I believe in smiling at strangers. I believe in saying hello. I believe in shyness. I believe in fear of rejection. I believe in the need of affection. I believe in the need of reminders. I believe in candles, especially those that smell of vanilla or christmas. I believe in wearing small crystals around my neck. I believe in energetic vibrations. I believe in colours - I think each person has their own colour. I believe every feeling is valid. I believe in chapstick and I believe in mascara that doesn’t clump. I believe in nail polish - every colour of nail polish. I believe that the only reason we lie is because we fear something. I believe in poetry. I believe in bluntness. I believe in the intention behind words, but I don’t necessarily believe in words. I believe in travel. I believe in travelling solo. In fact, I believe in travelling so much that it is pretty much all I want to do. I believe in music. Boy, do I believe in music. I believe any kind of musical composition can change a person. I believe music can cure depression. I also believe music can feed depression. I believe a melody can say more than lyrics and I believe that lyrics can be what someone couldn’t put together themselves to explain exactly how they are feeling. I believe anyone can create a song, even though they believe they cannot. I believe a single note can sound like the most beautiful sound in the world. I believe if someone records a song when they’re in an ugly mood, the ugliness emits to its listeners and can drain them. I believe in art. Of course I do. I believe in acrylic paint. I believe in oil paint and watercolours, but not as much as I believe in acrylic. I believe in fingerprinting. I even believe in painting with your toes. And I believe in dancing; even if it looks weird. I believe in flailing your arms even, as long as it feels good and right. I believe in dancing ‘til you sweat, though I don’t like that icky feeling too much. I believe that a babe can be a very ugly person and a physically unattractive person can be a very beautiful person. I believe that people who smile are beautiful. I believe that people who frown are beautiful too, just in a different way. I believe that there are sincere smiles and there are manipulative smiles. I believe that some people just know how to use their eyes well. I believe in eye contact. I believe in engaging. I believe in listening and dropping everything else that is going on in your mind just to listen to what a person is trying to share with you. I believe in sharing - sharing cookies and sharing love. I believe in the frosty cold. I believe that it doesn’t have to feel as cold as it really is. I believe that people complain a lot. I believe that people often have too much pride to be happy. I believe that we should embrace our discomforts and shames, that we should welcome them wholeheartedly so that we can be happy. I believe in honesty. I believe in empathy. I believe in tea. I believe in jelly donuts but only on certain occasions. I believe in quirky bow ties. I believe in knit toques and mittens and scarves. I believe in dresses. I believe in flirting. I believe in coffee in the morning. I believe in big comfy beds. I believe in walking around your empty house in your underwear or birthday suit, singing loudly. I believe in singing in the shower. I believe in singing on the street. I believe in stage fright. I believe in meditation, though I don’t really strictly set times to do it anymore. I believe mundane activities can be done in a meditative state of mind. I believe in clarity. I believe in not judging people because everyone is human. I believe every human has something very interesting about them. I believe in boring people too. I believe in christmas music - not the radio kind, the choral kind. I believe in cheap sweet wine. I believe in Billy Joel and I believe in The Beatles. I believe in Regina and Sufjan too. I believe that the ukulele is a very overrated instrument. I believe in having healthy hair. I believe in moisturizer. I believe in getting to pick a coloured toothbrush at the dentist. I believe in thick wool socks. I believe in baggy sweaters. I believe in yoga gear but I do not believe in sweatpants. I believe that yoga is one of the healthiest things for a person - ever. I believe in buying a friend drinks or dinner once in awhile. I believe in collecting shoes and scarves and rings. I believe in chords but I don’t really believe in jeans. I believe in hot chocolate with whip cream but not with marshmallows. I believe in dorky Christmas sweaters. I believe in baking cookies instead of cake. I believe in eating disorders - I do not support them, but I do believe they are much more severe and various than most people think and I believe there should be better/proper help for those who suffer instead of the usual cruel inpatient/outpatient care. I believe in trichotillomania and I believe in dermatillomania and the severity and impact it can have on its sufferers. I believe in gardens. I believe in every single flower. I believe that everyone is always doing their best. I believe that most people love to struggle. I believe in hope. I believe in having faith in yourself. I believe in iPod playlists. I believe in gym memberships in the winter, not the summer unless it’s to swim. I believe in matching underwear every day. I believe in Value Village. I believe in singing in bus shelters when you’re waiting for the bus. I believe in dressing up according to holidays. I believe in Grey’s Anatomy and I believe in Community. I believe in skirts and dresses that twirl like the ‘ol days. I believe in longboards more than skateboards. I believe in plaid like most young people do. I believe in bows in my hair, but not as much as I used to. I believe in foot massages and hand massages. I believe in reflexology and reiki and essential oils and chakras and crystals and holistic nutrition. I believe in anxiety; even crippling anxiety. I believe in awkward romances. I do not believe in flip flops. I do not believe in Beatles covers unless they are really insanely good; then my mind is blown. I believe in having long enough nails to scratch someone’s back appropriately. I also believe in biting nails. I do not believe in telephone calls unless I am extremely comfortable with the person. I believe in blogs. I believe in journals. I believe in naming special inanimate objects like journals, instruments, technology and furniture. I believe in the idea of cats more than I believe in cats. I believe in sharpies or thin pointed permanent markers. I believe in temporary tattoos. I believe in streaming movies online. I believe in royal gala apples. I believe in avocados. I believe in rice cakes. I believe in popcorn. I believe in airports but I hate the LA airport. I believe in openly talking about *** but I don’t believe in making it seem shameful and gross. I believe there should be no shame regarding sexuality. I believe in reading some great books more than once. I believe in laying on the couch under cozy blankets, watching a great suspenseful tv show or movie. I only believe in having a couple bites of cheesecake. I don’t really believe in lulu lemon. I don’t believe many people can pull off the colour yellow. I believe in buttons over zippers even though zippers are easier, they just look kind of dumb and cheap. I believe in the sun and the moon equally. I believe in closets over dressers. I believe in staring out the window for a good hour or so.

I got locked out of the house today
While feeding my cat on the porch
In a bathrobe without my purse
No phone, no key, barefoot of course

So I sprinted to the driveway
Where my man was still backing out
Engrossed in checking his emails
He must have missed my screaming shout

Backed out all the way to the street
His eyes ahead in the early dawn
He didn't see my panicky dance
Off to work, in a flash, he was gone

Despite my last ditch effort
Racing after him down the street
He never looked back, not once
I was abandoned with ****** feet

It's only half past 7am
Time to problem-solve my way inside
Even though I had a ladder to climb
Every lock and bolt let all hope die

That day I spent on the patio
Long and hot it was to be sure
Feeling neglected and left behind
I cried a few tears in a blur

Then I did some overdue yard work
Drank out of the hose like my dog
Relaxed in the hammock instead of lunch
Dozed off in an afternoon fog

Till I found a book on reflexology
I'd been meaning to read for so long
Practiced a few techniques on my cat
And planned how I'd tell Bill he'd done me wrong

When I misplaced my faith
And had to find
Something to ease my
Questioning mind
I studied
Numerology
Astrology
Reflexology
The Chinese Zodiac
Neglected scientific facts
To try and fill the lack
Of wisdom
Looking for some ego boost
In my spiritually void youth
Such a goofy kook
Believed in spooks
Not spies but ghouls
Walked with other fools
Who thought they could cast spells
That they fought monsters from hell
And battled dream demons
It took a couple of years to transition from
One magical thing to the next
Till I finally settled on the logic of
Reasoning
Science
And love
Of humanity
But at thirty four
I got a whole lot more
To learn

I got locked out of the house today
While feeding my cat on the porch
In a bathrobe without my purse
No phone, no key, barefoot of course

So I sprinted to the driveway
Where my man was still backing out
Engrossed in checking his emails
He must have missed my screaming shout

Backed out all the way to the street
His eyes ahead in the early dawn
He didn't see my panicky dance
Off to work, in a flash, he was gone

Despite my last ditch effort
Racing after him down the street
He never looked back, not once
I was abandoned with ****** feet

It's only half past 7am
Time to problem-solve my way inside
Even though I had a ladder to climb
Every lock and bolt let all hope die

That day I spent on the patio
Long and hot it was to be sure
Feeling neglected and left behind
I cried a few tears in a blur

Then I did some overdue yard work
Drank out of the hose like my dog
Relaxed in the hammock instead of lunch
Dozed off in an afternoon fog

Til I found a book on reflexology
I'd been meaning to read for so long
Practiced a few techniques on my cat
And planned how I'd tell Bill he'd done me wrong

alleyway stagnation
rivulets of ammonia wander
inhibition slides
out of sight
and shoeless travelers
defecate on pizza boxes ~

worn thin soles
mold to each pebble
reflexology of the pavement
chakras explode with
symbolic frippery
leaving tendrils of aura
slipping into the pastel sunset ~

both hands hold carbon
crumbling and geo-engineered
star souls wait in silence
egg fertilization
key to reforming
birthed again
without fission ~

swaddled universe
howling siren
ships crash on basalt spies
crimson waves alter tourist sands /

LIMBO -
limbo of the libido:
foul dough. 502 bad gateway bypass.

i'm trying to be sexist, but: there are certain gender realities
(i don't know why i invoke the plural) -
***: what's biological... reproductive...
                       the furthering of the species...
for all the crap that anti-cis propaganda ushers in...
well... hardly: how would homosexual be born?
sure, accepted... how would all the other "freaks"
be born? via the **** or the mouth?
                 silly questions... society has accepted the outliers...
but now they're getting "too proud"...
yesterday my mother asked me on a whim...
she goes to these reflexology appointments...
the reflexologist is a vegan and she made this comment
in passing...
   the cows only produce milk when they're pregnant
and when they give birth...
so my mum asks me...
you're an enlightened man... like your father...
like your grandfather...
       is it possible that cows only produce milk when
they are pregnant?
huh?! don't you milk a cow in the morning and in
the evening... and during the summer you can even
milk her during the day?
***?! so how come we have a constant supply
of milk?! would a cow be holy in India if she only
produced milk when she was impregnated?
   that's ******* vegan talk for you: she has meat and
dairy products on her mind... absolute *******
nonsense... women... the cows are being abused now...
i sometimes wish i could work in a slaughterhouse
just for the kicks... or rather...
i remember this one backlog memory...
   there was a slaughterhouse on the outskirts of
the town where i was born... i saw it being towed in
into it on the back of a truck...
       the mooing this haunts me... it sort of knew it was
entering a slaughterhouse...
     that's almost like when a child was once asked
in a survey... where does milk come from?
milk cartons... hey presto! magic milk!
         god... people are urban-dumb...
                                        some don't even know that
those "yellow things" are... rapeseed oil flowers...
true story... a girl and a mum on the bus in front of me...
we were passing the green belt between Romford
and Mark's Gate / Chadwell Heath on the 66 bus...
the girl asked her mum: mum... what are those...
the mum replies... ahem... yellow things...
woman! they're rapeseeds! they're rapeseed flowers!
you make oil from them! cooking oil!
cows only produce milk when they're pregnant...
******* veganism...
    point being... back in the day when stewards at
football matches... security guards at events were all men...
just like yesterday...
chill day... well... because of bunch of football supporters
only sees men segregating the home fans from
the away fans... they don't see a ***** in the armour
of yellow vests... there's no woman ergo:
there's no weak-spot... oh sure sure... such your average
woman has a black belt in ******* judo...
first comes the optics... later... the physical confrontation...
what she going to do? shout at them?
and it's not like women didn't start wars...
oh Helen oh Joan... no no... peaceful creatures...
coming back in the car yesterday there was only
the four of us... all men... we were all sort of exhausted...
we exchanged... 5 sentences between each other...
the rest of the car journey was spent in comfortable
silence... no woman ergo no agitation...
ergo... no need to compete for attention of
attention-seeking ******... it's that ******* simple...
ol' Ernest Hemmingway was right....
each short-story in his collection: Men without Women
is correct...
it was spectacular yesterday: just guys...
shared banter... even the weakling among us...
Mark... sure... we teased him about dating prospects
with this girl we're working with... teased him...
but at the same time: didn't exclude him from the group...
we were literally working together...
there was no friction... no "alpha beta gamma psi blah blah"
of mating hierarchical status...
and we weren't confronted by the fans...
oh... the worst is working with someone like Jeminah...
the workload becomes a joke...
she is attractive: or rather... was...
today at the supermarket i thought...
   well... if most women find most men disgusting...
ugly... even... let me tell you...
the most unappealing man... in the eyes of another
man? CHARACTER... that man has a lived face...
it's a bit different simply passing someone in the street
and it's a bit different when you start interacting
with someone, see their ****** expression change
from the casual: pedestrian neutral...
   but an ugly man i can stand...
                yet... i also watched the desperate men
coupled with... ahem... ******* GARGOYLES...
no no... there's another word for them...
     Medusa was one of them... GORGONS...
   GARGOYLES GORGONS... same ****... different cover...
how did they ever manage to swing that by?
i wouldn't **** that, let alone reproduce with it...
it just looks ugly on the inside more than
it does on the outside... it looks like a busy-body...
i'm not saying i'm a stunner...
                  but i've had enough rejections to know
that: well... standards are going up...
as well as tax and mortgages and the price of: MILK...
Hindu fuel of life...
         ***** in the armour... i never had such a relaxing
shift... because... again: what is she going to do?
shout at about 20 happy-angry football fans rushing
up to the segregation-line between home fans
and away fans? shout at them: BIG MOMMA style?
that's the excuse Jeminah used when she was
placed on a similar playground at Fulham:
would you talk to your mother like that?
would you talk to your sister like that?
well... double that effort and don't talk to me
like that...                                         ha ha.... ah ha ha...
i just stand there... make concrete eye-contact...
fold my arms around my chest... pump up my back...
smile... last time i checked? no trouble...
but it's ****... absolute ******* working with women...
they disrupt the whole dynamic of a team...
a team of men... why?
if she's attractive enough she'll get asked out by
customers... asked for her number...
she'll start twitching left left left swipe swipe her Tinder
options... it's like working with
an epileptic hamster...
            and it's true what they say...
women are never single... there's always a side "project"...
i don't know... why i like cycling down Mawney Road...
i loved it prior to meeting her...
there are trees either side of the street...
and it's mostly downhill... unless in reverse...
in gear 6 to make more effort therefore uphill...
oh ****... that's her... i saw the dog prior to seeing
her dark ginger-auburn hair...
then again: i think i saw her ginger-auburn hair first...
and...
       she was walking... with the most...
unremarkable man... jeans and a black fleece...
****** dark sort of brown hair: oh no... not raven Turkic...
some ****** brown variation...
but jeans and a black fleece...
                  i'm guessing trainers on his feet...
her ex? her ex-boxing frenzy where she's the cougar
and he's the ****-pants late-stage hard-on
teenager? that sort of dynamic? so... not...
her somewhat contemporary?
     and, mind you: i'm getting these regular anonymous
voicemails... unknown number:
ergo? i don't listen to them...
         at strange times... i saw her walking her dog
and her most unremarkable looking man
side by side at 4pm... i get a voicemail at 4:29pm...
could it be her? i want to doubt it...
i'm not going to listen to it...
    i found a little bit of happiness with a Turkish *******...
i'll settle for that...
like my grandfather used to say:
keep your heart tiny, tiny tiny tiny...
then you'll have people in your grasp...
     i sort of played the game wrong... i wanted to go out
with her... too many girls... involved...
too many counter-narratives... but when the friendship
of her son with the other girl's son was invoked
as if it might be broken: i broke my silence...
and her presto... i get ghosted...
but we live locally... so what is she going to do?
demand i don't cycle down Mawney Road?
she doesn't even live on Mawney Road...
she likes in a cul de sac just off Mawney Road...
she just walks her dog down this street...
perfect timing? ****'s sake...
      yeah: the idea of seeing her walking her dog
and her former ex-boxer... or some new guy...
(boxer in the sense: his greatest opponent was her)...
some Tinder flick...
         it's not like i want to help people like her...
i'd love to be around them to rein them in...
but... obviously... the currency of the current
freedoms... is... unshakeable...
   such an unremarkable looking man...
what a ****** dress sense... so much sloth induced
attire... the **** i wear at home could be better
translated to overcome what he was wearing
in public... then i figured... i smell it...
                                                           ­      it's fear...
it's... a sense of inadequacy... isn't it?
prostitutes don't smell of that... oddly enough...
          and they don't smell it on me...
i'm just a lover-boy... eyes filled with intent: blah blah...
******* with the taboo... i leave the taboos
for strip-clubs... all see but no touch...
yeah... tell me that when i was in one in Athens...
no touch *******... i was so excited rubbing
and hugging at least three: running out of money
that a bouncer escorted me to the nearest cash-machine
while i ****** my trousers and sneaked out...
walking... i was drunk... that's how i navigated
Athens then... i had a honing implant in
my 'ed... 5 miles? however long it was...
       you're going to be spending money on SOMETHING...
anyways... it's not a ******* shortcut...
but at least you'll be getting what you're after
upfront... and it's not like the women are
unwilling... i once had a date with this South African
private school teacher... she tried to cook...
she really protested when i wanted to be involved in
the cooking: can't we? cook, together?
we watched a movie... then went to bed...
oh **** me... not another of these types...
types? ******* cocoon *** types...
ashamed of her body... it's not enough to do it
with the lights off: rather than dimmed...
but... under the bed-sheets...
no again... how she managed to give me a hard-on
i will never know... she must have spiked my drink...
but... the *** under the bedsheets the lights out
is one thing... her... not being exactly creamy-pie?
creamy-pie?! she wasn't wet... she was aroused
but she also wasn't aroused...
she had a thick fat dry load of ******!
how do you describe *** that's quasi-**** but can't
be ****, therefore it's quasi- when a woman's
****** is not wet? when you feel like every stroke
is you: peeling an onion... or getting circumcised?!
i might as well have found a squid's worth of mouth
to explore the deity of *******...
no... no thank you... i don't do inexperienced *****...
it wasn't ****... but...
  if you stretch it... she's still ******* you:
with a dryness of Sahara... you feel you're not plucking
oysters with your tongue...
or poking them with your index...
instead... you're... rubbing sandpaper on the index...
that's not ****? beats me...
what's *** then, "in general"?
   we're calling performing ****: 1st base?!

such a clueless... average looking man...
   sure... she got scared... ha ha:
of the homemade wine and the banana loaf
and the fact that i'm into collecting vinyl...
and that i dress to impress...
     shucks... that sort of hurts...
no wonder i had to turn that "hurt" into
a visit to a brothel... well... at least some women are
still out there: appreciative of my masculinity...
girl-boy girl-girl games can stay
the ******* my radar for as long as possible...
perhaps they will: when i don't hope
to meet her in the geriatric centre for things
all the manner of STALE...
    
oh **** her... her swig at quality on the side while
she goes for something easier, manageable...
the type where she's on top...
ha ha... **** her...
but i'm still going to cycle down that street...
the odd chance i catch her walking her dog...
will these ******* voicemails end?! please!
i'm not going to listen to them!
i'm more of a reader: not a listener...
because i'm guessing, it probably sounds like...
'stop stalking me!'... you what?

we're practically neighbours...
what am i going to do? ******* to the moon?!
you're the one using Tinder to match up
with guys from CALI-FOR-NIA...
******* to California then...
                     i'm not going: anywhere...
this earth gave birth to my psyche from the age
of 8... i was elsewhere prior...
please excuse me...
                                    silly little *****;

i can't stop... such an unremarkable looking man...
sort of... "man"... but obviously she had the upper-hand...
oh i'm guessing that his desperation just:
******* glowed and blinded her with
the advent of issuing power dynamism...
          
     see... fear... is usually coupled with a precursor...
excitement... there's this initial excitement...
but then... a backlog of sensation kicks in...
the 'oh ****' stage... hence the sabotage...
   of a possible relationship...
             but it's so much different with prostitutes...
since... it's Russian roulette gambling...
it's not: betting on horses...
it's better with the weight of your heart and soul...
that's why i like it... too many "fiddly" bits of
conversational ******* before the actual
******* or rather the... what's it called?
the preliminary? whatever it's called...

                        **** it... if Zeus can't wait... to implode
into existence in the realms of men
via a ****** birth... but has to: metaphor himself
into ******* a beauty via (as) a swan...
i'll be at the brothel; i don't have the time,
but more importantly... i'm not always in the mood...
so... woman: more like: LEASH...
patience...
                
        let her walk her dog and her unremarkable looking
man... i bet she can teach the both of them
some good sic 'em lessons;
            i just want to see one of her dogs bark...
TOOSH... obviously the other dog will get a treat and a patting...
because... what? i can't cycle on this street?
ah ha ha... pretty petty whittle moi.