the construction industry is filled with Englishmen... well, let's just say the management and bricklayers, and from i hear it's a ****** management, they think it's cheaper to loan a crane than to install one... as i heard, a typical construction site of has about 30 Englishmen tops, a construction site population of about 400... i might be exaggerating, but i heard it first hand, and i've seen it, well 10 years ago it was a bit different, but the cracks were already showing - how one Brit undermined another Brit, dehumanised one ethnicity using another's desperation / exaggeration of rewards: by lowering wages of the former's.

only a casual inference of the vote -
it's one thing pushing away the psychology
of the collective into the recesses of Hades -
even further into Tartarus -
well, you can see Tartarus from here -
the Titans are above us, Luna, and Helios,
Jupiter and Saturn and Mars - we rise
from this place, at least with faithful command
to whatever childish ambition -
psychology can shove collective psychology
of a populace into theory - that calm resolve
of reason, the unconscious and its archetypes -
but to concern oneself with passions,
that's also necessary - side with the "enemy"
to understand them, and then see past the fog...
in a fashion magazine... citation:
if we block free movement, and experienced
Polish or Bulgarian seamstresses cannot come
into the country, it is not obvious how they will
be replaced - "we couldn't have grown the business
without the help and support of these killed people,"
says designer *Christopher Raeburn, who
wasn't able to find similarly experienced Brits
in London (pedantic note, the dittoing of that quote
should belong to me, i'm assuming direct contact
with the designer and the writer of the article,
ditto quotation starts with third party members,
people like me, not with the person interviewed
and the interviewee - i now understand how
dittoing works in English in terms of quoting
someone - in means as above, but by another person;
but i'm sure the quote was passed as word-of-mouth,
so the person who's first to pass a quote shouldn't
immediately use " " marks, he's not a third-person
encapsulation of a newspaper article, this isn't
a novel - simple math: origin (0, on an axis of
x, y, z), person who first encounters the origin-al
notes it with precision 'the sun will come up
tomorrow' - after that a person who encounters
'the sun will come up tomorrow' will then pass
the message down as: "the sun will come up tomorrow",
and then the dittoing cascade appears - the way
gossip spreads - it's not exact - it's ~truth -
people add to it, change it, overhear it and modulate
it - only the first person from the naked origin
should be allowed to ditto the quote - i.e. use
the " " marks - the second person directly citing
the origin makes a single layered membrane encapsulation -
after that it's a repeat of two layers, with the second
layer ably fluctuating, hence not loss of the origin
but a polymer of interpretations - Odysseus said of me:
'Homer' cited the 'Trojan war', we cite "Homer" and
the "Trojan war" as 'Odysseus' said, myth making in ambiguity
or the gossip factory, but given the sequence
0, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2... nth
a, 'a', "a", "a", "a", "a", "a", "a", "a", "a"... nth we all have a
chance to cite something from the third person,
after all, isn't fiction's limit based on the third person?
the pedant in me had to mule over this to get some
alcohol frenzy from it... and hey! i did).
it wasn't immigration to be honest, the racist smears
were a smokescreen... look at it this way...
the English Civil War... a friend of mine at university
once said: 'no great nation emerges without a civil war',
i could have written something in excess of that
but then i'd be writing as a third person " " inventing it
and almost treating it as my own, which is a no-go
zone - but from scraps you get the idea - go home,
things are about to get ugly between our civil partners...
and it doesn't boil down to wages as such,
Brits love the fact that Swedish students come to
the Norfolk fields for strawberry harvests, or whoever...
you know what i think it is? London urbanity got
to the vein of countryside folk, or Manchester being
overshadowed, actually globalisation ensured that
only capitals are "representative" of each nation
(inverse the dittoing, that's insinuating a passing-on
from an abstract, like Sartre's notation of "ego" meaning:
imitate me in between each "ego" with my narrative) -
they're not, but the golden nugget in my reasoning
is primarily concerned with You-Tube Sensations -
you name them: eat a tablespoon of cinnamon
and then sniff a ***** sneaker - film it, earn a billion -
become a unit of advertisement, sell it, bin it,
record your life, people binge on it, earn a windmill -
Vlog Blog Bog Sven and Fjoorn - remember when
children were employed in Victorian England?
this isn't between a Brit and a Bulgarian - this **** is
about a Brit and a Brit, hindsight: the English Civil war...
one Brit is saying, deep in the countryside:
you know what, there are people in urban environments
that teach their children that milk comes from
supermarkets and not cows, there's a borderline between
milking a cow and ******* on a part of a woman's
body overly sexed up - this has nothing to do with migration,
well, party it does, it want labourers to understand
a master, some ******* Bulgarian who speaks one
sentence of English gives about two nanoseconds trying
to understand authority - it's not demeaning to him,
he's told what to do, and off he goes and does it and
daydreams about his family reaping the benefits back home...
but employ someone proficient in the language,
who understands it, who has leisure time in it,
and you get a different picture dear Oliver - please sir,
can i have some more? no! back to work you filthy
little Beatnik! it's the self-worth pride, the self-sustaining
pride of nations - the people are saying: did we reduce
our youth to write video biography entries that only
tell other young people to buy the stuff they're advertising,
and all of them have become so fragile as to write poetry?!
well... better think again! minus the influx of migrants...
the doctor that relocated the upper-part of my index
was Hungarian... if it weren't for him... i'd probably have
to use a door to pull it back in...
and i understand what they're saying: i'm not racist... but...
my own countrymen have become so ******* lazy
i have to disguise my racism against other ethnic races...
because if i don't... it's back to Cromwell and the
Parliamentarians of the Square Table.

Reminds me of those sweet moments
I wouldn't switch it with anything
Either I'd have cried or I'd have gotten conflict
I used to hug it every single night
Say my dreams to it
N take myself to universe vlog
It pleased me often
The matter was just it couldn't get me to talk
Brought it to the parties
I spoiled it
I've always realised
That if there weren't any attention
Now we would be harder than a rock

this is what music foraging on youtube used to look like, you'd find gems, 6 years old, approx. 10K views akin to Undogmatic & Kernfeld: thought experiments... you know... you travel outside of the anglosphere of said language, what is the opinion of a Greek or a Pole about Fb? not much... it's only the english-speaking "cool" kids that are making all the fuss... i mentioned minds.com to a Greek guy i was giving directions to, once, in Warsaw... he looked at me as if i was the first person to show him a ******* elephant... 5 blind men followed and we know the story from there... catering to the natives: who will never be or ever have been satisfied... they just need their: banta... their ****-storming, their gravitational pull toward bloodsports: rather than dialectics... nothing is ever to be done... who can shout the loudest... who can rock the boat the most... who can translate past playground grievances into a web of anonymity and avatars... as far as i am concerned... these social media firms, these u.s. firms have long gone stopped catering to primarily english speaking people... all these anglophone calls: Fb will fail like myspace failed... blah blah... these firms are tired of brats... elsewhere these spaces are utilities... they're not an extension of either thought or life... collateral damage of those first exposed... the Greek will still use the platform... the Pole will also... i too remember my childhood: hide & seek... digging holes in the ground and throwing marbles into them from a distance of five metres... creating chalk labyrinths on the pavement and flicking beer bottle caps filled with plastecine through them... and no... styxhexenhammer666 is not banned in Poland... i never wanted youtube to become what it has become: 72 virgins? give me a library of music for all of eternity and i'll be an 'appy chappy... i don't need some count dankula regurgitate a wikipedia entry about tarrare - oddly enough: i too can read... see... i blame both sides for ******* up my foraging tool... the "legacy" media and the indie vlog "creators": creative really reative, spewing regurgitation after regurgitation... i'd hate to be drafted into this vulture journalism of video making... at least when you pay a *******: you pay an honest wage... and she subsequently spends the honest wage on **** i wouldn't even buy... so the funds are given to the person who otherwise keeps the economy running... a woman... oh yes, i've been watching closely these indie "creators"... lucky for me i watched enough of them to round them up and say: this much... there's a big difference between a "creator" and a commentator... if i'd want to listen to an audiobook containing the current journalistic spew: anyway... half of these stories in the "news" are tabloid ******* that gave rise to 24h news reel and the vacuous space feeding the tapeworm of insomnia... since when did news outlets think they could produce an amphetamine alt.? clearly they did... i can't keep up, i won't keep up, to hell with going against these giants... youtube was never about these indie "creators"... music and music was always the prime concern for me... lucky for me remnants of the old a.i. still give me chances to glimpse records like CLANN - Seelie... these indie "creators" become just as tiresome as the legacy medie snippets... you want a more ******* version of CLANN's Seelie? try Salem: king knight (2010).

.just some after-thoughts, when a post scriptum becomes, a pre scriptum... you know... i sometimes think this lingua franca, that's english, ergo: lingua inglese is bombarded, London is the microcosm of the world dislodged from the realities of other natives... there's a grand congregation happening, of hosts, and even here, on the outskirts of London, where all it takes is a 30 minute walk to go pet a horse or a tender young bull, "randomly", in a field, spot a fox, or chase a herd of deer who "wandered" into the middle of an X junction creating a traffic debacle... but the language itself this, lingua inglese needs updating, notably from the "real" grammar nazis... i'm not just going to give up my new earned rights of literacy, for all the years of being kept in the dark like some ******* mushroom, just because, someone feels it is necessary to feel lazy, about establishing rigour, discipline in using this former tool of power, like i'm going to bend over some lazy peasant... no... dis-ci-pline... you need it, i might drink, but i'll still return to this language with great respect, for the per se worth of adherence to it... it already is a metaphysical person / "person" to me, at least i can offer that much, as much as is necessary... one question though, echo-chamber... it's enough for dyslexia, it's enough for emoji, it's enough for: l8er... it's enough for "gender neutral" pronouns... see... that language i was born with... that **** won't stick... certain languages have pronoun-"augmentation" associated with verbs... e.g.?
                                            mogłem (past-participle masculine
                       of i could have)
                        mogłam (past-participle feminine
                    of i could have)
this, inherent bias, within the confines of the english language, well, i didn't expect it to be so rife, until i witnessed it being exploited! now at least i can pander / side with the natives: funny - coming to a "madman" for sanity quotes, for rigour... well... because there's no fun without someone not having the ***** to counter the libertarian farcical tragico-comic current circumstance of: "pushing the boundaries"... like i said: a lingua ingelese echo-chamber... no belly-button status of the world for you... this viper of an idea, this sordid wasp of a "conundrum" will not spread elsewhere, i feel inclined to contain it, with english regulations of grammar... just like i learned this language to begin with: first the language, then the grammar... physics first, metaphysics later... first the experience of communication, then the theory of communicating... thank god that some languages have an unshakeable foundation, e.g. western slavic: where the pronoun is integrated into verbs with a gender discrimination structure...
  further examples?
                miałem (i had - masculine)
                                                     miałam (i had - feminine)...
so the problem is contained... in this, sometimes erring into sharpnel of, what could have been: a bullet of a tongue; or, i dare say, will hopefully preserve itself, to be it.

i guess.... wait... are stars supposed to that?
i just witnessed two,
transverse the night sky:
    in that, more than the already
perplexing circumstance of a straight line...
to the naked eye:
   they're not supposed to move in
a parabola fashion, are they?
    yes, last time i checked, this was never
going to be a metaphor for
the current state of european politics,
   to the naked eye:
    i would be unable to witness a comet,
and, on the odd occassion,
   the blitzkrieg accent on the sky
by a meteor falling...
            i never had the tools to measure
the difference between a falling
meteor appearing in the sky,
                      to a lightning strike -
time wise...
            after all: is a lightning strike
confined to the same category as light,
yeah: light from the sun?
   i guess this is were awe comes...
          once again: if i somehow manage
to come across the facts -
   i'll give my narrative of a temple's
worth of structure to the blinded,
enraged skin-headed Samson to pull at
the pillars...
                now, with regards to:
a black girl in a supermarket...
   well... i've done it,
    i can clearly state i have become
fully integrated into the multiculutral
experiment that's England,
   it didn't take that long,
               ******* contra being attracked
are two dfifferent ball games...
the language is here,
                 working just fine,
   some native prejudices are somewhat
here,
            i have a harder time
"not understanding" the quickened
paddy taljk, to me the scots sing,
and they managed to preserve
                                     the trill on the R...
so, as they would say in
    a clockwork orange type of fashion,
fully rehabilitated, ****, sorry, integrated...
i can find myself being attracked
                           to an ivory beauty...
side-effect?
    whenever i visit my grandparents,
whenever i pass through
   the urban landscape of Warsaw...
   i feel...
        an extreme nausea,
paranoia,
                 sifting through my in-born
mirror of homogeneity...
the whole process takes, oh,
                     i'd say, roughly 20 years...
brain-washing?
      or a want for a sense of belonging?
my only sense of belonging in
Poland is only related to the use
of language, culturally?
      hybrid at best,
                    or not even hybrid,
mongrel...
                sure, the impeding disaster
of putting a physical hybrid
           with a metaphysical hybrid...
i don't even know how i'll feel
when the ****** tongue dies with
the people i could associate to by speaking
it...
maybe i'll be lucky,
having the luxury of not one death,
but two, in my life.

p.s.
   stating the ****** obvious,
surds...
   lingua ingles(e)
              and not lingua inglesé...
how can i not be stating the obvious,
that's how practiςing
    literacy works, doesn't it?
who has ever heard
a guitar player not say:
    i'm not playing,
  i'm simply practiçing                ?
i guess the origins of the french
         cedilla come from
                                     the greek sigma,
i.e. if it's so smart,
how come a drunk, like me,
                         has to "unearth" it?
always, it's always about
the fiddly bits of language,
english is peppered with
      rules, that are not dogma of
pedagogy...
         of the pedagogic experience...
"somehow" surds appear,
i.e. "silent" letters...
   e.g. there's no (g)nome
         but there's diagnostics...
this, this lingua inglese...
this supposedly "universal" language
for a global community,
and then all the particulars
associated with the native idiosyncracy...
mind you...

     i woke up with a dream,
righ rarity event...
   i was sitting,
then i started walking,
i looked behind me,
a ****** church procession was
walking with banners
and crosses, dressed in black,
i turned my head,
and there was a bunch of
schoolchildren walking toward me,
i was eating a raw chilli...
a boy from the throng coming
at me was eating a raw pepper,
'hey mister'
and pointed at a piece of
a raw papper lying in the grass,
insinuating i lost it...
i replied:
                                          'chilli'...
er­m...
        who the hell would ever need
to amplify dreaming
with a psychadelic experience,
esp. if that person is usually
sleeping for 10+ hours per day
and is dream-starved?

i always find that one can still find a worthwhile bit of verse at night, provided one dips into daytime writing, as i also find not having written anything during the day, makes verses conjured in the night: a slightly (to be ironically mild) desperate endeavour.

to begin from where i left off...
   why do i make such large portions when cooking?
ah... the fact that my breakfast consists of
two glasses of milk, and that i only eat once
a day, it's nonetheless inexcusable -
   which ends up with me feeling like a boa
with about two weeks worth digestion and sleeping
like a cat,
     although i'm starting to think,
given that serpents do not have eyelids
(which in reality a much more evil curse upon
the serpent of eden who was told to slither) -
but saying that, i think that once the serpents
have feasted, they are allowed to sleep,
even if they don't have eyelids,
     perhaps as perfectly adapted as bears in
hibernation, but i'm suspicious of the notion
that once a serpent has began digesting its food
it falls asleep for two or however many weeks
it takes to digest a prey...
me and my giant homemade hamburgers
and homemade chips?
     i asked myself the question:
how do you actually cut up a potato to make
the perfect chip? sideways first, about the thickness
of a pinky finger, and then horizontally,
the ol' chippie down the road can't beat these
mean spuds, sprinkled with paprika and
cajun pepper, salted and... booyakasha!
oh, and they have to be cooked slowly, i mean,
slowly...  obviously adding a bit of olive oil...
but after eating this meal i felt bloated,
so i had to come up with an answer to ensure
i could feel a slight tickle of ms. amber in
my stomach, so i walked it off for an hour,
easing out farts, which was a good sign...
made it through the english suburban maze
of windy streets, and found myself:
  perfectly sound...
     in the hamburgers? beef, gouda cheese,
lettuce, fresh tahmahtees, pickled cucumbers,
pickled chillies, fresh spanish onions,
    slightly toasted buns, and two sauces:
a hamburger sauce + sweet mustard...
   brilliant combo;
but that's the boring, i guess the interesting
bit is that the sky is murky rather than overcast
and there's a full moon visible as if
addressing you from behind a hookah pipe...
if ever there was a night for strolling along
not looking for a caterpillar, it was tonight;
the obvious religious sudoku,
   and no, i don't buy the ******* that you can
call no. 9354 (in the times supplement)
   difficult, or mild, as it sometimes happens,
not with 1/9 of the squares being completely
blank! that **** is fiendish, i just proved
the point solving no. 9359 (difficult) -
only aided by killing a few brain-cells during
interludes of watching pop vlog videos,
some static music videos,
     and the more i drank the more i became
impressed with the effort,
  at one point inserting an obvious 7 into a square
making a face of a ****** exclaiming:
better get a pair of glasses you dummy!
so that's what i found: blind-spots in sudoku,
sure there's some logic behind it,
   but in the blind-spots just frustrate,
and frustrate, and irritate.
          the whole:

   either 1 or 7 | 2 5 8 4 9 | either 3 or 6
                             1, 3, 6, 7

didn't help, but ms. amber sharpshooter
later, and some youtube vlog video about
drunk advice or how to do make up,  
   and i finished the **** puzzle feeling
like someone injected me with steroids;

while some famous rich dummy complained
about the perils of mixing ******* with
alcohol... how about i teach you about
the not so perilous adventure of nicotine &
alcohol, high enough for just a tiny bit,
making hitting the "low": a smirking endeavour,
self-satisfying, if not self-congratulating:
to the last sip.

obvious some sort of bookish reference culminated...
yeah... the hebrew *sefirot diagram...
  i looked at it, started swaying for a bit
and then came with an answer...
   fool be he who aims at the keter (crown)
in this entire schematic, for the sefirot
is a schematic (apologies for the paraphrasing
away from diagram, but sometimes
you just have to sharpen the tools) -
    
the most famous e.g.?
    look who's hanging at golgotha...
      he who claims a crown over but one of
the other elements of the schematic,
has not understood the dynamism between
keter & malkhut (kingship) -
crowns are put on both kings and fools,
   notably alan ginsberg in prague in the 1960s...
see how the two relate?

  the real trinity embedded in the sefirot
is based, primarily, upon wisely disregarding
both keter & malkhut in terms of:
i'm aiming for that,
   no! always with a genesis always with a beginning
and always revising that beginning,
only at one's peril desire the ultimate crown
and the ultimate kingship, which belongs
to death alone...

          the sefirot can only be understood on
the base of yesod, i.e. foundation...

after all, you have: binah (understanding),
chokhmah (wisdom), gevurah (strength),
   chesed (love), tiferet (beauty),
hod (splendor) & netzach (victory) to choose
from, or if not by choice,
  then by the slow realisation of
not known the yesod (foundation) endeavoured
upon, to have gained

either the prize (keter) of said attributes,
or the authority (malkhut) of said attributes...
and this could be best described in secular
terms as the formulation of unconscious drives...

me? i crafted the combination
  based on yesod -
  i made it my foundation to stress my capacity for
gevurah (strength)... and it would have
been just that, but my efforts in verse
were acknowledged with the compliment of
tiferet (beauty) from the least of expected
of places... the mouth of a former lover:
god give peace unto her turbulent soul;

for i known i can't be king of wisdom,
  nor of understanding,
    nor all other attributes...

hence the foolishness, in kantian terms,
and the sefirot has kantian elements in it,
i can already see
   that keter is an a priori term -
  and that malkhut is an a posteriori term...
first comes the crown, then comes
the kingship...

                         i can't see how
it can be sensible any more to reverse that,
i.e. malkhut is an a posteriori term,
   while keter is an a priori term...
it's illogical to think the latter, since we already
known what sort of crown,
  and what sort of throne precipitated into
history...

               and why is it that these self-lacerating
attacks akin to christianity do indeed dare
to mention the men as "mentally unwell" -
do you even know how castrating that terminology
is? they're crusaders of the wake-up call...
because if you call the other group by
the term jihad "warrior" the moral boost it gives
them? no one calls them mentally ill,
   but suddenly someone comes along and
is included in the "mentally deranged category"
grouped with anxiety-prone teens,
  depressed teenage girls, socially-shy schizophrenics,
and the rest of the psychotic brady bunch?
i look at these cases and think of vanilla ice...
these other guys, these crusaders?
               you can't call one the jihad martyrs
and the other: enigmas of the fruition
       of the castrato complex "losers"...
        losers? losers work part time jobs or
whatever category of existence might tick
all the boxes of the criteria...
            there's still no proper term for it,
  but this self-mutilating culture of christianity
began with a man riding into jerusalem
on a donkey... so donkey's years...
   the more the media smears them as that,
the more secular "identities" are attributed
to certain instances of their emergence,
   the more it agitates the next psychotic wasp
hive of swarming thoughts in an another "loser"...

when behring breivik did what he did,
   the russian nationalists encored him as a hero...
and i still don't know why the message
he sent was such an "enigma"...
          pay up for your decadence or your
children (of the ruling class) get it...
         sometimes these real world commentaries
of events that have happened are
so unnecessary in my part of the world,
they are there because these events happened...

even though we bypassed the publishing
authorities,
   it has just become a case of
                   **** vitro in domus vitro -
which is why i never intended to make any
internet profiling based upon the faux pas of façade.

Burn that **** out at your place
Ash to ground like sun rays
Radiation, pacin'
Facin', racin'
Makin' my way to town
Burn that **** down to the ground
Smoke in the air
Heat level risin'
Seekin' the horizon
Sun down smoke still there
Guns out town folk's lair
Hills with fog, devil's vlog
End of the year
Hollywood air
Fire in the sky
The media's lies
Drain them and turn them
Learn them, and burn them
Mistakes and passions
Rich fakes and cashin'
Luxury and mansions
Burn all that ****
Say that's it
Sin city too
Desert make them move
Burn that **** out at your place
Ash to ground like sun rays
Radiation, pacin'
Facin', racin'
Makin' my way to town
Burn that **** down to the ground
Listen to that sound

Rental down payments-
Moving van-
Rental debt:
  N-
  L-
Debt to parents: 25,000
Mac-external hardrive
iPad -accessory  
iphone-
     Oloclip-Lense
     Selfie light -phone case
     Selfie stick
     Heavy duty case
Mattress/ Boxspring/ Frame
Cat stuff
Dresser
Lights (Plants/ Photography)
Sound proofing
Microphones
Headset-beats
Garageband
Mic ****
Photography camera
Lenses
Vlog camera
Sewing machine
Patterns
Cactus
Backdrops/green screen

what if I just
put my phone down for the night?
what if I just set my alarm and put my phone next to my bed
and brushed my teeth without a video playing?
without scrolling. without music. without a distraction.
what if I just looked at the real room that’s in front of me?
I have a small blanket acting as a curtain over my window, and from behind it I can hear the rustling of leaves in the autumn wind. it’s autumn. it’s October. it’s my favorite season. I don’t think about things like that when I’m desperately trying to distract myself with a complication or vlog or playlist.
I am now so curious. I used to go my every waking hour without this phone in my hand - and now I don’t want to be without it.
I can’t even do a load of laundry without trying to find a video to watch first.
but what if I were to go without it?
can I even imagine the colors I would see? the sounds I would hear? the things I would notice?
it’s such a beautiful, romantic, captivating world. I have a feeling if I opened myself up to it, it would wrap me in its arms and serve me well. the crickets and wind would lull me to sleep; the rising sun would kiss me good morning. The coolness of the early hours would make my skin tingle, and the walls of this house might look completely new.
I can imagine all the still moments I would get caught up in, noticing the drip of a faucet, my cat crossing the room, the sway of the porch swing. I might notice my breathing too, or the way my hair falls on my shoulder, or listen to the clearing of my own throat with full attention and intention. reaching out and holding something with two free hands.
what if I did that?