
are tasteless:
suffice to say that a sound reading
of Marquis de Sade coupled with some
sobering Kant and Bukowski's efforts
yes yes... all a matter of fact: stress...
a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away
so much for apples...
tangerines oranges snakes and ladders...

the realist spoke:
i was never going to leave London
for her
that dynamic of mother daughter
grandmother was strict and Christian-obligatory
i can't do Christian-obligatory
when you have suspicions of
the one and only heresy that is: hypocrisy...

i couldn't leave London for Kauai
i would hate waking up
driving past the golf courses of Princeville
and i would hate to live among
Americans
even if they were Polynesian half-winks
of what the genesis story is
of that vastness: i.e. Taiwan...
too much sun not even *****: ooh! azure!

i'm an urban rat
i need urban slang to surprise me
especially if it's coming from the youths
of Hackney and they're Somalis
or Nigerians ...
i feel sick whenever i travel back to Poland
and am stuck with an ethnic homogeneity

too much white on white
i once stated already that: the future is mixed race...
for all the ills and ailments
we need a genetic vibrancy
and one way is to breed:
no sorry... that **** is on AUTOPILOT right
now... as natural as gravity...
but at least black women will stop
wearing wigs
and their half-kin will have a full crop
of hair and there will be no more
*****-slapping concerning alopecia...
perhaps no teeth-whitening envy too:
orange skin tan peel: blinding ivory: ugh!

                        only in Essex...

plus! i don't want to come across as some
invalid
but i really really don't need a car in London
sure i'm heading to Poland
to get a driving license in September
but that's just a formality blah blah blah
but over there: bicycle: bad bearings...
knock-knock buckling...

             England is an island but Kauai
is a whirlpool of existential constipation
that's equivalent to: ha ha... claustrophobia...
oddly enough it was just that...
plus summer is coming
and with that Wimbledon
and the concert season
and the Euro finals and being a tourist
of bad-mouthed Ahmed Ahmeds
flying in from Sow-Di Land of
the free peoples of Putinphilia... well: you know...
blah blah...

           yes: i am the bad man...
because i'm the realist and i wanted the memory
bank to implode then explode into
stretching time:
that non-linear point of having
a concern for time...
a stretching and juxtaposition of time
and that's also QUANTUM TIME...
as much as i might enjoy the quantum space
of my bedroom and me kneeling
before the bed and typing this out...

memory = quantum time

                       i can play with it as much as i can:
with the additional fervor of having
memory intact outside
of the realm of pedagogic infringement
and acidity once upon a time
constricted by learning irrelevant facts:
it's like: why do they teach us biology
when they know none of us will
be doctors or at least most
why don't they teach us nutrition in school
help us focus on the entire body
rather than bulldozer our experience of
youth with talk of *******
thrombocytes and chlorophyll?

          pedagogy is outdated - clearly:
if it weren't for a self-assured want to grasp
etymology / other languages...
beside from the basics of arithmetic and some
grasp of letters: although nuance
that sound to the letters presented
and what dyslexia is there to be spoken of?

ah ha ha... blah blah...
for all my afternoons to revolve around such
joy: to write.
who, the, ****, brings, a book, into, a forest?! it's like these people living in the desert forgot, "somehow"... this fertile land of Europe is what? formerly sand dunes and fantasy? you know how much effort it took to uproot these trees and make this land fertile for a harvest?! like... this is a forgetfulness?! because the sands were easy and the mountains that were before them?! you ******* **** ****** ITES... this... this?! was easy?! to turn the forests of Ukraine into the bread basket of the world?!

Uzair! Uzair! you ******* myopia glue
to glass!
Ooh: Zer!
not ******* Za'ir
you ******* plonker...
check your goggles
make sure they're not sunglasses...

for ****'s sake...
that stubble is no beard!

and if i were to give all this
up
for some cougar ***
on Kauai
with suspicions of psychopathy...

but i did nothing to the girl

FAUN
FAUN
there's the labyrinth there's:
Leopold Göth (Amon):
i'm tired of being the "good guy"
in the lexicon of American
English with
equations of winners
and losers

like mortality is this antithesis
of a sickness of this tongue
this scribble...

so i wandered into the forest
no... no psychological parody, please,
i'm into the racist nuggets
and nothing could,
quiet match up to:

UZAIR!
you ******* goggle eye my
******* google or GANDU
what?!

so...
i took the sin bin approach...
walked into the forest...
found my artifact of antithesis
monotheism
for which the newly arrived
tribes of polytheism
weren't too, too... sure
about...

beside Amir and Ahmed and
Hah'med...
MEDI-TERA-EAN...

the ******* looking at
me all blank:
you ******* Sudanese donkey
bring sprout:
stop coughing up useless
phlegm at me!
******* Jewing ****!

yeah: constricted language usage:
MAtthew will *******
hear you and pass it onto the STASI
police...

"**** me, like i had some sad
sort of wriggling hand of authority..."

NETTLES...
NETTLES...
baptism by nettles
pinch puncture: will do...

i feel... alive!
if not mint in my mouth then
nettle teasing on my fingertips
which is not akin
to the Swiney Tricksee Canadian
bull...

      oh the *******?!

here you are: castrated and de-bollocked
if you were ever to be asking
but grandma grand hag
i took

my spintzer mah fizzle
you never
know, truly,
how to, dissociate the Germanic
from the Saxon
to the English: ping ping
almost "pre-history":
like Sudanese is the Lingua Franca...

what the **** Uzir...
Uz I Air Ear...
one ******* ear?!
one ******* ear?
i stomached ancient Romans:
oops... long gone...
the Jews are still here:
renegade in genocide...
you people ought be sleeping...
but you're still here...
so let's assume you are the genuises
while i conferred with
St Andrew and came up with:

with all the thyme, oregano...
mint is to the mouth
and lips
what NETTLE is to body...
MINT-NETTLE...

    if you were me and you see
the compulsion of having children
without having any
subjective attachment
you might know
how to credit
and differentiate and how to:
put the **** to locker by tow
and toughening: a together...

or via: i walked into the forest
and what came missing?
my shoes
my sunglasses...
possibly my ego...
if this was the appropriate time
i applied a deodorant of itch
where mint was missing

itching body itching fingertips!
why i, wasn't allowed to
be an SS-man! why?!
such a ****** affair of...
"ambitions"...

you call this good existential advertisement?
like some ****** Schmuck
Chopin wannabe
wht ******* concerto: NOCTURNE...

i've been grinding metal like
culminating in paradoxical thing-thinking:
from a diamond
to graphite of scribble...
no itch to etch on stone...
hmm... i do... begin to realize...
relish...
the Hebrews should have followed
suite akin to:
the Assyrians becoming: Syrians...
the Romans becoming: Italians...
the Greeks becoming: Russian...
the Raj nee: Raj... whatever...

Matthew Matthew MAtthew...
thank **** i don't use my second name,
no one's seconding...

but i did walk into the forest and played
a very rare instrument of purpose...
dead tree is a guitar...
pillar of giggling when
there is smoke, and fire...
and a wooden stick as bow...
i clamored for the indentation of echo
and hollow...

what did i receive?
i can't remind her, Edie,
of the terrible men in her life...
but i can't suffocate with all this
revival and hope for:
by simply: being: good...

i left the forest having foraged for
baptism in the nettle
like any Roman centurion... good: to: go...
i foraged for feeling
i foraged for music
i foraged for touch
i foraged for aloofness
i foraged for:
egocentricity
and politics...

          turns out the Israel of formerly-known
Hebrew is more alive in north Amjerica
than in Europe:
i'm glad ISlaam came to Europe...
there's nothing to defend
not scripture no nothing...
i welcome Islam within the abode
of threat of the ergonomic
and work:

ha ha: even Socrates didn't invent
a philosophy of work...
Heidegger teased at the idea: prospect...
of people talking metaphysics while
compulsively averting
that not sold mantra of:
ARBEIT MACHT FREI...

oh sure... the universe is a clepsydra
of nuance and parody...

but i did walk into the forest
and scrubbed my body like a baptism
or like any reverent Islamist
before prayer...
i scrubbed by body with nettles...
because i had no mint in my mouth
to give me Pavlovian giggles
of ooch ooch pouch a kangaroo:
indigenous
the ******* ****-worshipers
want to do with a "decapitation"
of a limp... ****?

it's not that i don't enjoy women
but...
there's enjoying and there's: "enjoying"...
mantra of the polytheistic
and polygamy and the harem!

*******
*******
*******

let me just grinder my reindeer
and army of metal
and we'll be sorted... savvy?!
oddly enough: there actually is a "Jewish Question"
i swear to god...
perhaps god willing these times
will be a surrender to the oblivion of
obviousness in that there is a "Jewish Question"
but
not asked by some Romantic Germanic Gab -
because this is also born from the trauma
that my ethnicity was next on the List...
die Liste - or is that der Liste:
i never know in German asking definitely for
the same thing twice...
hardly any masculine or feminine need to articulate
a definite or indefinite article:
however...
there is a question concerning why the Hebrews
such an ancient people
like the Assyrians and Babylonians
didn't just disappear -
didn't write on stone or wrote on stone and then
lost the stones or the stones were destroyed
but that persistence i think the 20th century
germans were maybe "thinking" that
the question came without an answer
as is famously known of rabbis to answer
a question with a question
the grand magi of the question-question...
because at least the Kul Tigin
                                   Svingerund
Rosetta - much more polished inscriptions
not this flimsy artsy bookish
clerical nuance of force
not the same pressure from wood to paper
as from sand to glass...
as from sand to glass
no pressure at all... but still all that alchemy...
question: why didn't the Hebrews
go down the path of the Romans
and the Greeks
perhaps some reinvention would happened
just like the Gingers of Lombardy
from the Holy See and Alliance -
vague history of Jews in Europe
and all that physiognomy nothing like
the Israeli...
so Mediterranean - MEDI-
  -TERRA-
                           -NEAN: AEGEAN...
remember that spelling, MAtthew...
                       slice open with capitals each word
if you must, not only proper / important
nouns.

i started to disregard the importance of music:
wenn ich begann zu kaufen
    why-nil(s)
ich begann zu außer Acht lassen
   die Bedeutung der Musik:

ach ja! ja! das ist das!
    the of
the off
            or is that still too... proto-Germanic
in understanding?
die der dough... dire dough do! mumble mumble:
tis the season of summer concerts
and as someone working in security:
it better sells that i play along to the whole:
bachelor: chingching - no China:
K ok... Ok K kk...
   Oh... so so Kk            carp... Kodak: co-Damian
lustro: oops...
                    no good, no good: about to rain
and the floors aren't even shiny!
disasterpiece... di-zas-ter-p-ease-eez (plural of E's)
like double-D's; a;lmost)
halfway through the chores
and i'm leaving the toilet to last

so now i know,
though,
when my loathing
no... not loathing:
loathing the algorithm
some variation of counter AI
blockage on the synthesis
parameters dire
so choice of music
gone
no spin me right round
on a youtube carousel

perhaps not Falstaff or ****
like high art
like high german is to english
or even swiss
but that was some mighty
interrogation
by that Swiss cowboy
i have to admit
that was...

we went to the moon to have an argument
about a bus ticket
and i did say to him:
isn't a stadium ticket like a bus ticket
and yet this is not a concert mate
so i can't allow you
if it was a concert
i would have said yes
but this is a sporting event so that's
so ******* dumb
people come sometimes
at the last hour
with their children
and we can be lenient like that
as security officers
imagine a police officer's poem
or an SS-man's poem
like that scene when one of them
is trying to block out the horror
and remain calm
because that's not a Bach's Mozart
or a Mozart's Bach sort of joke
when the anthropology of time
questions influences and timelines
as to who influenced who
or could have in re-verse....

by 3pm i will wearing my walking shoes
and heading to the forest
to knock on wood:
turn a few trees into secret doorways...
or something like that.
i'm having inconsistencies creep up on me /
that i am in part /
so many things at once /
returning to paths /
formerly trodden /
now etchings /
          now sketches /
and all this to simply say /
cruelty is not born out of love /
but cruelty is the daughter of genius /
clearly portrayed in Schindler's List /
\ i can see it now
\ as clear as day within a day
\ as i see day in night
\ when the eyes capture light
\ the currency of eyes
\ that is like blood to the heart
\ and electricity to the brain
\ and to the soul what thought is
\ but ego isn't
\ since soul is without ego
\ should ever soul be doubted
/ then the ego cannot be doubted
/ yet why settle for such a fickle thing
/ as ego
/ when you can comprehend organizing it
yet that's right /
the ego /
construct it into a soul /
at least organize it with thought /
with intellect /
garner it /
in the garden: of all places /
to the youth of ****** of looks /
but the acuteness to read Candide /
and that's almost a tearjerker /
i can feel her now in my stomach:

but how long would i have settled
to say to a woman
as woo not woe to man and of man
irrespectively respectively...
that's the antonym of respectively, no?
IR
            regardless...
but if constantly reminded:
this is not your daughter:
i cannot have a child with you:
why are you a man if you don't want children:
?
?
   ?
   ?

        ? ?    invalid? ***** count low?
question Q question Q question Q
so my biological "reality" answer is thus
and now i'm not drunk
no i wasn't drunk (but i was, on thought,
and the cameo cinema of yesterday
not the cinema of grandfather Joseph:
i am matthew: the dream of joseph...

in my dream i woke to grinding metal
the sweet sonic zing zing
of a graphite shield cutting metal
iron by the looks of it due
to the amount of rust
so the cutting... grinding was made easier
now only 20min passed
and no i wasn't high
like now in the microverse
to counter the many uses of other verses
i will not succumb to the sobering
advantage of game with
foreign alphabets
i am not storing thoughts but emotions
perhaps that's why
there is no pleasure in ***
beside the utility of threading the existential
furthering
by count a child of each belonging
so that i answer Spielberg became a Bergman
with Schindler's List and i was
trying to communicate with script
shouldn't have but wanted to talk
and couldn't
and am i to think of superior intellectual
stock: of course not... corpus christi jeez and
jazz no...
but if all that remains of me is the equivalent
of the Kul Tigin...
then that's what continued from Cuneiform
and stone and who's to say
the bible is worth more
if the Bible was written on paper
then burnt
because it was a plagiarism
and a double burden on the Hebrews
to have carried paper into the woods
yes they carried paper into the woods
of Europe: deforested it
made it a feeding basin plateau
like a Mongolian semi Tundra
and that didn't take effort
to uproot all those trees?!

       cutting /
// cutting /
  cut / cut / cut /
// / /// / // / / /

now this was metal on metal
grinding
with graphite
the sonic whoosh and smooch of kissing
like metal or diamond
rock on metal

the supposed holy covenant
but how can nomads
have stone
or write on stone
perhaps graffiti on stone would be best
scratched
not like that idiot spray painting
on a wall in Pompeii
but why didn't the Hebrews
graffiti the Wall of Mourning
surely some rascal could have in the times
of the Romans
written his Martin Luther
on the stone...
but Jesus didn't...
no Hebrew even began to comprehend
the power of NOINK
or no-ink... however you want to spell it...
could have...
chiseled in hebrew letters:

הרחובות שלך

    (your streets)

השכירות שלנו

    (our tenements)

throughout the film you can hear
a murmur of spoken Polish
but then that ghastly scene!
that ghastly scene!
that Jewish itch in spite of what "we"
did that Jewish yuck and itch
with that scene
from Jews leaving Krakow -
the middle class Jews
the well attired Jews
with a little girl from the countryside
somehow managing to scream:
in English:

   GOODBYE JEWS!
GOODBYE JEWS!

now... personally? i take offence at that...
truly...
that is such a misrepresentation of
the whole Polish Jewish dynamic...
that has, seriously: tinted me...
sobered me up...

fair enough if the girl was screaming!
if she was screaming!
DOWIDZENIA ŻYDZI!
DOWIDZENIA ŻYDZI!
but no... no...
and i'm supposed to live in America
even if it's Hawaii
or better still Kauai?
no... nein nein nein nein nein nein
i've just heard of a European
revival of the Right and *****
of each Land
and people his own...

i holstered that Advent on the 7th October
of last year
the year 2023 when i returned
from Kauai...
this time round i just blocked her on WhatsApp
deleted her number
but kept her PO BOX
and her email
and that's the best i can do...
no more conversations
no more oochie koochie
over the phone no *******
no
no it was
just doing my head in this DISTANT CLOSE?NESS
clown lover
nothing more
clown lover...

             i still have the house to clean
and that's going to be done
since i already pumped up my missing front
wheel and i haven't been cycling for
well over 2 months
maybe more
probably since the end of Yeti and Mammoth...
3 months... March, end of,
so beginning of April: maybe... so so...

another coffee and finish off the cigarette?
yes, conversations with i
at least that's honest
and i can bring only love and honesty
from the bottom of my heart
since my mind will only invent
cruelty out of genius
that genius that's revealed in this unscripted
wriggling of the worm
if i had a pen:

Kwisatz Haderach in Marrakesh...
just sounds nice
almost pretty...

but that is the water of life
in my dream
in my dream i was peeling wallpaper
and i was almost scolded for
not having dampened the walls enough
a second third time
so that the peeling process would be easier
as the water could be drank up by the paper
and dilute the glue...
i have abandoned the joys of music, truly:
disgusted by it;
only in the late 19th century
Nietzsche would have surmounted to posit
an argument along the line(s) of:
without music, life would be unbearable

or...

music makes life bearable...

how tedious now, music,
how obliterating the senses -
without eyes yet still talk of sight
without ears yet still talk of hearing
perhaps even with eyes
those two vital organs
like kidneys
how strange that they are so exposed
and so important
yet so exposed
unlike kidneys hidden in body
these protruding vital organs
since eyes are organs
equipped to deal this parody
not of bone covered by flesh and sinew
and muscle and fat
but these two flimsy pieces of skin
that light can penetrate
and give a man who toiled through night
and tried to find solace in
sleep come day
an insomnia that would require more
than eyelids with the added pressure
from a folded arm like a blindfold...

music has, become, unbearable,
a tedium for the senses
a shortening of some sort: a variation of otherwise
perfectly adjusted adjectives
to call a mountain big
a sea grand
and an insect philosophical: Solomon's ant...

music is no music with visual aids
unlike...
unlike: i spent this morning eating breakfast
of: never mind...
watching Schindler's List
in that moment when the Krakow ghetto
was being emptied
and that SS man was caught off guard
from all the chaos happening
and he tried to remedy the pre-horrors
of the finalized plans
frenzied at the piano
while two other SS men inquired
as to what (he) was playing...

Bach? no no... Mozart...

“was ist das, ist das Bach?”
“nein, das ist Mozart.”

English Suite No. 2 in A minor, BWV 807: III

yes, the latter... obviously...
the genesis of polyphony,
the signature is all there, intact with Bach
unlike anything Mozart could
have conjured...
in that if there is talk of "genius"
then there is also talk of methodology
a blindness of exacting
a profoundness of unhearing
and then not hearing
while at the same time being to play: a hearing
of the music...

i try to think that writing this would
be eased by listening to some music
but then with whiskey my mind unwinds
and three days have passed since
i slouched in my bed

today i realized the fundamental cruelty of
pleasures
or rather: the joy of reading
(fiction) unlike some philosophical demand
of reading then application
because i can't think of how reading
philosophy makes you apply it
like reading a manual with all the schematics
of say: putting up a DIY object
bought from the Swedes
packaged in cardboard
because by then you're no less LEGO
and Danish
and no carpenter in sight...

old Libra: write less than you read or just
about...
after all it feels less like smiling when one
is frowning
but more so when one is squirming
(but not ******* on a lemon)
       or some general distaste for humanity
whereby i'm just as much part of it
as much as a distance from it
a step behind or perhaps more a step aside...

so much of philosophy concerns itself
with: what is... philosophy...
in terms of a genre, a literary genre...

which brings me toward what emerged from
a pleasure of reading:
antithesis of music is equivalent to
the comfort of listening to a cat sleeping,
snoring...
or listening to a woman during *******
i don't think i can compensate that
with music...
i can: compensate music with music...
but i can't compensate the sound
of the elements: wind, earth, water with music...
music doesn't compensate the natural
order of things
and i can verily, now, understand:
the Taliban aversion to music...
before even the beauty of music can come
there is already an aversion to it
and just, justly so...

  music has becomes less elevating and more
grounding like a doubling on realism
that breeds contempt for transcendental
escapism of merely human talk...
i've had a roller coaster of the past two
days and i can attest
that a transcendental escapism based
upon merely human interaction of talk
exists...

on Saturday i changed shifts...
unable to do a Wembley shift (as a ******
supervisor, static,
with a cordon of stewards and security
officers
ensuring that no bags bigger than A4
reached the premises of the stadium
just tickled at the footprint of
the outer perimeter)...
instead was "demoted" to an security
officer role at the London Stadium for the MLB
event (Phillies vs. the Mets...
is that the equivalent of the Championship
vs the Premier League
given that the Yankees are a tier above
the Mets? anyways)

i had so much fun, pleasure, joy, life
being part of the team... searching bags
giving all the right lip service
and smiles and all the humanly adequate
body language of people feeling threatened
by any persuasion of authority:
to ensure their safety blah blah...
but it wasn't that...

on our break...
there were 4 of us...
basically me, Nur (Nur),
Richard, ..., ...,
it was me and 4 blacks guys
and however you want to disguise
or not the descriptive posits
of how each one of us looked...
no... i will not be a writer:
impatient man
this whiskey isn't helping
i can't write something transcendenal
although it was
i've already started unwinding with
the whiskey

the next day a spectacle of an argument
a waste of me writing this...
there should be restrictions on what
you can write...

no science fiction writer could have
predicted the smartphone...
outer-reaches of technological potentiality...
best keep Erasmus of Rotterdam
and Philip K. ****
and Stephen King and Alexander Dumas
out of it...
writing this will only give a % traction
of my availability to the letters
and there will still be the juggernaut of
ØX         ØX   XØ
         XØ      ØX ØX
ØX           XØ           ØX

****** keyboard... misjudged placing...
but summer is here
and my silent disco shift at Portsmouth
has been cancelled so
i don't have to worry about
getting enough sleep...

misguided though...
giving Paul Arteides all but one title...
Mehdi,
Kwisatz Haderach,
Muad'Dib... yes, yes... yes...

but not... Lisan al-Gaib...
that title should have been reserved for
his unborn sister!
the "outer world" is not the world of
Caladan "vs" Arrakis...
the "outer world" of: yet to be born...
or: unborn... regardless...

emotions created from insufferable
confrontation
with a Swiss entrepreneur...
allocating argument:
but we're going to the moon...
i say:
but you already scanned your ticket...
there's no reentry...
think about you buying a ticket
for a train at 12:10...
you think you can use the same
ticket for a 13:10 train
even though you stepped on the 12:10
train then decided to hop off
but the moon was boiling in
his mind
his logic his self-entitlement
of paying £200 for a ticket
gave him the authority to
call ask who i was...
who i was...
so much for what money doesn't
buy: integrity and character...
and integrity of character...

     bounced about the word
LOSER
when i finally replied to his: who are you?
POET...
oh... so that's a LOSER then...
well...
i should have played a joke on him
like:

Odysseus tells Polyphemus
that his name is Οὖτις:
    no one...

but how can i see this Americanized
version of life as
winning and losing
in life as transient when
he clearly only sees riding high
without seeing riding low
and in the end
the inevitable loss for everyone
via death and i'm sure
the minute he dies
memory of him will die too...

which brings me onto a new fascination
with... what became of

KUL TIGIN
then later the Runes
(i am so suspicious of the Gothic script
though... really ******* shady)

𒅗
'tooth' [zu], 'mouth'
[ka] and 'voice' [gu]

ズカグ          (respectively) = not mouth

but Kao (

顔                                            )

but you can see the complications
"transliterated" from
Assyrian Cuneiform to Chinese
and then somehow simplified
and untangled into Katakana...

ideograms are shortenings of
what Europeans could call
colors: in traffic code...
green is for go
amber is shortened to take caution
for getting ready or slowing down
while red is stop
because emoticons are not:
the same equivalence to the automatic
recognizable info
universal but more idiosyncratic
covert messaging...

        ******* Swiss *****...
well LOSER didn't really affect me
because i was just about to say...
so... you spent £200 to watch a game of baseball...
**** me...
it now just dawned on me...
but... i used to spend £130 on an hour
with a *******...
regardless of whether i ******* or not...
last time i remember i spent that same
amount of money on an inexperienced
20 year old who didn't know that
an uncircumcised **** needed temporary
peeling
to expose the hammer-head
and in the end she massaged me
a little then i massaged her entire
body
finding out she starred in some shady
**** flick in some dungeon
given that when i massaged her
*** and back of the legs
they were bruised from all the extra
***** and no ***** of ****...

so... this argument of the moon
and being "successful" just because
spending £200 on a baseball match...
******, please... i spend £130 on an hour
with a *******...
at least you're getting your money's worth...
yesterday i started my shift at 6am
finished at 6pm...
the game started at... **** know's
3pm? lasted for about 4 hours...
in that time i became a fan of cricket
and ushered in the sentiment of:
well: if anything...
Americans really know ******* of watching
sport...
in a fluid fashion...
from minute 0 to minute 90
with interludes for over-refereeing
with too much technology use...
it's still not going to beat a tennis match
with two players and a football team
of referees + the ball boys etc
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