why would i extinguish
cigarettes into my knuckles?

well... i was trying to
spot bone,..

but the real reason?
ha ha!

i was attempting to
count the number of eyes
on a tarantula.

not a funny joke?
i get it...
   i wasn't aiming for funny...

ever watch the grooving
bopping along,
seduced by the rhythm
bass player in a band?

you'd thin it was the drummer...
turns out?!
the intermediating
   focus....
   bass is all rhythm...
there's no such thing
as a rhythm guitar section,...

hardly any drums in
a classical music composition...
bass...
the subversive underlying
principality
of the fiasco...
the...
                          Pandemonium!

set your eyes on the bassist's groove...
pursed lips...
mm hmm ya ha...
           the fucking
blood suckling artery
with not need for metaphor
presence of a band...

bass... bass... bass...;
hence the missing E i guess;
was, and always will be:
the base and bait
for listening to 20th century music...

whiskey lime & pepsi?
vodka lemon & pepsi?
can't tell the difference,
both sound equally promising...

it pains me, to agitate a drummer's heart,
imitating a beat
without any drumming equipment...
bopping along, sly, shy,
and sometimes awry, fired up...
        
there were a few things i'd love
to have become,
a prof. cyclist doing the tour de france....
a vet practitioner...
    among others...
   what did i become?
a mediocre poet...
       a spewer of words
rather than their instigator...

had i ever the ability to write
pop jerk jargon of
lost and wishing for awaiting loves...
i'd fuck one of those
housewife harlequin novels!

alas... not to be, not to be...
     guess i tapped into Russian funk...
that Russian ex-girlfriend?
apparently she likes my writing,
she said: you should get published...
i did... little as fuck did that do to
me in securing a stature of possible
fatherhood and a Tolstoy town-house
in the middle of St. Petersburg...

    i wasn't a priori to fiddle that
bollocks out into a castrated bull
ejaculating an orgasm with no sperm
but pure muscle tension
of the phallus...

   wait... you never jerked off
as a man, prior to producing sperm?
feel sorry for you...
guess the whole abortion debate
is killing you...
          you know...
  that's almost equivalent to theft...
what happens on the throne of thrones
and is dumped into a tissue?
ditto, i.e. remains there...

       thieving cunts...
                  huh?!
                    fuck it... do the Islamic take
on thieves...
ensure all the western men have
their masturbation arms cut off...
to stop the thieving with
western culture jurisprudence
in-acting transgression
of transcending the allowance of
abortion, and...
enforcing...
                whatever the fuck
fatherhood means...
when?
     a women proposes to you...
and then decides to throw away her
engagement ring, she, herself, chose...

as if... she never had the notion
of being young and being poor...
fuck me! she forgot the beautiful part
of the equation!
  i liked her doughnut over-sized nose...
i loved to teasingly bite it
during intercourse!

      fuck me... that contorted
face, Francis Bacon-esque
in the mirror doing doggy style?

      mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

look here: FULL MOON ALL OVER
MY FACE...

         there's no revenge porn
in this scenario...
                
  hey! resurrect the Bastille!
and i'll be the second Marquis de Sade
screaming the revolutionaries!
YOU FORGOT THE JUICE!
the juice?!
YEAH! THE MOLOTOV COCKTAILS!

                anarchy...

       what order is there to speak of?
when grammar is secondarily dictated,
outside of the teaching profession?
     these people are teaching me language,
or secondarily indoctrinating
me into the abuse of language -
with political bull's diarrhea?

   can't have one and the other...
   you attack grammar?
        everyone restricted to a grammatical
conventionality, will...
spank you with a naked russian saber...
   i'm not here for playing
unorthodox language games
outside of crossword puzzles
i don't entertain having the capacity
to solve...

               you play your game...
i'll play mine...
i have the integrity of the English
language at stake...
   not this post-colonialist quasi-English
bullshit!
.my prime allegiance was always to the language, as a child of 8, it was always the language... the people? secondary at best, but mostly tertiary incubators of my own thrust in terms usage; oh way past caring for the organic, as my ex-girlfriend who i lost my virginity at university from Grenoble pointed out when i offered to be her psychology test subject: only native speakers allowed... who gives a shit about native speakers... it's not like the English language is organically contained to the British Isles... and since it isn't? why pay dues to the fucking natives, imagining them as Christ-like figures, "saving" the world... sorry, no... not even the king of England would have thie sort of audacity to speak down to me, like some of his peasants took the liberty of... suddenly, England... isn't a UNESCO paradise, nor the fucking moon!

english language is an inorganic entity
imbedded in me, learned...
my mother-tongue, on the other hand?
organic... with a sensibility of a past...
now...
   identity "politics"?
    seems to me, that the Spanish language
has no notion of such bogus ideas...
to me, a language most lax...
    see... i wouldn't have played the identity
politics card...
    if... some fucking retards didn't
come by, and assert their hyper-ventilating
status of grammatical intimidation...
   why?!
         i wasn't born with this language:
i nurtured it...
   i kept it for what it's worth...
    but i can't simply erase my ethnicity
away...
        i can't suddenly turn to the English
term slav with a "hidden" E...
and not think of germans as GERMS...
          in my tongue?
   slav = słowianin -
            whereby słowo = word...
i'm a wordsmith -
          no more, no less...
                   i'm praying to god that
the Bulgar and the Romanian economy
starts off,
   so the bogus claims by the so-called
English cripples makes a finite gesture
of counter-proof!
         i'm dying to see it!
   all of a sudden, whittle Bwitain thinks
itself the crown jewel of hegemony...
but these Anglican pussy-whips have never
experienced the nausea and monotony
of a homogeneous society...
   every time i visit my grandparents...
i'm struck-dumb...
   thinking: i hope i don't end up
fucking my distant cousin...
                but if a peoples, who are so adamant
in their status as islanders,
who don't even recognize Europe
as a continent spreading to nibble
on the Ural mountains?
   the fuck are we talking about?
            oh no... the english i speak is
not organic, it's inorganic...
but as i said before...
you want me fully integrated?
you want me to speak English in private,
in my own home?
FUCK OFF!
             i'll speak your language
in public...
   now...
learn a tad bit of French, while you're at it!
who knows?! you might also
learn a thing or two about
etiquette! but i doubt that you would
or will;
                   manners ≠ mannerisms.
my mother's second name -
   małgorzata - Margarete -

she comes back from her gym
classes,
and has the same fitness
instructor for 3 of them...

and the female instructor really
wants to learn
how to pronounce her middle
name...

so i tell my mother...
tell her to visualize the following

ł = w

        and rz?
           it's a grapheme -
without the Siamese twinning
of ancient Latin...

tell her to catch the drift
should she had the audacity
to say

           je m'appelle matti...
   rz = ż = la français J
                          dans français...

let's not be overtly pedantic
with what could be added in terms
acute syllable scalpel attachments
on either A...

   we already have the C cedilla (ç)...
which... ha ha!
must be the cultural "appropriation"
of the Greek sigma (ς)!

and the preferred term in central
europe?
   it's not linguistic appropriation...
there is such a deviance
as... loan words;
which translates back, as?
i'm indebted to the culture
where the word originated from...

where zeitgeist kommen sie von?
ah!   hitlerjugend... d'uh... obviously!
the english language
is indebted, not culturally appropriating
(linguistically) the german
culture...
    tread carefully -
there will always be someone to
sharpen the nouns.
. she was 19, i was 21, and i guess i was the first boy who treated her decently, allowed her to slap me in the face and stood like a copper statue before her... she wouldn't have made it at university among all the English yuppies, being pregnant... turns out, she might have opted for the Juno (the movie) route... all i know is that she graduated with a masters in anthropology... she was up in Edinburgh, i was back in London, roofing with my father doing the Scottish Widows HQ and then some other project, trying to weave myself into a managerial position in some roofing company... but then? the psychosis spiral... oddly enough - no hammers, no hearing voices wielding a hammer running down the street naked... contained... walked into a church near King's Cross st., lay on beside a the side altar, pulled the cloth from the altar, and wrapped myself in it... then heard singing, had my iPod with me... turned it off... turned it on again, turned it off... the singing still echoed the church... got up, put the cloth back onto the altar and started running around the church aisles... then a great wind dispersed the singing... what kept my sanity? well... given that i was smoking marijuana and fasting? one word... sátān... the whole 40 days in the desert? cut short... in a concrete desert... i phoned my then ex-girlfriend to meet me at this spot outside the church - right across from a royal mail HQ - and i remember the words: can you bring me bread, and water? nothing... on my own then... no... that sort of experience is no cause for jubilation, there is no fucking euphoria: you're talking about shitting it - in my case? thankfully that's only metaphorical... and i'm not buying the psychiatric bullshit, the easy way out answer: ooh... but youz ver in a church... what?! what the fuck are these people talking about? sober people are allowed to have these experiences? well, really?! so why so many of them are negating or doubting intellectuals?! negation is the new doubt... somehow i managed to fend off the atypical munchies routine while smoking marijuana while walking in public... never bothered me... i was a reggae junky at the time... notably Israel Vibration, Stephen Marley, Damian & Culture... & Toots and the Maytals... cliche, i know... but weed and rap?! seriously? gangster whatever the hell that means... i've just read an article about cultural appropriation... so what has the Jamaican Rastafarian culture have to do with Old Testament prophets?! JAH... they're always singing about JAH... it's a fucking yak! yah! a german YA! cultural appropriation my ass! it's Jamie Oliver's jerk sauce! fuck's sake! yeah, right, Bambi on Jamaica smoking a silly one doing the reinvention of king David's psalms... no cultural appropriation there... nope... none... nothing... nothing wrong with Alpha Blondy singing about Yerushalem... nope... no cultural appropriation.... nope... none... nothing! i mentioned these bands to my Jamaican weed seller... big on the Illuminati conspiracy theories, i liked to listen to him ramble... hardly a Charlie Temple paranoid... loved his ox tail broth, his grandma made it for him... and a pretty daughter, but no mother... eh? his Thai weed? i'd prefer the shorter span of a tobacco high... where? near my old high school, Canon Palmer R.C. - now a fucking academy! whoop! whoop! sound the klaxon! you don't experience what i've experienced and start a cult with sex orgies in mind... like fuck if you think you do... you... lay low... you puncture the existentialist exodus from Cartesian doubt - namely outright negation - and you wait for the revitalization of doubt, namely the pop culture variant of belief... doubt is, oddly enough, a variant of belief... and belief? be a leaf... just remember you were once attached to a branch of a tree.

yeah...

        a catholic school isn't
exactly a Jesuit school...

but being asked questions
about abortion
and euthanasia

   aged 15 or 16?

in real life?
  you short-circuit, glitch,
become ronin -

    the personal life, details?
too messy...
   she tells you she's taking
contraceptives,
   she's ends up self-harming...
she says she was abducted
and held for ransom,
she's a russian citizen,
her ex-boyfriend is still
hanging around,
  a son of some Russian oligarch...
you've only dated for a
bunch of months that do not
even make it half a year...
you don't mind condoms,
because... hell...
you'd love to see her wearing
latex...

     you know, the usual bits & bobs...

voodoo...
    for some strange reason i woke
up, and the ring finger blister
on my left hand, made by burning
out a cigarette on it
started bleeding:
  close to the bone -
and look! you get a slot motion
of your body recovering!
  no disclaimer concerning
the pros to what sharp objects
women do, by cutting...

but you know...
      asking a 15 / 16 year old
about his opinion
  about either abortion
or euthanasia?
  bad fucking move...
           at this point i'm thinking:
thank fuck...

what does it even mean,
when a woman says it,
she's not exactly point-break
on Cartesian logic...

'matt, i think i'm pregnant'
'well, you know what you should
do, get an abortion.'

mind you... i am a citizen of a country
where abortion is legal...
hell, it might have worked,
sex was good, she could
reciprocate that sentiment...

oh, but if there is a kid at the end
of the tunnel?
i shit sure hope he doesn't
contact me, like a kid from
a sperm donor clinic...
      there's something malicious
waiting for him for me
to add about his mamma -

   aligned?
oh you know... Willy, Henny,
  Diana and the Egyptian...
   go Charlie go!

                  please please keep
your name... we need a Charles trinity!

so yeah... Roman Catholic school...
fuck! oh right, outer east end of London...
Paddy central...
               i wonder...
                  but i'll never know...
the Polish Catholics are leaving...
               good on 'em...
          (yadda yadda, yeah yeah, for them)...

i'll never know...
   am i angry?
               i listen to Byzantine and Templar
chants and drink to a well earned
excess...
               sometimes the odd Bulgarian
prostitute to hug...
    
oh right... that one last time?
i didn't forget my genitals...
   i did an uncourteous lax of etiquette...
fuck!
           now it makes sense!
i forgot to trim my pubic hair!
(mumbling out) fucking eureka.
and there is a reason why St. Paul
traveled to Athens
for his beheading -

   and there is a reason why St. Peter
travelled to Rome
for his Golgotha
     profanity - upside down...

evidently, the former,
   not being among the original
disciples becoming apostles -

       but i made a mistake -
i forgot that the aeneid -
by the great gatekeeper of
the transition from paganism
to christianity: Virgil...

how the once mighty Greeks,
humbled,
     by a civilized barbarism
of spaghetti eaters
and pizza flippers -

   it wasn't the Greeks who
conjured the Romans
seeking their mythology
  (the sensible time span
among the everyday
         tabloid press and
that modern 24 / 7 insomnia
journalism) -

   where? in Troy...
            then no wonder why
there is so little talk of what was to come...
plenty of revivalism of ancient
Greece...
                  but of Byzantine?

one honourable mention,
Constantine...
       but the entirety of the Byzantine
culture?
              one recognizable
building, in Istanbul -
                    which is now a mosque -
and dare i say?
         much prettier
than that thing in Mecca -
which is being desecrated
by surrounding hotels -
Wahabi
          Haj Tourism... fuck!

              the new testament had to
be a propaganda text
to strengthen the Aegean plight
against the Romans...

        evidently the Greeks were
the people who collaborated
with the Judeans to undermine
Roman authority...
        
but they had some help, mind you...
Hannibal, Attila,
the rebellious Germanic citizens
of a failed integration mechanisms...
just like with the Poles
in current England...

   oh forget about the Polish RAF
fighters...
           you like curry...
                          next time you ask...
shove a hopscotch chilli up
your, fucking arse!
surely, when you start quoting some obscurity,
also known as a writer,
and you have nothing of yourself
to supply?
         that's the testament zenith
equivalent of:
                   so... why... subsequently bother?
if you start quoting others...
you already know to have been able
to have exhausted your own
originality, and subsequent, impetus;
don't borrow, what you can't steal...
     and certainly don't pass off someone's
erection,
for your own creativity limp dick
worth's of a, stagnant interpretation
of an, originally with...
                        an up-kept impetus!
quack worth of shit
for a commentary
on something...

             hardly a thrill
worth a horror movie
soundtrack...

  some, past obscurity,
not even worthwhile
bulging
   down into
the intricacies
of nostalgia.
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