to borrow from a title: tittilating as it might to snigger and gobble up laughter in that sense gluttony-parody... then again to butcher German (via tongue) - to a greater extent Martin ****** and Adolpf Luther... I see a correlation: ask me not, or why I abhor Brahms but I should abhor either Schubert / Schuman more because the Germans have orchestrating minds and not ones to succumb to piano genius: plodders and cobblers sooner than piano maneuvering manifestants... deshalb... eisen in der seele (iron in the soul): alter: rost im blut (rust in the blood).... perhaps... but through the thickening smog of Cracow's ashen-snow: a re-birth of Ishrael... Nil Ven- live in Cardiff.. Cwydyff... Rossini... Stabat Mater: the counter reformation... the spirit of music for the ill Germanic soul... and like the genius of Luther and ******... but who would have thought that the expulsion of the Yiddish from German entanglement would bring about the resurgent Heb state and by "token" an invitation for the Muzz'n'Ummah to try to settle these northern lands with its dark and brooding melancholic... like the vision wrought up by Luther culminated in ******: of flesh and bone and flawed and not superstition prone superceding a mythical evil... just a snot barrage on a moustache... at least that how's I align myself with the purpose of Scandinavian intellect: on these isles: that, if I tear and take away from the equator and the Greenwich meantime... if Iceland is part of Scandinavia... then the British Isles are magnetically aligned by dictate of the synonym... lines of geography that cut as if parallel: into reading of history... aligned sideways... mea: cusp: ein herz... a fledgling... a fleshy light of fire that's both illumination and a warmth; Herzog: blues.... adamante!

the most and probably only redemption
for the British Broadcasting Cooperation
is bundled up in radio...
not so much BBC RADIO 1 or 2...
more so 3 and 4...
                  besides the stalemate of visuals
that corrupt by rot and flake
of life's ****** / zenith...
redeeming, these sounds... very unlike
the television as primed for the analogy
of Plato's cave...
less shadows being projected and more
a scenario of the doppelganger
shadow-thieves... something of Islamic
and even Victorian superstition...
the evil eye the photograph the soul
ensnared: a wild entity almost animal
when given the focus of a return to
vis-a-vis God: as word: and deity: as thing...
but my point exactly is not an exacting
of anything...
I've been looking for an intellectual
reprieve from Herbert's Dune...
that isn't to say the work is difficult:
but the punctuation is curiously
a puncture of fabric and holes and buttons...
but a movie can really undermine
the joy of a reading experience esp
when there have been three adaptations:
and via Lynch there's even that nibble
on the Messiah instalment with
the Guildsman fish-frog
    in an aquarium with all that orange
turmeric and cinnamon fog of colour
and hallucinogenic potency...
so back to heights of literature that would-
-n't or couldn't make a word-to-image
translation...
Jon Fosse like some satanic figurine
                  dwarf macabre ****** leech...
but instead of a garden and an apple...
a park and a playground in it and instead
of an apple a girl sitting on a swing...
second time round: if ever...
that would be no apple and no tree...
but a ******* a swing and a boy pushing
her... oh how I live to love her
and how she makes it bearable to be
almost my mother in terms of things
aging yet she has this girlish way concerning
her: this adolescence of wanting only
love because she knows there's only love
to be given her...
she has regressed so beautifully
that her 14 year old child seems more
adamant to be sober loved with my demeanor of taboo distancing:
but she, on the other hand is like a girl
with faking being a woman and womb...
this time round it would simply be:
me giving her a stone in the shape
of a heart with my tongue wrapped
around it: a thought in and of itself:
last night I was watching a movie about
Martin Luther and I thought about how
fertile the cognitive landscape was
for such man to emerge based upon
the plough of ridicule of Catholicism
and obviously I think
of the other Protestant factions:
but Luther was no charlatan
while John Calvin and John Knox were
but hitchhikers and no need to make
ol' 'enry VIII any less but given
rhe dynamic of the star of David:
from atop a concentration to the bottom
of the plateau of the triangle...
                           such fertile ground
with what was still, by then: a paganistic
extension of what still hasn't become
Hasidic level of the importance of
literacy: still persistent:
that people O plebs vagabonds
anarchists and vandals (ha ha)
are more entreated, encapsulated by
solid frame, sculpture, meaning via
colour... painting... than the gifts of
word and number...
which brings me to the conclusive remark
about a certain practice in the Ing-Leash
zunge... the pronouns are one thing
what a terrible loss of intellect:
the concept of names: names are of
people... names... a tier above what
nouns are: a chair is a noun
a table is a noun...
a planet is a noun... but...
Jupiter... there's no name for a chair
yet you I we will still call a chair a chair
and not the act of sitting on it:
yet English does the diminutive form
such illness of a slack of the aesthetic
of the diminutive...
Mateusz becomes Matti Mateo
                                               Maciu...
       Teo....
                              what other name?
     while in English the supposed endearing
and diminutive (which is the original
intention of the diminutive form:
to give an endearing quality)
from Matthew simply Matt (door?)
a Christopher a Chris...
a Samuel a Samantha a Sam...
Peter the Pied Piper Pete...

the taste of your "words":
in my mouth:
no...                  not words:
unconscious:
sounds:
onomatopoeias at best
and at worst...
like shadows of fridges,
elevators... giraffes...
              my solipsistic serpendipity
has come
to an: evolutionary end...
a history with presceince:
when
and only when
biology becomes invoked:
like Dukes of Nuke'Em....

          i get the gemale
G-Male = Female...
                 fetish for puncgtuation:
you painted:
i see tecture:
Mona nLisa is without tecture
impression this:
chemist walks into a bathroom
imagines a pciture:
imprints it ontp a painting
                  form: perfectioninism....
perfect the form...
you ****** the form up!
still happens:
Harryh Rane, Wonlado!

                    sigma finally
acknolowedges:
Omea contrea G Alpha
          says ghost: you  blinking?!
i paint:
i no longer write...
ink for blood....

   .............................................
...................­......................
..........................................­.............
......................................./.,..................
...................................

i stopped writing...
i started doodling:
and having all the **** in the whole
wide wired world...
i came with tongue
tio tease salt out of...
****-butter

i think i ithnik i i think think think
thinking Joe joys of
Joy's ?be
Beclett... illiteratre Eire...
think think blah thing coew crow
think

i came here to untangle, then tangle... Jon Fosse's Septology...

i just started reading Septology I - II
it reminds me of my 20s
when i left the "****** market" place
and started reading Heidegger...
writing has become
difficult...
                 "difficult": wombat Bryan
and Barry and ******* Down Syndrome
Dwarf...
he's coming! i don't give a ****!
no shjit!
the Pedohpile Down Syndrome Dwarf
is coming!
this is my "satan"...

why has writing become difficult?!
love and life got in the way
of the artist:
i share the same confines as the mad
bureucrats...
oh... and those alcoholic hornets from
Lebanon:
failed state index:
no third world countries: per se...

writing has become difficult
because i'm finally! if: yet: having meaningful
conversations
with people like Alexander, Edie, Reyla, Hollie:
Miroswav and Eva...

Jon Fosse a welcome break from how writing
becomes cinema via Frank Herbert:
mate, Alex: i need a break:
the book wasn't fifficult
but the cinema barraged my reading mind
and i had to overcome cin ema:

empty light:
hmm... i was always vivided divided upon
what is the ought of worship:
sun and light
or the moon and the tides...         ? ?
                                                    ? ?

my poems are abounded houses
where squaters dream...
of king beds and palm trees and even i do that
in my little security hut i snooze
for 4h...
15min interludes...
i sleep to dream falling asleep
in my own bed and bedroom stinking
of bookworm spice:
my Dune: a personal library:
and that Spice on planet Earth we call Dust...

i have on3 friend i can discuss Conrad
with Silesia and me...
               i have abundance of Solomon's cravings
in the brothel...
but also the Queen Mother of Sysiphus from Liban...
i see
the sea the cyst...
Medi-
                oh see i sea a seeing...
                            ache of the heart:
break 'em: via: thought of them...
the other name: the stone is burning:
the three x2 eyes blind...
sharing what this Polytheism birth advent
into a single word:
Jon Fosse rebelled the Bible riddled
with I am the way: ah ha ha ha
I am i am AM PM I i am am i am
Jon Posse: Fosse Pff... flicker...

                   some bled... some had mud sickness
creatures and living among mud
like bears are among eyes
i could ask... KING KONG
to dance with CELCIUS CLAY... the ******* BEAR...
i'm sorry we have to live as
monkeys
straightening bananas into
algebra
and letters
              but also figuring out bananas and bows
am i...
           tripping or are you's them schizoid
trippin'?
                                apostrophe...
­
writing has become so difficult...
               because... i can't conjure up imaginary
conversations:
        
but best feed you... beast....
I am man and therefore Hades....
          A.I. are my twin daughters...
Hades barks....
            Cerberus replies: hows a daughter?!
Hades asks: dog! are you on a leash?!
dog! are you on leash! is that a fool's moon?
asked Mark Nathan:
implores John Michael: Promis, Priya...
then says: Matisyahu Konofale...
i am
at home
when Yellowstone Volcanco
blow up
forget there
ever was the United States
or the former Soviet Empire...
**** takers pseudo Slovacks...
call any Russian a Slav... ha ha ha...

blame
me
not pianting:
but canvas pruden ce
and says i:
the ******* and sculpting#
texture in painting missing...
the affair:
novice...

                       modern and postmodernism
invoked painting:
anti-algebra:
                geometry: tecture...
texture...
                     chemistry:
watcvhing walls paint colour dry...

                 new ***... i keep it vanilla
around Priya and Vanilla...
sister stitch... of a smile...

                     i am the ***** *** baron: Varkonnen...
KINZIE KENNER
is my ****** ****
the eyes i want to hurt you
my ***** of Babylon
Babylon receives a postcard from
the Zenith of Rome...

so much tlak lucky to have one friend:
spring rools and katsu curry schnitzel...
two movies: the Shining:
joke's on Johnny...
kidney donor:
my other life as a Bond MR ****** Shizva Shiva:
my buckle shackle
the old African ladies
sing JEsus tunes:

v                             left5 it thefere
there...       v for L upside-down: Byzantine:
teasing a Turkic barber...

so Jon FOSSE... is like ULYSSES 2.0
in the ;l:
the most Ezra Pound infuenced:
my mother said i'm JEsus chRIST
sleep less:
think more: a glorious ratio
of rational dichtomy:
in the ratio...

                              space and punctuation:
not
constrains                      (tss... tss... wet jazz)
and space

                     even Arthurt called Alex@:
do you have a girl there: up with you?
are shadows summoned
when something pagan spectacular happens
within the confines of overlord
Christianity?!

silly ******* cat... Amelia?
she snuggles: plural: of continuasly:
continue: continosuouly:
i think i left two land mines of a spelling mistakes...
by now i'm painting:
i'm not having human conversations...
she just snuggled up to me like a ****-star:
like i....
get farted upon... by cats:
males **** and territory: marker:
female possums...
they ****: bad miasma territory seekers...
those Iranian and Arab hind-su: *******..
hands like Slavic women
in the field...
fat
ugly: nuggets...
psychopathic chickens...
women with ugly fat fingers
most probably Atrab women...
the NIQAB wonbt ******* help
you transgender ******:
you have fat fingers
you just discovered oil
but you have fat fingers!

als arbeit ist vergnügen...
      aber das lächeln...
mein kleines nichts:
                  ein herz:
ein pochen:
ein ich und du...
                   aber mein Herz
ist alles was ich habe...
                    
           Regenbögen-Spatzen!

drahtzwillinge:
twins!
same embyo:
an hour? perhaps...
an hour apart...
just thinking
of the Vierte Riech...
and the *****:
Reirch: FOOND
THIRD... O'Cloony...
Malone: McBeckett....
so much Irish intellect
in me
i don't care
that a football team
loses 5 - nil:
i still have my IRish intellect:
which is so lost in Saxon
and Pseudo-Celtic...
just a dream Re-Balance:
and republic:
but there is an undercurrent of the Fourth
*****... under the historiology of
the Third *****...
be stupid but not
to ignore:
Millwall origins?
Scottish dockers...
so the tartan and navy...

                    origins story of twins....

well if you have words for cheap ******! why not ****** yourself back to genders and: how many sexes are there? last time i "heard": a unison of two... but *** is not gender and i'm trying to figure out what Capitalism and Marxism have in common... it's not dialectical materialism... it's rhetorical materialism... what is the invigoration of dialectic... beside materialism... i find myself spent triyng to push these sheep to the slaughter: seeing how so many people do not, appreciate the advent of the **** joke of: arbeit macht frei: but the Irish do... and long lost are the Irish partisans when someone willing: to show the English their blunders... took to simply giving in to the Islamic rebs... i almost pity the Irish endeavour... such that it was: the English undermined themselves... and all: in unison... left Wembley... with happy glee of hopes... why suffer the fate of defeat in a game of sport: when the English pride everything else on that one junction... why bother the people of little dreams?! maybe a fusion of conceiving: diacritical materialism: like there exist diacritical marks above and below certain Roman Letters: Jesus can **** himself! i don't care for the existence of one man i am supposed to **** off! there is no character of Jesus: Haze and Zeus I says you do not: come between me and the pork pie and a circumcision! Jesus came half-way... Paddy... i'll meet you the next: the next... you don't get to taste the apple... you get to nibble of a stone... but you don't get to nibble on the stone: you get to eat it whole: then choke... then choke again... i've tried and tested my patience... i have had had enough! enough to parade and pardon!

words, just words... apparently words are not:
not enough justificastions:
not enough eloquence...
not enough formality:
we can do away with words...
because words confiscate meaning
rather than give meaning...
perhaps in the rude impromptus of using
but numbers... numbers are elevated...
maybe we can start to gesticulate without
words: instead regressing back to
hieroglyphs, symbols, colours:
like at traffic junctions:
perhaps the words red, amber, green...
are pointless...
maybe we... need to see the colours
without shapes...
but i test myself with asking anyone
this question...
               red is... stop?
or is red alarm?
amber...             semi-stop semi-colon?
and green is go? green is foliage:
why isn't blue on the palette of movement
in the receding cranium of man?
the second fruit of Eden i will tell you:
will no longer be the soft flesh of the fruit
of Adam's throat...
this next fruit... have my heart... have my heart:
of stone...
this is all i will and wish to offer:
have a second bite:
before your Christ and Second Coming
barage: i ask you to glimpse Eden once more...
take a second bite...
you will not find a satisfying fruit
to get drunk from...
next time: this time...
you will have to swallow a nugget of stone
that maybe leave you:
perfectly constipated:
like the English with their history versus
the Irish:
so what that the Irish lost 5 - 0 in a game
of football... when i was coming home...
all the Irish knew! knew!
ha ha! jokes! games!
let's entreat our Baron with Intellectual fog!
because as the English thugs chanted their:
we defeated the IRA...
or maybe the IRA just... decided on
the dynamo of fate:
a game beyond chess:
stone, paper, scissors...
    ✊
             🖐️
                      ✌️

ching-chang-walla!

so the Irish are not coming? the IRA died down?
oh chronic my ******* laurel
and shamrock! they, the terrorist: didn't come?!

best of three: i don't mean a coin flip...
first you have the heart of Eden
then ask again:
now... you get to suffocate and gulp
down
a treaty of both etymology:
and geology...
because now you'll be eating my heart of
stone:
for all that has made you deviate from
the splendor of the garden...

words are so insignificant...
as are colours... without shapes...
but colours within the confines of shapes
of pass and impasse...
words are the modern man's consequence
of not having deliberated meaning...
words... this deliberate ploy of ******* barbarians...
i see them wonk with at least 7 eyes...

no more... i've seen enough...
i can leave the letters to gather words
in muster meaning...
but apparently that's not enough!
non matter...

take your weakness
and explore satisfying the chains.
they'll rattle for you:
ching and chang...
and believe you: when i ask.

AH...

  sigh...       what a glorious sigh...
that I: aye?! i... little i...

something about
Aristotles' poetic that i can't quiete grasp:

in the ancient world
the people didn't paint:
but they: sculpted...

imagine how i think:
testament of thinking per se:
i don't really
think...

         nothing doesn't think:
nothing is a pronoun,
in the category of words:

my my: my most devilish and i:
an isc on
a leash
i don't have the time to appropriate
invoke... invoke is a better word

i'm here to paint!
Aristotles' poetics clarified
the obliviousness of language
to a philosopher...

i'm here's to paint!
so i'll paint... by punctuation!
i'll paint by punctuation!
and...
each... and... every...
line break pillcrow will not be:
my last...

if Spinoza wrote his Treaties in Hell:
i'll...
go ahead...
nothing is a pronoun and it speaks
more than god speaks
ever... truly... listen to: nothing?

but women can give birth
and it feels weird
disclosing that Reyla is my daughter...
genetics and phonetics
and blah blah the intellectual apes
are public intellectuals!
Gremlins get off!
give me the Unity with my brothers
the Siech: Sicz: Cossack BRONE!

women give birth but are rarely
strangulated by nothing...
forget Nietzsche's work ethic
and boredom:
if pronouns is what..
touch wood...
whoops! i just touched iron and i looked
at it and you looked at it
and we both hoped it was wood:
but it was iron...

just like a golden ring looks great
on a black finger...
so must a silver ring and moon
look good on the finglet
of the pigglet pink in white
on a finger the moon: is mine! to answer!

madness madness!

   if... you... say... so...
i'm here to paint!
i'm here to conjure all the oyster
raw meat delicacies...
but people of the ancient world
didn't paint!
they sculpted!
now see the impasse
how smart the modern people are
and how dumb the ancient people were?
see how there's this definition of humanity
by:

memory-erasure...
we will: forget!
we will rememeber!
but we will also!
die!
forget!
we will die!
we will: forget!

and by forgetting we will
imagine!
because there are archetypes
of humanity
not reincarnated
but from all origins: an abiding
concern for narrative:
and dialogue:
and monologue...

i'm here to paint with
punctuation and diacritical markers
atop of letters...
but not today:
today i'm all chaos and storm
and the grain of porridge
and the distance of raindrops on
the window come the daft ghouls of the night:
oopsie: oopsie...

but i'm here baby'oh:
owl my woo and lunatic...
woe and luminiscence...
but i'm here baby oh...
      just this you're not my baby
baby O...
                      now comes the measure
and with enough atom bombs one
might content with volcanos...

                     Mt. Vistivius... or who
the tragedy of Pomepeii...
Christ was crucified...
a truthfuly historic presence...
an event to topple all other events?
i ask: in Heidegger's vein
to the artery....
Heidegger: question-worthiness...
Zeitgeist: news-worthiness...

     thought is a muddling puzzle
of philosophers and opportunistic hacks...
the ones genetically displaced...
but then only the lower IQ strata replicate:
and we need bus drivers....
what we don't want is
for the rupture...

           intellectuals agitating the public
with a historical-conscience...

WE ARE MANY:
who says who to whom in the great agitation?
this is not... painting?!
this... is... not... words as... painting?!
MILLWALL! MILLWALL!
the SCOTCH CONNECTION!
that one... part of London:
Elephant and Castle
that i love...           why did i decide
to support Millwall?
       oh...                 mate... just the south
London architecture... the feel of the place...
couldn't feel it closest to either
Arsenal, Tottenham of West Ham grounds...

SCHLUS! MACHTUNG!
ABERZ! ABERZ!
SCHNELL SCHNELL SCHNELL!

Tartan Jersey...
you already have the colouring:
Edrick the Navy....
deep blue and purple...