because i listen to music so infrequently, now - these days,
if i am attempting to scribble something or, other,
it takes great and at the same time so diligence
as to what i will choose to feed my hearing...
to preserve the purpose
or to at least keep a sense of sanity: and face:
i opt for something classical
and within that: i can crawl into the ***** of prose
and and... a poetic... journalistic cascade of
free-form: whereby i am not dictated by obligations
of whatever it is that is already spared
by dictates of ink and paper:
a break into prison planet: as Copernicus-Nostradamus
could have said about the advent of the internet:
by no nobility by the same "gentry":
it's only "if" and "now" that i have a "wife"
and by "wife" i implore the distinction between
obligation and the freefall before death
this insinuated demand of her's to spare her
the gruel and details and some of being left
stranded on a desert island...
some music soothing... almost all that is necessary
and not like genuflecting: some parody of faith
she tries to translate into telepathy...
i roll another cigarette in secret and i'm
alone on purpose:
in that solipsistic limbo of ghosts who have just
been born into a cabaret of voyeurism
that nothing like a stand-up comedian in
the English-speaking-world can match...
such a flicker of dust or ambiance
of semblance with the moon...
Satie's Gnossiennes are not the competition
between Liszt and Chopin and
hey **! hey presto! the demand for maestro and
the garden gnomes to sing in rhapsody...
i can't pick up the Satanic Verses and think
they are worth the cut of mustard
when that's the mustard eaten after
a dinner by the dollop and spoonful to appease more
appetite...
i think i will make my bed
and call it nighty-night before 10pm comes...
and i will know as much of me as i know as much
of me now
because even if i were to read a poem
ugly beautiful meaningful or elsewhere
my wife would still think me funnier than funny
with my Catholic gesticulation:
but i of no faith still go to the necropolis and light
a candle a at the grave of my family long gone
not out of some diligence:
without question... without ask...
i do so because in that instance i am not
reprimanded for lack or loss of belief:
i just find a mirror and myself in it
and i don't ask...
why... on earth in hell or heaven above
ask such a pointless question that serves
an answer for a sieve without the curios movement
of water...
as such... Darwinism and ontology:
and since when man... categorized as animal
behold... this mammal of equal parring with ape
and lion...
decided to question his ontology further
and became accustomed to the ontology
of ants and of social order?
when will we have ourselves for ourselves
and leave the ants to the ants for the sake of ants
but instead
these ontological chimeras of apes dressed in
exoskeletons and elsewhere:
so i was stressed so this theorizing the testing of
my aptitude on the road worth of:
i hope the worth of a tank and not being a pedestrian
of a cyclist involves so much ******* nuances
but that's not the point:
Satie is playing and i'm typing
but i can see my wife laughing:
oh ha ha! why go to the necropolis and light
a candle at a grave...
so... erm... so? so i can have a moment
with my own mortal self?
i recently lit a candle at the gravestone of my
father's grandparents
of whom i have no memory of...
so i rolled a cigarette and drank 200ml of *****
like a typical Gypsy...
and that's in Poland so a place that used to be
a haven for gypsies and Jews before the advent
of the Hippies in Western Europe and America...
yet even tonight...
i think i need more Debussy than Satie...
i went on my night round and when grandma
asked i bought some ice-cream and some
pork meat: whole cut! whole cut she said...
well... i looked at the prices...
if i were to buy prepped mince pork rather than
own a mincer and bought a whole piece whole:
i'd be buying 3x the price...
obviously i bought some *****...
because memories started flooding in
and i had a headache and i thought white magic medicine
of the paracetamol wasn't enough...
at least alcohol helps you to relax
when you are stressed...
given enough fresh air and the space between other
people in a KURVIDOWEK like the town
i currently occupy:
it's both headache medicine and a sedative...
and if you quest for not turning on the television
after a certain hour:
you almost get a sense of how Norwegian literary hermits
live with all their Noble prizes and intuitions...
the breaking into the enso...
that the Cartesian model missed...
that there is the res cogitans
and that subsequently there's the res extensa...
sure...
but where does egoism and solipsism
the inflation conjure itself like a Kantian res per se
arise from?
surely from the res vanus: the empty thing...
countless times i could: COULD have been
told by jubilant "Christians" that
Catholicism is an understood plague
equivalent to that of Ishmael:
but by now it's all economics and the cheapest
labor
and why western women feel disinclined to
promulgate the species
because our curiosity has been satiated
and it only takes the fringes to get some hair
and some comb over... politico juice...
but that's not enough:
drop a centipede into a glass reservoir of
crawling stampedes of cockroaches
and... some ontological revelation?
but as man or monkey and why
would a monkey think itself not a monkey
while man constantly thinks himself not a man
but somehow all the other proponents of bio-mechanization?
like me lighting a candle before a grave is
somehow a translucent travesty for the Christian
belief of: by the word said by the deed exacted...
Islam doesn't bother me...
it doesn't even fascinate me...
it's just some miraculous *****-juice of verbiage
that learned akin to AI to build brick-on-brick...
nothing more...
the quest for late 19th century Paris
being established
as was:
perhaps reminiscent of the Medieval period
time of Islam were homosexuality was rife
because... the harems were without ******-Toys...
perhaps...
why should i care: is that pride talking
or my ambivalence toward nothing?
after all... if my egoism is to be critised:
by the extended thing i implore my surroundings to
give me vector:
but without an external thing:
my res cogitans structure becomes schizoid:
lucky me for also being bilingual!
but imagine me not being so fortunate!
imagine me when in the pit of the res vanus
with a res cogitans unable to escape!
because without a genuine world
and a genuine identity that is what happens
to these poor unsold lots of man
and their tribulations...